‘God, I hope that’s not taped onto my paintwork,’ Alan thought to himself regarding the “Just Married” sign affixed to the back of his vanishing Rolls Royce Phantom limousine, carrying away his only daughter Eve and Adam her groom.

Not that it mattered unduly, he would almost certainly lose the car in the upcoming divorce settlement anyway and have to make do with a Merc or BMW, or ... mmm, even a Jaguar. He had started out with a Jag all those years ago.

‘That wouldn’t be too bad,’ he thought.

His long-time driver Brian had often reminisced about those responsive early Jags before his first rather sedate white Silver Cloud and then the last couple of luxurious dark-hued Phantoms.

Of course she broke into his thoughts then, she always did, even when she wasn’t around. This time Natalie, his first of three wives, the mother of his just-married daughter, was very much around in person and just then verbally injected herself into his thoughts.

“Sorry, Alan,” Natalie said, defiantly clutching the bouquet she had caught, thrown into the crowd of eligible ladies by her daughter before departing for her honeymoon.

‘She was always assertive, no, make that controlling,’ Alan recalled of Natalie, 20 years his bride but not for six long years.

“I promised Eve faithfully that I would stay out of sight,” Natalie sounded more apologetic, “standing discreetly just behind you as we waved Eve goodbye before melting away unobserved but I couldn’t resist chasing the flowers.”

‘Of course she couldn’t,’ Alan thought, remaining silent.

She ended with a giggle.

The sound sharply reminded him of happier days when they laughed a lot, laughing together back then in the day when life was uncomplicated. That was a long time ago. They hadn’t spoken in six years, not one word, about anything. Her voice was the same, always lively, often invigorating, although towards the end of their relationship he persuaded himself that he found it grating. As far as the wedding arrangements had gone over the last year or so, he had spoken only to Eve the bride, Adam the groom and Carol the maid of honour. Natalie obviously had a lot more input into the wedding than he had, Alan just paid for it all.

Alan sighed, women, they say you can’t live with or without them, he could add that a man’s choice to live one way or the other hardly even comes into the equation. Still, it had been six years since they split as a couple and now their only daughter was married off and the next stage was probably grandparenthood. Arrangements for the future relationship between the estranged pair needed to be discussed, or at least a framework wherein such an accommodation could be discussed, when such event eventually arose.

“OK, Natalie, let’s go sit somewhere quiet and see if we can talk without killing each other.” He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh or so bitter, it just came out like that.

Natalie glared at him.

Seeing this reaction Alan put up both his hands in a gesture of apology and tried to force a smile as he used a finger and thumb drawn past his lips to mime pulling a zip across his rebellious mouth. Then he held out the crock of his arm by way of both invitation and olive branch.

Natalie grinned prettily and curtsied stylishly before tucking her slim bare arm into Alan’s tuxedo-clad one and he led her back into the hotel where the wedding reception was still in full swing and steered her towards the elevators.

“I have one of the smaller suites, where we can be undisturbed, or would you rather somewhere more public in case we require witnesses?” he offered with a disarming smile by way of semi-barbed invitation. She must have thought better of any unnecessary confrontation, as she simply nodded and waved her spare arm towards the lifts in easy acquiescence.

The suite was not one of the ostentatious penthouse kind, but it did have a separate bedroom, galley kitchen area and lounge with sofa, coffee table, armchairs, dining area and a desk.

He led her to the sofa, sat her down and offered her a drink. Natalie said she only wanted a soda water or similar, she’d had enough champagne and sherry to last her a month or more.

“What are you having?” she enquired.

“Tea!” he laughed, “I haven’t touched alcohol in nearly four years. I’ll put your flowers in water if you like.”

“Oh! Yes, please,” she said, somewhat surprised as she handed over Eve’s bouquet, “Then I’ll join you in a cup of tea, too.”

She was thoughtfully quiet while he bustled about in the suite’s galley area brewing the tea. Then she called out, “Isn’t that when you were going through your second divorce, you know, four years ago?”

