Bridesmaids (18 page)

I would try not to look surprised, but it is difficult when you’ve just nearly choked on your ice cube in shock.

‘Did I hear you right?’ I ask Valentina. ‘You’re getting
married
?’

‘Don’t look so surprised, Evie,’ she says. ‘There simply comes a time in a girl’s life when being a bridesmaid isn’t enough. And
I’m there
.’

‘Well, bloody hell, Valentina, that’s wonderful,’ I say.

‘It is,’ adds Charlotte, leaning over to give her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek. ‘It really is wonderful. But who are you getting married to? And when is the big day?’

‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’ll definitely be before the end of next year, although I’m a bit short on some of the detail at this point. It’s early days in the planning process really.’

‘Okay, but like Charlotte says–who to?’ I ask.

‘That’s the detail I’m short on,’ she says.

Charlotte and I both frown.

‘So you haven’t
actually
found anyone yet?’ asks Charlotte.

‘Well, no, I haven’t, but I’m not overly concerned about that part,’ says Valentina. ‘I mean, how hard can getting
married be? Fat, ugly women everywhere seem to be at it these days. I just can’t believe that with a little application it should be anything other than a breeze for me.’

‘You’re the first person I’ve met who manages to make getting married sound like taking a maths exam,’ I say.

‘Besides,’ she continues, ignoring me, ‘self-confidence is everything. That, and setting yourself clear targets. I’m a firm believer that once you decide you want something, you should go out and get it. That’s all I’m doing. You should take a leaf out of my book, Charlotte.’

‘Charlotte,’ I say, ‘please don’t. For all our sakes, please don’t.’

Suddenly, Valentina gasps.

‘What now?’ I ask.

‘Him over there,’ she says, pointing to the table next to the door. ‘Wasn’t he Grace and Patrick’s best man?’

Edmund, who was indeed Grace and Patrick’s best man, catches us looking over and waves at me. I wave back, conscious that Valentina’s man-radar is going into overdrive.

‘Yes,’ I reply, with a sinking feeling.

‘I
knew
it,’ she says, grinning and opening up her handbag.

I flash a look at Charlotte and she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Edmund may be softly spoken, unassuming and nothing more than a solid average in the looks department. But, as someone who is also due to inherit half of Cheshire, he couldn’t be more sought-after if he held the secret to eternal life. Now that I think about it, I am amazed it’s taken Valentina this long to spot him.

‘Do you know, I’ve just realised–he was looking at my legs when I did the reading,’ she tells Charlotte. ‘And that can only mean one thing.’

‘You had a ladder in your tights?’ I ask.

‘
No
,’ says Valentina, flashing me a look. ‘It
means
he’s a man with taste. Now, what else do you know about him?’

Charlotte and I don’t reply.

‘Well, come on,’ she says. ‘Spit it out.
Charlotte
?’

‘He’s a doctor–a surgeon,’ Charlotte blusters, buckling under the pressure.

‘Really?’ purrs Valentina. ‘That’s
such
a coincidence.’

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘I thought about going into the medical profession at one point,’ she says, ‘but then I realised how much of it involved wiping octogenarians’ bottoms. Anything else? Come on now, Charlotte.’

‘Well,’ says our friend reluctantly, ‘I think his father is some sort of…
lord
.’

‘What?!’ says Valentina, breathless. ‘And nobody told me? Nobody
ever
tells me
anything
.’

Her hand is now in her bag, rooting around it frantically and producing such a large and random collection of belongings that its previous owner could have been Mary Poppins.

First is the hand cream, then the eye cream, face cream, spot cream and nail cream. Then comes the make-up, which emerges in the sort of quantities that a contestant in the Glamorous Tranny contest might consider a bit OTT. She opens her mirror and quickly touches up her face, giving poor Charlotte’s cheekbones a prod with her blusher brush, and commenting on how much better her appearance would be if she bothered to accentuate them more.

‘Right,’ she says, pushing the clasp on her bag tightly shut and winking at the two of us. ‘I’ll see you later. Or hopefully not!’

Here’s what I don’t get. Charlotte was determined that she
didn’t
fancy Jim.

