Wedding Night

going to use Mr. Darcy to prop up her arguments, I give up.
    “Fair enough,” I say at last. “You got me there. Mr. Darcy.”
    I need to back off for now and come up with a different angle.
    “So, who’s this Lorcan?” A new idea has come to me. “Who’s this best man of Ben’s you mentioned?”
    Presumably Ben’s best friend won’t be any wilder than I am about this sudden, out-of-the-blue marriage. Maybe we can join forces.
    “Dunno.” She waves vaguely. “Some old friend. Works with him.”
    “Where?”
    “The company’s called something like … Decree.”
    “And what does Ben do, exactly?”
    “Dunno.” She holds up a pair of knickers that untie at the back. “Something or other.”
    I resist an urge to yell,
You’re getting married to him and you don’t even know what he does?
    I get out my BlackBerry and type in
Ben—Lorcan—Decree?
    “What’s Ben’s surname?”
    “Parr. I’ll be Lottie Parr. Isn’t that lovely?”
    Ben Parr
.
    I tap at my BlackBerry, peer at the screen, and do a fake gasp. “Oh goodness. I forgot all about
that
. Actually, Lottie, I’m not sure I’ve got time for lunch, after all. I’d better go. Have fun shopping.” I give her a hug. “Talk to you later. And … congratulations!”
    My bright smile lasts all the way out of the underwear department. Before I’ve even got to the lifts, I’m on Google, typing
Ben Parr
. Ben Parr, my potential new brother-in-law. Who the hell is he?
    By the time I get back to my office, I’ve Googled
Ben Parr
as extensively as I can manage on my phone, but I haven’t foundany company called Decree, only a bunch of entries about a Ben Parr who does stand-up comedy. Badly, according to the reviews. Is that him?
    Great. A failed stand-up. My favorite kind of brother-in-law.
    At last I find an entry which mentions a Ben Parr in a news item about a paper company called Dupree Sanders. He has some made-up title like Strategic Overview Consultant. I type in
Ben Parr Dupree Sanders
, and a million new entries appear. Dupree Sanders is clearly a thing. A big company. Here’s the home page … and sure enough, a page pops up with his picture and a little bio, which I scan.
Having worked with his father as a young man, Ben Parr was delighted to rejoin Dupree Sanders in 2011, in a strategic role … genuine passion for the business … Since his father’s death, he is even more dedicated to the future of the company
.
    I lean toward the screen and scan the photo intently, trying to get a sense of this man who is zooming like a torpedo toward being related to me. He’s good-looking, I’ll have to agree. Boyish-looking. Slim. Affable. Not sure about his mouth. It looks kind of weak.
    After a bit, the pixels start to dance in front of my eyes, so I sit back and type in
Lorcan Dupree Sanders
.
    A moment later another page pops up, with a photo of a very different-looking man. Dark, thrusting hair, black eyebrows, and a frown. Strong, slightly beaky nose. He looks fairly forbidding. Underneath the picture it says,
Lorcan Adamson. Extension 310. Lorcan Adamson practiced law in London before joining Dupree Sanders in 2008 … responsible for many initiatives … developed the luxury stationery brand Papermaker … worked with the National Trust toexpand the visitor center … committed to sustainable, responsible industry …
    A lawyer. Let’s hope he’s the rational, reasonable type, not the arrogant asshole type. I dial the number, simultaneously clicking on my emails.
    “Lorcan Adamson.” The voice that answers is so deep and gravelly, I drop my mouse in surprise. Surely that’s not a real voice. It sounds made up.
    “Hello?” he says again, and I stifle a giggle. This guy has a film-trailer voice. It’s that deep-down rumbly, subwoofer voice you hear as you’re scarfing down popcorn, waiting for your movie to begin.
    We thought the world was safe. We thought the universe was ours. Till THEY came
.
    “Hello?” The gravelly voice comes again.
    In a desperate fight against time, one girl must break the code—
    “Hi. Er … hi.” I try to assemble my thoughts. “Is this Lorcan Adamson?”
    “It’s he.”
    From Academy Award–winning director—
    No. Stop, Fliss. Concentrate.
    “Right. Right. Yes.” I hastily compose myself. “Well, I think we need to speak. My name is Felicity Graveney. My sister is called Lottie.”
    “Ah.”
There’s a sudden animation to his voice. “Well, excuse my