by Lily Morton
He grins widely and calls Max’s name with huge delight. Max goes still as he glances up at the man, an almost anguished look crossing his face. Then he takes a step, and the house sends a shadow over his face, hiding it from me.
At next glance, his smile is there once again, and I wonder whether I’d imagined his sorrowful expression.
“Ivo,” Max says.
I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s one of my favourite things about him. The way he always seems on the verge of smiling or laughing.
Dumping the bags, Max crosses the ground in great strides as the other man rushes towards him. They collide in a big hug with a lot of laughter and a torrent of words.
I watch them unnoticed from the car. They’re of a similar height and move with the same spare grace. So, this is the mysterious best friend and one of the grooms. Unease stirs inside me.
The blond man—Ivo—says something to Max, and they turn to look at me. Max gestures towards me. “Come and meet Ivo,” he calls.
I get out of the car, adjusting my sunglasses. When I come within reach, Max grabs my shoulder. “Felix, meet Ivo, my best friend. Ivo, meet the sharpest tongue this side of the channel.”
I wince. Well, that sort of put me in my place, didn’t it? Not Max’s friend or his lover. Just a sharp tongue. I paste a smile on my face and hold out my hand to shake with Ivo. “Nice to meet you.”
He’s tanned, with high cheekbones and arched dark eyebrows over unusual golden-coloured eyes. His smile is utterly charming.
“So nice to meet you, Felix,” he says with a French accent that lends him an even more romantic air, if that’s possible. “Max has told me a lot about you.”
While he’s told me absolutely nothing about you, I think. And why is that? This is his best friend and Max has totally avoided talking about him. There’s something rather ominous in that omission, because he should have done. I hadn’t pushed him when he’d seemed reluctant to answer questions about Ivo and the wedding. And maybe I should have pushed. I hadn’t wanted to make things awkward between us by discussing something that obviously made him uncomfortable. But, in so doing, I now realise that I’ve made the coming weekend quite awkward –for myself. I have no idea what to expect from these people whom Max knows so well.
“Really?” I say, holding my smile. “Hope it’s nothing libellous.”
Max laughs, and I sneak a sidelong look at him. His laughter is just an inch over being too loud, as if his usual ebullience has been dialled up a few notches. “Felix, I could never share everything about you. Nations would tumble.”
“Well, I am very extra,” I say lightly. “Congratulations on your wedding,” I say, turning to Ivo, who is watching Max and me closely. “Thank you for having me here.”
“You’re very welcome.” He gifts me with another smile. The front door opens and another man steps out, and Ivo’s smile widens and becomes impossibly tender.
“Henry,” Ivo calls. “Come and say hello. This is Felix. Max’s date for the wedding.”
The redheaded man steps forward, smiling at me, and I warm to him instantly. He’s very pretty with the most beautiful hazel eyes, but his smile is also kind and wise.
“Hello,” he says, his voice rich and very posh. “So, you’re seeing Max? How long a stay will that grant you in an asylum?”
I laugh. “I should probably just buy the place. It’ll make the frequent visits a lot more comfortable.”
The three men laugh. They’re so bright, they’re like a mirage, and I feel a twinge of insecurity. I know Henry is a family lawyer because Zeb told me. And Ivo and Max are renowned war journalists. And meanwhile, here I am, a lowly assistant who lives on a boat. Then I remember my spine and stiffen it, giving them a smile that’s more assured than I feel.
I feel Max’s eyes on me. I glance at him and the pride in his face warms me. I sidle a little closer, and he throws his arm over my shoulders as we follow Henry and Ivo into the big house.
Once we’re inside, I look around while the three men talk idly about the wedding and people I don’t know. I catch the name Gabe and then Asa Jacobs.
“Asa Jacobs is coming to this wedding?” I gasp.
Henry turns to me, laughter in his eyes. “Want me to sneak you into his bedroom so you can sniff the sheets?”
“Henry.” Ivo sighs.
I laugh. “Just give me the sheets when he’s finished with them. I’ll make them into a set of curtains.”
