‘Larry. Larry Donovan,’ he said, giving Abby a presumptuous kiss on the cheek before filling his goblet. ‘And who might you be?’
‘Abby Gordon,’ she replied, smiling politely.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Matt eyeing Larry suspiciously.
‘I’ve told my father to be on his best behaviour, but if he doesn’t keep his hands above the table, feel free to hit the button on his ejector seat.’
They all laughed as Matt went to sit next to his bride.
It had been a beautiful wedding.
Anna had always insisted that she wanted to keep it small and low-key, and perhaps, compared to William and Kate’s celebrations, it was. But Abby had been impressed by every detail. The venue, Syon House, was on the western fringes of London, a grand old Robert Adam house with castellations and a long gravel drive set in acres of lush parkland.
Eighty people had assembled in the marble-lined Great Hall for a short civil service and the bride had looked exquisite, her long dress, a simple column of ivory satin, perfectly judged, her shoulder-length hair tied back and pinned behind her ears with tiny white flowers. A champagne reception had been served in the inner courtyard before the guests followed Matt and Anna along a wooded walkway to a stunning conservatory full of palm trees and exotic flowers, where dinner was to be served.
Abby had felt tears in her eyes when her friends had recited their marriage vows. Not out of sadness for her own situation, but from the hope in those words. I give you my heart for as long as we both shall live.
Matt particularly had every reason to be cynical. Not only was it his second marriage, but he was a divorce lawyer who spent his days dealing with the breakdown of commitments that had once meant something to his clients. And yet when he kissed Anna in front of the registrar, the only thing Abby could think about was that she still believed in love. Looking around, she knew that every person in that room did too.
‘Abby Gordon, of course,’ nodded Larry thoughtfully. ‘We didn’t meet the other day. That business with your husband got sorted out quicker than I thought it would have done. I was convinced they would press charges, but some things surprise even long-in-the-tooth old dogs like me. So how is he?’ he asked, his bushy eyebrows rising to a more pronounced peak.
‘He’s fine. He had a lucky escape,’ smiled Abby, taking a sip of her wine. She didn’t want to dwell on the subject. Larry was sharp, knowing. She didn’t need him asking difficult questions about Jonathon Soames that she wasn’t at liberty to answer.
She smiled to herself, thinking about what she could say about Nick. That she was proud of him, that she would never forget the way he had supported her, even if his attempts at hacking into Jonathon Soames’s phone and email hadn’t been entirely successful. He’d been quickly found out, and what he had done was criminal, but something about him had clearly impressed Jonathon, who had told Abby in Ireland that he had some work he wanted to talk to Nick about once things had settled down.
The wedding breakfast was served, a delicious but very unbreakfast-like three courses involving celeriac, beef and something sweet and creamy in tiny china pots. The speeches were short.
‘No one wants to hear you bang on about love when they’ve heard it all before,’ whispered Larry, telling Abby that he’d dispensed with speeches altogether by the time he got to his third marriage.
A jazz band started to play, just as the light was fading outside.
‘I’m nicely warmed up,’ said Larry, finishing off his wine. ‘How about I take you for a spin on the dance floor?’
Abby smiled kindly. She had enjoyed the day, loved seeing one of her closest friends walk down the aisle, but now she desperately wanted to leave.
‘Larry, there are thousands of women around London who would love to take you up on that offer, but right now . . .’
‘Right now, you want to go home.’ He nodded with some secret complicity. ‘You know, we spared each other the delights of the singles table, but weddings are hard on your own,’ he said, looking suddenly old and vulnerable.
Abby kissed him on the cheek and went to get her coat and phone for a taxi, which promised to be there in twenty minutes. She killed time putting some make-up on in the loos, and peered back in at the wedding. Anna and Matt were on the dance floor, foreheads touching, oblivious to the rest of the world. Everyone seemed drunk and happy. Abby just felt exhausted.
She slipped outside at a little after nine, not even saying goodbye, not wanting to tell Matt and Anna that she was going. She didn’t want to disturb them; besides, they would only make a fuss, pair her off with some colleague, or make her dance with Larry or Suze, none of which she felt like doing.
‘Where to, love?’ asked the driver.
She told him her address and settled back in the seat. Her mobile vibrated in her bag, the arrival of a text. She pulled it out and smiled when she saw it was from Rosamund.
Just watching a glorious Connemara sunset. I didn’t think love could be better the second time around. But it can. Have fun at the wedding. Thank you for everything. Rosamund.
She wondered what Ros and Dominic had been up to in the two days since she and Jonathon had left Ireland. She imagined them going for leisurely walks along the coast, playing bridge in the garden, reading the newspapers together or perhaps doing the crossword.
She clicked on the internet icon on her phone and found herself googling the Chronicle story of The Last Goodbye. The screen was only small, but it was enough for her to see the magnificent black-and-white image that had started it all. The words from the wedding echoed in her head as she switched off her phone.
I give you my heart for as long as we both shall live.
‘I’m going to go over Kingston Bridge if that’s all right, love,’ said the cabbie. ‘Terrible traffic over the others.’
Abby nodded vaguely, realising that while she hadn’t wanted to stay at Syon House, she didn’t want to go home either.