I've Got Your Number (39 page)

He could be having a great time congratulating himself on how I have no idea about his secret mistress. There again, he could be having a great time innocently looking forward to a life of faithful monogamy, with no idea that Clemency somehow got the wrong end of the stick about him and Lucinda.
⁸⁸
Or possibly he could be having a great time deciding that he’s never going to be unfaithful again and regrets it hugely and will confess everything to me as soon as he gets back.
⁸⁹

I can’t cope. I need Magnus to be here, in this country,
in this room. I need to ask him, “Have you been unfaithful with Lucinda?” and see what he says, and then maybe we can move forward and I can work out what I’m going to do. Until then, I feel like I’m in limbo.

As I go to make another cup of tea, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, and I wince. My hair is a mess. My hands are covered with newsprint from reading all the papers. My stomach is full of acid, and my skin looks drawn. So much for my bridal beauty regimen. According to my plan, last night I was supposed to apply a hydration mask. I didn’t even take my makeup off.

I’d originally set today aside to do wedding preparation—but every time I even think about it, my insides clench and I feel like crying or shouting at someone. (Well, Magnus.) There’s no point just sitting here all day, though. I have to go out. I have to do
something
. After a few sips of tea, I decide to go in to work. I don’t have any appointments, but I’ve got some admin I can catch up with. And at least it’ll force me to have a shower and get myself together.

I’m the first to arrive, and I sit in the quiet calm, sorting through patient files, letting the monotony of the job soothe me. Which lasts about five minutes before Angela slouches through the door and clatters around, starting her computer and making coffee and turning on the wall-mounted telly.

“Do we have to?” I feel as if I’ve got a hangover, even though I hardly drank anything last night, and I could do without this blaring in my ears. But Angela stares at me as though I’ve violated some basic human right.

“I always watch
Daybreak
.”

It’s not worth arguing. I could always heft all the files
into my appointment room, but I don’t have the energy for that either, so I just hunch my shoulders and try to block the world out.

“Parcel!” Angela dumps a Jiffy bag in front of me. “StarBlu. Is that your swimwear for the honeymoon?”

I stare at it blankly. I was a different person when I ordered that. I can remember myself now, going online one lunchtime, picking out bikinis and wraps. Never in a million years did I think that three days before the wedding I’d be sitting here, wondering if the whole thing should go ahead at all.

“… and in today’s front-page story, we’re talking possible corruption at government level.” The presenter’s voice attracts my attention. “Here in the studio, a man who has known Sir Nicholas Murray for thirty years: Alan Smith-Reeves. Alan, this is a confusing business. What’s your take?”

“I know that guy,” Angela says self-importantly, as Alan Smith-Reeves starts talking. “He used to work in the same building as my last job.”

“Oh, right.” I nod politely, as a picture of Sam appears on the screen.

I can’t look. Just the sight of him sends shooting pains through my chest, but I don’t even know why. Is it because he’s in trouble? Is it because he’s the only other person who knows about Magnus? Is it because last night I was standing in a wood with his arms around me and now I’ll probably never see him again?

“He’s quite good-looking,” says Angela, squinting at Sam critically. “Is he Sir Nicholas Whatsit?”

“No!” I say, more vehemently than I meant to. “Don’t be stupid!”

“All right!” She scowls at me. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

I can’t answer. I have to escape from all this. I get to my feet. “Want a coffee?”

“I’m making one. Duh.” Angela shoots me an odd look. “Are you OK? What are you doing here, anyway? Thought you had the day off.”

“I wanted to get ahead with stuff.” I grab my denim jacket. “But maybe it was a bad idea.”

“Here she is!” The door bursts open and Ruby and Annalise bustle in. “We were just talking about you!” says Ruby, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d do some admin. But I’m going.”

“No, don’t go! Wait a sec.” Ruby grabs my shoulder, then turns to Annalise. “Now, Annalise. Why don’t you
say
to Poppy what we were talking about? Then you won’t have to write a letter.”

Uh-oh. She’s wearing her headmistressy look. And Annalise’s looking shamefaced. What’s going on?

“I don’t want to say it.” Annalise bites her lip like a six-year-old. “I’ll write a letter.”

