Wedding Night

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? Whydid 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