Wedding Girl (16 page)

Rupert winced.

Ì don't understand,' he said. `Why aren't you divorced?'

Àsk Allan! He was supposed to be organizing it.'

Ànd he didn't?'

`He started to,' said Milly. Ì got some papers through the post. And I signed the slip and sent them back. But I never heard anything more.'

Ànd you never looked into it?'

`No one knew,' said Milly. `No one ever asked any questions. It didn't seem to matter.'

`The fact that you were married didn't seem to matter?' said Rupert incredulously. Milly looked up and caught his expression.

`Don't start blaming me for this!' she said. `This isn't my fault!'

`You leave it until a couple of days before your wedding to chase up your divorce and you say it's not your fault?'

Ì didn't think I needed to chase it up,' said Milly furiously. Ì was fine. No one knew! No one suspected anything!'

`So what happened?' said Rupert. Milly picked up her wine glass and cradled it in both hands.

`Now someone knows,' she said. `Someone saw us in Oxford. And he's threatening to say something.'

Ì see.'

`Don't you dare look at me like that,' said Milly sharply. 'OK, I know I should have done something about it. But so should Allan. He said he would sort it all out and I trusted him! I trusted you both. I thought you were my friends.'

`We were,' said Rupert after a pause.

`Bullshit!' cried Milly. Her cheeks began to pinken. `You were just a couple of users. You just used me for what you wanted and then as soon as I was gone, you forgot about me. You never wrote, you never called . . .' She crashed her glass down on the table. `Did you get all those letters I wrote to you?'

`Yes,' said Rupert, running a hand through his hair. Ì'm sorry. I should have replied. But . . . it was a difficult time.'

Àt least Allan wrote. But you couldn't even be bothered to do that. And I still believed in you.' She shook her head. `God, I was a little fool.'

`We were all fools,' said Rupert. `Look, Milly, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I honestly wish none of it had ever happened. None of it!'

Milly stared at him. His eyes were darting miserably about; fronds of golden hair were quivering above his brow.

`Rupert, what's going on?' she demanded. `How come you're married?'

Ì'm married,' said Rupert, giving a stiff little shrug. `That's all there is to it.'

`But you were gay. You were in love with Allan.'

`No I wasn't. I was misguided. I was ... it was a mistake.'

`But you two were perfect for one another!'

`We weren't!' snapped Rupert. Ìt was all wrong. Can't you accept my word on it?'

`Well, of course I can,' said Milly. `But you just seemed so right together.' She hesitated. `When did you realize?'

`Realize what?'

`That you were straight?'

`Milly, I don't want to talk about it,' said Rupert. Àll right?' He reached for his glass with a trembling hand and took a gulp of wine.

Milly gave a little shrug and leaned back in her chair. Idly she allowed her eyes to roam around the alcove. To her left, on the rough plaster wall, was a game of noughts and crosses which someone had begun in pencil and then abandoned. A game already destined, she could see, to end in stalemate.

`You've changed a lot since Oxford, you know,' said Rupert abruptly. `You've grown up. I wouldn't have recognized you.'

Ì'm ten years older,' said Milly.

Ìt's not just that. It's . . . I don't know.' He gestured vaguely. `Your hair. Your clothes. I wouldn't have expected you to turn out like this.'

`Like what?' said Milly defensively. `What's wrong with me?'

`Nothing!' said Rupert. `You just look more . . . groomed than I would have thought you'd be. More polished.'

`Well, this is what I am now, all right?' said Milly. She gave him a hard look. `We're all allowed to change, Rupert.'

Ì know,' said Rupert, flushing. Ànd you look . . . great.' He leaned forward. `Tell me about the guy you're marrying.'

`He's called Simon Pinnacle,' said Milly, and watched as Rupert's expression changed.

`No relation to '

`His son,' said Milly. Rupert stared at her.

`Seriously? Harry Pinnacle's son?'

`Seriously.' She gave a half-smile. Ì told you. This is the wedding of the century.'

Ànd nobody has any idea.'

`Nobody.'

Rupert stared at Milly for a moment, then sighed. He pulled out a little black leather-bound notebook and a pen.

'OK. Tell me exactly how far your divorce got.'

Ì don't know,' said Milly. Ì told you. I got some papers through the post and I signed something and sent it back.'

Ànd what precisely were these papers?'

`How should I know?' said Milly exasperatedly. `Would you be able to tell one legal document from another?'

Ì'm a lawyer,' said Rupert. `But I get your point.' He put away his notebook and looked up. `You need to speak to Allan.'

Ì know that!' said Milly. `But I don't know where he is. Do you?'

A look of pain flashed briefly across Rupert's face.

`No,' he said shortly. Ì don't.'

`But you can find out?'

Rupert was silent. Milly stared at him in disbelief.

`Rupert, you have to help me! You're my only link with him. Where did he go after Oxford?'

`Manchester,' said Rupert.

`Why did he leave Oxford? Didn't they want him any more?'

Òf course they wanted him,' said Rupert. He took a gulp of wine. Òf course they wanted him.'

`Then why-'

`Because we split up,' said Rupert, his voice suddenly ragged. `He left because we split up.'

Òh,' said Milly, taken aback. Ì'm sorry.' She ran a finger lightly around the rim of her glass. `Was that when you realized that you didn't ... that you were . . .' She halted.

`Yes,' said Rupert, staring into his glass.

Ànd when was that?'

Àt the end of that summer,' said Rupert in a low voice. 'September.' Milly stared at him in disbelief.

Her heart began to thump.

`The summer I met you?' she said. `The summer we got married?'

`Yes.'

`Two months after I married Allan, you split up?'

`Yes.' Rupert looked up. `But I'd rather not-'

`You're telling me you were only together for two months?' cried Milly in anguish. Ì wrecked my life to keep you together for two months?' Her voice rose to a screech. `Two months?'

`Yes!'

`Then fuck you!' With a sudden surge of fury, Milly threw her wine at Rupert. It hit him straight in the face, staining his skin like blood. `Fuck you,' she said again, trembling, watching the dark red liquid drip down his gasping face onto his smart lawyer's shirt. Ì broke the law for you! Now I'm stuck with a first husband I don't want! And all so you could change your mind after two months.'

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Rupert sat motionless, staring at Milly through a wet mask of red.

`You're right,' he said finally. He sounded broken. Ì've fucked it all up. I've fucked up your life, I've fucked up my life. And Allan . ..'

Milly cleared her throat uncomfortably.

`Did he ...'

`He loved me,' said Rupert, as though to himself. `That's what I didn't get. He loved me.'

`Look, Rupert, I'm sorry,' said Milly awkwardly. Àbout the wine. And everything.'

`Don't apologize,' said Rupert fiercely. `Don't apologize.' He looked up. `Milly, I'll find Allan for you.

And I'll clear up your divorce. But I can't do it in time for Saturday. It isn't physically possible.'

Ì know.'

`What will you do?'

There was a long silence.

Ì don't know,' said Milly eventually. She closed her eyes and massaged her brow. Ì can't cancel the wedding now,' she said slowly. Ì just can't do that to my mother. To everyone.'

`So you'll just go ahead?' said Rupert incredulously. Milly gave a tiny shrug. But what about whoever it is who's threatening to say something?'

'I'll . . . I'll keep him quiet,' said Milly. `Somehow.'

`You do realize,' said Rupert, lowering his voice, `that what you're proposing is bigamy. You would be breaking the law.'

`Thanks for the warning,' said Milly sarcastically. `But I've been there before, remember?' She looked at him silently for a moment. `What do you think? Would I get away with it?'

Ì expect so,' said Rupert. Àre you serious?'

Ì don't know,' said Milly. Ì really don't know.'

A while later, when the wine was finished, Rupert went and collected two cups of noxious black coffee from the bar. As he returned, Milly looked up at him. His face was clean but his shirt and jacket were still spattered with red wine.

`You won't be able to go back to work this afternoon,' she said.

Ì know,' said Rupert. Ìt doesn't matter. Nothing's happening.' He handed Milly a cup of coffee and sat down. There was silence for a while.

`Rupert?' said Milly.

`Yes?'

`Does your wife know? About you and Allan?'

Rupert looked at her with bloodshot eyes. `What do you think?'

`But why?' said Milly. Àre you afraid she wouldn't understand?' Rupert gave a short little laugh.

`That's underestimating it.'

`But why not? If she loves you ...'

`Would you understand?' Rupert glared at her. Ìf your Simon turned round and told you he'd once had an affair with another man?'

`Yes,' said Milly uncertainly. Ì think I would. As long as we talked about it properly ...'

`You wouldn't,' said Rupert scathingly. Ì can tell you that now. You wouldn't even begin to understand.

And neither would Francesca.'

