“Congratulations!” I try to match her tone. “You … you won?”
“Isn’t it amazing?” she says exultantly. “You should have been there, Fliss. We did it in character! We were Dirk and Sally, you know, from that TV show we always used to watch?”
“Right,” I say in confusion. “Wow.”
“Now we’re celebrating and I’ve just had the most delicious lobster canapés and champagne. And we’re going back to the guest house tomorrow. And Ben wrote me a love poem in French.” She sighs blissfully. “This is the perfect honeymoon.”
I stare at the phone in mounting horror. Champagne? French love poetry? The perfect honeymoon?
“Right.” I’m trying to stay calm. “That’s … really surprising.”
What the fuck has Nico been doing? Has he gone to sleep?
“Yes, we were having a terrible time!” Lottie laughs happily. “You wouldn’t believe it. We haven’t even … you know. Done it yet. But somehow that doesn’t matter.” Her tone softens lovingly. “It’s as if all the crazy disasters have brought Ben and me closer together.”
The disasters have brought them closer together? I’ve brought them closer together?
“Wonderful!” My voice is shrill. “That’s great! So you made the right decision to marry Ben?”
“A million times over,” says Lottie ecstatically.
“Great! Marvelous!” I screw up my face, debating how best to proceed. “Only … I was just thinking about Richard. Wondering how he was doing. Are you in touch with him?”
“Richard?” Her vitriolic tone nearly takes my ear off. “Why would I be in touch with Richard? He’s well out of my life, and I wish I’d never ever met him!”
“Ah.” I rub my nose, trying not to look at Richard. I hope he can’t hear.
“Can you believe I was prepared to fly across the Atlantic for him? He would never have made such an effort for me. Never.” Her bitterness makes me flinch. “He hasn’t got a single romantic bone in his body!”
“I’m sure he has!” I retort before I can stop myself.
“He hasn’t,” she says resolutely. “You know what I think? He never loved me at all. He’s probably forgotten all about me already.”
I look at Richard—hot, sweaty, and resolute—and I want to scream. If only she knew.
“Anyway, Fliss, I think it’s really tasteless of you to mention Richard,” she adds crossly.
“Sorry,” I backtrack hastily. “Just thinking aloud. I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“I’m having a fantastic time,” she says emphatically. “We’ve been talking and bonding and making plans—oh, by the way. That guy you hooked up with. Lorcan.”
“Yes? What about him?”
“He sounds a nightmare. You should avoid him. You haven’t seen him again, have you?”
Instinctively, I glance over at Lorcan, who is up near the carousel and has hoisted Noah onto his shoulders.
“Er … not a lot,” I prevaricate. “Why?”
“He’s the most dreadful, arrogant man. You know he works for Ben’s company? Well, he basically talked Ben’s dad into giving him a job there, and now he has a cushy number and he’s taking over everything and trying to control Ben.”
“Oh,” I say, nonplussed. “I had no idea. I thought they were mates.”
“Well, I thought so too. But Ben really hates him. Apparently he once confiscated Ben’s phone in public!” Her voice rises indignantly. “Like some kind of schoolteacher. Isn’t that atrocious? I told Ben he should charge him with harassment! And there’s loads of other stuff too. So promise me you won’t go and fall for him or anything.”
I resist the desire to give a hollow, sardonic laugh. Some chance.
“I’ll do my best,” I say. “And you promise me you’ll … er … carry on having a wonderful time.” It’s killing me to say the words. “What’s up next?”
“Couple’s massage on the beach,” she says happily.
Every fiber in my body stiffens in alarm.
“Right.” I swallow. “So, when’s that? Exactly?”
I’m already planning the ear-bashing I’m going to give Nico. What’s going on? How can he have been so negligent? Why are they drinking champagne and eating lobster? Why did he allow Ben to write a French love poem? He should have leapt in and grabbed the pencil.
“It’s in half an hour,” says Lottie. “They rub you with oil and then leave you alone for some private time. Honestly, Fliss.” She lowers her voice. “Ben and I are just gagging for it.”
I’m hopping with agitation. This was not the plan. I’m stuck in bloody Sofia and she and Ben are about to conceive a baby on the beach, whom no doubt they’ll christen “Beach” and then viciously fight over in the high court when it all falls apart. As soon as I’ve said goodbye, I speed-dial Nico.
“Well?” Richard instantly questions me. “What’s the situation?”
“The situation is: I’m on top of the situation,” I say curtly as I’m put through to voicemail. “Hello, Nico, it’s Fliss. We need to talk, asap. Give me a call. Bye.”
“So what did Lottie say?” demands Richard as I end the call. “Did they win?”
“Apparently so.”
“Bastard.” He’s breathing heavily. “Bastard. What does he know about her that I don’t? What’s he got that I haven’t? Apart from, obviously, the stately home—”
“Richard, stop!” I snap in exasperation. “It’s not a competition!”
Richard stares at me as though I’m the thickest moron that ever existed. “Of course it’s a competition,” he says.
“No, it isn’t!”
“Fliss, everything in a man’s life is a competition!” He suddenly loses it. “Don’t you realize that? From the moment you’re a three-year-old boy, peeing up against the wall with your friends, all you really care about is: Am I bigger than him? Am I taller? Am I more successful? Is my wife hotter? So, the day that some smooth bastard with a private jet runs off with the girl you love: yes, it’s a competition.”
“You don’t know he’s got a private jet,” I say after a pause.
“I’m guessing.”
There’s silence. In spite of myself, I’m rating Richard against Ben in my mind. Well, Richard would win in my book—but, then, I’ve never met Ben.
“Well, OK. Suppose you’re right,” I say at last. “What counts as winning? Where’s the finish line? She’s married to someone else. So doesn’t that mean you’ve already lost?”
I don’t mean to be harsh—but these are the facts.
“When I’ve told Lottie how I really feel … and she’s still said no,” says Richard resolutely, “then I’ll have lost.”
My stomach twinges with sympathy for him. He’s putting himself on the line here. No one can say he’s taking the easy way out.
“OK.” I nod. “Well, you know which way I would vote.” I squeeze his shoulder.
“What are they doing now?” He glances at my phone. “Tell me what they’re doing. I know she’ll have told you.”
“They’ve just had champagne and lobster,” I say reluctantly. “And Ben’s written her a love poem in French.”
“In French?” Richard looks as though someone has kneed him in the stomach. “Smarmy bastard.”
“And they’re planning to go to the guest house tomorrow,” I tell him, as Lorcan joins us. He and Noah are wheeling three cases between them. “Well done, you two! That’s all the luggage.”
“High five,” says Noah solemnly to Lorcan, and smacks his proffered palm.
“The guest house?” Richard looks stricken by this piece of news. “The guest house where they met?”
“Exactly.”
His scowl deepens. “She always goes on about that place. The calamari that was unlike any calamari in the world. And the secluded beach that was better than any other beach. I took her to Kos once, and all she could say was it wasn’t as good as the guest house.”