Chapter Four Lee #2
Nico paces the floor as I make the call, watching me like a parent whose child has been kidnapped and is forced to sit by as the cops make contact about the ransom demand.
‘Lee, baby!’ Frankie booms in my ear.
‘Hi, Frankie.’ I try not to wince at the volume of his greeting. Clearly, he isn’t feeling the effects of last night. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I needed to check… do you have Nico’s camera?’
‘Sure,’ Frankie says. ‘He left it with me when the two of you headed out. I’ll have someone bring it to his room.’
I give Nico the thumbs up gesture. He falls back into the sofa, the picture of relief. ‘Nico’s here with me,’ I say absently.
‘Oh yeah?’ Frankie yells, delighted.
‘It’s not—’ I start, casting an anxious look at Nico and turning away from him, my shoulders hunched.
Frankie doesn’t let me finish. ‘You know, I like him for you,’ he’s already musing loudly in my ear.
Do these phones have a volume control? I begin frantically smashing buttons as Frankie continues shouting.
‘He’s a good boy. Talented, too. Those pictures he took of me and the guys?
’ Frankie gives a low whistle. ‘I’m gonna have them framed in the hotel lobby. ’
‘They—’ I try to cut in again but it’s like facing down a steamroller.
‘At first I wasn’t sure,’ Frankie admits, unwittingly echoing Nico’s own opinion of him. ‘But now I got a good feeling about him. I mean the kid’s practically part of the royal family.’
I freeze. ‘Did he tell you that?’ I ask in a low voice.
Frankie makes a dismissive noise. ‘I had my people check him out. Full background. Wanted to make sure he’s good enough for you.’
I cast another look over my shoulder at Nico, but thankfully he’s busy scrolling through his phone, not paying attention. Nico’s dad is – for obvious reasons – a touchy subject.
‘The two of you make a great couple,’ Frankie continues to wax lyrical.
‘Classy, y’know? Like something out of Downton Abbey.
’ I forgot about Frankie’s unlikely obsession with Downton Abbey, and there’s no stopping him now.
‘Does he know King Charles? Does he play polo? If you had a kid, would it be a lord?’
‘Frankie, it’s not like that,’ I whisper firmly, cutting him off. Knowing Frankie, he’s already picturing himself at a shooting party on the duke’s estate. I bet he’s been internet shopping for tweeds all morning. The man loves a snazzy outfit.
Frankie only laughs. ‘It sure looked like that last night.’
What the hell does that mean?
‘About last night,’ I murmur, steering him away from the royal wedding he’s planning. ‘It’s all a bit blurry. Do you know where we went after the poker game?’
‘You left around ten,’ Frankie says. ‘And you headed back down to the bar. Last I heard you were trying to talk Nico into flaming sambucas.’
‘Flaming sambucas?’ I whisper, and my stomach practically moans in protest.
He’s laughing again. ‘What the pair of you got up to after that, I can’t possibly say.’ His tone is arch, the meaning clear.
‘Well, it wasn’t what you’re thinking.’ I rub my forehead, trying to gather my thoughts. ‘Did I leave my handbag with you as well? I can’t find it.’
‘No, you had that when you left,’ Frankie replies. ‘I know because I told you to be careful throwing all your winnings from the game in it. You walked away with a bundle last night.’
There’s a knock on the door and Nico goes to answer it.
‘The camera’s here,’ I say. ‘Thanks, Frankie. I’ll come and say goodbye before I leave.’
‘Well,’ Nico says, coming to stand beside me and pressing at the buttons on his camera, ‘if we left this with Frankie then there aren’t going to be any clues about the rest of the night on here.’ His face relaxes into an expression of pleasure. ‘But I did get some great shots.’
I lean over his shoulder to have a look, and even on the small screen it’s easy to see he’s right.
There’s one of Frankie, a cigar clamped between his grinning teeth, a winning hand of cards fanned on the table in front of him.
The light is diffused through a cloud of cigar smoke, and every expressive line of his face is perfectly captured.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ I say. ‘I want a copy.’
‘I’ll send you one,’ Nico promises, flicking through image after image. ‘I wish I’d shot some on film,’ he adds absently.
‘Frankie’s pretty sure we headed off for flaming sambucas after poker,’ I say, moving over to the sofa and grabbing my jacket off the back of it.
‘Yeah,’ Nico rubs his eyes, ‘that tracks.’
‘Mmm,’ I murmur in agreement, running my hands over the fabric and checking the pockets for any other clues. ‘He also said I had my handbag when I left so it looks like that might be lost. Apparently it was stuffed full of my poker winnings.’
Nico grimaces. ‘Shit.’
‘At least my phone wasn’t in it,’ I say, trying to sound philosophical while the thought of cancelling all my cards in my current condition makes me want to lie down on the floor and weep.
I pull a receipt out of my pocket and smooth it out. ‘Okay, seems we left the hotel and headed out on the strip,’ I say, handing him the piece of paper, which is a bar bill for an astronomical amount of money.
‘And now we know where your poker winnings went.’ He points to the bottom. ‘You paid cash.’
I eye the lengthy bill. ‘I must have been buying a round for everyone there, right? There’s no way we drank that much. I mean, I know we feel bad now, but surely we’d have died.’
‘Unless you think we drank fourteen appletinis, that’s my guess,’ he replies, scanning the itemised receipt.
‘Wait, this is ringing a bell. Didn’t we run into a hen party?’
‘Okay, yes.’ Nico’s forehead furrows as he stares into the middle distance. ‘I’m definitely having flashbacks to sashes and… penis straws?’ He looks slightly haunted. As well he might – I don’t need a clear memory to know that Nico would be catnip to a bunch of drunk women on a hen do.
‘What’s this?’ A small square of cardboard is slipped deep into my pocket and I ease it out. It’s a Polaroid photograph and I flip it over. ‘Oh. My. God,’ I breathe.
‘What?’ Nico ranges himself over my shoulder.
All I can do is stare at the photo.
My voice sounds very far away when I say, ‘I think we… got married?’