Wedding Night by Sophie Kinsella Page A

skeptical. “Are you sure about that? Or are you still expecting him to wake up one day and realize all the bad things he’s done? Because you have to understand, Daniel will never realize anything. He’ll never confess to being a terrible human being. I could spend a thousand hours on this case, it would still never happen.”
    “But it’s so unfair.” I can feel a ball of frustration. “He
is
a terrible human being.”
    “I know. He’s a shit. So don’t dwell on him. Flush him out of your life. Gone.”
    “It’s not as easy as that,” I mutter after a pause. “He is the father of my child.”
    “I know,” says Barnaby more gently. “I didn’t say it was easy.”
    There’s silence for a while. I stare at my office clock, watching the crappy plastic hand tick round. At last I slump right down, resting my head in the crook of my elbow.
    “God, divorce.”
    “Divorce, eh,” says Barnaby. “Man’s greatest invention.”
    “I wish I could just … I dunno.” I sigh heavily. “Wave amagic wand and our marriage never happened. Except Noah. I’d keep Noah and the rest would all be a bad dream.”
    “You want an annulment, that’s what you want,” says Barnaby cheerfully.
    “An annulment?” I stare at the phone suspiciously. “Is that a real thing?”
    “Real enough. It means the contract is null and void. The marriage never existed. You’d be amazed how many clients ask for one.”
    “Could I get one?”
    I’m seized by this idea. Maybe there’s some cheap, easy way round this I haven’t seen before. “Annulment.” Null and void. I like the sound of that a
lot
. Why didn’t Barnaby mention this before?
    “Not unless Daniel was a bigamist,” says Barnaby. “Or forced you into marriage. Or you never consummated it. Or one of you was mentally unfit at the time.”
    “Me!” I say at once. “I was crazy to even
think
of marrying him.”
    “That’s what they all say.” He laughs. “Won’t wash, I’m afraid.”
    My spark of hope slowly dies away. Damn. I wish Daniel
had
been a bigamist now. I wish some original wife in a Mormon bonnet would pop up and say,
I got there first!
and save me all this trouble.
    “I guess we’ll have to stick with the divorce,” I say at last. “Thanks, Barnaby. I’d better go before you charge me another thirty thousand pounds just for saying hi.”
    “Quite right.” Barnaby never sounds remotely offended, whatever I say. “But before you do, you’re still going to France, right?”
    “Yes, tomorrow.”
    Noah and I are heading off for two weeks to the Côte d’Azur. As far as he’s concerned, it’s our Easter holiday. As far as I’m concerned, I’m reviewing three hotels, six restaurants, and a theme park. I’ll be working on my laptop every night till late, but I can’t complain.
    “I contacted my old mate Nathan Forrester. The one I told you about? Based in Antibes? You two should meet up while you’re there, have a drink.”
    “Oh.” I feel my spirits lift. “OK. That sounds fun.”
    “I’ll email you the details. He’s a nice guy. Plays too much poker, but don’t hold that against him.”
    A poker-playing resident of the South of France. Sounds intriguing. “I won’t. Thanks, Barnaby.”
    “My pleasure. Bye, Fliss.”
    I put the phone down and it immediately rings again. Barnaby must have forgotten some point or other.
    “Hi, Barnaby?”
    There’s silence, except for some rather fast, rather heavy breathing. Hmm. Has Barnaby inadvertently pressed
redial
while snogging his secretary? But even as I’m thinking this, I know who it is really. I recognize that breathing. And I can hear Macy Gray’s “I Try” faintly in the background: a classic Lottie breakup soundtrack.
    “Hello?” I try again. “Lottie? Is that you?”
    There’s more heavy breathing, this time raspy.
    “Lottie? Lotts?”
    “Oh, Fliss …” She erupts into a massive sob. “I really, really thought he was going to propooooooose.…”
    “Oh God.