I've Got Your Number

  Suddenly I’m sick of being polite and talking around things. I want to cut to the chase.

  “OK.” I put my glass down. “The reason I’ve come here is, it turns out Magnus has been sleeping with Lucinda. I’m calling off the wedding. So you might as well be honest and say how much you hated me from the start.”

  “Lucinda?” Wanda claps a hand over her mouth, looking aghast. “Oh, Magnus. That wretched, wretched boy. When will he learn?” She seems absolutely deflated by this piece of news. “Poppy, I’m so sorry. Magnus is … What can I say? A flawed individual.”

  “You guessed he might do this?” I stare at her. “Has he done it before?”

  “I was afraid he might do something stupid,” Wanda says after a pause. “I’m afraid whatever gifts Magnus inherited from us, the gift of commitment was not among them. That’s why we were concerned about the wedding. Magnus has a history of leaping into romantic ventures, backtracking, changing his mind, making things messy for everyone.”

  “Then he has done it before.”

  “In a way.” She winces. “Although we’ve never got as far as the church before. There have been three previous fiancees, and I gather Lucinda was an almost-fiancee. When he announced yet again that he was marrying a girl we hardly knew, I’m afraid we didn’t rush to celebrate.” She eyes me frankly. “You’re right. We did try to put him off the idea in the church, quite forcibly. We thought the two of you should spend a year getting to know each other better. The last thing we wanted was for you to be hurt by our son’s idiocy.”

  I feel dazed. I had no idea Magnus had proposed to anyone else, let alone four girls (including Lucinda—half). How can this be? Is this my fault? Did I ever actually ask him about his past?

  Yes. Yes! Of course I did. The memory comes back to me in a fully composed picture. We were lying in bed, after that dinner at the Chinese place. We told each other about all our old flames. And, OK, so I edited very slightly.94 But I didn’t leave out four previous proposals. Magnus never said a word. Not a word. But everyone else knew.

  Now, of course, all the odd looks and edgy voices between Antony and Wanda make sense. I was so paranoid. I assumed they were all about how crap I was.

  “I thought you hated me,” I say, almost to myself. “And I thought you were angry he’d used the family ring, because … I dunno. I wasn’t worthy of it.”

  “Not worthy?” Wanda seems absolutely appalled. “Who has put these ideas into your head?”

  “What was the problem, then?” I feel the old hurt rising again. “I know you weren’t happy about it, so don’t pretend.”

  Wanda appears to debate internally for a moment. “We’re being frank with each other?”

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “Please.”

  “Well, then.” Wanda sighs. “Magnus has taken that family ring out of the bank’s safe so many times now, Antony and I have developed our own private theory.”

  “Which is what?”

  “The family ring is so easy.” She spreads her hands. “It requires no thought. He can do it on impulse. Our theory is that when he really wants to commit to someone, he’ll find a ring for himself. He’ll choose something carefully. Give it some thought. Perhaps even let his bride choose her own.” She gives me a rueful smile. “So when we learned that he’d used the family ring yet again, I’m afraid alarm bells rang.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  I twist the ring round my finger. It suddenly feels heavy and lumpish. I thought having a family ring was special. I thought it meant Magnus was more committed to me. But now I’m seeing it as Wanda sees it. A thoughtless, easy, no-brainer choice. I cannot believe how everything I thought has been turned on its head. I cannot believe how I misinterpreted everything.

  “For what it’s worth,” adds Wanda, a little despondently, “I’m very sorry things have ended like this. You’re a lovely girl, Poppy. Great fun. I was looking forward to having you as a daughter-in-law.”

  I wait for my hackles to rise at the phrase great fun, for my internal prickliness to put in an appearance—but somehow it doesn’t. For the first time since I’ve met Wanda, I’m able to take her words at face value. By great fun she doesn’t mean low IQ and inferior degree. She means great fun.

  “I’m sorry too,” I say—and I’m speaking the truth. I do feel sad. Just as I work Wanda out, it’s all over.

  I thought Magnus was perfect and his parents were my only problem. Now I’m feeling like it’s the other way round. Wanda’s great; shame about her son.

  “Here.” I wrench the ring off and hand it to her.

