Chapter 2
2
POPPY
‘Saffron, will you please get your bum out of my face.’
Tristan chuckles smugly from the other side of the bed.
‘Fine for you. You’re her favourite, so you get the good end,’ I say, gently pushing her away from me.
She purrs loudly, nuzzling the crook of Tristan’s neck, and he pets her with one hand. ‘She loves us both equally.’
‘Hah, hardly . And don’t encourage her,’ I add, snuggling into my now cat-bum-free pillow.
‘Good morning, darling. How did you sleep?’ he asks cheekily.
‘Fine until our cat decided to join us,’ I say, stifling a yawn. ‘I’m not loving this newfound desire to sleep with us – especially when she has her own room.’ Previously, we had a guest room with a study nook. Now we have ‘Saffron’s room’, where she sleeps on the bed all day, only changing positions to chase the sun (when it’s out).
Tristan props himself up, lifts Saffron one-handed, and puts her on the floor. ‘Off you go, Saffy,’ he coos.
Well, she does not like that. There’s a disdainful ‘meow’ and she struts out of our room like a cat on a mission – probably to post on socials about how hard her life is.
‘Not sure if I’m still her favourite after that,’ he says, leaning over to kiss my cheek.
‘Ah-hah! So, you admit it,’ I say.
He chuckles again and gets out of bed. ‘Tea?’ he asks.
‘Have I told you how much I love you?’
‘Not today,’ he says from the doorway.
‘I love you!’ I call out before surrendering to a yawn.
I’m usually a morning person. I’m also not one of those people who lives for the weekends. I love being an agent at the Ever After Agency, but after a sleepless night due to a certain feline, I could easily steal another half-hour under the duvet. Surely Saskia and Paloma, who run the agency, won’t mind if I’m a little bit late.
‘Darling, it’s nearly six-thirty,’ Tristan says from the kitchen.
My eyes pop open – bugger, I must have drifted off.
‘Thank you!’
‘And tea’s ready.’
‘Coming.’
I pad to the kitchen and take up a spot at the breakfast bar, where a steaming mug of tea awaits. No dainty china teacup for me this morning – Tristan has busted out the big guns. The only thing we own that’s bigger than my ‘World’s Best Friend’ mug is a bucket. He’s also made me breakfast: three Weetabix and milk.
‘I love you more than I did ten minutes ago,’ I say before taking a sip of tea.
‘Much on for the start of the week?’ he asks.
‘Finalising some paperwork on the reunited lovers’ case?—’
‘The two ninety-year-olds?’
‘That’s the one. They are so sweet, Tris. Iris told me to expect a wedding invitation.’
‘I’ll have to dust off the tux.’
‘I suppose you can be my plus one,’ I tease, and the corners of his eyes crease over the rim of his mug.
‘I also have a meeting with a new client this arvo – a school friend of Saskia and Paloma’s. The agency’s way of returning a massive favour she did for us back in March.’
‘So, a VIP?’ he asks.
‘Yep.’
‘Like I was.’ Tristan’s dark-amber eyes twinkle with mirth.
‘Boy, you have tickets on yourself, Mr Fellows.’
He laughs at that, then tucks into his breakfast.
In autumn last year, Tristan was my client. I was tasked with finding him a wife by his thirty-fifth birthday, which was only forty days away, to ensure he inherited an eye-watering sum (thirty million pounds), meeting an archaic, but incontestable, clause in his grandad’s will. It was either that, or the entire fortune would go to the Avian Wildlife Trust of the Hebrides, and no one in the family would see a penny.
Against my better judgement, professional creed, and everything a matchmaker is supposed to do, I fell in love with him. Fortunately, he fell right back, which we realised in time. Just in time.
‘Meow.’ At my feet, Saffron rubs up against the legs of the stool.
‘Oh, hello, Saffron.’ She’s up there amongst the reasons I love my life, but I’ll never tell her that. It’ll go to her head.
