“Highton Hall?” I stare at him. “Wow. That place is beautiful. And massive!”

Lorcan nods. “Lots of workers live in cottages on the estate. We do guided tours of the house, the mills, the woodland, we have local conservation projects.… It’s kind of special.” His eyes have lit up.

“Right.” I’m digesting all this. “So you started working for the company—but Ben wasn’t interested?”

“Not until his dad became ill and he had to face the fact he was going to inherit this thing,” says Lorcan bluntly. “Before that, he did everything he could to avoid it. He trained as an actor, he tried out stand-up comedy—”

“It was him!” I put my gin and tonic glass down with a tiny crash. “I Googled him and all I could find were stand-up comedy reviews. Terrible ones. Was he that bad?”

Lorcan stirs his glass, his attention fixed on the remaining ice cubes.

“You can tell me.” I lower my voice. “Between us. Was he embarrassing?”

Lorcan isn’t answering. Well, of course he isn’t. He doesn’t want to dis his best friend. I respect that.

“All right,” I say after a moment’s thought. “Just answer me one thing. When I meet him, is he going to tell me jokes and I have to pretend they’re funny?”

“Watch out if he starts a riff on jeans.” At last Lorcan looks up, his mouth twitching. “And laugh. He’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“Jeans.” I make a mental note. “OK. Thanks for the warning. Is there anything positive to say about this guy?”

“Oh.” Lorcan seems shocked. “Of course! When Ben’s on form, believe me, there’s no one you’d rather spend the evening with. He’s charming. He’s funny. I can understand why your sister would have fallen for him. When you meet him, you’ll understand too.”

I take another gulp of my drink. I’m slowly starting to relax. “Well, maybe he’ll become my brother-in-law. But at least it won’t happen today. Job done.”

“I’ll talk to Ben later.” Lorcan nods. “Make sure he doesn’t get any stupid ideas.”

At once I feel a tweak of irritation. I just said “Job done,” didn’t I?

“You don’t have to talk to Ben,” I say politely. “I’ve already sorted it. There’s no way Lottie will get married in a hurry now. I’d leave it.”

“It can’t hurt.” He looks unmoved. “Just to hammer the point home.”

“Yes, it can!” I plonk my drink down. “Don’t do any hammering! I’ve spent half an hour making Lottie think that pulling out of the wedding was her idea. I was subtle. I was careful. I didn’t go rushing in like a … a hammerer.”

His face doesn’t shift a millimeter. He’s clearly a control freak. But so am I. And this is my sister.

“Don’t talk to Ben,” I command him. “Leave it. Less is more.”

There’s a pause—then Lorcan shrugs and drains his drink, without answering. I’m guessing he knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. I finish my gin and tonic too, then wait a beat, almost holding my breath. I’m hoping he suggests another drink, I realize. I only have an empty house to go to. No work. No plans. And the truth is, I like sitting here, sparring with this slightly too intense, slightly bad-tempered man.

“Another?” He looks up and meets my eye, and I feel things shift between us a little. The first drink was like a coda to the whole affair. It was resolution. It was just being polite.

This is more than polite.

“Yes, let’s.”

“Same again?”

I nod and watch as he summons the waiter and orders. Nice hands. Good strong jaw. Unhurried, laconic mannerisms. He’s a lot more appealing than his webpage gives away.

“Your website photo is terrible,” I say abruptly, as the waiter disappears. “Really bad. Did you know that?”

“Wow.” Lorcan raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. “You’re direct. Lucky I’m not vain.”

“It’s not about vanity.” I shake my head. “It’s not that you’re better-looking in the flesh. It’s that your personality is better. I’m looking at you and I’m seeing a guy who makes time for people. A guy who puts away his phone. Who listens. You’re charming. In a way.”

“In a way?” He gives an incredulous laugh.

“But your photo doesn’t say that.” I ignore him. “In your photo, you’re scowling. You’re giving out the message: Who the hell are you? What are you looking at? I haven’t got time for this.”

“You got all that from one website photo?”

“I’m guessing you gave the photographer about five minutes and grumbled the whole time and checked your BlackBerry between every shot. Bad move.”

Lorcan seems a bit speechless, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.

OK, of course I’ve gone too far. I don’t even know the guy and I’m critiquing his photo.

“Sorry,” I backpedal. “I can be … blunt.”

“No kidding.”

“Feel free to be blunt back.” I meet his eyes. “I won’t be offended.”

“Fair enough,” says Lorcan without missing a beat. “That bridesmaid’s dress is terrible on you.”