  “Poppy!” She looks startled. “Surely—”

  “It’s all over. I don’t want to wear it anymore. It belongs to you. To be honest, it never really felt like mine.” I grab my bag and stand up. “I think I should go.”

  “But …” Wanda seems bewildered. “Please don’t rush into anything. Have you spoken to Magnus?”

  “Not yet.” I breathe out. “But it’s kind of irrelevant. It’s over.”

  That’s pretty much the end of the conversation. Wanda sees me to the door and presses my hand as I leave, and I feel a sudden rush of affection for her. Maybe we’ll stay in touch. Maybe I’ll lose Magnus but gain Wanda.

  The massive front door closes, and I push my way through the overgrown rhododendrons, down the path to the gate. I’m expecting to crumble into tears any moment. My perfect fiance isn’t perfect after all. He’s a lying, unfaithful, commitment-phobic flake. I’m going to have to call off a whole wedding. My brothers won’t get to walk me up the aisle after all. I should be in bits. But as I walk down the hill, all I can feel is numb.

  I can’t face the tube. Nor can I afford any more taxis. So I head toward an out-of-the-way bench in a patch of sunshine, sit down, and stare blankly into space for a while. Random thoughts are floating around my brain, bouncing off one another as though in zero gravity.

  So much for all that … I wonder if I’ll be able to sell my wedding dress…. I should have known it was too good to be true…. I must tell the vicar…. I don’t think Toby and Tom ever liked Magnus, not that they admitted it…. Did Magnus ever love me at all?

  At last I heave a sigh and switch on my phone. I have to get back to real life. The phone is flashing with messages, about ten of them from Sam, and for a ridiculous instant I think, Oh my God, he’s psychic, he knows.

  But as I click on them, I immediately realize how stupid I’m being. Of course he’s not texting about my personal life. This is all strictly business.

  Poppy, are you there? It’s incredible. File was on computer. Voice mails were there. This confirms everything.

  Are you around to talk?

  Give me a call when you can. It’s all kicking off here. Heads rolling. Press conference this afternoon. Vicks wants to talk to you too.

  Hi, Poppy, we need the phone. Can you call me asap?

  I don’t bother scrolling through the rest of the texts; I press call. A moment later the line is ringing and I feel a spasm of nerves. I have no idea why.

  “Hi, Poppy! At last! It’s Poppy.” Sam’s ebullient voice greets me, and I can hear a background hubbub of people. “We’re all whooping here. You have no idea what your little discovery means.”

  “Not my discovery,” I say honestly. “Violet’s.”

  “But if it hadn’t been for you taking Violet’s call and meeting her … Vicks says, high five! She wants to buy you a drink. We all do.” Sam sounds totally high. “So, did you get my message? The tech guys here want to look at the phone, in case there’s anything on that.”

  “Oh. Right. Sure. I’ll bring it to your office.”

  “Is that OK?” Sam sounds concerned. “Am I disrupting your day? What are you up to?”

  “Oh … nothing.”

  Just canceling my wedding. Just feeling like a total fool about everything.

  “Because I can send a bike—”

  “No, really.” I force a smile. “It’s fine. I’ll come in straightaway.”
/>
  94 No one needs to know about that blond guy at the freshers’ party.

  This time I don’t have any trouble getting in to the building—there’s practically a reception committee waiting for me. Sam, Vicks, Robbie, Mark, and a couple more people I don’t recognize are standing by the glass doors, ready with a badge and handshakes and lots of explanations, which last all the way up in the lift and which I only half-follow as they keep interrupting one another. But the gist is as follows: The voice mails are 100 percent incriminating. Several members of the staff were pulled in for questioning. Justin lost his cool and practically admitted everything. Another senior staff member, Phil Stanbridge, is also involved, which everyone’s gobsmacked by. Ed Exton has disappeared off the radar. Lawyers are having meetings. No one’s sure yet whether criminal proceedings will occur, but the point is, Sir Nicholas’s name is cleared. He’s over the moon. Sam’s over the moon.

  ITN is slightly less over the moon, as the story has turned from Government adviser is corrupt into Internal company problem is sorted, but they’re still running a follow-up piece and claiming they were the ones who discovered everything.

