Chapter 9
9
POPPY
I’m out for coffee with my bestie, Shaz, and her girlfriend, Lauren, when I get a call from Kate Whitaker. It’s not unheard of for a client to contact me on the weekend but Kate’s status as my client is still in question.
That said, she’s in Amsterdam right now on her mission to ‘save’ fiancée number two, and I’m curious about how it’s going. I excuse myself and head outside into the crisp spring air.
‘Hi, Kate.’
‘Hello, Poppy. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but there’s something I wanted to discuss with you. Is now a good time?’
‘Yeah, now’s fine – just out with friends, but I’m happy to chat for a bit. Is this about your trip to Amsterdam?’
She hesitates for a moment before replying. ‘It is but it’s also related to what we talked about last week.’
‘Ahh.’
So, she’s back on the retribution train. I expected this. I’ve also had Ursula in my ear all week, asking if we’ve heard from her. Neither seem willing to drop it.
Kate jumps in hurriedly. ‘Now I know you said the agency wouldn’t be able to help with that but?—’
‘Kate, sorry to interrupt, but it turns out that my colleagues are willing to discuss it further.’
‘Really?’ she asks excitedly.
‘No promises, but we’re not ruling it out. It will likely depend on what you have in mind.’
‘No, no, of course. And after our meeting, I had put it out of my mind, I promise. But having talked with Adriana – she’s here with me now – we’re on the same page. It’s not enough to simply end our engagements. We want Jon to pay for what he did.’
‘I totally get it, the need for justice,’ I say – and I do, but I am not signing the agency up for vigilantism; I need to set realistic expectations here.
‘Justice, yes. But we’re also thinking of other women out there – Jon’s next victims. We want to prevent him from simply shrugging off his losses and moving onto other women.’
‘Did you have something specific in mind?’
‘Actually, yes.’ She explains their idea and I’ll admit, I could see it working. ‘What do you think?’ she asks, hesitancy in her voice.
‘It’s definitely something to consider,’ I reply noncommittally. ‘When are you back in London – how soon can you come into the agency?’
‘Uh, I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But it sounds like your trip to Amsterdam has gone better than you thought it would.’
‘It has, yes,’ she replies, then lowers her voice. ‘I really didn’t expect to connect with Adriana, but she’s lovely, Poppy. We’re already firm allies.’
‘That’s great – one good thing to come from all this.’
‘Mmm,’ she replies – arguably a simple utterance but I detect an undercurrent of something else. I wonder if it has to do with Adriana’s brother. ‘All right, I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she says. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m heading back to London.’
We end the call, and I go back inside the coffee shop.
‘So, what’s the goss?’ Shaz asks the second my bum hits the chair.
During the years I’ve been a matchmaker, I’ve often shared morsels from my more interesting cases with close friends – anonymised, of course. And at times, it has helped me gain additional insight into the nuances of the case – particularly from Shaz. Unlike me, she’s still a practising psychologist. It can’t hurt to get her thoughts – or Lauren’s.
I give them the digest version, watching their expressions transform from surprise into shock.
‘Fucking hell!’ Shaz declares when I wrap up.
With a laugh, Lauren shushes her. ‘Babe, I’m not sure the elderly women two tables over appreciate your colourful vocab.’
Shaz makes the ‘eek’ face, looking over and mouthing, ‘Sorry,’ to two tight-lipped women, who then return to their conversation.
‘So, do you reckon Saskia will go for it?’ Shaz asks me.
‘I have no idea. If Paloma and Ursula think it will work, they may be able to persuade her. I guess we’ll see.’
‘And will you be involved?’ Lauren asks.
I laugh. ‘I hope not. For a start, I have no idea what I’d bring to the table – not with what they have in mind. We may need to get the agency’s investigator involved but…’ I shrug.
Lauren seems satisfied with my answer, so I return to what we were talking about before Kate called. ‘Now, tell me more about your sperm donor.’
Like Tristan and me, Shaz and Lauren want to be parents, only their journey has been markedly different to ours. And, as Tristan’s best friend and his wife – Ravi and Jacinda – are expecting Baby Sharma in a few months, there’s a buzz of excitement in our friendship group. With any luck, we’ll get to experience parenthood together and our kids will grow up as cousins.
‘He’s a rocket scientist,’ Lauren replies. ‘An actual rocket scientist.’
‘No way.’
‘Way,’ Shaz quips, then she fills me in on the rest of their donor’s profile.
* * *
Kate
‘Well, that went better than expected,’ I say, stepping back inside after the call with Poppy. I fill the others in, eliciting varying responses: an excited smile from Adriana, an I-should-hope-so nod from Margot, and a scowl from Willem.
‘And this is the matchmaker who introduced you to Dunn?’ asks Willem. If he believes that, then no wonder he’s scowling.
‘No, of course not,’ I reply. ‘It’s a different one.’
