“He looks like the cat that got the cream,” Mimi murmured through a rictus grin to Liam, her “plus one” who stood at her side being immortalised on camera with the rest of the guests.
“Well, he has, hasn’t he?” Liam answered, similarly constrained by the need to look deliriously happy. “He’s got what he wants. For whatever reason.”
Mimi humphed through bared, pearly teeth, then looked sideways at her companion. No two ways about it, Liam McGlynn scrubbed up well. His usually shaggy hair was swept neatly back off his face and he wore a dove-grey cravat, disappearing into a waistcoat that appeared to double as a tapestry. Quirky, but Liam’s modelesque looks meant he could make a luminous shellsuit look good. The rest of his suit was a sober dark blue, hanging gracefully from his long slim body until it met the shiny black shoes beneath the trouser hem. Perhaps tonight would be the night, thought Mimi. She’d been teasing him long enough—it was time to cut the poor boy some slack. She pushed out her shoulders, thrusting her magnificent cleavage in its caramel sheath well out, and gave him a slow, lascivious wink.
“I’ll get us some champagne,” he blurted, a little unnerved, then disappeared inside the country house hotel that was hosting the reception.
Really, it was hard to know where you stood with Mimi Leblanc, Liam complained to himself, grabbing two bubble-beaded glasses from a tray and looking around at the guests milling in his wake. One minute she was giving him earache, the next he was getting the come-hither. She was fit, of that there was no doubt, but he was still not sure he really wanted to come too hither where Mimi was concerned. She was One of Those Girls who would not put up with a quick shag and a charming disclaimer. She expected more of a man—and Liam was not sure he really had any more in him than the bare masculine minimum, when it came to matters of the heart.
Now Anna would have been a different proposition. He stopped in his tracks halfway across the lobby, mesmerised by her beauty. That dress brought out the chestnut sheen of her hair, the wide glossy brown eyes, the perfect peachy skin. He had been in with a chance once. Why had he blown it? Why was he now embroiled in some scheme to save her from the smooth operator she had married, along with the modern-day Boadicea who waited outside for him? Life should never be complicated. Keep it simple, keep it fun, live life the Liam way.
“Hello, Liam,” Anna said. She looked so much more, what was the word, poised these days. John had cast his eye upon her and she had grown up, just like that.
“Congrats,” he replied, grinning goofily and half raising one of the champagne glasses. “He’s a lucky bloke.”
“Thank you. And I’m a lucky girl too. I’m so happy. Thank you for sharing today with us.”
And with that, she moved off regally. She was like a reprogrammed, airbrushed, super-sophisticated version of the gawky, girlish Anna he had known. Was she the same girl? It was like that old film—the one with all the hot women in the floaty dresses and big hats. Damned if he could remember the title though.
“What’s that film?” he asked Mimi, handing her a glass.
“What film? What are you on about?”
“Where all the women in the town are like these robot people who give garden parties and shit?”
“Stepford Wives.”
“Ah, yeah, that’s the one. Thanks. Cheers.”
He tipped a few golden bubbles down his throat then belched discreetly.
“Ugh, I can’t take you anywhere, can I, you brute? Why are you thinking of the Stepford Wives?”
“Oh, no reason,” Liam muttered as the suave figure of John Stone appeared at his side.
“I’m so glad you could join us today,” he said with a bland political smile. “Miranda. And…?”
“Liam. Liam McGlynn.” Liam shoved a hand towards Stone’s chest, which was taken and pumped almost unnecessarily hard. “I used to work with Anna.”
“She is very lucky to have such good friends. Do help yourself to canapés. The mini blinis are particularly delicious.”
He glided off, leaving Liam shivering with a strange revulsion.
“Great…service,” he shouted after the groom, feeling he ought to pass some compliment or other. “He really is…There’s something freaky about that guy. He’s too smooth. I can see why you’re suspicious now.”
“Thanks, Sherlock, your endorsement means a lot to me. Hold on. I’m just going to lurk around him for a bit.”
