‘Totally plausible. We’re in a new relationship, so we’ll leave early to fuck like rabbits.’
‘Do you have to be so crass?’
‘Shut up. You know you love it. And you love me for it. One day, we’ll look back and laugh as we tell our grandkids how it all started when you blackmailed me into being your date for a wedding.’
‘Can you please stop throwing that word around?’
‘Grandparents? Don’t stress. I’m sure you’ll be just as gorgeous when you’re old, and I’ll love you just as much. I probably won’t be able to stop myself from touching your wrinkly p—’
‘Stop! You know that’s not what I mean.’
‘Oh, you mean can I stop accusing you of blackmail? Hmm. Do you have a prettier word for what you’re doing?’
‘Please,’ she scoffed, ‘your affections are like the library. Free for anyone to borrow for a short time. And yes, by affections, I mean penis. But that’s okay. I’m not putting in a request.’
‘No, yours is more like a demand.’
‘Look, this will be good for us both. Just turn up, be your usual charming self, and everyone will fall over themselves. Then in a few weeks, we can break up and never speak of this again.’
‘Except when we tell our grandkids, right?’
‘Urgh! You’re impossible.’
‘Oh, and what I said about benefits? I don’t put out on the first night.’
‘Archer—’
‘Ha, I bet that worried you.’ I chuckled darkly. ‘Only joking, because there will be fucking.’
‘We willnotbe sleeping together.’
‘You keep telling yourself that, babe. You know you’re hot for this.’
Her huff of frustration had echoed down the line right before the call cut out, and I found myself smiling.
Archer: 1
Heather: a big fat zero
Who knew being blackmailed would be so much fun?
* * *
Of course, it couldn’t have been a London wedding. No. Because that would be too easy. We have to hike out to Surrey to a Frambrough Castle hotel, the kind of castle with a motte and a bailey, and where the modern additions to the building date back to the seventeenth century. The day is bright and sunny, bringing with it the promise of spring, and as the drive up takes me less time than I expected, I arrive early.
I’m pleased Heather didn’t suggest we travel together.
It’s given me time to get my game face on.
God, she’s in for a treat.
I park up and make my way to the hotel reception, under the portcullis and past the Gate House, and into a sun-drenched courtyard with a very grand set of ancient-looking wooden doors just beyond. The courtyard houses a pretty garden in the centre where a young florist is busy trailing greenery around an arbour that’s still wearing its winter coat. I pass a wooden pillory and a couple of Grecian urns filled with early spring flowers and wonder how many of these will be used tonight by drunk wedding revellers.
The urns for puke and piss. Pilloried drunks. The arbour used for illicit sex.
Ah, the romance of a castle wedding.
I sweet-talk the receptionist into giving me Heather’s room number, then duck into the bar for a swift vodka before making my way up the well-worn stone staircase to the third floor, and I’m suddenly looking at the door to her room.