‘Right.’
He doesn’t say anything else, but his meaning is clear: what sort of woman has two matchmakers? I look away from his scrutinous scowl. Willem and his judgement can get in the bin!
‘So, what are we all doing now?’ asks Margot.
It’s presumptuous of her to ask. I assumed we’d leave Willem and Adriana to their day and head out to explore Amsterdam. And with Willem’s unsupportive, judgey attitude, I’m inclined to make a swift exit.
‘Oh, er…’ mutters Willem. ‘I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.’
A perfect excuse to wrap this up, and I turn towards the door.
‘Boring!’ Margot declares. ‘ And it’s Saturday. Why are you working on a Saturday?’
‘Margot!’ I hiss as Willem stumbles over an explanation, but she ignores me.
‘Come on!’ Margot exclaims. ‘If we were in one of those heist films, this is the part where we all go out and celebrate.’
Adriana chuckles – she obviously finds Margot amusing – but Willem shoots her a disdainful look. ‘Celebrate what exactly?’
I can tell he’s about to say more but Margot cuts him off. ‘Assembling the team! You know, like in Ocean’s 8 .’ He stares at her blankly and rather than dropping it, she doubles down. ‘When Sandra Bullock and Cate Blanchett bring all the others together to brief them on the heist, they crack the champers and celebrate.’
I don’t bother correcting her – they celebrate after they pull off the heist – because when Margot gets like this, there’s little that can dampen her enthusiasm.
‘Right,’ Willem growls, his scowl intensifying. That’s twice he’s said that since I came back inside. It must be Willem speak for ‘you are completely bonkers’.
‘But you’re forgetting that I’m not on the team,’ he says sharply.
Adriana sighs, drawing attention from the rest of us. ‘Sorry to interrupt this fascinating discussion,’ she says, her optimism ebbing away before my eyes, ‘but I’ve just realised something. If you and I are staying engaged to Jon until we do whatever it is we’re going to do, then how do I get out of dinner with our parents?’
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Exactly,’ says Willem. ‘There’s a lot you haven’t thought about – either of you,’ he adds, his eyes sliding between me and his sister. ‘And this isn’t a silly heist film – this is real life.’
‘First,’ I say, leaping to my own defence as much as Adriana’s, ‘we know this is real life. We’re not stupid!’
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I recognise that we are a little bit stupid to have trusted Jon. Even so, my defence has the desired effect, and Willem immediately starts stumbling over an apology.
‘I didn’t mean to suggest?—’
‘Yes, you did. You absolutely “meant to suggest”. Which brings me to my second point. While I can understand how protective you are towards your sister, you aren’t my older brother. In fact, we’re practically strangers, so I don’t need you telling me what’s best.’
Now I’m scowling. At Willem. To his credit, he meets my gaze and even though Margot is sniggering behind me, I don’t break eye contact. Eventually, he looks away, chastened.
‘I apologise,’ he says quietly. ‘You’re right and I’m sorry.’
‘Wow,’ says Adriana. ‘Willem never apologises – to anyone, so?—’
‘ Ady ,’ he says, his head snapping in her direction.
She raises her eyebrows at him as if to say, ‘Am I wrong?’
He expels another exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he says to himself.
‘Hey,’ she tells him, ‘you’re the one who invited Kate here, so…’
‘I guess that makes you Sandra Bullock,’ Margot quips. Willem’s mouth twitches, but the smile doesn’t take hold.
A phone chimes – it’s Adriana’s – and she reads in the incoming message. ‘Well, I don’t need to worry about dinner with Mama and Papa.’ She holds up the phone, her expression hardening. ‘Jon just cancelled.’
‘Let me guess,’ I say, my tone dripping in sarcasm, ‘some sort of diamond emergency?’
‘Apparently. He’s been asked to go to New York to fill in for a colleague at a rare stones trade show.’
‘My arse, he has,’ Margot scoffs.
‘I was afraid of this,’ says Willem.
‘Afraid of what?’ I ask, looking over.
‘If he’s not going to be here in Amsterdam and he’s not seeing you in London, then…’
He lifts his shoulders, his meaning obvious.
‘Then he might already have a third fiancée,’ I say, the realisation landing with a thud.
‘Yes.’
Margot gasps. ‘Arsehole.’
‘ Kanker! ’ adds Adriana, slumping onto the nearest stool.
‘I’ll look into it,’ says Willem.
‘I thought you said you weren’t on the team,’ I say.
He looks at me, his jaw tense. ‘This is different – this is about unearthing the extent of his deception, not about revenge. And I told you I was still investigating him.’
‘Oh god,’ says Adriana wanly. The poor woman – this is a lot to take in, even for me, and I accepted the truth about Jon a week ago.
‘So,’ says Margot, ‘I’m sensing that we’re no longer in a celebratory mood. Shall we postpone the champers?’
