Wedding Night

Wedding Night Page 48

“Staffordshire?” I say in surprise. “But don’t you live in London?”

“We have offices in London, of course.” He shrugs. “I commute between the two, but I prefer being up there. It’s a beautiful setting. The paper mills are set in a country estate. The offices are in the main house, the family home. It’s Grade One listed. Did you see that BBC series Highton Hall?” he adds. “Well, that’s us. They shot there for eight weeks. Little money-spinner for us.”

“Highton Hall?” I stare at him. “Wow. That place is beautiful. And massive!”

Lorcan nods. “Lots of workers live in cottages on the estate. We do guided tours of the house, the mills, the woodland, we have local conservation projects.… It’s kind of special.” His eyes have lit up.

“Right.” I’m digesting all this. “So you started working for the company—but Ben wasn’t interested?”

“Not until his dad became ill and he had to face the fact he was going to inherit this thing,” says Lorcan bluntly. “Before that, he did everything he could to avoid it. He trained as an actor, he tried out stand-up comedy—”

“It was him!” I put my gin and tonic glass down with a tiny crash. “I Googled him and all I could find were stand-up comedy reviews. Terrible ones. Was he that bad?”

Lorcan stirs his glass, his attention fixed on the remaining ice cubes.

“You can tell me.” I lower my voice. “Between us. Was he embarrassing?”

Lorcan isn’t answering. Well, of course he isn’t. He doesn’t want to dis his best friend. I respect that.

“All right,” I say after a moment’s thought. “Just answer me one thing. When I meet him, is he going to tell me jokes and I have to pretend they’re funny?”

“Watch out if he starts a riff on jeans.” At last Lorcan looks up, his mouth twitching. “And laugh. He’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“Jeans.” I make a mental note. “OK. Thanks for the warning. Is there anything positive to say about this guy?”

“Oh.” Lorcan seems shocked. “Of course! When Ben’s on form, believe me, there’s no one you’d rather spend the evening with. He’s charming. He’s funny. I can understand why your sister would have fallen for him. When you meet him, you’ll understand too.”

I take another gulp of my drink. I’m slowly starting to relax. “Well, maybe he’ll become my brother-in-law. But at least it won’t happen today. Job done.”

“I’ll talk to Ben later.” Lorcan nods. “Make sure he doesn’t get any stupid ideas.”

At once I feel a tweak of irritation. I just said “Job done,” didn’t I?

“You don’t have to talk to Ben,” I say politely. “I’ve already sorted it. There’s no way Lottie will get married in a hurry now. I’d leave it.”

“It can’t hurt.” He looks unmoved. “Just to hammer the point home.”

“Yes, it can!” I plonk my drink down. “Don’t do any hammering! I’ve spent half an hour making Lottie think that pulling out of the wedding was her idea. I was subtle. I was careful. I didn’t go rushing in like a … a hammerer.”

His face doesn’t shift a millimeter. He’s clearly a control freak. But so am I. And this is my sister.

“Don’t talk to Ben,” I command him. “Leave it. Less is more.”

There’s a pause—then Lorcan shrugs and drains his drink, without answering. I’m guessing he knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. I finish my gin and tonic too, then wait a beat, almost holding my breath. I’m hoping he suggests another drink, I realize. I only have an empty house to go to. No work. No plans. And the truth is, I like sitting here, sparring with this slightly too intense, slightly bad-tempered man.

“Another?” He looks up and meets my eye, and I feel things shift between us a little. The first drink was like a coda to the whole affair. It was resolution. It was just being polite.

This is more than polite.

“Yes, let’s.”

“Same again?”

I nod and watch as he summons the waiter and orders. Nice hands. Good strong jaw. Unhurried, laconic mannerisms. He’s a lot more appealing than his webpage gives away.

“Your website photo is terrible,” I say abruptly, as the waiter disappears. “Really bad. Did you know that?”

“Wow.” Lorcan raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. “You’re direct. Lucky I’m not vain.”