The Wedding Girl Page 12

  Milly beamed back at him. Already she was planning what she would do when she'd received confirmation of her divorce. She would take a taxi to Harvey Nichols and go straight up to the fifth floor, and buy herself a buck's fizz. And then she would call Isobel. And then she would

  Her thoughts were interrupted as the computer pinged. The man peered at the screen, then looked up.

  `No,' he said in surprise. `Not found.'

  A stone dropped through Milly's stomach.

  `What?' she said. Her lips felt suddenly dry. `What do you mean?'

  `There's no decree absolute listed,' said the man, tapping again. The computer pinged again and he frowned. `Not in that period, for those names.'

  `But there has to be,' said Milly. `There has to be.'

  `I've tried twice,' said the man. He looked up. `Are you sure the spellings are correct?'

  Milly swallowed.

  `Quite sure.'

  `And you're sure the petitioner applied for a decree absolute?' Milly looked at him numbly. She didn't know what he was talking about.

  `No,' she said. `I'm not sure.' The man nodded back at her, cheerful as a puppet.

  `Six weeks after the decree nisi is issued, the petitioner has to apply for a decree absolute.'

  `Yes,' said Milly, `I see.'

  `You were issued with a decree nisi, weren't you, dear?'

  Milly looked up blankly and met the man's eyes, regarding her with a sudden curiosity. A quick stab of fear hit her in the chest.

  `Yes,' she said quickly, before he could ask anything else. `Of course I was. It was all in order. I'll . . . I'll go back and check up on what happened.'

  `If you require any legal advice '

  `No thank you,' said Milly, backing away. `You've been very kind. Thank you so much.'

  As she turned to grasp the door handle, a voice hit the back of her head.

  `Mrs Kepinski?'

  She wheeled round with a white face.

  `Or is it Ms Havill now?' said the man, smiling. He came round the counter. `Here's a leaflet explaining the whole procedure.'

  `Thank you,' said Milly desperately. `That's lovely.'

  She shot him an over-bright smile as she pocketed the leaflet and walked out of the room, feeling sick and panicky. She'd been right all along. Allan was a selfish, unscrupulous bastard. And he'd left her well and truly in the lurch.

  She reached the street and began to walk blindly, aware of nothing but the seeds of panic already sprouting rapaciously inside her mind. She was only back where she'd been before but somehow her position now seemed infinitely worse; infinitely more precarious. An image came to her of Alexander's malicious, gleaming smile, like the grin of a vulture. And Simon, waiting unsuspectingly in Bath. The very thought of the two of them in the same city made her feel sick. What was she to do? What could she do?

  A pub sign caught her eye and without considering further, she slipped inside. She headed straight for the bar and ordered a gin and tonic. When that was gone, she ordered another, and then another. Gradually, as the alcohol dulled her nerves, the adrenalin pounding round her body began to slow, and her legs stopped shaking. Standing in this warm, beery atmosphere, downing gin, she was anonymous; the real world was far away. She could put everything from her mind except the sharp taste of the gin and the feeling of the alcohol as it hit her stomach, and the saltiness of the nuts which were provided on the bar in little metal bowls.

  For half an hour she stood mindlessly, allowing the crush of people to ebb and flow around her. Girls gave her curious looks; men tried to catch her eye: she ignored them all. Then after a while, as she began to feel both hungry and slightly sick, she found herself putting down her glass, picking up her bag and walking out of the pub, onto the street. She stood, swaying slightly, and wondered where to go next. It was lunchtime, and the pavement was crammed with people hurrying briskly along, hailing taxis, crowding into shops and pubs and sandwich bars. Church bells began to peal in the distance, and as she heard the sound, she felt tears starting to her eyes. What was she going to do? She could barely bring herself to think about it.

  She gazed at the blurry crowds of people, wishing with all her heart to be one of them, and not herself. She would have liked to be that cheerful-looking girl eating a croissant, or that calm-looking lady getting onto a bus, or . . .

  Suddenly Milly froze. She blinked a few times, wiped the tears from her eyes, and looked again. But the face she'd glimpsed was already gone, swallowed up by the surging crowds. Filled with panic, she hurried forward, peering all around her. For a few moments she could see nothing but strangers: girls in brightly coloured coats, men in dark suits, lawyers still in their courtroom wigs. They thronged past her, and she thrust her way impatiently through them, telling herself feverishly she must have been mistaken; she must have seen someone else. But then her heart stopped. There he was again, walking along the other side of the street, talking to another man. He looked older than she remembered, and fatter. But it was definitely him. It was Rupert.

  A surge of white-hot hatred rose through Milly as she stared at him. How dared he saunter along the streets of London, so happy and at ease with himself? How dared he be so oblivious of all that she was going through? Her life was in disarray because of him. Because of him and Allan. And he wasn't even aware of it.

  With a pounding heart, she began to run towards him, ignoring the beeps of angry taxis as she crossed the road; ignoring the curious looks of passers-by. Within a couple of minutes she'd caught up with the two men. She strode along behind him, gazed for a moment of loathing at Rupert's golden head, then poked his back hard.

  `Rupert,' she said. `Rupert!' He turned round and looked at her with friendly eyes devoid of recognition.

  `I'm sorry,' he said. `Do I ...'

  `It's me,' said Milly, summoning up the coldest, bitterest voice she possessed. `It's Milly. From Oxford.'

  `What?' Rupert's face drained of colour. He took a step back.

  `Yes, that's right,' said Milly. `It's me. I don't suppose you thought you'd ever see me again, did you, Rupert? You thought I'd vanished out of your life for good.'