“Say it. Then it’s done.” Ruby is eyeing Annalise with the kind of stern gaze that’s impossible to ignore.

“OK!” Annalise takes a breath, looking a little pink around the cheeks. “Poppy, I’m sorry I behaved badly with Magnus the other day. It was wrong of me and I was just doing it to get back at you.”

“And?” prompts Ruby.

“I’m sorry I’ve given you a hard time. Magnus is yours, not mine. He belongs with you, not me. And I’m never going to mention the fact we switched appointments again,” she finishes in a rush. “Promise.”

She looks so discomfited, I feel quite touched. I can’t believe Ruby did that. They should put
her
in charge at White Globe Consulting. She’d sort out Justin Cole in no time.

“Well … thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

“I truly am sorry, you know, Poppy.” Annalise twists her fingers, looking abject. “I don’t want to spoil your wedding.”

“Annalise, take it from me. You won’t spoil my wedding.” I smile, but to my horror I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.

If anything spoils my wedding it’ll be the fact that it was called off. It’ll be the fact that Magnus didn’t really love me after all. It’ll be the fact that I was a completely stupid, deluded fool….

Oh God. I
am
going to cry.

“Missus?” Ruby gives me a close look. “You OK?”

“Fine!” I exclaim, blinking furiously.

“Wedding stress,” says Annalise. “Oh my God, Poppy, are you turning into a bridezilla at last? Go on! I’ll help. I’ll be a bridesmaidzilla. Let’s go and throw a hissy fit somewhere. That’ll cheer you up.”

I raise a half smile and wipe my eyes. I don’t know how to respond. Do I tell them about Magnus? They’re my friends, after all, and I’m longing for someone to talk to.

But then, what if it
is
all a mix-up? I haven’t heard anything further from Unknown Number.
⁹⁰
The whole thing’s guesswork. I can’t start telling the world that Magnus has been unfaithful, based on one anonymous text. And then
have Annalise putting it on Facebook and calling him a love rat and booing as we walk down the aisle.
⁹¹

“I’m just tired,” I say at last.

“Slap-up breakfast!” exclaims Ruby. “That’s what you need.”

“No!” I say in horror. “I won’t fit into my dress!”

Assuming I’m still going to get married
. I feel the rush of tears again. Preparing for a wedding is stressful enough. Preparing for a wedding
or
possible last-minute breakup/cancellation is going to turn my hair gray.

“You will,” Ruby contradicts me. “Everyone knows brides lose two dress sizes before their wedding. You’ve got a massive margin to play with there, girl. Use it! Pig out! You’ll never be in this position again!”

“
Have
you dropped two dress sizes?” asks Annalise, eyeing me a little resentfully. “You can’t have.”

“No,” I say gloomily. “Maybe half of one.”

“Well, that qualifies you for a latte and a doughnut, at any rate,” says Ruby, heading for the door. “Come on. Comfort food’s what you need. We’ve got half an hour. Let’s cram it in.”

When Ruby gets an idea, she goes for it. She’s already striding along the pavement and into the Costa two doors away. As Annalise and I push our way in, she’s heading up to the till.

“Hello there!” she begins cheerfully. “I’d like three lattes, three doughnuts, three plain croissants, three almond croissants—”

“Ruby, stop!” I start giggling.

“Three pains au chocolat—we’ll give them to the patients if we can’t finish them—three apple muffins—”

“Three tins of breath mints,” chimes in Annalise.

“Breath mints?” Ruby turns to regard her scornfully.
“Breath mints?”

“And some cinnamon swirls,” Annalise adds hurriedly.

“That’s more like it. Three cinnamon swirls …”

My phone rings in my pocket, and my stomach lurches. Oh God, who’s this? What if it’s Magnus?

What if it’s Sam?

I haul it out, taking a step away from Ruby and Annalise, who are arguing about what kind of cookies they should buy. As I see the screen, I feel a dreadful squeezing sensation inside. It’s Unknown Number. Whoever-it-is has finally phoned me back.

This is it. This is where I find out the truth. For good or for bad. I’m so petrified, my hand is actually shaking as I press
accept
, and at first I can’t catch my breath to speak.

