You travel all the way to Costa Brava to attend your sister’s wedding and the happy couple don’t even have the grace to show up.

Erin was furious. It had been so hard for her to decide she would come, just to make her sister happy, and now she was stuck in this hotel where all the other guests were relatives, all eager to bully her, and the groom’s own relatives, none of whom she knew.

She stood alone at the entrance of the car park looking at the road, willing Rachel and Charlie’s rental car to appear round the bend at any moment.

There was nothing. Not even the little medieval village nearby could be seen from here despite its stone towers. It was all trees and, behind her, the line of cars that should have already taken the guests to the ceremony venue. The wedding was supposed to begin in half an hour.

She went back inside and scanned the foyer, trying to locate her estranged parents in the hope of obtaining an update. People were milling around in their gala gear wondering what the problem was, asking each other and throwing the occasional fit caused by disappointment. A small group of men intercepted her.

‘Say, are the bride and groom going to take much longer?’ a stern looking man asked her. ‘We presume the ceremony is going to be horrendously delayed and we don’t fancy waiting in the grotto. We have been told there are no refreshments available there.’

He sniffed. Erin suppressed an urge to ask him to confirm that he was using his pronouns royal style. Another man who appeared to be a lot more convivial pointed to the nearby sofas with his quadruple chin. ‘We have the ladies waiting there, but I’m thinking of getting them pillows and blankets now,’ he joked. ‘Hey, maybe the birds have eloped. Will there still be a banquet if they have?’

The stern man loomed over Erin. ‘You are the bride’s secretary, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be fixing this?’

Erin stiffened. ‘I am the bride’s sister,’ she said, giving her back to the group and marching away briskly. She located her parents by the reception desk, in deep discussion with Charlie Weston-Creuset’s parents —the in-laws-to-be— and some of the hotel staff.

‘Erin,’ her mother called in the voice she reserved for scoldings, a mixture of imperial threat and schoolteacher's admonishment. ‘Tell me you know where Rachel is.’

‘Mother,’ Erin said, imitating the tone, ‘I haven’t the foggiest.’

Mrs Lowe glowered. She didn’t have anything else to say, so she withdrew with the other members of the group, offering Erin her lace-wrapped back. Undaunted, Erin elbowed her way into the circle and saw the hotel manager enduring one of her father’s speeches. She placed herself right in front of Mr Lowe and the manager focused gratefully on her, oblivious to her odd manners. Her father huffed sonorously but didn’t push her aside.

‘Have you found them yet?’ she said. ‘Contacted them at least? How can they have disappeared?’

‘That’s it, miss. Nobody’s seen them since yesterday. They haven’t disappeared, they were never here.’

Erin stared at the manager, unimpressed. ‘They were here yesterday. Everybody saw them.’

‘I mean today. They left with a group of people last night but they never came back.’

So what he meant was that the hotel declined all responsibility. Erin frowned. ‘Has anybody asked those other people?’

‘Mr Cabot has.’ He motioned towards a dark, shortish man in his thirties dressed in a polyester suit. ‘He’s our Security Manager.’

The man smiled confidently. His handshake was firm and brief. His English was shaky and even briefer.

‘I will be helping with the communication,’ the receptionist said.

‘Thanks, Laura,’ the manager said, and then he excused himself in order to make some calls. Erin’s parents and the Weston-Creusets followed him.

‘So what did their friends say?’ Erin asked. She had seen the group leave in various cars the night before from her room’s window. There had been about a dozen, most of them Rachel’s friends.

Laura crossed some words with Cabot, then translated his tale. ‘He’s spoken to the whole party. The couple left the last club they visited in a separate car. They were supposed to rejoin their friends here for a nightcap. But the bar was closed for the night and they sat in the foyer instead. Mr Cabot’s spoken to the night receptionist too. When they got tired of waiting they turned in. Your sister and her fiancé never came in.’

‘Have you checked their rooms?’

Laura assented. ‘The maids say they haven’t slept in them. The beds were untouched.’

The man said something else.

‘Mr Cabot wishes to ask you some questions before he goes to check the clubs,’ Laura translated. ‘He’s got a list of venues from your friends.’

‘My sister’s friends,’ Erin corrected. ‘Has nobody got a phone call or a text or anything from those two?’

Cabot shook his head. He led the girls to a quiet corner of the breakfast hall for a brief, fruitless interview, in which Erin was informed that the local hospital hadn’t admitted any young British people last night, which apparently was a little miracle in itself according to the hospital staff. Mrs Lowe had reported that Rachel’s toilet kit, her favourite bikini and a couple of changes of underwear were missing, together with her passport.

Both employees assured Erin every effort would be made to find the couple.

‘I’m impressed,’ Laura told Erin in a confidential tone after Cabot had gone. ‘You’re younger than most of the guests but you aren’t panicking the way they are.’

‘That’s because I am not as keen on drama as they are. Do me a favour, please, Laura. Any news, please tell me as soon as you can. Because nobody else will.’

The receptionist stared for a moment. ‘Yes, sure. I wouldn’t worry too much, they must have slept it off on the beach and lost track of time.’

Obviously Laura didn’t know Rachel, who would have slept on sand only under duress.

Erin remained alone at the table for a while, pondering the situation. If they had gone missing on the way back to the hotel, wouldn’t the people in the other cars have noticed?

Perhaps they had veered away at some point on the way back for some unexpected reason. Maybe they had thought that it would be romantic to spend the night under the pine trees on the Costa Brava, unlikely as it sounded to her. Maybe the jolly multi-chin man was right.

Erin wanted to speak to the Weston-Creusets, but at the reception desk they informed her that the couple was in the manager’s office arranging a search request for the police.

‘A waste of time, to be honest,’ Laura said. ‘They’ve been missing for a few hours. The police will assume they are on the beach getting a tan. The guys who went out with them last night have gone to check the beaches and see if they can find the car.’

A rented average Herz carriage? Good luck with that, Erin thought. But at least they were doing something. She asked for the room number of Charlie’s brother, who hadn’t been seen since breakfast. He might have some information.

 

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