Max shakes his head. “You do know that Ivo and I were respected war journalists, don’t you? It’s bemusing why you’re so excited about meeting an actor.”
“Not just any actor,” I say solemnly. “Asa Jacobs. With all that hair and that arse. And let's face it, you were just roaming the world indulging in your natural nosiness.”
Ivo breaks into loud laughter. “You know him well.”
“Definitely in the biblical sense,” I muse.
Max drops a kiss on my head. “I’m going to get the bags.”
Henry nods. “We’ll go and find what room you’ve been put in.”
I’m left standing in a pool of sunshine. I think this room would have been known as the great hall back in the day. It’s huge and whitewashed, with a high ceiling and windows through which the light pours in. There’s a battered suit of armour standing to one side, and the walls are lined with rather grim portraits of grumpy-looking men and women. I wander over to examine one particular monster.
“Hello.”
I jump and spin round to find a small dark-haired man standing there. He has a sharp face and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. “I’m not nicking the silver, if you’re worried.”
He grins. “It’s a load of old tut anyway. If you want to nick one of those portraits though, do help yourself.” His accent is Irish.
I laugh nervously. “Oh no, that’s funny.”
“It’s not a joke. Take that one.” He nods at one of the grimmest pictures. It’s of a man dressed in Tudor clothes, and his expression suggests he’s contemplating gruesome murder.
“His eyes follow you around the room. No one believes me,” the stranger says.
“I believe you,” I say fervently.
He grins at me again. “I’m Oz. Silas’s boyfriend.”
“Oh, the earl.”
He nods carelessly. “That’s the one. He’s easy to recognise. He’ll be the one looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and borrowed his clothes from a tramp.”
I smile. “I’m Felix. I’m with Max Travers.”
“Is he here? I’ll have to lock the alcohol away.”
“He’ll still find it,” I say with a laugh. “He’s like an alcoholic bloodhound.”
“Journalists,” he says in a tone of doom. His grin returns. “I’ll take you up to your room.”
“Oh, thank you. Max has gone out to the car to get the bags.”
He shrugs. “He’ll find you. He’s been here before.”
“Will he find me next week? Because this house is bloody huge.”
“We’ll probably have wedding guests turning up a month from now looking haggard and traumatised.” He turns and gestures for me to follow him, and I fall into step. I quickly lose track of where we are. Staircases run here and there, and we twist and turn until finally, we rock up outside a room. Oz opens the door and gestures me in.
It’s a big room with a mullioned window and a four-poster bed made up with white bed linen and a faded rose-patterned eiderdown. A big vase of scarlet-coloured roses emits a gorgeous scent.
“It’s lovely,” I say, going to the window. The view is of a back lawn that stretches down towards trees and the sea beyond. “Although I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to find my way back to it.”
Oz laughs. “I’ve lived here for a year, and I’m still finding bits I’ve never seen before. Last week I found a lovely little music room with a grand piano. It looked like something from a Jane Austen film. Left i
t, and I’ve never been able to find it again. Silas hadn’t a clue about it.” He smiles at me. “There’s a rehearsal tonight, and then after that, there’s a meal. It’s informal, so don’t bother dressing up.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m at a complete loss as to what to do. I wander around the room, opening and shutting drawers and finding a little en suite bathroom in the process. Eventually, I yawn and settle down on the bed.
I didn’t intend to go to sleep, but when I open my eyes and check my watch, I find I’ve been asleep for a couple of hours. A quick glimpse of the room shows me that I’m still Maxless and bagless. I nip into the bathroom and freshen up, slinging cold water on my face. As I’m drying off, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look my usual self—too thin, too much hair, and eyes big in my face. I shake my head and straighten my slightly crumpled T-shirt before wandering out of the room. Hopefully, I’ll find some helpful person ready and willing to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Unfortunately, there’s no one, so I cautiously set off down the corridor. And then down another. And another. This place is like a very genteel rabbit warren. Corridors run off here and there, leading into dead ends and more rooms. Finally, I happen onto a staircase and catch the sound of voices from down below. Following them, I descend into a wide hallway. There’s a doorway from which the voices are coming, and when I go through, I find myself in a vast room filled with people talking loudly. Glasses are clinking, and the atmosphere is loud and happy. I feel suddenly self-conscious in my rumpled clothes. The odd one out.
