Chapter 14
14
POPPY
I’ve spent two days intensively swotting up on Jon Dunn and it’s left such a bad taste in my mouth, it’s as if I’ve gargled with curdled milk.
It’s calculated, what he’s done, creating two distinct personas – two lives – with zero overlap. With one fiancée in London and one across the Channel, there is no chance of running into one while with the other. The same with his ‘professions’ – zero overlap between a pilot and a diamond dealer.
And who knows what he’s told the third woman, Lucia. Maybe he’s also an astronaut.
Cleverly, he’s carried some specifics across his dual personas, likely to avoid slipping up. His favourite drink is a Negroni, for one. I’ve always steered clear of Negronis – far too potent for me – but tonight, I will pretend to try one for the first time, then make it my fave too.
I’ve created a persona named Penny for this ‘chance meeting’, a bubbly and effusive, wide-eyed woman I compiled as a stark contrast to Kate’s stoic, pragmatic nature.
I’ve also been coached extensively by the odd duo of Ursula and Marie. I swear, if Ursula were my age, she’d have raised her own hand for this assignment, rather than volunteering me. She seems to get a kick out of schooling me on various ways to ‘bag the mark’ – her words, not mine. Either she’s watched a lot of film noir, or matchmaking was a whole different ballgame when she started back in the nineties.
Marie’s advice has been on the subtle art of ‘choreographed bumping’, AKA how to make running into someone seem natural. And I mean that in the literal sense. If Dunn doesn’t show up to the hotel’s bar around 8p.m. per his typical MO, I will need to fashion a clumsy interlude in the hotel lobby. This afternoon, I’ve practised crashing into someone and dropping my handbag so the contents spill onto the floor so many times, I could get a role in slapstick comedy.
I’m now at home getting ready, ripe with nerves as Tristan hovers nearby. It was all very well us joking about my assignment a couple of nights ago, but now it’s actually happening, we’re both on edge.
‘Can I get you something to drink, darling?’ he asks.
I turn away from my makeup vanity and give him a smile. ‘That’s okay, babe. I should probably keep my wits about me.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ he asks, frowning.
‘He’s not dangerous . I’ll engage him in conversation, charm him with “Penny”, and get him to exchange contact information. Think of it as an acting gig.’
He exhales a long breath and runs one hand through his hair. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I just… I didn’t expect to feel like this.’
‘I know. Me neither.’
‘You look pretty, by the way,’ he says, his frown deepening. ‘Maybe too pretty – even though you don’t exactly look like you .’
‘It’s just a role , Tris. You are the only man I want to look pretty for, okay?’
He nods sharply. Though we both know this isn’t entirely true, as the common thread between Kate, Adriana, and Lucia is that they are all very attractive women. Kate is a classic beauty like Saoirse Ronan and Emily Blunt, Adriana is a tall, blonde goddess, and Lucia is petite and dark-haired, and reminds me of Imogen Poots.
I need Dunn to be attracted to me – well, Penny .
I’ve played up my grey eyes with lashings of mascara to appear particularly wide-eyed and have pulled my reddish-brown hair into a high ponytail. I’m wearing a floaty, floral chiffon dress and my ubiquitous ballet flats, the one thing Penny and I have in common besides my Aussie accent. She will be sweet, slightly na?ve, and splurging on the Langham after a stint in London for work.
It’s a risk dangling an Australian in front of Dunn. Will he go for it, or will he think Melbourne is too long-distance for a romantic undertaking? If he balks, I’ll switch gears and tell him that Penny is moving to Munich with her job.
I check the clock on my bedside table. The car is due soon. ‘Want to walk me down to the lobby?’ I ask.
Tristan’s smile is tight-lipped. ‘Of course.’
A few minutes later, we’re in the lobby waiting in tense silence when a town car pulls up. Tristan has asked his regular driver to take me to the Langham and wait for me.
He turns towards me, running his hands down my arms and clasping mine in his. ‘I love you,’ he says.
‘I love you too, and as nervous as I am, I’m not off to war, Tris. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay? Maybe sooner.’
He smiles again, this one reaching his eyes. He lays a soft kiss on my cheek and I head out into the cool evening.
‘Good evening, Ms Dean,’ says the driver, opening the car door.
‘Hello, Nigel.’
I slide onto the backseat and buckle up while Nigel closes the door and goes around to the driver’s side.