“Hello?” a girl’s voice is saying down the line. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Is that Clemency? I can’t tell.

“Hi,” I manage to utter at last. “Hello. This is Poppy speaking. Is this Clemency?”

“No.” The girl sounds surprised.

“Oh.” I swallow. “Right.”

It’s not Clemency? Who is it, then? My mind is scampering around frantically. Who else could have sent me that text? Does this mean Lucinda’s
not
involved after all? I can see Annalise and Ruby eyeing me curiously from the register and I swing away.

“So.” I try desperately to sound dignified and not at all
like someone who’s about to be totally humiliated and have to call their entire wedding off. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes. I’m urgently trying to get in touch with Sam Roxton.”

Sam?

The tension that’s been growing inside me breaks with a crash. It’s not Unknown Number after all. At least, it’s Different Unknown Number. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved.

“How did you get this number?” the girl is demanding. “Do you know Sam?”

“Er … yes. Yes, I do.” I try to gather myself. “Sorry. I misunderstood for a moment. I thought you were someone else. Can I take a message for Sam?”

I say it automatically before I realize that I’m not forwarding things to Sam anymore. Still, I can get a message to him, can’t I? Just for old times’ sake. Just to be helpful.

“I’ve tried that.” She sounds quite high-handed. “You don’t understand. I need to speak to him. Today. Now. It’s urgent.”

“Oh. Well, I can give you his email address—”

“That’s a joke.” She cuts me off impatiently. “Sam never reads emails. But, believe me, this is important. I
have
to speak to him, as soon as possible. It’s about the phone, in fact. The phone you’re holding right now.”

What?

I gape at the receiver, wondering if I’ve gone crazy. How does some strange girl know what phone I’m holding?

“Who
are
you?” I say in astonishment, and she heaves a sigh.

“No one remembers who I am, do they? I worked for Sam. I’m Violet.”

Thank God I didn’t eat the cinnamon swirls, is all I can say. Violet turns out to be about ten feet tall, with skinny legs clad in frayed denim shorts and massive dark eyes with traces of makeup around them.
⁹²
She looks like a cross between a giraffe and a bush baby.

It turned out that she lives in Clapham and it would take her only about five minutes to get here to see me. So here she is, in Costa, chomping on a chicken wrap and swigging a smoothie. Ruby and Annalise have gone back to work, which is a good thing, because I couldn’t cope with having to explain the whole saga to them. It’s all too surreal.

As Violet has told me several times, if she hadn’t
happened
to be in London, between jobs, and
happened
to see the headlines as she went to get a pint of milk, she would never have known about the scandal. And if she hadn’t
happened
to have a brain in her head, she wouldn’t have realized that she totally knew what had been going on the whole time. But are people grateful? Do they want to hear? No. They’re all idiots.

“My parents are on this stupid
cruise
,” she’s saying with disdain. “I tried to look in their telephone book, but I don’t know who’s who, do I? So I tried ringing Sam’s line, then Nick’s line … but I only got snotty PAs. No one
would listen to me. But I need to tell someone.” She bangs her hand on the table. “Because I
know
something was going on. I even sort of knew it at the time? But Sam never listened to me? Do you find he never listens to you?” She focuses on me with interest for the first time. “Who exactly are you, anyway? You said you’d been helping him. What does that mean?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” I say after a pause. “He was left in the lurch a bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” She takes another bite of chicken wrap and regards me with interest. “How come?”

Has she forgotten?

“Well … er … you left with no notice. Remember? You were supposed to be his PA?”

“
Riiiight
.” She opens her eyes wide. “Yeah. That job didn’t really work out for me. And the agency called and wanted me to get on a plane, so …” Her brow wrinkles in thought as though she’s considering this for the first time. “I guess he was a bit pissed off. But they’ve got loads of staff. He’ll be all right.” She waves her hand airily. “So, do you work there?”

“No.” How am I going to explain it? “I found this phone and borrowed it, and I got to know Sam that way.”

“I remember that phone. Yeah.” She peers at it, screwing up her nose. “I never answered it.”