'We've talked before. I'm all talked out.'

Sophie was now sitting up in bed. Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark. She rested them on the familiar objects that filled her house and made it a home. Next to her bed were two photographs of Joanna and one of her parents. The frames were ornate and feminine. When Lloyd had left, the first room Sophie had redecorated was their bedroom. She'd thrown out the green duvet cover and the practical but rather ugly wicker wash basket. She'd sold the pine chest of drawers and both wardrobes. Empty, the room revealed itself to be surprisingly large. She bought an antique sofa, bookcase and dressing table to fill it. The sofa was permanently covered with feather boas, silky shift petticoats and shoe boxes; the things she bought for their beauty and frivolity that never quite made it into her wardrobe. The dressing table was laden with tiny jewelled boxes and bottles. Strings of beads and fake pearls hung around the mirror. The bookcase swayed under the weight of embroidered cardigans and beaded jumpers. The carpets were plush, the lampshades Art Deco inspired. The room screamed 'boudoir'.

'Kate and Ted were inspirational. I think they are going to pull through it, I think they'll stay together,' said Ted.

'I'm sure they will. They love each other very much,' agreed Sophie.

Lloyd was surprised. None of the others had had the same confidence in Kate and Ted's relationship. How did Sophie know so much about love? 'It made me think, Soph. Maybe we gave up too easily.'

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' Sophie was grateful there was a channel separating them. Anything less and she'd have happily throttled him. She smoothed the patchwork duvet cover with the back of her hand the sensation was somewhat calming.

'Would you have forgiven me if I'd got us into debt?'

'Yes, if you'd wanted my forgiveness.'

'But you can't forgive my actual mistake?'

'You never wanted my forgiveness for your infidelity, which I a.s.sume is the mistake you are alluding to.'

Sophie was Scottish and, although she'd lived in London for over a decade now, she would never get into those namby-pamby ways of calling a spade a digging device. To her it was a shovel. It would always be a shovel.

'And what if I said I wanted your forgiveness now?'

There was a moment of silence. Lloyd did not dare breathe, Sophie could not.

'I'd say you were drunk and sentimental, which is a lethal and insincere combination.'

For a fraction of a second, Sophie wished she didn't know him so well. She wished that she could believe that he wanted her forgiveness. He certainly believed it, and he'd go on believing it at least until his hangover wore off.

'Maybe you just didn't love me enough,' said Lloyd sulkily.

'I wish you'd died rather than left me, that's how much I love you,' a.s.sured Sophie with a sigh.

'That is a terrible thing to say,' said Lloyd, aghast.

'Is it? I think it's the biggest compliment I've ever paid you. If I hadn't loved you so much, I could have let you go more easily. As it is, I am stuck in a state of perpetual grief. Logically, true love would mean that I just wanted you to be happy somewhere, even if it wasn't with me. This isn't the case. I don't want you to be unhappy, but I just don't want you to be. There's no going back for us, Lloyd. We went too far.'

And then she hung up.

It had taken over a year, but Sophie slept well that night. She slept sound in the knowledge that he hurt, too. Not in the way she did. He didn't ache that the world was so h.e.l.lish and disappointing. It was unlikely that he doubted everything and everyone. He managed to hold together a relationship because he didn't recoil from intimacy, as though it was a stinging jellyfish. But he hurt, too. Maybe only when he was drunk and sentimental. Maybe only when he couldn't get hold of Greta. But somewhere it had finally registered in the deepest recesses of his brain that he'd lost out. Losing Sophie and Joanna was a loss. Thank G.o.d. She'd begun to think that she and her baby were a product of her imagination. She knew that after tonight's good night of rest she'd wake up feeling a whole lot better.

Thursday.

62. The Hideaway.

Tash rolled over. The duvet slipped slightly, allowing a cheeky draught to ripple up her bare legs, b.u.t.tocks and back. She shuffled towards Rich and snuggled into his warm body. He was still asleep, which pleased and surprised Tash. She'd noticed that Rich hadn't slept too well since they'd come away. Despite des Dromonts' firm and comfortable mattresses, despite hours of exertion on the slopes each day and in bed most nights, he'd been waking up several times a night and always getting up before her in the morning. It was good to see him resting and peaceful.

