Chapter 26
26
POPPY
‘Babe, don’t hate me,’ I say, entering our bedroom after my call with Kate.
‘I’d be hard-pressed to come up with any reason to hate you, but what’s going on? Is it your case?’
‘It is, and I need to stay home tonight.’
His mother is hosting a swanky event for one of the charities she’s on the board of. It’s for the beautification of an affluent, already beautiful area of London that needs charitable funds about as much as Jeff Bezos.
Tristan’s eyes light up with glee. ‘You mean we don’t have to make small talk with horrible people, then sit through a sub-par meal and boring speeches?’
‘Well, I don’t but you could go by yourself.’
‘Oh, no, no, no. You being there is the only thing that would make it bearable. If you’re not going, then neither am I.’
‘Okay. So, will you come up with a plausible excuse?’ I ask.
‘Why not just tell the truth – that you have to work?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure Helen would love that. She already thinks my job is a load of hooey. She’s hardly gonna believe there’s such thing as a matchmaking emergency. She’ll think we’re making it up.’
‘Hmm, how about I say I have to work?’
I cross to him where he’s stretched out on the bed, an inverted book on his chest, and bend down for a kiss. ‘I trust you to figure it out, babe. Now, I have to go get ready to talk to that horrible man.’
‘Oh,’ he says, sitting up, ‘I hadn’t realised that’s why we’re staying in.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Hands-down the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in the name of a case. But I reckon it’ll be over soon.’
‘All right.’ He gives me a weak smile and I leave, going into our guest room, which doubles as my office.
The first thing I need to do is ping Saskia about the contract for Dunn’s charitable donation. It’s not ideal, having to interrupt my boss on a Saturday night, especially as she insists that we ‘switch off’ over the weekend, but sometimes that’s not possible.
She answers my call almost right away, the distinct sounds of family-night festivities in the background. I apologise, but as always, she tells me it’s no trouble before getting down to business.
‘Is this about the Whitaker case?’ she asks. It’s a fair assumption, even though I have other active cases.
‘Yep. I could be hooking him as soon as tonight.’
‘Oh, good work, Poppy. And you’ve phoned about the contract?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s almost good to go. I’ve got a former colleague looking it over this weekend, so it’ll be ready to send as early as Monday, if needed.’
‘Perfect, thank you.’
‘Of course.’
We chitchat for a minute or two about her family, then wrap up the call. All I need to do now is wait to hear from Dunn. In the meantime, I make another call – this one to Shaz.
‘What’s up?’
‘Do you always answer the phone like that?’
‘Hah! Only when my bestie calls. So, what is up?’
‘I’ve got a hypothetical for you,’ I begin. ‘For that case with the multiple fiancées.’
‘Go.’
‘You’ve got a narcissist with tendencies towards grandiosity who sees you as a gullible, na?ve innocent that he can manipulate into falling for him. And you need him to agree to something outrageous – in this instance, donating a huge sum of money to the charity you work for in Melbourne, so your bosses will let you return to London where you’ll resume the courtship. How do you play it?’
‘Fuck me, this is a juicy case.’
‘Juicy, yes, but I also want it to be over – ASAP . So, what do you reckon?’
‘Lean into the narcissism. Only he can solve your problem. And if you can swing it, cry.’
‘Cry? But how do I do that?’
I do cry sometimes – I’m not shut off from my emotions or anything – but I can’t cry on queue. I’m not a trained actor – far from it!
‘I’ll send you something. It’s an exercise I use with my patients to access deep emotions.’
‘Okay, sure,’ I reply, unconvinced.
I ask her to say hi to Lauren for me, then end the call. Less than a minute later, an email hits my inbox and I read though the attachment. Shaz is right – this exercise could be my magic bullet.
Now I just need Dunn to contact Penny. It’s possible that he won’t, but with the other three turning him down and his Saturday-night plans turning to shit, I’m confident he will.
* * *
Tristan taps softly on the door as he opens it and peeks in.
‘Are you finished with— Oh no, you’ve been crying,’ he says, concerned. He crosses to me and bobs down, one hand cupping my cheek.
