Wedding Night

moving. “Is there a problem?”
    I’m not sure how to answer. On the one hand, I don’t want to give him false hope. On the other, could I perhaps hint that all is not perfect in paradise?
    “They’re renewing their vows, aren’t they?” says Lorcan over his newspaper.
    “Who’s this?” Richard reacts with instant suspicion. “Who are you?”
    “Right,” I say awkwardly. “Um, Richard, this is Lorcan. Ben’s best man. Best friend. Whatever. He’s flying out there too.”
    Immediately, Richard stiffens into his bull-like posture again.
    “I see,” he says, nodding. “I see.”
    I don’t think he does see, but he’s so tense I don’t dare interrupt. He’s instinctively squared up to Lorcan, his fists clenched.
    “And you are?” says Lorcan politely.
    “I’m the idiot who let her go!” says Richard with sudden passion. “I couldn’t see the vision she wanted for us. I thought she was, I don’t know, starry-eyed. But now I can see the stars too. I can see the vision. And I want it too.”
    All the women nearby are listening to him, rapt. Where did he learn to speak like that? Lottie would
love
that stuff about stars. I’ve been fumbling at my BlackBerry, trying to surreptitiously record him, but I’m too slow.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Nothing!” I quickly lower my phone.
    “Oh God. Maybe this is a bad idea.” Richard suddenly seems to come to and see himself standing in the middle of a departure lounge with underwear in his hands and an audience of passengers. “Maybe I should just bow out.”
    “No!” I say quickly. “Don’t bow out!”
    If only Lottie could see Richard right now. If only she could know his true feelings. She’d see sense, I know she would.
    “Who am I kidding?” He sags in desolation. “It’s too late. They’re
married
.”
    “They’re not!” I retort before I can stop myself.
    “What?”
Richard and Lorcan both stare at me. I can see lots of other interested faces leaning in to listen too.
    “I mean they haven’t, you know, consummated it yet,” I explain as quietly as I can. “So technically that means theycould still get a legal annulment. The marriage would never have existed.”
    “Really?” I can see a glimmer of hope rising on Richard’s face.
    “Why haven’t they consummated it?” says Lorcan incredulously. “And how do you know?”
    “She’s my sister. We tell each other everything. And as for why …” I clear my throat evasively. “It’s simply bad luck. The hotel messed up with the beds. Ben got drunk. That kind of thing.”
    “Too much information,” says Lorcan, and starts putting his papers away in his briefcase.
    Richard says nothing. His brow is furrowed and he appears to be taking this all in. At last he sinks down on the seat next to me and savagely screws his boxer shorts into a ball. I watch him, still feeling disbelief that he’s here at all.
    “Richard,” I say at last. “You know the phrase ‘Too little, too late’? Well, you’re more like ‘Too much, too late.’ Flying halfway across the world. Rushing to the airport. Making romantic speeches all over the place. Why didn’t you do any of this
before
?”
    Richard doesn’t answer the question but stares at me glumly. “You think I’m too late?”
    That’s a question
I
don’t want to answer.
    “It’s just an expression,” I say after a pause. “Come on.” I pat him reassuringly on the shoulder. “We’re boarding.”
    About half an hour into the flight, Richard comes up to the front, where Noah and I are sitting in a row of three in club class. I haul Noah onto my lap and Richard slides in next to me.
    “How tall would you say this Ben is?” he says with no preamble.
    “Don’t know. I’ve never met him.”
    “But you’ve seen pictures. Would you say … five eight? Five nine?”
    “I don’t
know
.”
    “I’d say five nine. Definitely shorter than me,” Richard adds, with a grim satisfaction.
    “Well, that’s not hard,” I point out. Richard is at least six foot two.
    “Never thought Lottie would go for a short-arse.”
    I have no reply to make to this, so I roll my eyes and carry on reading the airline magazine.
    “I looked him up.” Richard mashes an airsick bag between his fingers. “He’s a multimillionaire. Owns a paper company.”
    “Mmm. I know.”
    “I tried to find out if he’s got a private jet. It didn’t say. Expect he has.”
    “Richard, stop torturing yourself.” I finally turn to him.