Tash chewed on her thumbnail. She felt very guilty. It was obvious that her not seeing eye to eye with Mia had caused him a lot of distress. It must be that, as Rich was not the sort of man to get nervous or stressy over wedding preparations, and yet he had not been his relaxed self of late. Now she'd vowed to see the best in Mia, he seemed so much more chilled. Tash felt a weight of responsibility not exactly resting on her shoulders, more hovering above her head. She was responsible for Rich's happiness. Not all of it, obviously, he was a grown man and had to take responsibility for his own life, but suddenly she realized that she held an enormous power. The power to make Rich happy or unhappy. It seemed obvious, part of her brain had always known this, but suddenly she understood exactly what that meant. They were a team. Soon they would be married and they would always have to think of each other. Not just on the little things, such as what do you fancy for lunch? Or whether they should see a Merchant Ivory or a Tarantino at the cinema, but big things, too.

Tash could have made this holiday a better one for Rich. She could have spent more energy on getting to know Rich's friends. She should have trusted his judgement or at least respected his history. Rich had tried so hard to make this holiday fabulous for her, travelling club cla.s.s, visiting a five-star hotel, taking her on sleigh rides, they'd almost swum in champagne. Tash felt ashamed.

Maybe Tash should ask Mia to do a reading or sign the register. Would she like that? wondered Tash, who momentarily felt like a six-year-old in a playground wanting to ask the most popular girl to be her best friend. Tash shifted uncomfortably. It felt a little forced, and friendships ought to be organic, not genetically modified. Still, she sighed, it clearly meant a lot to Rich; it meant enough to afford him a good night's sleep.

Tash propped herself up on her elbow and looked around the B & B room. They had checked in late last night. They'd boarded over to Champery, got pleasantly drunk in a small tavern and soon it was too late to find a way back to Avoriaz. She mentally hugged herself. What a magical day yesterday had been. She already knew it was one that she'd remember for ever in Technicolor. The skies had been bluer than she'd ever seen before, the snow cleaner, the hot chocolates creamier. They'd pushed themselves physically, covering more ground than any other day, and it was a fantastic feeling. Away from des Dromonts, Rich had transformed. He'd suddenly relaxed back into his articulate, loving, challenging, amusing self. And for her part, she'd cast off the role of nag or worrier, and re-emerged as her happy-go-lucky, warm, humorous and doting self. When they'd checked in to the not-too-pretty B & B, they had not minded the ripped lino floor in the reception or even the smell of stale smoke that lingered in the bedroom. They'd slowly undressed, movements impaired by beer consumption and sore, over-exercised limbs. They'd collapsed on to the bed and fallen into sound sleeps. No talk about weddings, or friendships, or feuds, or anything remotely 'big'. No talk at all, and it was lovely.

In the cold light of day, Tash could see that, to be totally frank, the B & B was not up to scratch and was pretty dismal in comparison to Hotel des Dromonts. The mattress was too soft and covered in stains that Tash didn't even want to contemplate the origin of. She'd nipped to the loo (which was down the corridor and communal) as soon as she'd woken, and discovered not only was there only one bathroom to share amongst five rooms, but also the B & B didn't provide towels she would have to dry herself with a sheet. Tash decided she'd skip a shower; she already knew it would be nearer to a trickle anyway. She'd enjoyed their get-away adventure. They had found privacy and intimacy, the perfect pre-wedding retreat, but Tash missed the power shower and sachets of bubble bath and body lotion. It surprised her how easy it was to get used to the good life. No wonder Mia was such a sn.o.b about accommodation and travel, after living in the lap of luxury for so long.

Tash kissed Rich's shoulder, and he trembled, almost imperceptibly.

'Morning, gorgeous,' he muttered.

Tash delved down under the duvet and felt for his erection, which she knew would be there. Not disappointed, she muttered, 'Morning, glorious.' It was their usual morning pattern, neglected of late. Rich rolled on to his back and lifted up his arm so that Tash could crawl under it and rest her head on his chest. She snuggled into his pit and marvelled that love made even the slightly spicy smell of his sweat-soused skin attractive. They lay together, her lightly trailing her fingernail over his chest, him running the palm of his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to keep her warm. Tash felt so relaxed she almost dozed in their comfortable silence.

Rich was rigid with fear.