Nobody has spotted me yet, and I take the opportunity to look around, searching for Max. I see him immediately. His height makes him stand out. He’s with Ivo, and a group of people are clustered around them laughing at something that Max has just said.
I stare at them, my brow furrowed, feeling sudden and disconcerting anger stir and rise in me. He’s here laughing and drinking with Ivo, completely forgetting that I was upstairs on my own waiting for him to turn up with the bag as promised.
Everyone looks put together and wealthy. Neat and happy. I look like I slept in my clothes for a year.
I step back involuntarily and then take another step before I hear my name being called. When I turn around, I exhale in relief. Zeb.
“Hey,” I say, smiling and falling into the hug he gives me. “When did you get here?”
“About an hour ago. We’d have been earlier if it wasn’t for Patrick.”
“Did he break his broom?”
He shakes his head. “Be nice. He’s aggravated enough as it is.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “Max swore he could see a forehead wrinkle.”
I laugh but can’t stop my glance over to where Max is standing. I bite my lip when I see him laughing with Ivo. “Well, that’s Max. He’s a chuckle a second.”
He shoots me a look but ignores the undercurrent adeptly. I suppose he’s used to doing it with Patrick. “Where were you, anyway? I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about coming.”
“Oh, upstairs, waiting for Max and the luggage for an hour or two,” I say lightly. I force a laugh because this is Zeb’s stepbrother I’m discussing. “God knows where our luggage has gone. I hope a random stranger isn’t trying to get into my briefs.” I nudge Zeb, who is now frowning. “Wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose.” Zeb doesn’t laugh. His frown intensifies, and, as if he senses us watching, Max looks up. He grins at Zeb and then sees me.
For a wild second, I expect him to act as if I’m a stranger to him. Probably because that’s how I feel at this precise moment. However, his face lights up, and after saying something to Ivo, he leaves the group and forges his way through the crowd.
“Hey you,” he says affectionately when he reaches me. “I was beginning to think I’d lost you.”
“Hardly lost,” Zeb says coolly. “Felix was waiting upstairs for you.” There’s a pause. “For a couple of hours, but who’s counting?”
Max’s eyes widen. I shake my head at Zeb from behind Max’s back. No, I mouth, pulling a finger across my throat. When Max turns back to me, I abort the gesture and push my hair back.
“You were waiting for me?” His tone is surprised.
I bite my lip as anger stirs again, but this isn’t the place for a row. “Where else?” I say lightly. “Only an hour or so, but it was very peaceful.”
“I expect it was, seeing as Max was socialising,” Zeb says coldly.
Max directs a fulminating glance at him before turning back to me. “I’m so sorry,” he says, gathering me into a hug. “You were asleep when I looked in and were so peaceful that I let you be. I only intended to come down and say hello, but then Ivo started to tell the Danish embassy story, and I had to be there for that.”
“It’s okay.” I’m suddenly embarrassed about causing a fuss. He’s at his best friend’s wedding and wanted to talk to him, for God’s sake. He left me alone in a lovely room in a posh house, not a brothel in a warzone. I’m behaving like a little bitch. I force a smile. “Hope you’ve still got the bag though. I don’t fancy attending a wedding in my jeans and a My Little Pony T-shirt.”
He searches my face, but he must miss my turmoil, because he grins and kisses my forehead. “The bag’s in some coat cupboard that Henry showed me. It is a very fetching T-shirt,” he says. “I am sorry though. Maybe I should have waited upstairs with you or woke you up.”
“You think?” Zeb says.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, heading off the confrontation that I sense brewing. The undercurrents suggest it’s not about me, and I have to wonder what’s going on between the stepbrothers. “Where can I get a drink? I’m parched.”
