Chapter Thirty Three The Morning After
The morning light was not kind.
It streamed through the tall windows of the Dower House drawing room, illuminating a scene of such comprehensive devastation that I found myself wondering, not for the first time, how exactly we had got here.
The champagne bottle in my hand was empty.
The ice pack on my head had long since melted into a lukewarm disappointment.
And the young woman asleep on my shoulder showed no signs of waking.
Around us, the room looked like the aftermath of an unusually festive apocalypse.
Confetti everywhere: not just on the floor, but in the chandeliers, on the picture frames, somehow lodged in the crevices of the Victorian furniture where it would probably remain until the heat death of the universe.
Someone had placed a top hat on the bust of the third Earl.
Someone else had draped a lace bra; bright pink, distinctly non-Georgian, around the shoulders of his marble wife, who looked on disapprovingly.
As my eyes gradually became accustomed to, if not fully accepting the light, it all came back.
Through the window, the snow had transformed the view.
It was clean, as though all of yesterday’s problems had simply been swept under a huge, pristine carpet.
I could see the remains of the hot tub sitting forlornly on the terrace, its water now a murky green, a single champagne flute floating on the surface like a small crystal yacht that had lost its way.
The lobsters, I gathered, had been liberated sometime after midnight: Archie had taken them to the lake in a wheelbarrow, declaring that they ‘deserved their freedom after everything they’d been through.
’ The river fed into the sea eventually, so we had hopes they would survive.
Beyond the hot tub, the lake glittered in the morning sun, giving absolutely nothing away. If there was debris from last night’s balloon incident, it had sunk without a trace. If there was a body... well, the lake was deep.
I didn’t expect they’d find anything if they looked and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted them to.
From somewhere in the house; or possibly the grounds, it was hard to tell came the sound of someone playing the bagpipes.
Badly. This would be Rupert, who had lost a bet around three in the morning and was now required to learn a Scottish instrument before breakfast. The bagpipes produced a sound I can only describe as a goose being slowly murdered by someone who bore it a personal grudge.
After a few tortured minutes, it stopped abruptly: either Rupert had given up, or someone had intervened with extreme prejudice, or the bagpipes themselves had expired from shame.
In the silence that followed, I surveyed the damage.
The chocolate fountain had overflowed at some point and was now a hardened brown cascade down the entrance hall’s marble steps. DJ Stardust was asleep on the mixing desk, her headphones still on, a half-eaten piece of wedding cake balanced precariously on the turntable.
There was a lobster in the fountain, I had put it there as it looked unhappy by the fire; it sat impatiently, waving its claws at me with an air of profound philosophical resignation.
But it was a happy battlefield. The chaos of celebration rather than disaster. Every broken glass, every piece of confetti, every inexplicable lobster was evidence of joy: of a party that had raged until dawn, of a wedding that had somehow, against all odds, been exactly what it was supposed to be.
???
James and Anastasia appeared around ten o’clock, dressed for travel.
They looked... happy. Not the performative happiness of newlyweds posing for photographs, but something quieter, realer, deeper.
James had his arm around Anastasia’s waist. She was leaning into him like he was the only solid thing in the world.
They moved together like they’d been doing it for years, not hours.
‘You’re awake,’ James said, stepping over a sleeping Freddie to reach me. ‘Barely, by the look of it. Good party?’
‘I’ve had worse.’
‘Liar. This was the best party you’ve ever had. Admit it.’
‘It was... eventful.’
‘That’s as close to a compliment as you’ve ever given me.’ He grinned, that ridiculous, wonderful, utterly oblivious grin. ‘We’re off, by the way. Heading out.’
‘The honeymoon? I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow.’
‘Change of plans.’ He glanced at Anastasia and something passed between them, a private joke, a shared secret. ‘We’re heading to the Maldives. Early start on the honeymoon.’
‘The Maldives?’
‘The Maldives.’ He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Sun, sea and no relatives.’
‘Anastasia’s idea.’ James beamed. ‘She wants to go somewhere we can just be us for a while. No mothers, no speeches and no bloody lobsters. Just the two of us.’
‘James.’ I rubbed my temples, which was a mistake, I still needed painkillers. ‘You do know you only got married yesterday? Most people wait at least a day before fleeing the country.’
‘I’ve never had a proper holiday before,’ Anastasia added, with a smile that suggested she found all of this genuinely amusing rather than insane. ‘Apparently we’re doing new things.’
‘Right.’ I looked at them: ‘The Maldives it is, then.’
‘You could come with us,’ James offered.
‘I’m pretty sure this is one holiday you are meant to do on your own James, so I think I’ll stay here. Anyway, someone needs to explain to your mother why there’s a lobster in the fountain.’
‘Oh God. Mummy.’ James’s face fell. ‘She’s going to be absolutely furious about... well, everything. The DJ. The chocolate fountain. The BBQ. The fact there is no prenup.’
‘She survived the ice sculpture floating in the lake. She’ll survive this.’
‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right.’ He straightened his shoulders, visibly gathering his courage. ‘We’ll deal with Mummy when we get back from the Maldives, where we will be blissfully unreachable.’
‘That’s the spirit.’
James hugged me, a proper bear hug, the kind he’d been giving since university, the kind that always made you feel like everything was going to be all right even when it obviously wasn’t.
