“We’ll pressure him,” says Tarkie. “Bring influences to bear, introduce the element of threat, perhaps.”
“Threat?” echoes Janice in alarm.
“I have a client who’d help,” volunteers Danny. “She’s Russian. Spends a ton every year. Believe me, if you want any threatening done, her husband’s the one.”
“Are you talking about the Russian Mafia?” Dad stares at him in horror.
“Of course I’m not talking about it.” Danny mimes a zip pull across his mouth. “First rule of the Mafia: You don’t talk about the Mafia.”
“That’s Fight Club,” objects Suze.
“Fight Club and the Mafia.” Danny shrugs. “And my haute couture show in Qatar.”
“I never knew you had a haute couture show in Qatar!” I say avidly.
“I know.” Danny gives me an enigmatic eyebrow raise. “That’s because I can’t talk about it.”
Since when did he have secret haute couture shows in Qatar he didn’t tell me about? I want to ask him more, only it’s not exactly the time.
“We can’t get involved with the Mafia!” Janice looks like she might hyperventilate. “Graham, you never mentioned the Mafia!”
“Obviously we’re not going to involve the Mafia,” says Dad impatiently.
“I don’t think threatening Corey is the way forward, anyway,” I put in. “People like that, the more you try to threaten them, the more aggressive they get. We need to coax him. Persuade him. Like that story about the man in his cloak—the wind can’t blow it off him but the sun makes him take it off of his own accord. Remember that story you used to read me, Mum?” I turn to her. “With the lovely illustrations?”
I’m trying to get Mum onside, but she looks a bit perturbed. “Becky love, I’m not sure picture books are the best reference right now.”
“Why not? Persuading is definitely the way to go.” I look around the table. “Forget the lawyers, forget the Mafia—he won’t take any notice of them, anyway.”
“But, darling, how on earth can we persuade him?” says Dad gently.
“Well, actually, I have an idea,” I confess.
“What idea?” demands Suze at once.
“It’s a bit complicated,” I admit. “We’ll need to use all our forces for it. We’ll need to go back to Las Vegas and hire some rooms. And we’ll need to plan it really carefully. We’ll need to trap him. Con him. We want Elinor for this too,” I add. “We’ll have to talk her into it.”
“My mother?” Luke sounds incredulous. “Becky, what have you got up your sleeve?”
“You want to con Corey?” Dad looks anxious.
“You said ‘persuade’!” says Mum. “Conning a man like that is dangerous!”
“Darling, is this wise?” reiterates Dad.
“We’ll only con him a bit,” I say robustly. “If we all work together, we can do it. I know we can.” I look around the table, trying to whip up some enthusiasm. “We can work together, can’t we? We’ve got this far, haven’t we? Everyone will have their own job to do; it’ll be all about timing and planning.”
“How many are we?” says Suze, and starts counting off on her fingers. “You, me, Luke, Tarkie, Jane, Graham, Janice, Danny, Elinor…”
“Can we use Ulla too?” I turn to Danny. “She might be useful.”
“Sure.” Danny nods. “Anything you want.”
“So that makes ten of us.” Suze finishes counting. “Ten of us, conning a businessman in Las Vegas. You realize what this is?” She shoots me a wicked grin. “It’s Becky’s Ten.”
“Ooh, Becky love!” exclaims Janice. “Well done, you!”
“Becky’s Ten?” echoes Dad, looking puzzled.
“The film,” explains Suze. “Ocean’s Eleven. With Brad Pitt in it? And George Clooney?”
“Ah, yes.” Recognition comes to Dad’s face. “Now, I enjoyed that film.”
“This is very cool,” Danny is saying with approval. “I’ll be the billionaire. I can so play that role. ‘Greetings, hotel underling.’ ” He puts on a mittel-European accent. “ ‘I weesh to place a nuclear weapon in your high-security wault.’ ”
“We aren’t placing anything in any high-security ‘waults.’ ” I roll my eyes. “And, actually, it’ll be Becky’s Eleven,” I tell Suze. “There’s someone else we need on the team. Someone crucial.”
“Who?”
But I don’t answer. My mind is buzzing with the plan. I need to write it all down in full, look at it properly, and see if it’ll work.
Except: No, I don’t. I already know it’ll work.
OK, that’s not right either. I don’t know that my plan will work…but I know that it could work. That it ought to work.
As I start writing, there’s a lightness in my heart. An excitement. I’m doing something. I’m achieving something. Derek Smeath is right: Positive action does boost the soul.
“We need a bunch of balloons,” adds Danny, who is getting more and more enthused. “And everyone needs to wear shades, even inside the casinos. In fact, I’m styling all of you,” he announces with animation. “We can’t be Becky’s Eleven and not rock a great look. What’s the plan, anyway, Becky? Drive to Vegas, check in to the Bellagio, pull off the con, and then watch the fountains while the music plays?”
“Pretty much.” I nod.
“Cool.” Danny looks round. “Well, I’m in. Are you in or out, Suze?”
“In,” says Suze emphatically.
“In,” agrees Tarquin.
“In,” chimes in Janice.
Everyone else is nodding around the table, although Dad looks anxious. “Becky, darling, what exactly is your plan?”
“I’ll tell you when I’ve worked it all out properly,” I say, still scribbling. “We need to make some reservations, get back to Vegas, sort a few things out. But, actually, before the plan…” I beam at him. “I think there’s one other crucial thing we should do first.”
SEVENTEEN
“Dearly beloved,” intones Elvis. “Uh-huh-huh. We are gathered here. Uh-huh-huh.”
Oh God. I’m going to get the giggles. Is he going to say “Uh-huh-huh” after every line?
He’s a pretty impressive Elvis. He’s in a black spangled suit, with the most massive flares and platforms and a really good wig (you can’t see his real hair at all), and he’s already sung “Can’t Help Falling in Love” with lots of reverb and pelvic thrusts.
It’s two days since we left Sedona, and we’re clustered in the Silver Candles Elvis Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas. Everyone’s overexcited—especially Minnie, who is dressed up as a “ring girl” even though there aren’t any rings. Suze is in a floaty white dress with a flower garland in her hair, and she’s never looked more beautiful. Mum’s sitting in the front pew and she’s already thrown a handful of confetti over Suze, although we haven’t started yet. (I found Mum and Dad at the bar of our hotel this morning, quaffing glasses of champagne. And judging by their bill, they’d each had more than one.)
“To witness the promise of renewed love between this couple. Uh-huh-huh.” Elvis surveys Suze. “I believe you have written your own vows.”
“That’s right.” Suze clears her throat and glances at Tarkie, who’s standing nearby, a look of huge pride on his face. “I, Susan, vow to you, Becky, always to be your friend.” She gazes seriously into my eyes. “For richer, for poorer, in daytime and at three A.M. And I swear this on my new cowboy boots.”
“Uh-huh-huh,” says Elvis with a nod.
“Hurrah!” Mum gives a whoop and throws some more confetti over Suze’s head.
“And I, Becky, swear to be your friend forever, Suze,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “For richer, for poorer, in daytime and at three A.M. Let no one put us asunder.”