‘ Fake crying. I had to really sell the whole I-miss-you-and-I-can’t-come-back-to-London-unless-you-write-a-huge-cheque thing.’
‘Oh.’ He sits back on his heels. ‘And?’
‘And he said to send over the necessary paperwork as soon as possible, then book a flight.’
Tristan gives me a concerned side-eye. ‘How does he expect someone who works for a not-for-profit to afford a last-minute flight across the world?’
‘You make a salient point, Mr Fellows. But he’s so out of touch, it didn’t even come up. Anyway, Penny will be back in London this Friday and she told him to book a suite at the Langham.’
‘Nicely done, darling,’ he says, giving me a quick kiss. ‘And now that we’re staying in, what do you say to one of your fancy-pants antipasto platters and a bottle of Chianti?’
‘And the new romcom with Florence Pugh?’ I ask with a wide grin. I love a good romcom, but Tristan would rather a thriller or a gritty crime drama any day.
His mouth twitches. ‘Since you’ve had a less-than-ideal evening so far, all right.’
‘Woohoo,’ I shout, waking Saffron, who glares at me from the bed. Then I go into the kitchen to start assembling a platter for dinner.
* * *
Kate
It’s after 7p.m. and Willem still hasn’t returned.
Lucia and Margot have gone to get ready to go out with Adriana, who’s in her studio getting dressed, and I’m sitting here like a numpty waiting for him.
The others invited me to join them, but I won’t be able to enjoy myself unless things are right with Willem. Not even Poppy’s news that she convinced Jon to donate ￡150,000 to our chosen charity has made a dent in my I’ve-behaved-like-an-arse-and-maybe-ruined-things-forever blues.
Eventually, Adriana comes back into the house, gorgeous in a sparkly mini-dress and four-inch heels. ‘You look smashing,’ I tell her.
‘Thanks!’ She points one toe to show off her shoes. ‘I could never wear these with Jon – they make me taller than him and he didn’t like it.’
‘That sounds about right,’ I say with a wry laugh. ‘Why is it that all his flaws suddenly seem so obvious, especially his vanity? Is it like that for you as well?’
‘God, yes. It’s what’s keeping me sane. Any time I miss him, I remember the red flags – so many!’
‘Precisely! Yet we didn’t notice them at the time. I asked Poppy about that and she answered with “love is blind”.’
‘Hmm. She’s probably right. It was easy to ignore his faults when he was being charming.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So… I should go meet Margot and Lucia,’ she says, looking hesitant.
‘Oh!’ I say, realising she probably doesn’t want to leave me here alone. ‘I should go too – sorry.’ I give her a tight-lipped smile, then go over to my case and extend the handle.
‘Kate, I don’t mind if you wait here. But I’m not sure Willem?—’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to upset him further – or get you into trouble with your big brother,’ I joke, only it’s not funny and we both know that.
I start rolling my case across the wooden floor, the sound echoing ominously throughout the large room. And right as I swing my handbag onto my shoulder, a key sounds in the lock. My eyes fly to meet Adriana’s.
‘Perfect timing,’ she says with an ironic smile. She comes over and leans down to give me a hug, which I return one-handed. ‘See you in London,’ she says, stepping back.
With a pang, I note that she doesn’t say ‘see you tomorrow’, so it’s unlikely she thinks I’ll be here in the morning.
I don’t think I’ll be here either.
I look over and Willem is standing there, watching us. My heart starts racing. Why does he have to be so bloody handsome – even with that troubled look on his face?
Adriana stops to give him a cheek kiss. ‘I’m staying with Margot tonight. See you in the morning.’
He grunts his reply, then she goes, and the sound of the door closing reverberates around the room like a death knell – the death knell of our fledgling relationship, if Willem’s scowl is anything to go by.
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he says gruffly.
‘I gathered that,’ I say with an embarrassed smile. ‘I was just leaving.’
He nods and this is the part where I am supposed to go, but my feet are rooted to the spot. It doesn’t help that he’s standing between me and the door. His gaze latches onto mine, but it’s unbearable and I look away, hitching my handbag strap further up my shoulder.
