Wedding Night

Wedding Night Page 89

“No.” He reacts so hotly, I know I’ve hit a nerve. “We are not about to go bust. We’re profitable. We can be more profitable. We have the brand names, the resources, a very loyal workforce.…” He sounds as though he’s trying to convince some imaginary audience. “But it’s hard. We held off a bid for the company last year.”

“Wouldn’t that be a solution?”

“Ben’s father would turn in his grave,” says Lorcan shortly. “It was from Yuri Zhernakov.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wow.” Yuri Zhernakov is one of those guys who appear in the paper every other day with words like “billionaire” and “oligarch” attached to their names.

“He saw the house on TV and his wife fell in love with it,” Lorcan says drily. “They wanted to live there for a few weeks every year.”

“Well, that could be good, couldn’t it?” I say. “Sell up while there’s some cash on offer?”

There’s silence. Lorcan is glowering at the screen saver on his laptop, which I notice is a Papermaker design that I’ve bought myself.

“Maybe Ben will sell,” he says at last. “But to anyone but Zhernakov.”

“What’s wrong with Zhernakov?” I challenge him, laughing. “Are you a snob?”

“No, I’m not a snob!” retorts Lorcan forcefully. “But I care about the company. A guy like Zhernakov isn’t interested in some two-bit paper company spoiling his view. He’d close down half the company, relocate the rest, ruin the community. If Ben ever spent any time up there, he’d realize—” He stops himself and exhales. “Besides which, the offer’s wrong.”

“What does Ben think?”

“Ben …” Lorcan takes a gulp of his mineral water. “Unfortunately, Ben’s pretty naïve. He doesn’t have the business instinct of his father but he thinks he does. Which is dangerous.”

I glance at his briefcase. “So you want to get out there and persuade Ben to sign all the restructuring contracts before he can change his mind.”

Lorcan is silent for a while, drumming his fingers lightly together.

“I want him to start taking responsibility for his inheritance,” he says at last. “He doesn’t realize how lucky he is.”

I take a few sips of champagne. Some of this makes sense to me and some of it really doesn’t.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” I say at last. “It’s not your company.”

Lorcan blinks, and I sense I’ve touched a nerve again, although he’s careful to hide it.

“Ben’s dad was an amazing guy,” he says at length. “I just want to make things work out the way he would have wanted. And they can,” he adds with sudden vigor. “Ben’s creative. He’s smart. He could be a great leader, but he needs to stop dicking around and offending people.”

I’m tempted to ask exactly how Ben has offended people, but I can’t quite bring myself to be that nosy.

“You were a lawyer in London, weren’t you?” My thoughts head off in a new direction.

“Freshfields are still wondering where I am.” Lorcan’s face flashes with humor. “I was on gardening leave between law firms when I went up to stay with Ben’s dad. That was four years ago. I still get calls from recruitment companies, but I’m happy.”

“Do you do annulments?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Annulments?” Lorcan raises his eyebrows very high. “I see.” As he meets my eyes, his expression is so quizzical, I nearly laugh. “You have a Machiavellian mind, Ms. Graveney.”

“I have a practical mind,” I correct him.

“So they really haven’t—” Lorcan interrupts himself. “Hey. What’s going on there?”

I follow his glance and see that the old woman who was sitting next to me is clutching her chest and fighting for breath. A teenage boy is looking around helplessly, and he calls out, “Is there a doctor? Is anyone here a doctor?”

“I’m a GP.” A gray-haired man in a linen jacket hurries to the seat. “Is this your grandmother?”

“No! I’ve never seen her before!” The teenager sounds panicky, and I don’t blame him. The old lady doesn’t look very well. We’re all watching the doctor talk to the old woman in a low voice and feel for her pulse, when suddenly the air hostess with the French plait appears.

“Sir,” she says breathlessly to us. “Please could we ask for your help?”