Oh, my G.o.d. Oh, my G.o.d. What now? What could he possibly do to avoid Tash meeting Jayne? They were OK here. Safe. Secure. But the moment they went back to Avoriaz she'd be there, waiting. Oh s.h.i.t, what to do? What to do? He could tell Tash. Now, now when she had nowhere to run to, no way of hiding. She'd have to listen to his entire explanation. And it would be better coming from him. That way at least Jayne couldn't put her poisonous and inaccurate spin on things. He could start by telling Tash about the kiss. It was only a kiss, for f.u.c.k's sake. He didn't have to tell her about the t.i.t feeling. Well, he probably would have to tell her because her first question was bound to be 'Just a kiss? Are you sure?' By the very nature of confession he'd have to tell her that his hands had run up and down Jayne's firm, provocative little body. Would Tash think it was a greater or lesser crime if he told her that it wasn't the first time and in fact Jayne was an ex-lover? Would she think it was a big deal at all? Maybe not. Tash was cool with this stuff. She wasn't irrational or jealous of any of his exs, so why hadn't he told her about Jayne? He'd tell her now. This minute. Now.

'Let's get married here.'

'Here?' asked Tash, looking around the grubby room with damp patches on the Artex ceiling and badly executed still-life prints on the wall.

'Not exactly here. But somewhere on the Champery slope. Not in Avoriaz. You wanted a private wedding. Let's go back to plan A and have just that. We'll get married here, today. Just pull a couple of witnesses off the slopes.'

Tash looked at Rich. Love him. He must have been lying quietly thinking the exact same thoughts as she had. He must have been considering how his actions impacted on her and how he was responsible for making her happy. He was making this gesture because he thought it was what she wanted. The idea was romantic. But it was also rash and wrong.

'We can't do that now, Rich. We've come too far. Mia, Lloyd, Jase and Jayne have all spent a fortune to be with us. They'd be so disappointed.'

'They wouldn't be. They'd understand.'

'No. It's really, really sweet of you to offer, and I know that you are offering to do this for me because you think it's what I want, but it isn't. Not any more. I told you last night, your friends are my friends now. This is a fresh start. Besides, you'd regret it. In your heart of hearts, I know you want to get married standing up in front of your... our friends.'

'I don't,' insisted Rich. He wished he'd told her. Last night would have been perfect. Now would be OK. Why was he such a coward?

Tash squeezed him, 'I don't think it would be possible, even if we wanted to. We have a registrar back in Avoriaz, and we have clearance from the tourist board. I don't think you can just change your mind on a whim. We've gone too far now. We have to see it through.'

But that was his point! Would they get a chance to see it through? Not if Jayne had her way.

63. Face the Music.

They climbed back into their slightly damp s...o...b..arding gear and took as direct a route as possible back to Avoriaz. Rich insisted that they went straight to their rooms to shower and change clothes. He had the vague hope that, if they followed this plan, Jayne would have gone out on to the slopes with the others. Maybe, he prayed, she'd have given up on the idea of splitting up Rich and Tash, and accepted that they were going to get married tomorrow. That's what most women would have done. Rational women. Rich shuddered, unsure whether he actually knew any rational women in real life. They mostly existed in his imagination.

Well, his room was as safe a place as any. And as dangerous.

'I don't think I'll go out on the slopes today. I want to call Ted and see how things are at home. It's better for him not to waste any more time. We need to draw up an instant plan of action. I wasn't totally with it yesterday. I'm not sure I was as responsive or helpful as I could have been,' he added.

'It was such a shock,' agreed Tash. She was sitting on a chair ma.s.saging her feet. They'd only been outside for a couple of hours, but her fingers and toes were so cold that they throbbed as they warmed up. It felt as though she'd sustained multiple bee stings. She wanted to believe that Rich could somehow magic from thin air a new career for Ted. She wanted everything to come good for Ted and Kate, and she enjoyed the glow she felt watching Rich behave with such purpose, care and confidence. He was 100 per cent superhero as far as she was concerned.

'Now I've had time to sleep on it, I'm sure there are some guys I could call that would meet with Ted.'

'It's a start,' nodded Tash, smiling. 'I'm sure Ted and Kate would be grateful for any leads you could heat up.' It was so great that he'd put himself out like that. He was a good mate. He wasn't ducking out because Ted was in a mess. Tash smiled. Rich's simple, unselfish action showed her just what a magnanimous, thoughtful guy he really was.

At least in his room he could just refuse to answer the door. It would be ideal if he could persuade Tash to stay with him, so Jayne couldn't get to her either, thought Rich.