In spite of myself, I feel a flicker of hurt. I didn’t think it was that bad.

“Earlier on, you said it looked very nice,” I retaliate.

“I was lying. You look like a fruit pastille.”

I guess I asked for it.

“Well, OK. Maybe I do look like a fruit pastille.” I can’t resist making a little extra dig. “But at least I don’t have a picture of myself looking like a fruit pastille on my website.”

The waiter puts down two more gin and tonics, and I pick mine up, feeling a bit fired up after our exchange. I’m also wondering how we’ve got so far off topic. Maybe we should get back to the subject in hand.

“Did you hear about Lottie and Ben’s no-sex policy, by the way?” I say. “How ridiculous is that?”

“Ben mentioned something. I thought he was joking.”

“It’s no joke. They’re waiting till the wedding night.” I shake my head. “If you want my opinion, it’s irresponsible to get married to someone without sleeping with them. It’s asking for trouble!”

“Interesting idea.” Lorcan shrugs. “Old-fashioned.”

I take a deep gulp. I’m feeling a need to off-load my thoughts on the subject, and I can’t exactly sound off to Noah.

“If you want my theory”—I lean forward—“it’s skewed their judgment. The whole thing is about sex. Lottie’s lost in a cloud of lust. The longer she waits, the less she can think straight. I mean, I get it. I’m sure he’s very hot and she’s longing to roll around with him. But does she have to marry him?”

“It’s cockeyed.” Lorcan nods.

“That’s what I said! They should just go to bed. Spend a week in bed. A month if they want to! Have a good time. Then see if they still want to marry each other.” I take another massive gulp of my drink. “I mean, you don’t need to sign your life away just to have sex—” I break off as a thought suddenly occurs to me. “Are you married?”

“Divorced.”

“Me too. Divorced. So. We know.”

“About what?”

“Sex.” I realize that came out wrong. “Marriage,” I amend.

Lorcan thinks for a moment, sipping his drink. “The more I think back over the last few years,” he says slowly, “the less I feel I know about marriage. Sex, on the other hand, I would hope I’ve nailed.”

The gin has gone straight to my head. I can feel it buzzing around, loosening my tongue.

“I’m sure you have,” I hear myself saying.

The air seems to thicken in the silence. A little too late, I realize I’ve just told a total stranger that I’m sure he’s good in bed. Do I backtrack? Qualify in some way?

No. Move on. I cast around for something anodyne, but it’s Lorcan who speaks next.

“Since we’re speaking frankly—how’ve you found it? Your divorce? Total nightmare?”

Have I found my divorce a total nightmare?

I open my mouth and draw in a deep, long breath, automatically reaching for the memory stick round my neck. Then I stop.

Not bitter, Fliss. Not bitter. Sweet. I need to think spun sugar, candy, flowers, fluffy lambs, Julie Andrews.…

“Oh, you know.” I give him a saccharine smile. “These things happen.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Still happening.” My smile broadens. “Should be sorted soon.”

“And you’re smiling?” He sounds incredulous.

“I like to be Zen about it.” I nod several times. “Stay calm, move on. Look on the bright side. Don’t dwell.”

“Wow.” Lorcan’s eyes have widened. “I’m impressed. Mine was four years ago. Still hurts.”

“That’s a real pity,” I manage. “Poor you.”

My fake smile is nearly killing me. I want to ask him how it still hurts and what happened and shall we compare ways in which our exes are total louses? I’m desperate to spill out all the details and talk incessantly about it until I hear from him what I need to hear, i.e., that I’m in the right about everything and Daniel is in the wrong.

Which, no doubt, is why Barnaby gave me a talking-to.

He’s always right. Bastard.

“So. Um. Shall I get some more drinks?” I reach for my bag and hurriedly pull out my purse.

Argh. No.

The purse flipped up as I tugged it out and with it came the contents of my Durex variety pack. Ribbed for Extra Pleasure falls on the table, and a Pleasuremax lands in Lorcan’s drink, splashing him in the face. A Fetherlite has fallen on top of our bowl of peanuts.

“Oh!” I quickly start grabbing them. “Those aren’t—They were for my son’s school project.”

“Ah.” Lorcan nods, politely retrieving the Pleasuremax from his drink and handing it to me. “How old’s your son?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?” He looks scandalized.

“It’s … Long story.” I wince as he hands me the dripping condom. “Let me get you another drink. I’m so sorry.” Automatically I’ve started drying the Pleasuremax with a paper napkin.