“Okay, Meester Bond. Don’t forget your pen that turns into a deadly weapon.”
“Just going to see if I can eavesdrop, smartarse. Go and get drunk or something. I think I might have to, if I’m going to make it through the day.”
And the night, she thought, realising that she was going to have to seduce Liam if only to take her mind off the newlywed Stones in the bridal suite.
Over by the huge marble fireplace, Stone was greeting a smart blonde in a lilac wrap dress. Mimi snagged Anna’s ancient aunt and pretended to discuss the weather, but instead listened in on the conversation behind her.
“John! You could have called. Or e-mailed. Or Facebooked. Anything! All we get is this wedding invitation out of the blue, barely six months after you buried Saskia. I mean, congratulations and all that, but what the bloody hell is going on with you?”
“I’m sorry, I really am. It all took me as much by surprise as it has you. But look at Anna—you must see that I had no choice.”
A pause, stilted and excruciating, while Mimi nodded along to reminiscences of Unseasonal Warmth through the Years.
“Yes, she seems lovely. Very attractive. It would have been nice to meet her before she became my sister-in-law though. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You know how it is with work and everything, Caro.”
“I wish I did. You never call or write anymore. Anyway, I mustn’t berate you on your wedding day. I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped and Mimi had to strain her well-trained ears. “But are you sure you’re over Saskia? Grief is a difficult thing, John. I don’t begrudge you a bit of happiness in your life, God knows, but she’s such a young thing and she seems so innocent. Is she really your…type?”
“Yes, she is my type.” Stone’s voice was tight, fighting real anger. “She is a loving, caring, warm woman. I’m over trophies, Caro, and I’m over partying hard. I want a life now, a family. I want to come home to my wife after work, not have to chase a trail of coke halfway across the city to find her. Is that hard to understand?”
“No. No, it isn’t. Fine. You’re in love and you’re going to live happily ever after.”
“Exactly so. Now go and get yourself a glass of champagne.”
“John!”
Mimi’s ears tingled at the bafflement in Caro’s voice.
“You know I don’t drink.”
“Sorry, silly mistake, it’s been a hectic few weeks. Okay, um, there’s elderflower pressé doing the rounds somewhere. I have to talk to James. I’ll see you later.” He pecked her briefly on the cheek and fled.
Mimi put on her schmooze face and sidled up to Stone’s nonplussed relative.
“Hello,” she said, proffering a hand. “I’m Mimi, the bride’s best friend. So pleased to meet you.”
“Caroline. Caroline Stone-Hawkins.”
“I’m assuming, since I don’t know you, that you’re from the groom’s side of the guest list?”
“That’s right. I’m John’s sister. So you’re a friend of this Anna’s?” Caro gave Mimi a haughty down-the-nose look.
“Yes, this Anna is my closest friend, as I’ve already mentioned. I suppose you’re as shocked as I am by the whirlwindiness of it all?”
“Whirlwindiness.” Caro unfroze a fraction, cracking a smirk. “That’s a good way of putting it. Yes, I must admit, we’ve been caught a little off guard. How did it all happen, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m not even sure Anna knows herself. She bumped into your brother in a bar, there were repercussions…um… That seems to be it. Do you think it’s a grief reaction?
A rebound?”
“That is my concern. John has been awfully—different—since Saskia’s death. Darker, more intense, rather closed. I suppose that’s normal under the circumstances, but I was hoping he would have emerged from that before taking another wife. We barely see him these days. He didn’t even come home for Christmas. Went off somewhere on his own to do the brooding in the wilderness thing. Well. I can only hope she cures him of all that. Perhaps it’s a positive thing.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Caro shrugged. “What about your friend? Do you think she and John are a match?”
“I’m afraid I don’t, really. I don’t know John well, of course, but Anna is young and naive and prone to romanticise everything. I think she might be acting in haste.”
“Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” mused Caro. “Gosh, what a pair of doom-mongers we are. Just for today, I’m determined to wish them well. I’d propose a toast, but I haven’t drunk alcohol in ten years.”
“Of course I hope they will be happy,” Mimi assured her. “And perhaps they will.”
“Perhaps. Oh, look, I think we’re being called in for the wedding breakfast. Lovely to meet you, er…”
“Mimi,” she reiterated. “Mimi Leblanc. Likewise.”
She watched Caroline move off and made to follow her, but from behind a statue, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Before she could utter a word of protest, she found herself face-to-face with the grim-faced groom himself.
“You like to ask questions, don’t you, Mimi? You’re a bright spark, aren’t you?”
“It’s a free country,” she muttered, looking around to find an escape route that obstinately failed to present itself.
“Yes, it is. And you’re lucky to live in one. Make the most of your freedom.”
“What on earth are you spouting about?”
Her scornful expression faded as it became clear that he was actually devouring her with his eyes, from coiffed head to Blahnik-shod toe.
“Freedom. It’s valuable. You’re a bright girl, a thinker. I like that.”
“What kind of creep are you? It’s your wedding day. Go and pay compliments to your bride.”
He held her gaze for a while, seeming miles away, then nodded sharply and made a move away. “Come on. They’re serving the food.”
She stood her ground for a minute, waiting for a shiver to make its way down her spine, then followed him into the dining room.
Over the starter of bouillabaisse soup, Mimi muttered to Liam, “I spoke to Stone’s sister. She’s worried about him.”
“Worried about him? Why?”
“Thinks he’s been driven mad with grief after his first wife’s death.”
“So she’s married a maniac? It just gets worse. What the fuck is this?”
The chatter at the table hissed to silence, every eye on Liam after his pained exclamation.
“Liam!”
“Sorry, everyone. Just… What is it though?”
“Conger eel.”
Liam began to retch noisily and Mimi, with a long-suffering apology to her fellow guests, was forced to escort him from the dining room. For the eight thousandth time she reflected that God had put so much fine work into Liam’s appearance that he had forgotten to fill his head.
“I can’t eat eel!” he lamented, back in the comfortable sitting room off the lobby. “It’s like eating a giant worm. Disgusting!”
“Poor baby. I can’t imagine why they didn’t go with kebab soup followed by burgers en croûte. What were they thinking of?”
Liam threw some water down his throat. “I know you think I’m some kind of shambolic oik, Mimi. But I can be sophisticated, actually. Just not where conger fucking eels are concerned.”
“Hmmm.”
“Or anything slimy or fishy. Anything else.”
“Sushi is out then.”
“God, yes. I hate sushi. But I like art galleries. I go to galleries sometimes. And…art house cinemas.”
“Good for you.” Mimi ruffled his hair.
“Don’t touch the hair. This took half a tube of my best gel.”
“It was worth it. Because you’re worth it.”
“Yes, I am, I’ll have you know. I’m well worth it.”
His hand made its way to Mimi’s knee, bare beneath the tight hem of her shiny shot-silk dress.
“Don’t touch the fake tan.”
“Oh, touché.” But Liam’s hand did not move from Mimi’s knee, and they were exchanging looks that mixed exasperation and lust, heads moving ever closer, lips breathing warm air over the other’s face, when Anna put her head around the door and trilled, “Oh, here you are!”
“Anna!” they chorused, counterfeiting enthusiasm and breaking sharply apart. “You’re missing your own wedding breakfast,” added Mimi.
“They’re serving up the main course—come back in.”
“Not fish, is it?”
“No.” Anna laughed. “Sorry, I forgot your fishyphobia. It’s chicken. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Liam exhaled. “Yes. Yes, chicken is good. Come on then. Let’s face the poultry.”
The speeches were short. The best man, John’s brother, James, had never met Anna and seemed disinclined to spout endless anecdotes of childhood and youth, presumably having done that oration not so long ago. There was no father of the bride, and John had nothing to say beyond exhorting everyone to drink in Anna’s beauty and charm and drink to her happiness.