  `Don't be silly!' said Rupert in jocular tones. He glanced uneasily at his friend. `How are things going, anyway?'

  `Things,' said Milly, `could not be going more badly, thanks for asking. Oh, and thanks for calling back last night. I really appreciated it.'

  `I didn't have time,' said Rupert. His blue eyes flashed a quick look of hatred at her and Milly glared back. `And now, I'm afraid I'm a bit busy.' He looked at his friend. `Shall we go, Tom?'

  `Don't you dare!' exclaimed Milly furiously. `You're not going anywhere! You're going to listen to me!'

  `I haven't got time '

  `Well then, make time!' shouted Milly. `My life is in ruins, and it's all your fault. You and bloody Allan Kepinski. Jesus! Do you realize what the pair of you did to me? Do you realize the trouble I'm in, because of you?'

  `Rupert,' said Tom. `Maybe you and Milly should have a little talk?'

  `I don't know what she's going on about,' said Rupert angrily. `She's mad.'

  `Even more reason,' said Tom quietly to Rupert. `Here is a truly distressed soul. And perhaps you can help.' He smiled at Milly. `Are you an old friend of Rupert's?'

  `Yes,' said Milly curtly. `We knew each other at Oxford. Didn't we, Rupert?'

  `Well, look,' said Tom. `Why don't I do your reading, Rupert? And you can catch up with Milly.' He smiled at her. `Maybe next time, you could come along, too.'

  `Yes,' said Milly, not having a clue what he was talking about. `Why not.'

  `Good to meet you, Milly,' said Tom, grasping Milly's hand. `Perhaps we'll see you at St Catherine's.'

  `Yes,' said Milly, `I expect so.'

  `Excellent! I'll give you a call, Rupert,' said Tom, and he was off, across the road.

  Milly and Rupert looked at each other.

  `You bitch,' hissed Rupert. `Are you trying to ruin my life?'

  `Ruin your l
ife?' exclaimed Milly in disbelief. `Ruin your life? Do you realize what you did to me? You used me!'

  `It was your choice,' said Rupert brusquely, starting to walk away. `If you didn't want to do it, you should have said no.'

  `I was eighteen years old!' shrieked Milly. `I didn't know anything about anything! I didn't know that one day I'd want to marry someone else, someone I really loved ...'

  `So what?' said Rupert tersely, turning back. `You got a divorce, didn't you?'

  `No!' sobbed Milly, `I didn't! And I don't know where Allan is! And my wedding's on Saturday!'

  `Well, what am I supposed to do about it?'

  `I need to find Allan! Where is he?'

  `I don't know,' said Rupert, beginning to walk off again. `I can't help you. Now, leave me alone.' Milly gazed at him, anger rising through her like hot lava.

  `You can't just walk away!' she shrieked. `You've got to help me!' She began to run after him; he quickened his pace. `You've got to help me, Rupert!' With a huge effort, she grabbed his jacket and managed to force him to a standstill.

  `Get off me!' hissed Rupert.

  `Listen,' said Milly fiercely, gazing up into his blue eyes. `I did you and Allan a favour. I did you a huge, huge, enormous favour. And now it's time for you to do me a tiny little one. You owe it to me.

  She stared hard at him, watching as thoughts ran through his head; watching as his expression gradually changed. Eventually he sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

  'OK,' he said. `Come with me. We'd better talk.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  an old pub on Fleet Street, full of winding stairs and dark wood and little, hidden nooks. Rupert bought a bottle of wine and two plates of bread and cheese and set them down on a tiny table in an alcove. He sat down heavily, took a deep slug of wine and leaned back. Milly looked at him. Her anger had subsided a little; she was able to study him calmly. And something, she thought, was wrong. He was still handsome, still striking but his face was pinker and more fleshy than it had been at Oxford, and his hand shook when he put down his glass. Ten years ago, she thought, he had been a golden, glowing youth. Now he looked like a middle-aged man. And when his eyes met hers they held a residual, permanent unhappiness.

  `I can't be long,' he said. `I'm very busy. So-what exactly do you want me to do?'

  `You look terrible, Rupert,' said Milly frankly. `Are you happy?'

  `I'm very happy. Thank you.' He took another deep slug of wine, practically draining the glass, and Milly raised her eyebrows.

  `Are you sure?'

  `Milly, we're here to talk about you,' said Rupert impatiently. `Not me. What precisely is your problem?'

  Milly looked at him for a silent moment, then sat back.

  `My problem,' she said lightly, as though carefully considering the matter. `What's my problem? My problem is that on Saturday I'm getting married to a man I love very much. My mother has organized the hugest wedding in the world. It's going to be beautiful and romantic and perfect in every single detail.' She looked up with bright eyes like daggers. `Oh, except one. I'm still married to your friend Allan Kepinski.'

  Rupert winced.

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

  `Ask Allan! He was supposed to be organizing it.'

  `And he didn't?'

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

  `And 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?'

  `I didn't think I needed to chase it up,' said Milly furiously. `I 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.'

  `I 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. `I'm sorry. I should have replied. But . . . it was a difficult time.'

  `At 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?'

  `I'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. `It 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. `All 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.'

  `I'm ten years older,' said Milly.

  `It'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.'

  `I know,' said Rupert, flushing. `And 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. `I told you. This is the wedding of the century.'

  `And 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.'

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

  `And what precisely were these papers?'

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

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

  `I 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. `I 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?'

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

  `Then why-'

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

  `Oh,' said Milly, taken aback. `I'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.

  `And when was that?'

  `At 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. `I 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. `I 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. `I've fucked it all up. I've fucked up your life, I've fucked up my life. And Allan . ..'