  “The whole company’s going to be shaken up by this,” Sam is saying enthusiastically as we stride along the corridor. “The lines are going to be redrawn.”

  “So you’ve won,” I venture, and he comes to a halt, smiling as widely as I’ve ever seen him smile.

  “Yup. We’ve won.” He resumes walking and ushers me in to his office. “Here she is! The girl herself. Poppy Wyatt.”

  Two guys in jeans get up from the sofa, shake my hand, and introduce themselves as Ted and Marco.

  “So, you’ve got the famous phone,” says Marco. “Might I take a look?”

  “Of course.” I reach into my pocket, produce the phone, and hand it over. For a few moments the guys examine it, pressing buttons, squinting at it, passing it from one to the other.

  There aren’t any more incriminating voice mails on there, I feel like saying. Believe me, I would have mentioned them.

  “You mind if we keep this?” Marco says at last, looking up.

  “Keep it?” The dismay in my voice is so obvious, he double-takes.

  “Sorry. It’s a company phone, so I assumed …”

  “It’s not anymore,” says Sam, frowning. “I gave it to Poppy. It’s hers.”

  “Oh.” Marco sucks air through his teeth. He seems a bit flummoxed. “Thing is, we’d like to do a thorough examination of it. Could take a while. I could say we’ll let you have it back afterward, but who knows how long that’ll be….” He glances at Sam for guidance. “I mean, I’m sure we can get you a replacement, top of the range, whatever you want.”

  “Absolutely.” Sam nods. “Any budget.” He grins at me. “You can get the highest-tech phone available.”

  I don’t want the highest-tech phone available. I want that phone. Our phone. I want to keep it safe, not give it up to be hacked about by technicians. But … what can I say?

  “Sure.” I smile, even though there’s a little wrenching in my stomach. “Have it. It’s just a phone.”

  “As for your messages, contacts, all the rest of it …” Marco exchanges doubtful looks with Ted. “What are we going to do about that?”

  “I need my messages.” I’m alarmed at how shaky my voice is. I feel almost violated. But there’s nothing I can do. It would be unreasonable and unhelpful to refuse.

  “We could print them out.” Ted brightens. “How’s that? We print everything out for you, then you’ve got a record.”

  “Some of them are my messages,” points out Sam.

  “Yes, some are his.”

  “What?” Marco looks from me to Sam. “Sorry, I’m confused. Whose phone is this?”

  “It’s his phone, really, but I’ve been using it—”

  “We’ve both been using it,” explains Sam. “Jointly. Sharing.”

  “Sharing?” Marco and Ted both seem so appalled, I almost want to giggle.

  “I’ve never come across anyone sharing a phone before,” says Marco flatly. “That’s sick.”

  “Me neither.” Ted shudders. “I wouldn’t even share a phone with my girlfriend.”

  “So … how did that work out for you?” says Marco, looking curiously from Sam to me.

  “It had its moments,” says Sam, raising his eyebrows.

  “There were definitely some moments.” I nod. “But, actually, I recommend it.”

  “Me too. Everyone should try it at least once.” Sam grins at me, and I can’t helping smiling back.

  “O-kay.” Marco sounds as though he’s realized he’s dealing with a pair of nutters. “Well, we’ll get to it. Come on, Ted.”

  “How long will you be?” asks Sam, and Ted wrinkles his face.

  “Could be a while. An hour?”

  They disappear out of Sam’s office, and he closes the door. For a minute we just look at each other, and I notice a tiny nick on his cheek. He didn’t have that last night.

  Last night. In an instant I’m transported back to the forest. I’m standing in the dark, with the smell of the peaty ground in my nostrils, with woodland sounds in my ears, with his arms wrapped around me, with his mouth—

  No. Stop it, Poppy. Don’t go there. Don’t remember, or wonder, or …

  “What a day,” I say at last, groping for some nice bland words.

  “You said it.” Sam ushers me to the sofa and I sit down awkwardly, feeling like someone who’s doing a job interview. “So. Now that we’re alone—how are you doing? What about the other stuff?”

  “Nothing much to report.” I give a deliberately careless shrug. “Oh, except I’m calling my wedding off.”

