Yikes. I’ve obviously touched a nerve. Not that I know the details, but Ben’s manner instantly evokes a background of tense meetings in boardrooms and slammed doors and emails regretted the following day.

“He’s your best man,” I say cautiously. “Aren’t you best friends?”

Ben is silent for a few moments, preoccupied with some thought or other.

“I don’t even know why Lorcan’s in my life,” he says at last. “That’s the truth. I turned round and there he was. Just there.”

“What do you mean?”

“His marriage broke up four years ago. He went up to Staffordshire to stay with my dad. Fair enough; they’d always been friendly, since we were at school together. But next thing, Lorcan’s advising my dad and getting a job in the company and running the whole bloody show. You should have seen him and my dad, striding around the place together, making plans, leaving me out completely.”

“That sounds awful,” I say sympathetically.

“It all came to a head two years ago.” He gulps his champagne. “I just upped and left. Went AWOL. I needed to sort myself out. It freaked them so much they contacted the police.” He spreads his hands. “I never told them where I was. After that, they behaved as though I was some sort of fragile nutcase. My dad and Lorcan were thicker than ever. Then my dad goes and dies.…”

There’s a rawness to his voice which makes my skin prickle.

“And Lorcan stayed at the company?” I venture.

“Where else would he go? He’s got a cushy number. Nice salary, cottage on the estate—he’s sorted.”

“Does he have kids?”

“No.” Ben shrugs. “I suppose they never got round to it. Or weren’t into them.”

“Well, then, why don’t you quietly get rid of him?” I’m about to suggest a legal firm I know which specializes in tactfully exiting staff, but Ben doesn’t seem to be listening.

“Lorcan thinks he knows best about everything!” The words come shooting out in a resentful stream. “What I should do with my life. What I should do with my company. What advertising agency I should employ. What I should pay my cleaners. What grade of paper is best for which … I don’t know, desk diary.” He exhales. “And I don’t know the answer. So he wins.”

“It’s not a question of winning,” I say, but I can tell Ben isn’t paying attention.

“He once confiscated my phone in public, because he thought it ‘wasn’t appropriate.’ ” Ben is burning with resentment.

“That sounds like harassment!” I say, shocked. “Do you have an effective HR head?”

“Yes.” Ben sounds sulky. “But she’s leaving. She’d never say anything to Lorcan, anyway. They all love him.”

Listening with my professional hat on, I’m aghast. This all sounds like a shambles. I want to get a piece of paper and start a five-point action plan for Ben to manage Lorcan more effectively, but that’s not exactly sexy honeymoon talk.

“Tell me,” I say instead, my voice gentle and coaxing. “Where did you go when you went AWOL?”

“You really want to know?” Ben gives me a curious, wry smile. “Not my finest moment.”

“Tell me.”

“I went to have lessons in comedy from Malcolm Robinson.”

“Malcolm Robinson?” I stare at him. “For real?”

I love Malcolm Robinson. He’s hilarious. He used to have this brilliant sketch show, and once I saw him live at Edinburgh.

“I bought them anonymously at a charity auction. It was originally a weekend, but I persuaded him to extend it to a week. Cost me a fortune. At the end of the week, I asked him to tell me, straight up, if I had any talent.”

There’s silence. I’m already cringing inside at his expression.

“What—” I say at last, and clear my throat. “What did he—”

“He said no.” Ben cuts me off, almost tonelessly. “He was blunt. Told me to give it up. Did me a favor, really. I haven’t cracked a joke since.”

I wince. “That must have been devastating.”

“It hurt my pride, yes.”

“How long had you been …?” I trail off awkwardly. I don’t know quite how to phrase it. Luckily, Ben gets the gist.

“Seven years.”

“And you just gave up?”

“Yup.”

“And you didn’t tell anybody? Your dad? Lorcan?”

“I thought they might notice I’d stopped doing gigs and ask why. They didn’t.” The hurt in his voice is unmistakable. “I didn’t have anyone else to … you know. Tell stuff.”

Spontaneously, I reach for his hand and squeeze it tight. “You’ve got me now,” I say softly. “Tell me stuff.”

He squeezes my hand back and our eyes are locked. For a moment I feel totally connected to him. Then two waiters come to clear our canapé plates; we release hands and the spell is broken.

“Strange honeymoon, huh?” I say wryly.

“I don’t know. I’m starting to enjoy it.”

“Me too.” I can’t help laughing. “I’m almost glad it’s been so weird. At least we won’t forget it.”

And I mean it. If we hadn’t had all the bedroom disasters, maybe we wouldn’t have had this drink and I might never have found out these things about Ben. It’s funny how things work out. I entwine my leg around Ben’s under the table and start working my toe up his thigh in my signature maneuver, but he shakes his head vigorously.

“No,” he says shortly. “Uh-uh. Can’t stand it. Too horny.”

“How on earth will you survive the couple’s massage, then?” I tease him.

“By telling them to keep it to ten minutes flat and then leave us alone in utter privacy,” he replies seriously. “I’m prepared to tip heavily.”

“An hour to go.” I glance at my watch. “I wonder what kind of oil they use?”

“Change the subject from oil.” He looks strained. “Give a man a break.”

I can’t help laughing. “OK, here’s a new subject. When shall we go and visit the guest house? Tomorrow?”

I’m half excited, half terrified about visiting the guest house. It’s where we met. It’s where the fire happened. It’s where my life changed. It’s where everything happened. All at one little guest house, fifteen years ago.

“Tomorrow.” Ben nods. “You have to do cartwheels along the beach for me.”

“I will.” I smile at him. “And you have to dive off that rock.”

“And then we’ll find that cave we used to go in …”

We’re both hazy-eyed and smiling, lost in memories.

“You used to wear those tiny tie-dyed shorts,” says Ben. “They drove me wild.”

“I brought them with me,” I confess.

“You didn’t!” His eyes light up.

“I’ve kept them, all this time.”

“You angel.”

I grin wickedly back at him, feeling my desire rocket. Oh God. How am I going to wait an hour? How can I fill the time?

“I’m going to let Fliss know how we got on.” I reach for my phone and type a quick text:

Guess what? WE WON!!!! All going brilliantly. Ben and I make a fab team. Totally happy.

I can’t help smiling as I type. She won’t believe her eyes! In fact, I hope the news cheers her up a bit. She sounded hassled before. I wonder what’s going on. On impulse, I add to my text: