I've Got Your Number (17 page)

I’ve been wondering about him.

I hesitate—then click the email open.

Dear Sam,

Just wondering if you got my last email. You know I’m not much of a technological expert, probably sending it off to the wrong place. But here goes again.

Hope all is well and you are flourishing in London as ever. You know how proud we are of your success. I see you in the business pages. Amazing. I always knew you were destined for big things, you know that.

As I said, there is something I’d love to talk to you about.

Are you ever down Hampshire way? It’s been so long and I do miss the old days.

Yours ever,
Your old
Dad

As I get to the end, I feel rather hot around the eyes. I can’t quite believe it. Did Sam not even reply to that last email? Doesn’t he
care
about his dad? Have they had a big row or something?

I have no idea what the story is. I have no idea what could have happened between them. All I know is, there’s a father sitting at a computer, putting out feelers to his son, and they’re being ignored, and I can’t bear it. I just can’t. Whatever’s gone before, life’s too short not to make amends. Life’s too short to bear a grudge.

On impulse, I press
reply
. I don’t dare reply in Sam’s voice to his own father; that would be going too far. But I can make contact. I can let a lonely old man know that his voice is being heard.

Hello.

This is Sam’s PA. Just to let you know, Sam will be at his company conference at the Chiddingford Hotel in Hampshire next week, April 24. I’m sure he’d love to see you.

Best,
Poppy Wyatt

I press
send
before I can chicken out, then sit for a few moments, a bit breathless at what I’ve done. I’ve masqueraded as Sam’s PA. I’ve contacted his father. I’ve waded
right into his personal life. He’d be livid if he knew—in fact, the very thought of it makes me quail.

But sometimes you have to be brave. Sometimes you have to show people what’s important in life. And I have this very strong gut instinct that what I’ve done is the right thing. Maybe not the easy thing—but the right thing.

I have a vision of Sam’s dad sitting at his desk, his gray head bowed. The computer beeping with a new email, the light of hope in his face as he opens it … a sudden smile of joy … turning to his dog, patting his head, saying, “We’re going to see Sam, boy!”
⁶⁰

Yes. It was the right thing to do.

Exhaling slowly, I open the last email, which is from Blue:

Hello.

We’re so sorry to hear that Sam can’t make the Savoy reception. Would he like to nominate another person to attend in his place? Please email over the name and we will be sure to add them to the guest list.

Kind regards,
Blue.

The bus has come to a halt, chugging at a set of traffic lights. I take a bite of muffin and stare silently at the email.

Another person
. That could be anybody.

I’m free on Monday night. Magnus has a late seminar in Warwick.

OK. Here’s the thing. There’s no way I’d
ever
be invited
to anything glitzy like this in the normal way of things. Physiotherapists just aren’t. And Magnus’s events are all academic book launches or stuffy college dinners. They’re never at the Savoy. There are never goody bags or cocktails or jazz bands. This is my one and only chance.

Maybe this is karma. I’ve come into Sam’s life, I’ve made a difference for the good—and this is my reward.

My fingers are moving almost before I’ve made a decision.

Thank you so much for your email
, I find myself typing.
Sam would like to nominate Poppy Wyatt
.

⁵⁰
Is unethical the same as dishonest? This is the kind of moral debate I could have asked Antony about. In different circumstances.

⁵¹
Which is a shame, because what I’m dying to ask is: Why does Willow keep sending messages via me when she must know I’m not Violet by now? And what’s all this communication through his PA, anyway?

⁵²
Which makes me wonder: If man can
make
an emerald these days, why do we all keep on spending loads of money on real ones? Also: Should I get some earrings?

⁵³
I
did
actually think it was quite a lot. But I figured that was the hit I had to take. I would certainly never query the price of a ring in a posh shop, never in a million years.

⁵⁴
“I could draw you a graph, Poppy. A
graph
.”

⁵⁵
Aha! Clearly the same Ed who was in the Groucho Club, the worse for wear. Just call me Poirot.

⁵⁶
Daily Mail
gossip column.

⁵⁷
I actually half-remember seeing that story in the paper.

⁵⁸
Good thing he isn’t my boss, is all I can say.

⁵⁹
I know he’s free on Wednesday at lunchtime, because someone has just canceled.

⁶⁰
I know he may not have a dog. I just feel pretty sure that he does.

T
he fake ring’s perfect!

OK, not
perfect
. It’s a tad smaller than the original. And a bit tinnier. But who’s going to know without the other one to compare? I’ve worn it most of the afternoon and it feels really comfortable. In fact, it’s lighter than the real thing, which is an advantage.

Now I’ve finished my last appointment of the day and am standing with my hands spread out on the reception desk. All the patients have gone, even sweet Mrs. Randall, with whom I’ve just had to be quite firm. I told her not to come back here for two weeks. I told her she was
perfectly
capable of exercising at home alone, and there was no reason she shouldn’t be back on the tennis court.

Then, of course, it all came out. It turned out she was nervous of letting down her doubles partner, and that’s
why she was coming in so often: to give herself confidence. I told her she was absolutely ready and I wanted her to text me her next score before she came back to see me. I said if it came to it,
I’d
play tennis with her, at which point she laughed and said I was right, she was being nonsensical.

Then, when she’d gone, Angela told me that Mrs. Randall is some shit-hot player who once played in Junior Wimbledon. Yowzer. Probably a good thing we
didn’t
play, since I can’t even hit a backhand.

