“No, no, no.” Dooney’s voice crested over the sound of the guests. He was standing at the bar, his arm draped over the shoulders of a man who looked like a fair-haired version of himself. “That bottle of Macallan whiskey is solely for my best mate Quentin and me.” He pointed at the bartender. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir, of course.” The bartender glanced apologetically at the guest in front of him and removed the glass of amber liquid he’d set down before him.

Dooney reached for it and said, “Let’s not let it go to waste.” He signaled for the bartender to pour Quentin a whiskey as well, but his friend waved him off.

“Let me finish my vodka tonic first and I’ll double back for the Macallan,” Quentin said. Dooney looked like he would argue but Quentin said, “The night is young.”

Dooney laughed and clapped him on the back. Dooney and his best man, Quentin, were a good-looking pair. Both were tall and slender, wearing well-fitted suits with their hair styled just so. Truly, they looked like models in a men’s fashion magazine, and they maneuvered their way around the veranda as if they owned it.

Andre arrived shortly after with white wine for us and a red for himself.

“Cheers.” Andre held up his glass.

We tapped our glasses against his and took a restorative sip. He turned to stand beside me and said, “Sorry for the delay. I had to wait for Dooney to depart from the bar.”

“He was being obnoxious,” I said. “We could hear him all the way over here.”

“He looks worse for the wear already,” Andre said. “I have no idea how he’s going to get through two more days of this without doing something utterly reprehensible.”

“He’s clearly already spending the money he plans to marry into,” I said. Even from over here, I could see that bottle of Macallan was the good stuff—the several-thousand-pounds-per-bottle type of good stuff.

Dooney was now standing in a circle with his best man and ushers. He was sipping his drink and staring at Piper, the woman who would shortly become his wife. He didn’t look like an adoring groom, rather he looked annoyed, as if her very presence grated on his last nerve.

“Did I miss anything over here?” Andre asked.

“Nothing huge,” I said. “The bride hasn’t slapped the groom or anything.”

“Shame.”

Viv laughed but then grew serious. She glanced around the veranda and said, “There is a strange tension in the air, do you feel it?”

Andre glanced around. He sounded mildly panicked when he asked, “The ghost? Do you mean the ghost?”

“No,” she said. “There just seems to be a divisiveness. Look to the left. See the older couple? He’s in the boring suit. She’s in the purple sheath with the big gold statement piece around her neck.”