by Jill Mansell
Chapter 27
Poppy had never seen a transformation like it. The effect Will Smyth had had on Claudia was mesmerizing. She looked prettier; she was happier; she couldn’t stop singing. It went to show, thought Poppy, mystified. There really was no accounting for taste.
‘You’re home,’ Claudia cried when she arrived back from work on Wednesday afternoon. ‘Perfect, we can eat right away. I’ve made a chili.’
‘Made?’ Poppy was startled. ‘You mean poked holes in the cellophane and put in the microwave?’
‘No, made made.’ Claudia tried to look Nigella Lawson-ish, as if preparing meals from scratch was something that came perfectly naturally to her. ‘Really made. And there’s no need to stare at me like that,’ she went on defensively. ‘It’s only chili.’
‘Oh, I get it. Will’s coming round to dinner and you want him to see what a perfect wife you’ll make.’
‘Wrong’—Claudia looked smug—‘so there. I’m meeting him at Johnnie’s Bar for a drink.’ She beamed. She couldn’t stop beaming. ‘He’s going to introduce me to his friends.’
And later, when he brought her home, she would casually ask if he was hungry and they would open the fridge in search of something to eat. Then she would say, even more casually, ‘There’s some leftover chili here; we could heat that up. Or I could do cheese and biscuits.’
It was Claudia’s subtle approach and she was proud of it. Anyone, after all, could knock themselves out producing a ravishingly formal dinner. Well, she was going to go one better. She was going to really impress Will by being the girl with the ravishing leftovers.
‘You keep looking at your watch,’ said Poppy, mopping up the last smear of sauce from her plate. She popped the bread into her mouth. ‘That was brilliant. Should he have phoned by now?’
‘No, no,’ Claudia lied brightly.
‘Only you seem nervous.’
‘Me, nervous? Why would I be nervous? Oh—!’
The phone rang. Claudia leapt on it, her skin prickling all over with relief.
Seconds later she passed it across to Poppy.
‘For you.’
Poppy winced. If Will made Claudia happy, she wanted him to phone. If Will made Claudia make stupendous chili she wanted him to phone almost as much as Claudia did.
‘Hi-ya!’
Five minutes later Poppy replaced the receiver.
‘That was Dina.’
‘I know it was Dina.’ Twitchy with nerves, Claudia couldn’t help sounding irate. ‘I spoke to her first, didn’t I?’
‘She asked if she could come and stay with us again this weekend.’
‘And you said yes. Again.’
‘I couldn’t really say no.’ Poppy shrugged. ‘She’s hell-bent on coming up here. I think she’s going through a bad patch at home. Anyway, Caspar doesn’t mind.’
Claudia was still fretful. She didn’t even dare glance at the phone now. Maybe it was like a watched kettle never boiling… if she looked at it, it wouldn’t ring.
‘Well if you ask me, it’s taking advantage. Why can’t she book into an hotel?’
Poppy couldn’t resist the dig.
‘Maybe for the same reason Will didn’t book into one the other night. Because it was more convenient to stay here.’
Poppy was lying semi-submerged in the bath an hour later when she heard the phone trill again downstairs. Before long Claudia was hammering joyfully on the bathroom door.
‘That was Will, ringing to say he’s finished work. Just to let you know I’m off out now to meet him.’
Phew, that was a relief. Poppy turned the hot tap on again in celebration, and added another dollop of Body Shop grapefruit shampoo because she’d run out of bubble bath.
‘Okay, have a good time.’
‘I will, I will!’
‘Oh, and I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,’ Poppy added just for fun. ‘The Dina thing. Maybe you’re right. I’ll tell her to find a B and B somewhere instead.’
Claudia hesitated for less than a second. Will had phoned and all was right with the world.
‘Don’t be daft, I was only joking,’ she cried through the closed door. ‘Of course Dina can stay.’
To while away a slow morning, Poppy and Marlene had been giving men marks out of ten for their bums.