“Uh huh!” he answered as he brought through the tray with jug of milk and bowl of sugar to set on the coffee table while he waited for the kettle to boil. “Diane was ... well, she was a complete lush really at the end, going through at least a couple of bottles of wine a day. Once she lost the baby, she went a bit wild, going out a lot. She started going to parties without me, finally she became the star attraction at the parties ... and that was basically that and I cut all ties. I hit the bottle for a week or so after I found out that the marriage was over, felt sick afterwards and decided I wanted to stay in control all the time, so I stopped drinking altogether.”

“And now ... Carrie?” Natalie watched Alan’s face closely and saw the pain flash across it like a slap. She continued gently, “Eve only mentioned you and Carrie were separating and considering a divorce, which explained Carrie’s absence today, but Eve added no details. I suppose that’s why this suite has a lived-in look ... bottle of fresh milk, instead of packets of UHT, a vase for the flowers, Honey, it’s a dead give-away.”

The water came to the boil and Alan filled the two mugs from the kettle and idly used two spoons, the right hand with a clockwise motion, the left hand counterclockwise to stir the teabags and brew the infusions.

That simple ambidextrous action brought back so many old memories, Natalie thought. They could have been back in their kitchen, the bespoke kitchen at her home that she still used and loved, with the man she had ... even still to this day ... loved. She could still have had both, if she hadn’t lost her head and subsequently her marriage, which had basically put her life on hold for more than half a decade. She shook her head as if to shoo away the cobwebs of her memory. Just one idiotic slip by her was all it took to destroy almost twenty years of marriage to the only man she loved. One bad judgement and they were still serving time for a release or parole date that she knew would never come.

“Tennis instructor.” Alan interrupted her absorbing thoughts as he brought over the mugs after removing and straining the teabags between two spoons. Although Alan’s father had owned the company, Alan was made to start at the bottom of the ladder and acquired a taste for shop floor strong tea.

“Sorry?” she asked, momentarily confused after her little daydream, or daymare, she couldn’t really decide. Natalie thought she really must have overdone the champagne while being in such close proximity to her ex-husband. Near, yet so far apart, all afternoon. She had watched her ex-husband like a hawk all day, and not just to ensure she avoided being seen by him. That had been intense pressure on her concentration and it tolled on her energy levels.

“Carrie was having an affair with her tennis instructor and I never suspected a thing.”

He sat somewhat heavily on the sofa, next to her, but also apart after putting the mugs on the coffee table. Then he reached for the milk jug and poured a tiny amount into his mug. He offered the jug to her, she lifted her mug and moved it towards Alan and he tipped in a good measure of milk remembering she always liked it milky, especially when the tea was strong. Natalie smiled by way of thanks.

“You used to vet people like that pretty thoroughly, I remember some of the hoops we ran through getting coaches for Eve for horse riding, piano, driving lessons,” she reminded him.

“Not thoroughly enough this time, it seems. All the lady tennis club members I asked said that the tennis coach was brilliant and that Carrie would absolutely love her ... It turned out that they were absolutely correct in that assumption.

“Thing is that Carrie refuses to believe it’s cheating. Because it’s not an affair with a man.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, a bit of a shock to the system. Carrie’s argument is that there was no actual ... you know, penetration ... going on, so it doesn’t affect our relationship at all. She thinks it’s just like having a four-hour work-out twice a week instead of two-hour tennis lessons, only she is naked and relaxed for the second half of the lesson. She equates it to having a massage or something. She swears she still gave me as much loving as I had before, in fact she believed I got even more action because she wanted me inside her as soon as she got home from the club. To be honest, that little increase in attention she was giving me sort of rang some alarm bells and so I put an investigator onto her. I thought she might have been seeing a male playing partner, not her female coach.”

There was a pause and Natalie appeared to be squirming as if trying hard to stop laughing.

“It’s not a laughing matter, Nat, it is still so fresh and I am seriously hurt here.”

