Help? What on earth—
I realize the truth just as Richard does. They think he’s a doctor. Oh shit. He glances at me wildly and I pull an agonized face back.
“We have an expert here!” the air hostess is saying to the man in the linen jacket, her eyes alive with excitement. “Don’t worry, everyone! We have a very senior pioneering surgeon from Great Ormond Street on board! He’ll take charge!”
Richard’s eyes are bulging in alarm. “No!” he manages. “No. Really. I’m … not …”
“Go on, Uncle Richard!” says Noah, his face bright. “Cure the lady!” Meanwhile, the GP looks affronted.
“It’s a straightforward case of angina,” he says testily, getting up. “My medical bag’s on board if you’d like me to assist. But if you want to give a second opinion—”
“No.” Richard looks desperate. “No, I don’t!”
“I’ve given her sublingual nitroglycerin. Would you agree with that?”
Oh God. This is bad. Richard looks absolutely desperate.
“I … I …” He swallows. “I—”
“He never practices on board planes!” I come to his rescue. “He has a phobia!”
“Yes,” gulps Richard, shooting me a grateful glance. “Exactly! A phobia.”
“Ever since a flight which went dreadfully wrong.” I shudder dramatically, as though from a painful memory. “Flight 406 to Bangladesh.”
“Please don’t ask me to talk about it.” Richard plays along.
“He’s still in therapy.” I nod gravely.
The GP stares at us both as if we’re crazy.
“Well, good thing I was here,” he says shortly. He turns back to the old woman, and both Richard and I subside. I feel weak. The air hostess shakes her head in disappointment and heads over to the other side of the plane.
“Fliss, you have to get Noah sorted out,” says Richard in a low, urgent voice. “He can’t go around just making up stories. He’ll get someone in real trouble.”
“I know.” I wince. “I’m so sorry.”
The old lady is being taken to some farther bit of the plane. The GP and the cabin crew are having what looks like a tense discussion. They all disappear behind a curtain, and for a little while there’s no sign of life. Richard is staring ahead intently, his forehead creased in concern. He must be worried about the old woman, I find myself thinking benevolently. He has a kind heart, Richard.
“So, listen. Tell me.” He turns to me at last, his brow still furrowed. “They really haven’t done it yet?”
Oh, honestly. Silly me. He’s a man. Naturally he’s thinking about only one thing.
“Not as far as I know.” I shrug.
“Hey, maybe this Ben can’t get it up.” Richard’s face brightens in sudden animation.
“I don’t think that’s it.” I shake my head.
“Why not? It’s the only explanation! He can’t get it up!”
“Can’t get what up?” asks Noah with interest.
Great. I glare at Richard, but he’s so triumphant, he doesn’t notice. I’m sure there’s some special long German word meaning “the joy you feel at your rival’s sexual impotence,” and right now Richard has it with bells on.
“Poor guy,” he adds, as he finally notices my disapproving look. “I mean, I feel for him, obviously. Nasty affliction.”
“You have no evidence for this,” I point out.
“It’s his honeymoon,” retorts Richard. “Who doesn’t do it on their honeymoon unless he can’t get it up?”
“Can’t get what up?” Noah’s voice pipes louder.
“Nothing, darling,” I say hastily to Noah. “Just something very grown-up and boring.”
“Is it a grown-up thing that goes up?” asks Noah with piercing curiosity. “Does it ever go down?”
“He can’t get it up!” Richard is exultant. “It all falls into place. Poor old Lottie.”
“Who can’t get it up?” says Lorcan, turning toward us.
“Ben,” says Richard.
“Really?” Lorcan looks taken aback. “Shit.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Well, that explains a lot.”
Oh God. This is how rumors start. This is how misunderstandings happen and archdukes get shot and world wars begin.
“Listen, both of you!” I say fiercely. “Lottie has said nothing whatsoever to me about anything being up … or down.”
“Mine is up,” volunteers Noah matter-of-factly, and I gasp in horror before I can stop myself.
