Wedding Night

“But we’ve got the Oyster Suite!” Lottie interrupts me joyfully. “It’s all booked! We’re having a bespoke honeymoon, with our own private butler and treatments every day and a day on the hotel yacht!”

“What?” I stare at her, my phone dangling limply in my hand. “How?”

“There was a cancelation!” She beams. “Ben uses some special concierge service and they fixed it up. Isn’t it great?”

“Marvelous,” I say after a pause. “Super.”

“Ikonos is so special to us.” She’s bubbling over. “I mean, it’s been totally ruined, I’m sure. When we were there, they didn’t even have an airport, let alone any big hotels. We had to get there by boat. But, still, it’ll be like going back in time. I can’t wait.”

There’s no point pushing this one any further. I sip my champagne, thinking hard.

“Have you got a vintage Rolls-Royce today?” I try a different tack. “You always wanted a vintage Rolls-Royce for your wedding.”

“No.” She shrugs. “I can walk.”

“But what a shame!” I put on a stricken expression. “It was your dream to have a vintage Rolls-Royce. If you just waited a bit, you could have one.”

“Fliss.” Lottie gives me a gently chiding smile. “Aren’t you being rather shallow? The important thing is love. Finding a life partner. Not some random car. Don’t you think?”

“Of course.” I smile back tightly. OK, leave the car. Try another approach.

Dress? No. She’s wearing a lovely dress.

Wedding-gifts list? No. She’s not that materialistic.

“So … will there be any hymns at the wedding?” I ask at last. There’s silence. Quite a long silence. I stare at Lottie in sudden hope. Her face has tightened.

“We’re not allowed hymns,” she says at last, and looks down into her drink. “You can’t have them at a registry-office wedding.”

Yes! Bingo!

“No hymns?” I raise a hand to my mouth in horror, as though I hadn’t known this all along. “But how can you have a wedding without hymns? What about ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’? You were always going to have that at your wedding.”

Lottie was in the choir at our boarding school. She used to sing solos. Music was a big deal to her. I should have started with this tack first.

“Well. It’s not important.” She smiles briefly—but her whole demeanor has changed.

“What does Ben think?”

“Ben’s not really into hymns,” she says after a pause.

Ben’s not really into hymns.

I want to whoop. This is it. Her Achilles’ heel. I have her like putty in my hands.

“I vow to thee, my country,” I start singing very quietly. “All earthly things above.”

“Stop,” she says, almost snapping.

“Sorry.” I raise an apologetic hand. “Just … thinking aloud. For me, a wedding is all about the music. The beautiful, wonderful music.”

This is untrue. I couldn’t care less about music, and if Lottie were sharper, she’d instantly realize I’m winding her up. But she’s looking away, lost in her own world. Are her eyes a little glassy?

“I always imagined you kneeling at the altar in a country church with the organ playing,” I muse, rubbing it in. “Not at a registry office. Funny, that.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t even turn her head.

“Da-da-daah-da-da-da-da-ah-da …” I’m still humming the tune of “I Vow to Thee, My Country.” Obviously I don’t know all the words, but the tune is enough. That’s what’ll get her.

Her eyes are glassy. OK, time to go in for the kill.

“Anyway!” I break off from singing. “The important thing is that this is your special day. And it’s going to be perfect. Nice and quick. No stupid fussing about with music, or choirboys, or bells pealing from a country steeple … Just in and out. Sign a paper, say a couple of words, and you’re done. For life,” I add. “Finito.”

I feel almost cruel. I can see her bottom lip quivering very slightly.

“Do you remember the bridal scene in The Sound of Music?” I add casually. “When Maria walks up the aisle to the nuns’ singing and her big long veil floating everywhere …”

Don’t overdo it, Fliss.

I lapse into silence and sip my champagne, waiting. I can see Lottie’s eyes flickering with thoughts. I can sense her inner battle between romance and lust. I think romance is just getting the edge. I think the violins are playing louder than the jungle drums. She looks as if she’s coming to a decision. Please go the right way, go on.…