Yet at the moment, she’s at the bar, sipping her seventeenth Diet Coke of the day, and chatting away to him as if he’s the last man on the planet.

Valentina, meanwhile, has spent the last hour trying to convince Edmund that she’s a country girl at heart–having spent one weekend in the Lake District as a Girl Guide in 1987–and asking him to give his medical opinion of her hamstring injury. Which obviously involves her lifting her skirt up so she can put his hand on her backside.

Still, part of me admires her. Because here I am, with Jack again, and apparently totally incapable of engineering a situation where he might even think about kissing me.

‘Have the bride and groom left?’ he asks.

‘I think so,’ I say. ‘Ages ago.’

‘Oh,’ he says.

‘It’s been a long day,’ I sigh.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘It has. A very long day.’

Quite frankly, I’m starting to get a little concerned. I think the moment has gone. Which is bad news for any
number of reasons–not least because my blotches have near enough disappeared and if I don’t look worthy of a snog now, I never will.

The final bars of Jack Johnson are played out and it can only mean one thing. It’s the end of the night. Most of the guests have already left. There’s a small but hardcore group settling down in the lobby for what they clearly hope will be a marathon drinking session.

But there is no doubt that the event is on its last legs and, although the staff are still smiling, they also look weary enough for it to be clear that they can’t wait for us all to bugger off and let them get to bed.

‘Looks like we’re about to be evicted,’ says Jack.

‘I guess so,’ I reply. I may be smiling, but I’m feeling a bit anxious. Our almost-kiss on the beach wasn’t our only chance, was it?

‘Well, I don’t suppose the crime rate is very high around here, but can I walk you back to your room?’ he asks.

‘That’d be great,’ I say. ‘You never know, I might risk getting mugged by a passing seal.’

As we head out of the main section of the hotel and along one of the moonlit paths, the night is filled with a bizarre combination of sounds: waves against the rocks and revellers in varying states of inebriation staggering to bed.

‘It’s been lovely seeing you again today,’ he says.

I can’t help noticing that he hasn’t tried to hold my hand again, like he did earlier. I move closer to him so he can if he wants to. But he doesn’t.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You too.’

I briefly consider being bold enough to hold
his
hand, but surprise myself by deciding against it. I’m obviously not
as liberated as I like to think. Mum would be appalled. It is a frustratingly short distance between the main hotel and my suite, and when we reach the door, Jack turns towards me.

‘Good night then,’ he says softly.

‘Good night to you too.’
To you too?
What, have I turned into Bruce Forsyth now?

‘See you in the morning,’ he adds.

‘Yep,’ I say. ‘See you.’

It suddenly becomes painfully clear that he is about to leave without kissing me. I root around in my bag for my key card and when I produce it, unkissed, I have never felt such a sense of utter disappointment. It must show on my face.

‘What’s up?’ he says.

‘Oh, nothing,’ I reply, looking away and now just feeling embarrassed.

But he puts his hand on my chin and turns me back to him. Then he moves his hand to the nape of my neck, where his fingers caress my hairline; our eyes are locked, and my breathing is quickening even more.

He pulls me towards him, and as I close my eyes, our lips meet. His mouth is full and soft, and I discover that his taste is even more luscious than I could possibly have imagined. Our tongues slowly begin to explore each other’s mouths. But soon the initial gentleness is replaced by something else, a hunger that’s as clear in him as it is in me. Our kissing becomes more passionate, and as he pulls me in tighter, his body presses against mine.

With his hand firmly against the small of my back, he moves his mouth to the side of my neck, and the sensation
of his lips against my skin sends shockwaves through my body.

Breathless, tingling, I look up into the star-filled night.

This may just be the sexiest kiss of my entire life.

I wake up with a smile on my face. I’m not quite sure why at first, but I just know that yesterday was a good day, that today is going to be a good day, and as for tomorrow–well, I’m feeling pretty damn optimistic about that too.

Rolling onto my back, I pull the sheet up to my chest the way Joan Collins used to in
Dynasty
. As I open my eyes, the blinds are all shut but I can already see the sun streaming through and casting patterns on the walls. I close my eyes again and picture Jack’s face, which I’ve seen up close now. I’ve seen the pores of his skin, the flecks on those brown eyes, and the tiny scar next to his cheekbone.