The drive from our flat in the financial district to the Langham doesn’t take long, and before I know it, Penny Mullings is in action.
* * *
I’m buzzing with adrenaline when I slip out of the Langham, cross the road, and open the backdoor of the town car. ‘Hi, Nigel,’ I say, climbing inside.
‘Sorry, Ms Dean. I would have opened your door had I known you were on your way.’
‘All good, Nigel – thanks though,’ I reply, buckling up. ‘Home, please.’
I consciously steady my breathing as I cast my mind back over the past hour.
The stand-out memory was Dunn’s expression when I sidled up to him at the bar and asked if the seat next to him was taken. He was delighted to be approached, swiftly engaging me in conversation. As he asked questions and listened to Penny’s potted history, his eyes never left mine and he nodded and smiled in the right places. Textbook active listening techniques, no doubt designed to reel me in. Hah!
When I faked a yawn and said I needed to get up early to fly home to Melbourne, he leapt into action and asked how he could contact me. Apparently, his role as a geological surveyance consultant for the mining industry brings him to Australia ‘all the time’. Never mind that the mining hubs are nowhere near Melbourne. I suppose when you’re pulling a new profession out of your bum, you might flub the details. Penny simply smiled at him and gave him her Aussie contact number, then left before Dunn could make any physical overtures.
I message Ursula and Marie on our new chat thread:
Hook line and sinker
I’ll fill them in on the details tomorrow, but they will be dying to hear if phase one of our plan worked. Ursula is the first to reply:
Excellent. Well done, Poppy.
It amuses me that Ursula always punctuates her messages correctly. I wait for a response from Marie, but none comes – not really that surprising. She’s the least communicative person I’ve ever worked with. Next I message Tristan:
Heading home babe. Keep the ponytail or lose it?
He responds immediately:
Keep it. We can roleplay. *winking face*
‘Hah!’
Nigel’s eyes briefly meet mine in the mirror, then return to the road.
‘Sorry. Just something funny Tristan said.’
‘Of course, Ms Dean.’
I stare out the window as we pass through Central London and start fleshing out Penny Mullings’ naughtier side. My husband wants to roleplay? Well, he’s about to have a night he’ll never forget.
* * *
Kate
‘Hi, Poppy.’
I’m in my office with the door closed, and Poppy has called right on time. ‘So, how did it go?’ I ask, a tad trepidatious. It’s not every day you chat with the woman who spent the previous evening chatting up your fiancé.
‘The gist or all the gory details?’ she asks.
‘Uh, the gist is fine.’
I may never want to lay eyes on Jon again – even though I’ll have to at some point – but I also don’t want to hear the ins and outs of his and Poppy’s encounter (so to speak).
She walks me through a summary of their meeting, including that when ‘Penny’ pressed Jon on details of his life, he patently avoided answering her. Sounds familiar.
‘Did he say what he does for a living?’ I ask, curiosity overriding reticence.
‘He did,’ she replies, clearly amused. ‘He’s in mining – essentially a geologist.’
I laugh. I can’t help it. ‘You mean one of those people who works on mining sites, where it’s dusty and loud?’
‘Apparently.’
The thought of Jon, who has regular manicures and hasn’t done a day of manual labour in his entire life, on a mining site wearing work boots and a hardhat is hilarious. I’d wager that the heaviest machinery Jon has ever operated is his electric toothbrush.
‘And how did you leave things?’ I ask.
‘I gave him an Australian phone number that Marie set up for me.’
‘Has he contacted you yet?’
‘Yes. A simple nice-to-meet-you message, and I’ve replied.’
‘Okay.’ I heave out a loud breath. ‘I’m not going to lie, Poppy, it’s surreal talking about this.’
‘I can imagine. It’s surreal on this end too.’
‘I can imagine,’ I echo. ‘I appreciate it, though. Adriana does too,’ I add, thinking about our recent exchanges. Though, if Adriana had her way, retribution would include public shaming. I’ve had to sell her on the agency’s plan multiple times, as she deems it far too lenient.
‘It’s all part of the service,’ Poppy quips.
Only it isn’t. This is well beyond what she typically does, and I can tell from her voice that she’s not entirely comfortable with it. Understandably so.
‘So, what happens next?’ I ask – both wanting and dreading the answer.
‘I’ll keep up the communications, increasing the amount of contact over the next few days, then ask for a video chat.’
‘Oh god, that sounds…’ I can’t bring myself to finish the point.