  As I say the words aloud, I feel slightly sick. How many times am I going to have to utter those words? How many times am I going to have to explain myself? How am I going to cope over the next few days?

  Sam nods, wincing. “OK. That’s pretty grim.”

  “Not brilliant.”

  “You speak to him?”

  “Wanda. I went to see her at her house. I said, ‘Wanda, do you really think I’m inferior, or is this just in my mind?’ “

  “You didn’t!” exclaims Sam, looking delighted.

  “Word for word.” I can’t help laughing at his expression, even though I half-want to cry too. “You would have been proud of me.”

  “Go, Poppy!” He lifts a hand to high-five me. “I know that took guts. And what was the answer?”

  “It was all in my head,” I admit. “She’s actually quite a sweetie. Shame about her son.”

  There’s silence for a while. I feel so surreal. The wedding’s off. I’ve said it aloud, so it must be true. But it feels about as real as Aliens have invaded.

  “What are your plans now?” Sam meets my gaze, and I think I can see another question in his eyes. A question about him and me.

  “Dunno,” I say after a pause.

  I’m trying to answer his question, silently—but I don’t know if my eyes are doing their job. I don’t know if Sam can understand. After a moment I can’t bear looking at him any longer and quickly lower my head. “Take things slowly, I guess. There’ll be a lot of crap to deal with.”

  “I’m sure.” He hesitates. “Coffee?”

  I’ve had so much coffee today I’m like a jumping bean, but, on the other hand, I can’t stand this heightened atmosphere. I can’t gauge anything. I can’t read Sam. I don’t know what I expect or want. We’re two people who were briefly thrown together by chance and are now conducting a business transaction. That’s all.

  So why does my stomach lurch every time he opens his mouth to speak? What on earth am I expecting him to say?

  “Coffee would be great, thanks. Do you have decaf?” I watch as Sam fiddles with the Nespresso machine on a counter at the side of his office, trying to get the milk frother to work. I think it’s a welcome distraction for both of us.

  “Don’t worry,” I say at last, as he jiggles the frother, looking frustr
ated. “I can have it black.”

  “You hate black coffee.”

  “How do you know that?” I laugh in surprise.

  “You told Lucinda once in an email.” He turns, his mouth twisting. “You think you were the only one who did a little spying?”

  “You have a good memory.” I shrug. “What else do you remember?”

  There’s silence. As his gaze meets mine, my heart starts a little drumbeat. His eyes are so rich and dark and serious. The more I stare at them, the more I want to stare at them. If he’s thinking what I’m thinking, then—

  No. Stop it, Poppy. Of course he’s not. And I don’t even know what I’m thinking, not exactly….

  “Actually, don’t worry about the coffee.” I get to my feet abruptly. “I’ll head out for a bit.”

  “You sure?” Sam sounds taken aback.

  “Yes, I don’t want to get in your way.” I avoid his eyes as I pass him. “I’ve got errands to run. See you in an hour.”

  I don’t run any errands. I don’t have the impetus. My future’s been derailed, and I know I’m going to have to take some action—but at the moment I can’t face dealing with it. From Sam’s office I wander as far as St. Paul’s Cathedral. I sit on the steps in a shaft of sunshine, watching the tourists, pretending I’m on holiday from my own life. Then, at last, I make my way back.

  Sam is on a call as I’m shown in to his office, and he nods at me, gesturing apologetically at the phone.

  “Knock knock!” Ted’s head appears around the door, and I start. “All done. We had three operatives on it.” He comes into the room, holding a massive sheaf of A4 paper. “Only trouble is, we’ve had to print each text on a separate piece of paper. It’s like ruddy War and Peace.”

  “Wow.” I can’t believe how many pieces of paper he’s holding. I surely can’t have sent that many texts and emails? I mean, I’ve only had the phone for a matter of days.

  “So.” Ted puts the sheets down on the table with a businesslike air and separates them into three bundles. “One of the lads has been sorting them as we’ve gone along. These are all Sam’s. Business emails, so forth. In-box, out-box, drafts, everything. Sam, here you go.” He holds them out as Sam gets up from his desk.