“So,” said Natalie, trying damned hard to keep from giggling, “Just like a massage, then? Did they oil each other up? They didn’t strap anything on, right? Or resort to fruit and veg in season?”

“Apparently not,” sighed Alan, bowing to the inevitable ribbing that was coming, looking skyward, he had gotten quite used to actually not being the butt of her sense of humour all the time. He was way out of practice. His last two marriages were mostly serious ones, it was only his latest two wives that didn’t take their relationships with him quite as seriously as he did.

“Just lips to lips then,” Natalie’s own lips were curling irresistibly, “which ever way up, right?”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you? Have you no compassion, woman?”

“All’s fair, Honey,” came the reply with more than a little hint of a chortle.

“OK. Well, she said she still wanted normal sex with me but also wanted to enjoy the undoubted charms of Ellie ... double-u, too...” After the hesitation, Alan’s voice trailed off quietly.

“Ellie er ... double-u, honey?” Natalie enquired.

“Ellie ... bloody double-u, the coach,” he replied, “Now don’t make me say her full name cos I know you’ll take the bloody piss, you always did have a mean streak of humour, just like every other bloody wanker down that tennis club, I suppose. I can never show my face down there ever again ... and you know how much I love playing mixed doubles, it’s my favourite keep-fit sport. That’s why I wanted Caroline to have lessons in the first place so we could have a more even partnership in the mixed doubles.”

“Come on, out with it,” Natalie was laughing openly now, she always enjoyed having Alan wriggling on a hook. God! She had missed this so much and she was never going to let this go now, was she? “Honey, let it go now, while we are alone and it’s just me taking the Mick. You know I’ll find out eventually, with the resources at my disposal and then I will bring it up at the most embarrassing moment possible for you. And those opportunities will come up now that Eve’s hitched. It makes sense to just give it up now!” She used to love winding him up and reeling him in. “Come on, Alan!”

“It’s a double-barrelled name, either one of which is so ... embarrassing.”

“Go on, hit me with both barrels,” she sniggered.

“Ellie bloody Wilton-Rugby!” he snapped, continuing, “Honestly, she must have made that name up as a joke or something. You can laugh, but it’s not in the least bit funny for me!” but he couldn’t stop himself laughing at least a little with his ex-wife either. She always did let everything go when she laughed, tears, aching sides, rolling about, as if her very toes curled up unmercilessly. Just as she was doing now, in fact. He used to think her natural belly laugh was rather endearing, once upon a long, long time ago.

“Oh, no!” she burst out laughing as soon as he said the double-barrelled name, and added “I don’t believe it!” over his follow-up sentence.

Then, as Natalie wiped her eyes with a tissue fetched from her tiny clutch purse, “Are they still, you know, still hoovering each other’s rug?” She was snorting uncontrollably now, and fishing deeper into her tiny handbag for a further supply of tissues as her eyes were leaking profusely.

“She says not,” Alan sighed, “But I can’t be sure. The club sacked the coach once I informed them of the er ... fraternisation between coach and member, so she appears to be out of the picture.”

“Aagh, how cruel of you ... pulling the rug out from under them!” more giggles, splutters and tears from the now helpless Natalie.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Alan said, resignedly, realising he had been put on this earth not to build the best small light aircraft in the world but as a source of economic sustenance and comedic amusement of at least two of his three wives.

‘That’s it,’ he thought. ‘I may be the marrying kind by nature, I may need a loving partner to keep me sane under all the external pressure I have to put up with but the price is just too high. This last wife will cost me my third home in a row and almost certainly my lovely Rolls Royce and another slice of the cake of my pension. By the time I retire I’ll be living in a bloody cardboard box under the railway arches. She was third time unlucky, so let Carrie be my last ever wife.’

Less than ten minutes later, Alan found himself in the bar. Although the wedding evening event and the ballroom were still in full swing, the lounge bar only had a single couple sitting at one of the tables and no-one at all at the bar. As he perched himself wearily on a bar stool, Henry the barman was in front of him poised to be at his service.

“The usual, diet ginger ale and ice, Sir ... sorry, Alan?”