Angela’s gone home too now. It’s just Annalise, Ruby, and me, and we’re surveying the ring in silence except for a spring storm outside. One minute it was a bright breezy day; the next, rain was hammering at the windows.

“Excellent.” Ruby is nodding energetically. Her hair is up in a ponytail today, and it bounces as she nods. “Very good. You’d never know.”

“
I’d
know,” Annalise retorts at once. “It’s not the same green.”

“Really?” I peer at it in dismay.

“The question is, how observant is Magnus?” Ruby raises her eyebrows. “Does he ever look at it?”

“I don’t
think
so….”

“Well, maybe keep your hands away from him for a while, to be on the safe side.”

“Keep my hands away from him? How do I do that?”

“You’ll have to restrain yourself!” says Annalise tartly. “It can’t be
that
hard.”

“How about his parents?” says Ruby.

“They’re bound to want to see it. We’re meeting in the church, so the lights will be pretty dim, but even so …” I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. “Oh God.
Does
it look real?”

“Yes!” says Ruby at once.

“No,” says Annalise, equally firmly. “Sorry, but it doesn’t. Not if you look carefully.”

“Well, don’t let them!” says Ruby. “If they start looking too closely, create a diversion.”

“Like what?”

“Faint? Pretend to have a fit? Tell them you’re pregnant?”

“Pregnant?”
I stare at her, wanting to laugh. “Are you nuts?”

“I’m only trying to help,” she says defensively. “Maybe they’d
like
you to be pregnant. Maybe Wanda’s gunning to be a granny.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No way. She’d freak out.”

“Perfect! Then she won’t look at the ring. She’ll be too consumed with rage.” Ruby nods in satisfaction, as though she’s solved all my problems.

“I don’t want a raging mother-in-law, thanks very much!”

“She’ll be raging either way,” Annalise points out. “You just have to decide which is worse: pregnant daughter-in-law or flaky daughter-in-law who lost the priceless heirloom ring? I’d say go with pregnant.”

“Stop it! I’m
not
saying I’m pregnant!” I look at the ring again and rub the fake emerald. “I think it’ll be fine,” I say, as much to convince myself as anything. “It’ll be fine.”

“Is that Magnus?” says Ruby suddenly. “Across the street?”

I follow her gaze. There he is, holding an umbrella against the rain, waiting for the traffic lights to change.

“Shit.” I leap to my feet and clasp my right hand casually
over my left. No. Too unnatural. I thrust my left hand into my uniform pocket, but my arm is left sticking out at an awkward angle.

“Bad.” Ruby is watching. “Really bad.”

“What shall I dooo?” I wail.

“Hand cream.” She reaches for a tube. “Come on. I’m giving you a manicure. Then you can leave a bit of the cream on. Accidentally on purpose.”

“Genius.” I glance over at Annalise and blink in surprise. “Er … Annalise? What are you
doing
?”

In the thirty seconds since Ruby spotted Magnus, Annalise seems to have applied a fresh layer of lip gloss and sprayed scent on, and is now pulling a few sexy strands of hair out of her ballerina’s bun.

“Nothing!” she says defiantly, as Ruby starts rubbing cream into my hands.

I only have time to dart her a suspicious look before the door opens and Magnus appears, shaking water from his umbrella.

“Hello, girls!” He beams around as though we’re an appreciative audience waiting for his entrance. Which I suppose we are.

“Magnus! Let me take your coat.” Annalise has rushed forward. “It’s OK, Poppy. You’re having your manicure. I’ll do it. And maybe a cup of tea?”

Ooh.
Typical
. I watch as she slides Magnus’s linen jacket from his shoulders. Isn’t she doing that a bit slowly and lingeringly? Why does he need to take his jacket off, anyway? We’re about to go.

“We’re nearly finished.” I glance at Ruby. “Aren’t we?”

“No hurry,” says Magnus. “Plenty of time.” He looks around the reception and breathes in, as though appreciating
some beautiful vista. “Mmmm. I remember coming here the first time as though it were yesterday. You remember, Pops? God, that was amazing, wasn’t it?” He meets my eye with a suggestive glint and I hastily telegraph back,
Shut up, you idiot
. He is going to get me in
so
much trouble.

“How’s your wrist, Magnus?” Annalise is approaching him with a cup of tea from the machine. “Did Poppy ever give you a three-month follow-up appointment?”

“No.” He looks taken aback. “Should she have done?”

“Your wrist’s fine,” I say firmly.

“Shall I take a look?” Annalise is ignoring me completely. “Poppy shouldn’t be giving you therapy now, you know. Conflict of interest.” She takes his wrist. “Where was the pain exactly? Here?” She unbuttons his cuff, moving up his arm. “Here?” Her voice deepens slightly and she bats her eyelashes at him. “What about … here?”

OK. This is the limit.

“Thanks, Annalise!” I beam brightly at her. “But we’d better be going to the church. For the meeting about our
wedding
,” I add pointedly.

“About that.” Magnus frowns briefly. “Poppy, can we have a quick chat? Maybe go into your room a moment?”

“Oh.” I feel a flicker of foreboding. “OK.”

Even Annalise looks taken aback, and Ruby raises her eyebrows.

“Cuppa, Annalise?” she says. “We’ll just be out here. No rush.”