Rich knelt in front of Tash and took her small feet in his large hands. He carefully rubbed warmth into them.

'The problem is Ted is almost too honest for his own good. I'll have to brief him on what to say and what not to say. We're going to have to plan an exercise in damage limitation. I may have to be on the phone for a good couple of hours. Why don't you stay here and read a book? It won't be any fun if we are apart.' He hoped he sounded casual and sincere, rather than desperate and terrified.

'I'd love to, babe, but don't forget that we are meeting the chef and the maitre d' at two o'clock. And we've got an appointment with the registrar before that.'

Tash kissed Rich, but he barely responded. His mind was whirling, and he'd never been good at mult.i.tasking. He had to go out! How was he going to manage that? She'd be there lying in wait for him, ready to pounce, he knew it. He'd have to get hold of Jason and ask him to get Jayne out of the way, otherwise how was he going to be able to move freely around the village?

Tash left her clothes in a puddle on the floor as usual and walked to the bathroom. She turned the shower on to full power and started to sing. Rich closed the bathroom door, making gestures that he couldn't be heard on the phone with background noise, and then called Jason's room. The phone rang once before it was s.n.a.t.c.hed up.

'Jase, mate? You're not boarding?'

'No, didn't feel like it.'

'Where are the others?'

'No idea.'

'I need to know where Jayne is.'

'I'd like to know where Mia is.'

'Could they be together?'

'Anything's possible.'

'Are you OK, buddy? You sound strange.' Rich was surprised to find himself asking this question. He thought he was the only one with problems.

'Bit f.u.c.ked up, to be frank. Mate, I'd appreciate it if we could have a beer. You wouldn't believe the s.h.i.t Mia hit me with last night.'

Rich checked his watch impatiently. He had to call Ted, he had to meet the chef and maitre d' and, above all, he had to avoid Jayne. Now Jason wanted to meet for a beer.

'I wouldn't ask, only '

'Yeah, buddy, cool. But I can't go out. I'll explain why when I see you. I'll come to your room.'

Rich knew that Jason wouldn't ask unless it was important.

64. Jayne's Rampage.

Yesterday, Rich had said he loved Tash, and Jayne had believed him. She hadn't believed it was love when he stopped seeing her and every other woman when he'd met Tash. After all, she was used to long, barren periods when he'd had crushes on other women in the past. Sadly, theirs had never been the type of relationship where the regularity and frequency of the meetings could be counted on. She hadn't accepted his plea that he wanted to be exclusive with Tash; she'd thought Tash was putting pressure on him and that ultimately Rich would come back to her. He'd always tired of other women after indecently brief periods in the past. Jayne hadn't believed Rich loved Tash when he proposed marriage; she'd excused him, a.s.suming he'd gotten caught up in the moment. She'd never expected him to actually go through with the wedding. Since they'd arrived in Avoriaz, he had on countless occasions insisted that he loved Tash, and still she hadn't believed him.

But she believed him yesterday morning.

Yesterday morning he knew that if he rejected Jayne, he'd lose Tash anyway. Jayne would see to it. But he'd still rejected Jayne. He loved Tash so much he'd rather be alone than with someone else. The pain. The humiliation.

It scorched her entire body. Flames of loneliness, disappointment and emptiness licked every inch of her skin. Jayne had never felt anything quite so searing. She wanted to run away and hide, but she couldn't hide from herself and it was her own mind that tortured her most.

How could he not want her? She had done everything she could to secure him. She had become everything she was to attract him. He was her motivation, her ambition, her reason for getting up in the morning. She felt b.l.o.o.d.y and bare. She grieved for him, or in fact the vision of him, with an unruly, brutal pa.s.sion.

She had wasted so much time. Ever since she was sixteen, he had led her on. He'd used her. He'd taken the best years of her life. He'd had s.e.x with her, over and over again, every which way, and now it turned out that that was all he'd had, s.e.x. He'd never made love. She'd put his d.i.c.k in her mouth, and it was just s.e.x. He'd never seen that as a loving or doting act. She wished she'd f.u.c.king bit it off. He'd encouraged her to believe that they had some sort of relationship, that they had some sort of future. He might not actually have said anything for her to think that, but he'd never said anything that would stop her thinking that either. Or, maybe, if he had said something explicit about them being good s.h.a.g-buddies, but him not being the sort to settle down, then she'd a.s.sumed he was just playing hard to get.