“No, Henry, please give me a double malt whisky,” Alan requested without hesitation, “What’s the best one you have on the shelf?”

With a huge grin Henry offered “We have one full bottle left of the 1971 GlenDronach 41, never been opened. By the dram £65, by the bottle £850. We had three bottles last year and we can never get any more, the price has gone up to £5000 on the open market, but impossible to buy, but my boss here is not aware of that fact. I’ve never actually tasted it, but the reviews I saw said it was out of this world. Shall I fetch it?” He was like an eager puppy, itching to fetch his master’s slippers.

“Yes, why not? I’ll take the whole bottle on my tab and bring two glasses and a jug of water, you can’t be a proper barman if you’ve never tasted one of the best.”

“Yes, sir, coming up.”

A couple of minutes later Henry placed the tall rectangular presentation box reverentially on the bar, and set down a couple of lead crystal-cut whisky tumblers next to it. Alan idly perused the legends on the box while Henry brought a water jug and poured into it a bottle of still spring water.

“I brought the water up from the cellar, Alan, all the bottled water in the bar is far too chilled for this drink.”

“You are a true craftsman of your trade, Henry, much appreciated.”

“It’s an honour to serve you, sir.”

Then Henry carefully removed the bottle from the box, cracked the wax seal and pulled the moist cork from the bottle. He breathed in the aroma from the cork and smiled broadly. He poured a generous measure of a quarter glassful in one and a much smaller quantity in the other, almost just a splash.

“Have a full dram, Henry.” insisted Alan.

“No, Alan, I’m working and I make it a rule never to drink on the job and today is going to be a long day and night. This is one notable exception I make for which I will be forever grateful, but I only want a taster.”

He splashed a couple of drops of water to whisky in both tumblers. The resultant liquid in each developed the very slightest of hazes.

Henry explained, “This whisky is cask strength 61% and has been bottled straight from the cask without being filtered, so it retains the maximum strength and flavour, but sometimes develops a natural haze more or less, depending on the water, the temperature, lots of different factors.”

Henry lifted his glass, swirled it round and breathed in the heavenly fumes. Alan did the same. They both grinned like school-kids experimenting in the lab with stink bombs, somewhat less aromatic than what they were about to sample. Alan tipped his glass and tasted the whisky, swirling it around his mouth warming his tongue and soothing his throat as he swallowed, leaving a symphonic explosion of tastes and flavours of both warmth and honeyed notes on his taste buds.

“Wow!” Alan exclaimed, “That is amazing. Last bottle left, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Henry confirmed, “Less than 600 bottles produced, distilled in 1971, nineteen years before I was even born!”

“And I was only six years old then, myself,” Alan laughed.

Henry finished his small taster, nodded and smiled his thanks and went back along the bar to serve a customer who had come in from the ballroom, leaving Alan to savour another mellow mouthful on his own.

In the virtually deserted bar, with most guests still in the ballroom, Rob, the wedding photographer, entered from the lobby and noticed Alan sitting alone at the bar. Odd, Rob was sure that during his only conversation with Alan in the bar earlier in the evening that he had been teetotal for a number of years and here he was now clearly drinking an amber liquid from a tumbler with a fancy box and bottle in too close proximity for any other interpretation. It had to be the glorious, truly gorgeous Natalie who was the catalyst, couldn’t be anyone else.

“I was teetotal,” Alan admitted when Rob enquired after joining him on the stool next to him, “Ten minutes with my first ex-wife was all it took. Join me? This is seriously grand stuff!”

“I’m driving, I only popped in to get a drink for Carol while she gets changed and a small beer for myself.”

“Well, glad to hear you managed to get a response from Carol. She is one very special and so far unappreciated young woman, hides herself away surrounded by the kids she’s teaching most of the time. Anyway, if you do want to indulge in a couple of drinks, I’ve got a suite here, with a spare sofa in the sitting room, the sofa’s yours if you want it, if it doesn’t pan out with Carol, of course.”