“Well-yes. I do. But-”

“Anyway she wants a couple of grand.”

“Blimey.”

“Moreover she wants it tomorrow morning. In cash.”

Barney felt sick, oddly scared himself.

“You can’t give in to that sort of thing,” he said finally.

“Barney, I have to. Otherwise, she’s threatened to come to the church. It wouldn’t look good if she turned up at my smart society wedding, as she called it, would it?”

“No,” said Barney, after a pause, “no, it wouldn’t be great.”

“So-I’ve got to give her a grand in the morning. In cash. Which I don’t happen to have about me. Do you?”

“Nope. Got about a hundred, but-”

“I’ll have to go to a bank, get it out. The most I can get on my card is four hundred quid.”

“I can get that too. But-”

“No, no, Barney, it’s my problem. And then I’ll have to take it to her. To her parents’ house, fifteen, twenty minutes away. So-”

“Toby, you do realise it may not stop at this, don’t you? That’s the whole thing about blackmail.”

“Yeah, but whatever she does next, I’ll be married, the wedding’ll be safely over, Tamara won’t have to be confronted by it-literally. I’ll deal with it somehow. Anyway, I’ve got a feeling she’ll back off. Meanwhile-busy morning.”

“Yeah. Well, look, surely I can deal with that. I can get the money; I can take it to her-”

“No, that’s just too complicated. I’ll do it. I should be back here by ten thirty, eleven, latest. Then I’ll just change and we can go. We might be a bit late for the ushers’ lunch, but that won’t matter.”

“We need to leave by eleven, really, for that, mate.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to drive faster. Oh, God. What a total fucking idiot I’ve been. Let’s have another of those, Barney. Then we’d better turn in. Busy day tomorrow.”

He nodded at the whisky bottle; Barney poured the drinks out, his hand shaking slightly, wondering how he could possibly have got Toby so wrong. He’d have trusted him with his life, always regarded himself as the slightly wild card. And now…

Laura was just drifting off to sleep when the phone rang.

“Darling?”

“Oh, Jonathan, hello. How did it go?”

“Oh-pretty well, I think. Yes. Jack seemed pretty pleased.”

“I bet he was. I bet you were wonderful.”

“Hardly. Anyway, you’re all right, are you?”

“I’m absolutely fine, darling. Just a bit hot. But we got all the uniforms, then I took them out to supper-”

“Let me guess. T.G.I.’s.”

“Correct.”

“God, I don’t know how you can face those places.”

“Well, the children love them. And I love the children.”

“So do I. But… well, you’re a saint. They’re lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you.”

“And I’m lucky to have you.”

“Well-as long as everything’s OK. Night, darling. I’ll be home tomorrow, around six, going straight up to St. Anne’s from here.”

“Fine. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

That was done then: very unlikely now that she would call him again.

Jonathan walked into the foyer of the Bristol Meridien, so nicely anonymous, so filled with pleasurable associations.

He checked in and went up to his room, had scarcely pushed the door open when she walked out to greet him, stark naked, holding out a glass of champagne.

“You’re very late,” she said. “What kept you?”

CHAPTER 6

When all else failed, Georgia prayed. Not because she believed in God, exactly, but because He did seem, on the whole, to be very good about listening to her and letting her have what she wanted. Which meant, she supposed, that she really ought to believe in Him a bit more, and be a bit more grateful.

Well, if He answered this particular prayer in an even half-positive manner (she promised both herself and Him), she would make a much, much greater effort not just to believe in Him, but to behave in a way more appropriate to the belief. Because He most definitely would deserve it.

What she was going to ask of Him today, she thought, eyes screwed up, fists clenched in absolute concentration, was not actually that difficult to grant. She wanted a car: a car driven by someone else, on its way to London, and with a spare seat. And actually, since she was standing just above the approach road to the M4, it would not be a miracle on the scale of the loaves and fishes. All God had to do, in fact, was point her out, perhaps nudge the driver into thinking some company would not go amiss, and He’d be free to get on with whatever other tasks were on His mind.

After half an hour, her arm aching, her bare legs drenched in dust, it began to seem that God had better things to do that morning.

At this rate she just wasn’t going to make it. She had to be there, actually at the audition, by three; it was already twelve, and her father always said you had to allow two and a half hours minimum from the Severn Bridge. And that was when you knew exactly where you were going; she had to find some obscure place in the middle of London, and get herself tarted up before she could present herself to the snooty cow-they were always snooty-in reception. She was almost thinking of giving up. Of going home again, telling her mother that she had missed not just the early coach but the later one and that it was absolutely, yes, her own fault. Only actually it wouldn’t be that easy to get home again; she’d need another lift just to get back to Cardiff; she might as well carry on, get to London anyway.

God, she was so stupid. Why hadn’t she stayed safely at home in Cardiff and gone to bed early, so she’d have heard her phone when it went off? Only she wouldn’t have had to; her mother would have made sure she was awake and driven her to the coach station in plenty of time. But it had been after two when they got home, and her phone had failed totally to wake her until almost nine. Esme’s mum had been very sympathetic, but she didn’t have a car; Georgia ’d gone out in a panic to find a cash machine and catch the next coach, only it spat her card out, and she couldn’t get any money. Her only hope now was the train; she’d gone back to Esme’s in tears, hoping to beg some money from her, but she didn’t have any either. She’d hoped the boyfriend, who’d stayed over, might lend her the money, but he was clearly tight as well as a complete wanker. In the end, he did offer to take her to the M4 in his car and drop her there so she could hitch a lift.

And here she was, on the side of the road, praying…

Maeve Connell had also been calling upon the Almighty-not for help, but to be her witness in an ultimatum to her husband.

“I swear before God, Patrick Connell, you don’t get home in time for my mother’s birthday dinner and it’s the last meal that’ll be cooked for you in this house. Because I’ll have gone, left you for good. I’m sick of it-sick to the death of looking after the kids alone, and sleeping alone, and coping alone, and I don’t want to hear any excuses about how we’ll soon have a great house and a fine car. So is that clear, Patrick, because if it isn’t I’ll say it all again, just so there’s no doubt in your mind whatsoever…”

Patrick had told her it was quite clear, and that of course he’d be back in Kilburn, and in good time for the birthday dinner. “And I have a great gift for your mother as well; just wait till you see it. So kiss the boys for me and tell them I’ll see them tonight. Now I have to go, or I’ll get pulled over for using the phone and then I’ll never arrive in time. Bye, darling. See you later.”

He snapped off his mobile, pulled over into the middle lane, and moved up to the fifty-six miles an hour that was his top speed.