‘Thank you, Henry. For everything. For being here. For the speech. For...’ He pulled back, looked at me with those guileless blue eyes.
‘For being my best man. My best friend. You know.’
I did know. I knew more than he could possibly imagine.
‘Go,’ I said. ‘Have fun and enjoy the sunshine and try and bring some back, it’s bloody freezing here’
‘No promises on that.’ He grinned, took Anastasia’s hand and headed for the door. ‘Oh and if anyone asks about the hot air balloon, just say it was part of the fireworks. Bit over the top, but very dramatic.’
‘The fireworks. Right. Of course.’
Anastasia paused at the door. Looked back at me. For a moment, the mask slipped, just slightly, just enough for me to see what was underneath. Gratitude. Relief. A question that neither of us would ever voice.
‘Take care of yourself, Henry,’ she said.
‘Take care of him.’
‘Always.’
She meant it. I could see that. Whatever else was true about Anastasia Kovalenko her love for James was real. That was the part that mattered. That was the part I would remember.
And then they were gone, walking out into the morning light, leaving behind the wreckage of the greatest party anyone could remember.
???
I was still sitting there, processing the champagne damage and wondering whether I had the energy to locate my other shoe, when Granny appeared.
She materialised the way she always did: without warning or sound, as though she had simply decided to exist in the doorway and the universe had obliged.
She was immaculate, with not a hair out of place.
She looked as though she had slept eight hours, eaten a sensible breakfast and done the crossword, it was profoundly unfair.
‘Henry,’ she said. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘I feel dreadful. Would you like to sit down?’
‘I would not, I’m leaving shortly and Gerald is having the car sent round, I want to be in London before lunch.’ She surveyed the room with the brisk assessment of a general inspecting a battlefield. ‘I see the chocolate fountain didn’t survive.’
‘It put up a brave fight.’
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, in a different voice, the one I’d only heard her use two or three times in my life: ‘You’re a good friend to James, Henry. Better than he knows. Better than he’ll ever need to know.’
I looked at her. Something in the way she said it made me sit up slightly.
‘Granny’
‘There was a great deal happening yesterday that had nothing to do with flowers or seating plans. I imagine you noticed some of it. You’re not as unobservant as you pretend.’
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. I thought about Viktor's face at the cake-cutting, about the way Anastasia had pulled James away from the chandelier and the balloon, rising into the night sky and then very dramatically not being there any more.
'The enquiries,' I said. 'The ones you mentioned to Elizabeth. After the engagement party. What did they find?'
Granny looked at me steadily. 'Enough.'
'Enough to know what was coming?'
'Enough to know that it might be coming. And enough to know that Anastasia was rather better equipped to handle it than anyone else in the room.' She adjusted her gloves. 'Including you.'
I let that sit for a moment. 'You could have said something.'
'To whom? James would have been devastated and unhelpful in equal measure.
Elizabeth would have been triumphant and equally unhelpful.
And you…' she gave me a brief, precise look, the kind that didn't require elaboration, 'well, you were already watching.
I could see that. I didn't think you needed me to draw you a diagram. '
'No,' I said. 'I suppose I didn't.'
A short silence. The comfortable silence of two people confirming something neither of them is going to say aloud.
'She worked it out herself,' I said. 'Anastasia. I didn't do much.'
'You did what was needed and that's usually enough.
' She picked up her bag. 'The situation has been resolved, James is happy and I would strongly recommend leaving the details, such as they are, where they are.
' A pause. 'The lake is very deep at the far end and the current moves toward the river.
That is just a geographical observation, nothing more. '
'Of course.'
'Good.' She straightened up and became Granny again, a transformation so swift and total that you could almost doubt the previous two minutes had happened.
'Now. Tell Elizabeth the wedding was charming, use that word specifically as she'll hate it, but will believe it coming from you. And do something about that lobster, it's been looking at me.'
She left and I winced at the sound of the door closing and the gravel crunching.
I sat for a while in the wreckage of the greatest party anyone could remember and thought about the fact that Granny had known, not everything perhaps, but enough.
She had known before any of us and then watched the whole weekend from behind those sharp blue eyes and said nothing and did nothing, just trusted that the right people would handle it.
I wasn't entirely sure whether to be impressed or unsettled.
Both, probably. In roughly equal measure.
I sat for a while after she’d gone, watching the light move across the room, thinking about everything that had happened. Everything I’d seen. Everything I hadn’t.
I thought about James, driving down a mountain in ski boots, falling in love with a woman he didn’t know anything about. I thought about Anastasia, coming to London to start a new life and finding something she never expected. I thought about Viktor.
James would just know that he had married the love of his life. That they were off to the Maldives for their honeymoon. That the future was bright and full of possibility and he was going to spend every moment of it with her.
That was enough. That had to be enough.
Somewhere on the way to an airport, James and Anastasia were beginning their honeymoon, leaving behind the chaos, the secrets and the near-misses, heading toward a future that belonged only to them.
Somewhere at the bottom of the lake, Viktor’s plans had come to nothing, or perhaps he was even now swimming toward the river, toward escape, toward another day.
And somewhere in a country house in the Cotswolds, a lobster waved its claws forlornly, waiting for someone to explain what the hell had just happened.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading The Killer Wedding.