‘Meow.’
‘Go ask Tristan to make you breakfast. He’s chief cook and bottle washer this morning.’
She looks up at me disdainfully before stalking off into the kitchen. I just love her little half-black, half-orange face but she’s lucky she’s so cute, the little minx.
‘Right,’ says Tristan sometime later, ‘I need to head in early this morning.’
Tristan’s an investment banker, which is the main reason we live in the financial district. Pre-me, all he did was work – all work and no play made Tristan a (rather) dull boy, according to our close friend, Jacinda – and he liked the convenience of being able to walk to work. Maybe one day we’ll move but, for now, I don’t mind the commute to Richmond where the agency is based.
And while I’m sitting here checking my socials with bed-hair, half-drunk tea, and very soggy bix, he’s already had his breakfast, fed Saffron, and cleaned up the kitchen.
Tristan smacks a kiss on my lips. ‘Bye, darling. Have a wonderful day.’ He stoops to pet Saffron under the chin. ‘You too, Saffy,’ he says, his voice two octaves higher. We watch him leave and when the door closes behind him, Saffron looks at me, sniffs the air, and heads towards her bedroom.
Like I said, little minx.
‘Thank you so much for coming in.’ Anjali, a tall, slender, south-Asian woman, who looks like she just stepped off a runway, indicates for me to sit in the chair opposite her, then takes a seat behind her desk. ‘So sorry you had to come all this way – I’d stupidly thought I’d be able to get out to Richmond this afternoon.’
I wave her off. ‘Not a problem. Happy to be invited back to Nouveau .’
‘That was a smashing article you wrote for us back in March.’
She’s referring to the piece I ‘co-wrote’ as part of a case to reunite two fashion designers. And by ‘co-wrote’ I mean that I sent a pile of scribbles to my colleague, Freya, who gave the piece some shape, then I submitted it to a Nouveau editor, a woman called Bex, who turned it into an article.
It was a huge ask of Nouveau to publish that article, and it only came about because of Anjali’s long-standing friendship with Saskia and Paloma.
‘That’s a generous characterisation of my contribution,’ I say, and we exchange knowing smiles.
‘But a successful case, I hear? I saw that Elle Bliss and Lorenzo just got engaged.’
‘Yes! Absolutely thrilled for them – such a gorgeous couple. And that article was paramount to us making the match, so thank you again,’ I reply. I don’t bother correcting her that Lorenzo is the label, whereas the man behind the world-famous, sexy-but-comfortable shoes is called Leo.
‘There’s no need to thank me,’ she says, ‘especially as I am about to ask the agency to return the favour. Well, ish . It’s not so much a favour from the agency as from you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes – it’s what I’d require of you. In addition to your work as a matchmaker, I mean.’
Intriguing .
‘What did you have in mind?’ I ask, keeping my expression neutral.
‘Well, Sask tells me you used be a psychologist.’
‘Yes, I practised for just over ten years before joining the agency.’
‘And you specialised in…?’
‘Predominantly positive psychology and treatment using CBT – cognitive behavioural theory.’
‘Perfect.’
‘So, how does this relate to the case?’
‘Well, as you know, I’d be engaging you on behalf of a colleague, Greta Davies. She is brilliant, professional, hard-working, and very much has it together. But if this is going to work, I think you’ll need to go undercover – ish .’
Anjali clearly likes couching her words with ‘ish’ but all she’s done is confuse the matter – I still have no clue what the case is or what I’ll be doing.
And the last time I went undercover was for the case Anjali mentioned earlier, where I posed as a fashion journalist. When I told Shaz about it, she couldn’t stop laughing. I’d have taken offence if I didn’t agree with her – it was laughable.
‘Undercover as…?’ I ask, hoping I won’t be asked to pull any more fashion articles out of my bum.