‘Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.’ I stride towards the door, deviating around him, only as I pass, he captures my free wrist with his hand.
‘Kate…’ he whispers, and for a millisecond, I think he’s going to ask me to stay so we can talk things through. ‘Safe travels,’ he says instead.
Suddenly, there’s a lump in my throat the size of Trafalgar Square and tears prick my eyes.
How? How did I give my heart freely to a prick like Jon, but when a good man like Willem comes along, I cock it up?
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod sharply, then leave, and this time when the front door closes, it feels final.
I look up and down the road where cars are parked bumper to bumper on both sides and the footpath is littered with bikes. It’s unlike me to not have an exit strategy – I should have ordered an Uber or called a cab – but a lot of my behaviour of late is unlike me.
Worried that Willem might be watching me out his front window, I walk down the road away from the canal. Margot gave me the name and address of her hotel, but the thought of checking in, then sitting there by myself all night, stewing, is unbearable.
No, if I’m going anywhere, it’s home. I get to the corner and fish out my phone to order an Uber to the airport.
* * *
Sunday arrives wet, grey, and miserable – typical of London spring weather to lull us into a false sense of ‘it’s getting warmer!’ then have us digging out winter woollies at least one more time.
The weather’s also a fitting accompaniment for my grim, miserable mood. Only yesterday morning, I woke up next to Willem in Italy – blissful, hopeful, thoroughly ravished – and now I’m back in London. Alone .
I bundle myself into my fluffy robe and Uggs and go to the kitchen to make myself a coffee. Even before the water boils, I know this will be a poor cousin to the coffees I enjoyed in Italy – or the coffee Willem made me in Amsterdam. I may be spoiled for drinking instant coffee ever again.
That’s not the only thing I’m spoiled for.
Now that I’ve discovered there are decent men in this world – kind, honest men, men who can make my toes curl simply by looking at me a certain way – I will never be able to accept ‘good enough’ again. The Kate of today would never fall for someone like Jon. I suppose that’s one good thing to come from all this. I’ve upped my standards.
But I’ve also cocked things up with the decent, clever, sexy man across the Channel, so it’s hard to chalk this up as a ‘win’.
I eye my phone, which is sitting on the benchtop face-down. I haven’t yet summoned the nerve to check my messages.
No doubt, Jon will have sent his obligatory I-miss-you message without bothering to enquire about my ailing health, despite me telling him I have the flu.
But worse, I won’t have heard from Willem.
I heave out a self-pitying sigh. I really didn’t think this through, being back in London without Margot and with nothing to keep my mind off things. Though I seem to have made a habit of not thinking things through.
The kettle boils and I pour hot water into my mug, absentmindedly stirring while I consider how to spend my day. There’s always work I can catch up on but Mina frowns upon working over the weekend unless absolutely necessary. I doubt replying to bog-standard emails or getting a jumpstart on my monthly reports will count as ‘absolutely necessary’. Working would only earn me a friendly earbashing tomorrow about work–life balance.
What about Poppy? I think. She has become a confidante of sorts and she doesn’t judge me – even when I’m behaving like a complete idiot. She also has terrific insight; maybe she’ll have advice for me about how to stop sabotaging my own happiness.
I suppose I could ask her to lunch – she can only say no. I pick up my phone to message her and it vibrates in my hand. It’s Margot:
Heading down to Rotterdam with Adriana and Lucia for the day. Flying back to London tonight. Love you. And stop moping. It will all work out.
Of course she knows I’m moping – more so now that she’s shared her plans for the day. If I’d just stayed in Amsterdam, I could be on a day trip to explore a new city with my bestie and my new pseudo-friends.
‘Gah! Just message Poppy and ask if she’s free, you silly muppet.’
I do and she is. Finally, a bright spark in this otherwise bleak day.
We make plans to meet at The Black Penny in Covent Garden at 12p.m. and I head into Central London early to take myself to the National Gallery. Hard to stay miserable when basking in the greatness of Degas, Monet, Cézanne, and Van Gogh.