Max’s face lights up. “I’ll get you one and some food too. You must be starving. Wait with Zeb.”
“Are you coming back this time, or should I lay in stores, so he doesn’t starve to death?” Zeb says in a very chilly tone.
Max glares at him. “I’m not entirely sure what your problem is today, Zebadiah?”
“Are you not?” Zeb asks with a very funny expression on his face. “Are you really sure about that?”
“I’d love some food,” I say brightly. “Now would be good. Lots of food, now please, and a very large fucking drink.”
Still glaring at Zeb, Max squeezes my arm and vanishes into the crowd.
“What is the matter with you?” I mutter to Zeb.
He downs his drink in one gulp. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he says in a very grim voice.
“Well, maybe you should put it to one side. This is a wedding. Personal differences should be forgotten, and we should just try to like everyone.” The crowd parts to reveal Patrick. “Oh dear, I spoke far too soon on that matter,” I say faintly. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a gigantic hypocrite.”
Zeb shakes his head at me. “Get on with him please,” he says out of the corner of his mouth and then smiles faintly at his boyfriend. “Okay?” he asks, although there’s little enthusiasm in his voice.
“I’m fine,” Patricks snaps. “Despite us being put in a very poky room.”
“Really?” I ask. “Where are you?”
“At the back looking over a lavender garden. That’s going to play hell with my allergies.”
“Are these allergies ever fatal?” I ask sweetly and release my breath in a huff as Zeb elbows me.
Patrick’s gaze sharpens. “Well, I suppose you’ve been given a wonderful room,” he says in a poisonous voice. “Seeing as your man has such a close relationship with Ivo.”
“Patrick.” Zeb’s voice is as sharp as I’ve ever heard and Patrick has the grace to look abashed, although I’m buggered if I know why.
“Well, they are best friends,” I say. “I suppose it’s natural.”
Patrick’s laughter stalls and turns into a frown as Max appears with a huge plateful of food. “Max,” he says in a frigid tone
“Patrick,” Max intones, handing me the plate which I nearly drop as it’
s loaded with enough food for twenty people.
“Did you think you were feeding me for the week?” I ask, laughing.
He grins at me. “You’re too thin. You need to eat more.”
“Not your usual type, is he, Max?” Patrick says with relish. “You normally go for the strapping men with foreign accents, don’t you?”
Zeb jerks and I shoot him a “what the fuck is the matter with you” look.
“Oh dear, Max. Have you got a boy in every port?” I say over-cheerfully. “I’m already exhausted coping with your sexual demands. Maybe we could share you. You could be like Louis the Fourteenth. Just put on a wig and wear some heels and develop megalomania.”
Patrick blinks, looking thwarted, and Max gives me a grateful look. “I could never have coped with all those mistresses,” he says mournfully.
I laugh. “Don’t ever do multiples,” I advise him. “You can barely manage with the singular.”
As if by mutual accord, we move to a big table and sit down while I eat my food. It’s superb, with homemade quiche filled with bacon and sharp cheese and a salad that has a tangy dressing on it, but I only pick at it. My appetite has vanished, probably drowned in the undercurrents currently swirling around us.
Max and Patrick continue to snipe at each other, and Zeb looks far more worried than I’ve ever seen him.
I ignore them after a bit and gaze around the room. Ivo and Henry are easy to find, as they seem to glow in the late evening light. Ivo has his arm slung around Henry whose red hair gleams. They’re talking to a group of men. I instantly spot Asa Jacobs. He stands a head above everyone else, his arm wrapped around a slender young man with dark curls. Another couple is talking with them, one of them tall and dark with a slightly wry expression on his face. He says something and the others laugh and a slender man with brown-blond hair reaches out and hugs him, saying something that makes the dark-haired man’s face warm and fill with laughter.
Max’s chair scrapes back, and he stands up. I look at him enquiringly, and he grimaces. “Zeb and I are going to get another drink. Will you be alright?”
“I’m fairly sure I’ll manage the existential crisis that your absence will bring on,” I say mildly.