‘A romantic advice columnist – ish.’ Wow, that’s three ishes in three minutes. ‘Soz, I’m doing a rubbish job of explaining this, aren’t I?’
Yes, you really are.
‘No, not at all,’ I reply, the consummate professional.
‘Put simply, I want you to help Greta find love.’
‘Excellent. Then that’s our starting point,’ I say, glad we’ve finally got to the crux of things. ‘And does Greta want to find love?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘It’s best if you’re certain. We wouldn’t want to attempt to solve a problem that may not exist.’
‘Right. Well, you see, I’ve known Greta for over a decade and I’ve watched her live and breathe work – these days, even more so than I do. And if she ever does take time for herself, it’s only because I’ve forced her to. That said, if you’d have asked me a fortnight ago whether Greta wanted to fall in love, I would have said no. Her sole passion has always been her job. Well, for some time, she’s had a rather obvious crush on our colleague, Luca, but that appears to be waning as far as I can tell.’
‘So, something happened to change your mind – about Greta?’ I ask, redirecting her back to the point.
‘Yes, it was something she said. She was talking to herself, as she often does, only this wasn’t one of her affirmations or verbal to-do lists. At first, I thought it was a throw-away comment – only, evidently, it wasn’t.’
‘What was it?’
‘Well, Greta’s just launched her own online vertical, you see, and?—’
‘Sorry, a vertical?’ I ask, interrupting.
‘It’s like an imprint of a publisher – part of the whole, but also its own thing.’
Nope, still confused. ‘Uh…?’
‘The vertical, Nouveau Life , is an online magazine – but still part of Nouveau .’
‘Ahh, got it. And Greta’s at the helm.’
‘Exactly. It’s a massive responsibility, but she’s earned it and I have no doubt it will be a smashing success. Anyway , she and I were working late one night – I’d stuck around to help her with an article from one of our freelancers about dating apps – and we’d just decided on a pull quote from one of the interviewees. It was something like, “I’ve been single so long, I have no idea what being in love even feels like any more.” And Greta muttered to herself, “You and me both,” in this deeply saddened tone.’
‘Oh, that seems rather telling.’
‘That’s what I thought too. Now, ordinarily I would have pretended I didn’t hear her, but as it was just the two of us, it was obvious that I did hear. And then I found myself asking her about it.’
I lean forward in anticipation. ‘And?’
‘And, apparently, the article had triggered a bout of introspection, and she’s been thinking about it a lot lately – love. Especially now she’s in her mid-thirties. Has she left it too late to find the perfect man, fall in love, and start a family? That sort of thing.’
‘Well, that seems to answer my question.’
‘I’d hoped as much. You know, this is the first time she’s ever said anything like that to me – been that candid about her personal aspirations. It’s stuck with me ever since. Actually, I nearly brought it up again this morning, which would have been disastrous timing. A huge distraction on her big day. I also hadn’t met with you, of course, so it would have been premature. It’s just… I’ve become a little consumed with it ever since she told me.’
‘That’s understandable. You obviously care about her a great deal.’
‘I do. She’s not just my protégé; she’s also my friend. Well, ish – I’m still her boss.’ She shakes her head, seeming lost in thought, then meets my eye. ‘Perhaps this whole thing is misguided. I realise it’s incredibly patronising of me, thinking I know best for someone else.’
‘Although, sometimes that’s the case,’ I say, thinking of the times I’ve had to nudge Shaz in the right direction – like not ending her relationship with her girlfriend, Lauren, because she was afraid to commit.
‘Look, I adore Greta,’ Anjali continues, ‘and if there’s something I can do to make her happy – happier , I should say, because she really is a cheerful person – then I want to do it. Which, of course, is where you would come in.’
‘As an advice columnist for Nouveau Life .’
‘Yes.’
This still makes no sense. ‘And how exactly does that fit into your plan?’ I ask, hoping to get more clarity.