‘Yeah, not fun, but we think it’s the best way to fast-track a long-distance relationship, especially as we want him to donate to Penny’s organisation. That’s bound to take a lot more on my end than a few text messages.’
‘Right.’
‘But then, once he’s well and truly invested, Penny will ask about the donation.’
‘Poppy… Are you sure you want to go through with all this?’
She laughs. ‘Uh, nope. But here we are.’
I appreciate her candour, but I also feel guilty. When I approached her about getting back at Jon, I had no idea she’d have to go undercover to get close to him.
‘So, what about you?’ she asks. ‘When do you go to Verona?’
‘I leave tonight.’
‘It’s all happening very quickly, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, ‘which is good. We need to get ahead of Jon’s plans for global domination…’
She chuckles at my poor joke.
‘But it’s also a lot – mentally, I mean.’
‘And emotionally,’ she adds.
‘Yes, that too.’
‘And is Margot going with you?’ she asks, an innocent enough assumption.
‘Uh, no.’
‘Oh, are you sure you want to go alone? I could come?—’
I interrupt her. ‘That’s lovely of you to offer, Poppy, but way beyond what I could possibly ask of you. You’re already doing so much.’
‘Sure, no worries.’
Do I confess now or let Poppy find out through other means? No, I should be upfront. Poppy has always been transparent with me, something I value, especially considering my current situation, and she deserves the same respect.
‘Actually, I’m flying via Amsterdam. Willem’s coming with me to Italy – Adriana’s brother,’ I clarify needlessly.
‘Oh, right,’ she says, drawing out ‘right’ with her Australian twang.
‘He insisted,’ I add hurriedly, shifting in my chair. I don’t want Poppy thinking I’ve arranged some sort of romantic tryst. And hopefully she can’t tell that my libido has kicked into high gear at the mere mention of his name.
‘I’m glad you’ll have someone there to back you up,’ she says with an obvious undercurrent of doubt.
Bugger, she’s onto me.
‘And you have everything you need from Marie – information-wise, I mean?’ she asks.
‘Uh, yes, thank you. I’ve got Lucia’s address, and the address of her gallery.’
‘So, you’re just showing up out of the blue?’ she asks with a tinge of surprise.
‘That’s the plan,’ I say cheerfully.
‘Ahh.’
‘You don’t think it’s a good idea? That’s how Willem handled it when he broke the news to me. He showed up unannounced.’
‘And how did that make you feel?’ she asks. Poppy must be wearing her psychologist hat right now, but it’s a fair question.
‘Honestly? Blindsided, but – as I said to Willem earlier this week – I wouldn’t have believed him if he’d approached me any other way.’
‘Hmm, okay.’
‘How would you do it?’ I ask, now curious.
‘I’m not sure. Maybe contact her and ask to meet in a neutral location.’
‘Under what guise, though? Tell her we want to buy some art, then when we meet say, “Just joking. You’re dating my fiancé”?’
She chuckles. ‘Okay, okay… There’s no good way to break this kind of news.’
‘No, there isn’t. At least Willem’s had experience. Lucia will be number three.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she concedes.
‘And as far as bearing bad news goes, Willem was reasonably good at it,’ I add. He’s probably good at lots of things , says my inner voice, which has been getting more unruly every day.
I clear my throat, shifting in my chair again. These thoughts are not only unhelpful, they could derail this trip to Verona. Hard to deliver bad news sensitively when you’re distracted by how sexy your travel companion is.
‘Anyway, I should probably get back to work,’ I say.
‘Me too. Good luck with it all, Kate. And if you want to talk while you’re in Italy – about anything ,’ she says, loading the word with more meaning than I’m comfortable with, ‘then I’m only a phone call away, okay?’
‘Thanks, Poppy. And keep me informed? About Jon, I mean.’
‘Of course. Travel safely.’
‘You too,’ I say, which doesn’t make any sense, something I only realise when the call ends.
I tut at myself as my gaze lands on the small case sitting in the corner of my office. Inside that case, amongst carefully selected outfits and my toiletries and makeup, is an unopened packet of condoms and newly acquired La Perla lingerie.
I’m not sure who this Kate Whitaker is – besides wanton and horny – but the woman who packed prophylactics and a lacy teddy is not the same woman who’s convinced she’s being altruistic by going to Verona.
The question is: can I be both Kates this weekend?