`You're not giving her a chance! Come on, Rupert, she's your wife! Be honest with her.'

`Be honest? You're telling me to be honest?'

`That's my whole point!' said Milly, leaning forward earnestly. Ì should have been honest with Simon from the start. I should have told him everything. We could have cleared up the divorce together; everything would be fine. But as it is . . .' She spread her hands helplessly on the table. Às it is, I'm in a mess.' She paused and took a sip of coffee. `What I'm saying is, if I had the chance to go back and tell Simon the truth, I would grab it. And you've got that chance, Rupert! You've got the chance to be honest with Francesca before . . . before it all starts going wrong.'

Ìt's different,' said Rupert stiffly.

`No it isn't. It's just another secret. All secrets come out in the end. If you don't tell her, she'll find out some other way.'

`She won't.'

`She might!' Milly's voice rose in conviction. `She might easily! And do you want to risk that? Just tell her, Rupert! Tell her.'

`Tell me what?'

A girl's voice hit Milly's ears like a whiplash, and her head jerked round in shock. Standing at the entrance to the alcove was a pretty girl, with pale red hair and conventionally smart clothes. Next to her was Rupert's friend Tom.

`Tell me what?' the girl repeated in high, sharp tones, glancing from Rupert to Milly and back again.

`Rupert, what's happened to you?'

`Francesca,' said Rupert shakily. `Don't worry, it's just wine.'

`Hi, Rupe!' said Tom easily. `We thought we'd find you here.'

`So this is Milly,' said the girl. She looked at Rupert with gimlet eyes. `Tom told me you'd met up with your old friend. Milly from Oxford.' She gave a strange little laugh. `The funny thing is, Rupert, you told me you didn't want to talk to Milly from Oxford. You told me to ignore all her messages. You told me she was a nut.'

À nut?' cried Milly indignantly.

Ì didn't want to talk to her!' said Rupert. Ì don't.' He looked at Milly, blue eyes full of dismay.

`Look,' she said hurriedly. `Maybe I'd better go.' She stood up and picked up her bag. `Nice to meet you,' she said to Francesca. `Honestly, I am just an old friend.'

Ìs that right?' said Francesca. Her pale eyes bored into Rupert's. `So what is it that you've got to tell me?'

`Bye, Rupert,' said Milly hastily. `Bye, Francesca.'

`What have you got to tell me, Rupert? What is it? And you-' She turned to Milly. `You stay here!'

Ì've got a train to catch,' said Milly. `Honestly, I've got to go. So sorry!'

Avoiding Rupert's eyes, she quickly made her way across the bar and bounded up the wooden steps to the street. As she stepped into the fresh air she realized that she'd left her cigarette lighter on the table.

It seemed a small price to pay for her escape.

Isobel was sitting in the kitchen at 1 Bertram Street, stitching blue ribbon onto a lace garter. Olivia sat opposite her, folding bright pink silk into an elaborate bow. Every so often she looked up at Isobel with a dissatisfied expression, then looked down again. Eventually she put down the bow and stood up to fill the kettle.

`How's Paul?' she said brightly.

`Who?' said Isobel.

`Paul! Paul the doctor. Do you still see much of him?'

Òh, him,' said Isobel. She screwed up her face. `No, I haven't seen him for months. I only went out with him a few times.'

`What a shame,' said Olivia. `He was so charming. And very good-looking, I thought.'

`He was OK,' said Isobel. Ìt just didn't work out.'

Òh, darling. I'm so sorry.'

Ì'm not,' said Isobel. Ìt was me who finished it.'

`But why?' Olivia's voice rose in irritation. `What was wrong with him?'

Ìf you must know,' said Isobel, `he turned out to be a bit weird.'

`Weird?' said Olivia suspiciously. `What kind of weird?'

`Just weird,' said Isobel.

`Wacky?'

`No!' said Isobel. `Not wacky. Weird! Honestly, Mummy, you don't want to know.'

`Well, I thought he was very nice,' said Olivia, pouring boiling water into the teapot. À very nice young man.'

Isobel said nothing, but her needle jerked savagely in and out of the fabric.

Ì saw Brenda White the other day,' said Olivia, as though changing the subject. `Her daughter's getting married in June.'

`Really?' Isobel looked up. Ìs she still working for Shell?'

Ì've no idea,' said Olivia testily. Then she smiled at Isobel. `What I was going to say was, she met her husband at an evening function organized for young professionals. In some smart London restaurant.