“Sass’s parents are spitting chips,” murmured the guest opposite Mimi, a well-dressed woman whom she guessed to be a long-standing social contact. “Have you seen them lately, Henry?”
“No, must admit, I’ve been kept busy. They take a dim view then?”
“Very. Think John’s desecrating Sass’s grave, not to put too fine a point on it. And who is this girl? She doesn’t seem to have any people.”
“We’re her people,” Mimi said with a steely-sweet smile. “Anna’s parents were killed in a car accident when she was a child.”
“Oh, I see. How awful,” the woman replied dispassionately, but the look she exchanged with Henry spoke volumes. Gold digger. Penniless nobody looking for a father figure.
Mimi reached for the wine bottle to displace the anger heating her face and heart, to hear the sound of tapping glass, signifying some further development. Cutting of the cake or something, she supposed.
But John stood and invited all the guests to have a wonderful time drinking at the free bar and dancing to the band. He and Anna intended to retire early.
Ribald laughter greeted this statement at first, but as the bride and groom made their way out of the dining room, the amusement turned to bemusement. This was extremely irregular, wasn’t it? A bride and groom leaving their own party before it had really begun? And they didn’t even have to rush off for a plane or a ferry—they had a suite in this very hotel.
“What’s that all about?” Liam addressed the question to Anna and John’s receding back view, scarlet and grey, heading for the sweeping staircase that led to their room.
“I don’t know.” Mimi succeeded in pouring that extra glass of wine this time. “But I know I don’t like it. Really don’t like it. At all.”
Anna’s point of view was as far removed from Mimi’s as it was possible to be that afternoon. She did like it. A lot. In fact, she loved it.
She especially loved it when John gathered her up into his arms and carried her over the threshold of the hotel suite, whirling her round and round on the deep pile carpet while through her spinning head she took in the rose petals on the bed and the luxurious pink-and-whiteness of it all.
“Mrs. Stone!” he declaimed, throwing her on the bed so that she lay amidst the crimson velvet petals in her scarlet silk dress, bringing a lush deep darkness to the blindingly light room.
She laughed, gathering petals between her fingers and letting them fall, thinking of the confetti that had been strewn on the steps of the Register Office earlier.
“I can’t believe it. I’m a married woman! John, do you think we should have stayed? It’s a bit naughty to sneak off like this.”
“Who’s sneaking? I announced our departure.” John loosened his tie and sat down on the bed beside her, lifting her fingertips to his lips. “And besides, you said the soup made you feel queasy. You didn’t want any wine. We won’t be missing anything.”
“The dancing—”
“Oh, the dancing. We can do that here. That way you don’t have to dance with any of my boring work colleagues or cousins. Shall we?”
Anna giggled. “What about the music?”
“I can do music.” He pulled Anna to her feet and began to lead her in an up-tempo quickstep, swinging her around as if she weighed nothing.
“There may be trouble ahead,” he crooned, not untunefully, “but while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance.”
“Trouble ahead!” Anna caught her breath long enough to squawk the protest. “That’s nice, for your wedding day.”
“It’s just a song, Anna,” he soothed, hushing her up by placing a hand on the back of her neck and dancing her into the first real kiss of their married lives. Anna felt her heart, trapped against his chest, beating like a captured bird’s, and she dissolved into him, feeling herself a part of him now, conjoined forever.
Caught up in the sudden tempest of his desire for her, she let him unhook her dress and walk her, still fused at the lips, backwards towards the bed in her luxuriously scanty new underwear from Agent Provocateur. She scrabbled at his collar, ran manicured nails through his short hair to his scalp until she was tipped back and pinned down, her arms arched above her head, her teeth still clashing with John’s, his tongue probing her mouth with possessive force. His pelvis landed on hers, and the rude lump beneath his trousers made her open her silk-stockinged legs to accommodate it. She bent her knees and let her feet rest on his taut backside, heels digging into firm flesh.
Under His Influence Page 8