Because he had kept coming back for more.

For a decade he'd come back and back and back. When he'd said he thought it was a good idea that she see other men, she'd never really believed him. After all, she said it was a good idea for him to see other women and she hadn't meant that for a second. It's just what people do, isn't it? They play it cool. They say the opposite to what they mean. It's part of the game.

The game was over. Even Jayne could see that. Rich was never going to be hers, but he was not going to be Tash's either. She would stop this wedding. Rich would not find his happily ever after with Tash. She would not allow it.

As well as the grief and the pain and the scorching sting of humiliation, Jayne felt a foul and an unutterable rage. Fuming, livid, mad. Vengeful. After Jayne had rushed back to the hotel and dictated a hurried note to the concierge, more or less demanding Tash's immediate attention, she ran to her room and slammed the door behind her. If only she could really lock the world out. She had been fired with rage, but the instant she was alone in her room the fury had been swallowed up by self-pity and a cold awakening.

Rich had never loved her. He had never said he loved her, and he had never done anything to give her the impression that he was in love with her. She pulled out her memento box and stared at the pathetic contents. Bits of scribbled handwriting, not even intended for her, photos of him as he slept because he would never willingly smile for her or even for her camera. Toenail clippings, secretly retrieved from the bin at night. It didn't amount to a relationship.

He hadn't even acknowledged her existence during his drunken, debauched chats with his best mates.

She flung the box at the bedroom wall. It made a satisfying crash, and the contents flew out. Tube tickets fluttered around the room like confetti. Jayne looked for something else to break. She swept the contents of the dressing table on to the floor. The expensive gla.s.s bottles, full of perfume and other lotions and potions, clattered and scattered to the floor. The ointments and gels oozed on to the carpet. She'd have to pay for the damage, but she didn't care. She'd flung open her wardrobe doors and clawed at the contents, ripping delicate, lacy tops and breaking the heels of her astonishingly expensive shoes. She wanted to destroy it all. None of it meant anything at all. Without him she did not have a life. She picked up the bridal magazines and her novel, and tore at the pages, scrunching the pages into b.a.l.l.s and tossing them away. She smashed the bottles in the bathroom and her bedside table lamp. Her hurricane-like path of destruction only began to wane when her arms ached with pulling things apart and her fists bled with cuts and tears. Then she collapsed onto the bed and howled.

65. Jayne's Reveal.

Tash checked her watch again, then tapped it lightly because, for dubious, unscientific reasons, people did that to see if their watch was still working when time was dragging. Of course her watch was still working. It just seemed stuck as she'd stared at it so much in the past hour.

Where was Rich?

He'd explained that he had to go to Jason's room, said Jason was upset about something. What in this world would upset Jase, who was so laid-back he was horizontal? Then he had the calls to make on Ted's behalf, but he had promised he'd be in the foyer in time to go for the meeting with the registrar. But Rich was nowhere to be found, and Tash had to attend the appointment on her own.

She'd liked the registrar instantly. He was a jovial, rotund chap in his early fifties. He laughed a lot and oozed confidence and a.s.surance. He told her that he was a demon on his skis and had patted his stomach and insisted that she should not be deceived by his girth; he'd confidently manage a ceremony on the slopes. He rea.s.sured her by telling her that marrying on the slopes was not unprecedented, but then, not a common occurrence. The right blend of individual but not barmy, attainable but not predictable. The registrar ran through the details and legalities. The wedding ceremony had to be performed in French and English, but as he was fluent in both a translator was not necessary. Tash was glad, as she didn't want the officials outnumbering the guests. The registrar gave her a brief list of things to double-check. Validity of lift pa.s.ses, the hours the lifts opened, that they both had birth certificates or pa.s.sports with them. Tash had already checked and double-checked everything on the list, and everything was in order. She left the registrar's office walking on air. It was lovely to know that her big day was in such remarkably capable and congenial hands.

Tash returned to the hotel and asked the concierge if there were any messages for her. There were five from Jayne, but none from Rich. Two of Jayne's notes had been left yesterday, and the three more demanding ones had been written this morning. Jayne's notes asked Tash to contact her 'immediately'. Jayne had given her room number and mobile number, even though Tash had these details, and even the hotel's phone number, which Tash thought was a bit odd. The notes were full of exclamation marks and underlinings and, while the intensity of the request did vary slightly, they all ran along similar lines.