She rests her elbows on the desk, her dark-brown eyes flashing with excitement. ‘ I convince Greta to hire you as a contributor, writing an advice column for Nouveau Life , and you help Greta find love.’
That’s it? That’s the extent of her plan? While writing an advice column could be interesting, I’m failing to see the connection between that and helping Greta find love. Does Anjali want me onsite at Nouveau to coach Greta, to act as some kind of love mentor?
I couch my next question carefully, so I don’t come off as rude. ‘So, you’re envisioning that I work here undercover to do what exactly?’
‘Help Greta find love,’ she states matter-of-factly.
Great – still as clear as mud.
‘So, we’d be telling Greta who I really am? That I’m a matchmaker?’
Anjali appears horrified by the idea. ‘Oh no, definitely not. Then Greta would realise that we’re trying to find her a match.’
‘And you don’t want her to know?’ This is getting more complex – and less plausible – by the second.
‘Well, no. I think we only tell her about your experience as a psychologist. Surely that alone uniquely qualifies you as an advice columnist?’
I don’t agree, but her assumption raises another issue.
‘Aren’t you concerned that Greta already knows me from the Elle Bliss/Lorenzo article? Won’t she think it’s odd that a fashion journalist now wants to write an advice column?’
‘Oh… Interesting point,’ she says, frowning. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
She huffs out an exasperated sigh, and I quickly parse what I’ve gleaned so far – that Anjali seems to believe my very presence will magically draw the right man to Greta – and prepare Greta to pursue a romantic relationship with said man. So, matchmaking by osmosis?
And then it comes to me – the missing piece.
‘The advice column is an inspired idea,’ I say, blatantly buttering up the client – the VIP client. ‘Being a contributor to Nouveau Life would give me close proximity to Greta, allowing me to get to know her personally. It’s always helpful when selecting potential matches to know as much about the client as possible. It would also be the perfect cover story for the rest of the team, so they’re not confused about why I’m here.’
‘Well, that’s a much better way of articulating it.’ She gives me a wry smile.
‘ But ,’ I add – and here’s the clincher – ‘I think we should tell Greta who I am and what I really do.’
‘No, no, no…’ she says, lifting both palms towards me.
‘Please hear me out.’
‘All right.’ She sits back, regarding me intently.
‘We tell Greta I’m a matchmaker because you’re going to assign her an article for Nouveau Life – actually, make it a series of articles. I’ll set her up on dates and she’ll write about her experiences. Ten first dates… Dating as a career woman… I’ll leave the angle up to you – or Greta – but dating will become her assignment . I’ll provide the dates, and if I’m successful, one of them will be Greta’s match. What do you think?’
That spark of excitement returns to her eyes, and she grins at me. ‘I think you’re a bloody genius.’
I chuckle softly. ‘I’ll take that.’
‘And the idea of it being a writing assignment – that’s perfect . Greta’s already told me she wants to contribute at least one piece per issue – keep her hand in as a writer, as it were.’
‘Great,’ I reply, thrilled I came up with such a suitable solution on the spot. ‘So, when should we meet with Greta?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to spring this on her immediately, what with the launch and everything, so how about the end of the week?’
‘Sounds good. And one more thing…’ I say, adopting a cautionary tone. Her smile falls away and she peers at me, her jaw tensing. ‘I think you need to be prepared… It’s quite possible that Greta will connect the assignment with your true intention – to find her a match. Maybe not right away, but she’s obviously an intelligent woman.’
‘So how do we prevent that?’
‘Well, it might help if you come up with an angle that really sells the assignment. Dating is a hot topic… It will be a drawcard for new readers… That kind of thing.’
‘All right. I’ll mull it over and come up with something. Thank you, Poppy. There’s a lot more to consider than I originally thought, but I think this is going to be brilliant.’
‘I do too.’ I stand and hold out my hand. ‘Welcome to the Ever After Agency.’
‘And welcome back to Nouveau ,’ she says, firmly shaking it.