It’s such an absurd thing to say that my immediate reaction is to laugh, but with the gravity of the situation, I do my best to swallow my laughter. It breaks loose regardless and when I look over at Adriana, a wry smile spreads across her face.
‘You certainly have a way with words,’ Willem tells Margot, reluctant amusement in his eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she replies, taking him at his word.
He looks over at me and I wish I could tell what was going on behind those intense blue eyes. Because despite everything that has transpired this morning – including him being an arse and me telling him off – I’ll admit that I’m captivated by the tall, brooding Dutchman.
Inappropriately and inconveniently captivated.
* * *
‘So, what are you wearing on your date?’
We’re back at the houseboat and I’m sifting through the contents of my small case. I didn’t pack much, as we’re only here for two nights. I also hadn’t expected to be going out alone with Willem, and everything I packed is casual.
‘It’s not a date , Margot. You invited yourself along on Adriana’s girls’ night, then guilted Willem into taking me to dinner.’
‘Semantics,’ she says, her default response when she can’t back a flimsy argument.
‘It’s not semantics. That’s exactly what you did and more to the point, you did it on purpose.’
‘So what if I did? What’s the harm in shagging the fit brother?’
‘Gah!’
‘I’m telling you, Kate. You and Willem together – there was frisson in the air.’
‘Frisson? Really? You’ve never used that word before in your life. I doubt you even know what it means.’
‘Of course I do. It’s what happened between you and Willem this morning.’
I roll my eyes at her, something I’ve done so many times over the course of my life, I could map the inside of my head – freehand .
‘Whatevs,’ I reply, tired of the conversation. I return to my outfit conundrum, contemplating wearing my jeans with a black boat-necked top. I hold up the top and look in the mirror.
‘So, if this isn’t a date, why does it matter what you wear?’ she asks, peering at me smugly from the bed where she’s stretched out.
‘It doesn’t,’ I reply tartly.
‘Then just wear what you have on.’
I look down at the outfit I selected this morning – my if-you-look-good-you-feel-good outfit. ‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’ll just wear this.’ I start refolding the clothes I’ve taken out of my case.
‘Perfect,’ she says, ‘but maybe freshen up a bit, fix your makeup.’
‘I’m not— Why would I bother?’
‘Because we’ve been out all afternoon.’
‘To museums .’
Because I dragged Margot to the Rijksmuseum ‘under duress’ – or so she said – she insisted on a tit-for-tat visit to Madam Tussauds.
‘So? Don’t you want to look your best?’
‘It’s just dinner.’
‘God, you can be so stubborn,’ she says huffily.
‘ I can? Just let it go, will you.’
She sits up and crosses her legs. ‘You must be forgetting who you’re talking to. I am not about to ignore that you’re attracted to Willem.’
‘Did you miss the part where I told him off?’
‘Oh, no, I very much remember that part. It was like season two of Bridgerton . You two have more chemistry than Kate and Anthony.’
I stop refolding my clothes and fix Margot with a piercing look.
‘Oh, don’t be all’ – she flaps her hand about – ‘Kate-ish. Adriana saw it too. Why do you think she suggested that I join her and her friends tonight?’
‘ Suggested? ’
‘All right – why do you think she heartily agreed when I asked if I could come? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re into Willem and he’s into you.’
I stare at her for a long moment, then cave. ‘It’s physical attraction, pure and simple,’ I say feebly. ‘Willem is objectively a very handsome man.’
‘He’s fucking gorgeous. Any woman who doesn’t think he’s hot is either related to him, a lesbian, or dead.’ I drop my head into my hand, swinging it from side to side. ‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she continues. ‘Oh right, you can’t because I’m not.’
‘ Margot .’ I sigh, lifting my head and meeting her gaze again.
‘ Kate ,’ she counters. ‘There’s something electric between you two. It’s obvious.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Then you’re lying to yourself,’ she says gently.
It seems that the tough-love portion of this evening’s programming has come to an end, but this gentler approach from Margot is much harder to handle. Because she’s not wrong. I am lying to myself. I know it and she knows it. And she knows I know it.
‘Shit,’ I say, perching on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor. ‘Now what?’
Margot reaches over and pats my arm. ‘Oh, lovely. Now you get in the shower, then make yourself gorgeous.’
When I look up, she’s smiling at me encouragingly and I fall about laughing, releasing all the pent-up pressure of the day.
‘You’re such a muppet,’ I tease.
‘Call me what you like. But do as you’re told and get in the shower.’ She climbs off the bed. ‘And shave your legs – you know, just in case…’ She waggles her eyebrows.
‘Oh, for god’s sake.’
‘And tomorrow morning, I want to hear everything .’
‘Get out!’
She leaves, her cackling laughter following her down the hallway, and I go into the bathroom to shower – and shave my legs.
Just in case.