I start to picture him undressing me. Taking off my clothes, one by one. Then kissing my neck, my breasts, my belly, my thighs.

None of that happened last night, I hasten to add. Instead, I’m here, alone. And I would like to say I feel quite angelic about that, except ‘angelic’ is the least appropriate description of how I feel when it comes to Jack.

Suddenly, I realise that the phone is ringing. It can’t be so late that they want me out of the room, can it? I scrabble around on my bedside table, and after managing to knock
everything off, including a previously untouched glass of water and the Gideon Bible I decided to read last night after I couldn’t find my paperback, I finally locate the alarm clock and peer at its display.

9.30 a.m. I distinctly remember reading that check-out was at 11 a.m.

I pull a pillow over my head, but the ringing rattles through my ears like a freight train and I finally resign myself to answering the phone.

‘Hhhr?’ I say, clearing my throat. ‘Sorry, hello?’

‘Evie, it’s Mum.’

‘Oh, hi,’ I say, realising that my voice sounds as if I’ve spent the entire night gargling with white spirit.

‘Ooh,’ she says. ‘Are you hungover?’

‘No, I’m not,’ I say, and am almost telling the truth. Okay, so my mouth feels a bit like a bear’s armpit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

‘I just wondered whether you were coming on the walk this morning?’

‘Yes,’ I say, remembering that Jack and I had agreed last night that we’d join everyone else after breakfast for the walk Georgia has organised around the island.

‘Well, we’re all waiting for you,’ she says.

‘What?’ I sit bolt upright. ‘I thought we weren’t going until ten-thirty?’

‘That’s the time it is now,’ she says.

I suddenly remember that I’d attempted to set the alarm last night, but had given up on it and told myself I’d be sure to wake up in time anyway. My technical skills are never at their best in the early hours of the morning and I’d obviously managed to alter the time on it too.

‘Don’t worry about breakfast,’ she continues. ‘I put together a little doggy bag from the buffet, so you can have some of that. I’ve got twelve hard-boiled eggs in my rucksack here.’

Putting the phone down, I leap out of bed with the speed of a Grand National winner before running into the bathroom to splash my face with some water, scrape off the last crusty bits of mascara from last night and brush my teeth so vigorously, you’d think I was scrubbing a doorstep.

By the time I’m dressed and out of the door–in less than three minutes–I do wonder whether I should have taken more care over my appearance. Problem is, there’s nothing I can do about it now.

When I arrive at the main terrace, which was where we’d arranged to rendezvous, everyone has gone. Everyone, that is, apart from Jack and Edmund, who are chatting and drinking coffee. Jack looks over in my direction and my stomach does that strange lurching thing it’s been doing constantly for the last twenty-four hours.

‘Fresh as a daisy, are we?’ he asks, grinning.

‘I’m raring to go, I promise you!’ I say. ‘I just had a little bit of alarm-clock trouble. Hi, Edmund. How are you this morning?’

‘Marvellous,’ he replies, and I can’t help wondering whether some of his enthusiasm is connected to the way in which Valentina was becoming acquainted with his upper thigh last night.

‘So, are we all ready to go?’ I ask.

‘Just waiting for Valentina,’ says Jack.

‘Well, good morning everyone!’

We all turn around.

Valentina is striding along in a pair of pink and white high-heeled mules, a Juicy T-shirt, and a pair of hot pants straight out of
The Dukes of Hazzard
. She is also fully made-up and looks like she’s spent two hours tonging her hair.

‘You’re not coming for a walk like that, are you?’ I ask.

She frowns. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’ll break your neck in those shoes, for a start.’

‘Thank you,
Mum
,’ she tells me. ‘If you must know, I have a change of shoes in my backpack if it becomes necessary.’

In case I wondered for even a millisecond that she might have brought something practical, she turns around to display a bubblegum-coloured rucksack with the words
J’adore Dior
emblazoned across it.

‘I take it you haven’t got a camping stove in that,’ I say.

‘I have everything I could possibly require on an exhilarating morning walk,’ she replies.

I look her in the eyes.

‘You mean your make-up bag, don’t you?’

She purses her lips and doesn’t answer.