‘This is sexist,’ Jake complained. No matter how hard he concentrated on his accounts, he couldn’t help but overhear their outrageous remarks.
‘You’re jealous because Marlene only gave you a seven,’ Poppy told him.
‘Marlene doesn’t recognize quality when she sees it,’ said Jake. ‘And it’s still sexist.’
‘It’s downright depressing if you ask me.’ Marlene pulled a face like Harpo Marx. ‘I mean it’s hardly Bondi Beach around here, is it? Hardly Baywatch.’ She helped herself to another lemon sherbet, sucking noisily and twiddling the cellophane wrapper around her fat fingers. ‘I mean, most of the blokes in here today have been bloody antiques.’
Glancing up, Jake spotted Caspar coming in through the double doors.
‘How about this one? Is he more your type?’
‘Average-looking,’ said Poppy, sounding bored. She grinned as Marlene’s jaw dropped open. ‘A five, maybe a six. Not bad.’
‘Not bad? Are you kidding?’ squealed Marlene. ‘Look at him, he’s gorgeous! Talk about… Oh wow, he’s winking at me.’
‘Actually,’ said Poppy, ‘he’s winking at me.’
It was very quiet on the ground floor. Caspar, whose hearing was excellent, said, ‘If you must know, I was winking at Jake.’
‘My lucky day,’ Jake observed mildly. He gave up on the accounts, which were in a hideous state, and closed the book with a thud. Then he began cleaning the dusty lenses of his spectacles with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.
‘It is,’ said Caspar. He had come straight from Gillingham’s, the prestigious firm of auctioneers in South Kensington whose name was right up there along with Sotheby’s and Christie’s.
Poppy looked confused. ‘Is what?’
Jake, who wasn’t so slow, said, ‘Really? You mean that little picture’s worth a few bob after all? That’s great.’
‘As a matter of interest,’ said Caspar, ‘hands up anyone here who knows the name Wilhelm von Kantz.’
Poppy looked blank. Jake looked blank. Marlene, hoping to impress the most heavenly body she’d seen in a long long time, screwed up her eyes and nodded slowly as if the name did mean something to her, she just wasn’t sure what.
‘Well?’ Caspar turned his attention to her.
‘Um… was he the Red Baron?’
He looked appalled by their stupidity.
‘Hopeless, the lot of you. Okay, let me run through this. Von Kantz died two years ago at the age of ninety-three. He was a second-generation American of German-Dutch descent. He was a painter, a womanizer, a serious drinker, and he made a bit of a prat of himself publicly rubbishing the traditionalists and maintaining that his was the only form of art worth the canvas it was painted on.’
‘Blimey.’ Poppy shook her head in wonder. ‘You mean the chap who did “Dead Hamster on a Patio” said that? Some people have a nerve.’
‘What?’ said Marlene, mystified.
‘Go on,’ said Jake.
‘He came over to England just before the Second World War. He was married—well, married-ish—but he wrote in his diaries about an affair he had here with a woman called Dorrie.’
‘Dorothea,’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘Oh, I love it when things match up! He had an affair with Dorothea de Lacey and he gave her a painting of a dead hamster to remember him by. How romantic can you get?’
‘Who did you show it to?’ Jake frowned. ‘How much does he think it’s actually worth?’
‘I took it to Gillingham’s on Monday. We had to wait until this morning for a couple of their experts to fly back from Boston. I’ve been with them all morning. They’ve verified the painting’s authenticity. They asked if they could handle the
sale.’
Poppy’s eyes were by this time like saucers.
‘You mean it’s worth more than a couple of hundred?’
‘Put it this way,’ said Caspar. ‘When he died, Wilhelm von Kantz was regarded as one of the greatest painters in the world.’
People were staring. The entire antiques market had gone silent. Poppy began to giggle. She punched Caspar on the arm.
‘Okay, it’s a wind-up,’ she told Jake. ‘We’ve been Punk’d. Any minute now, the ghost of this loopy artist is going to burst in here and demand his picture back. Wilhelm von Kantz is probably an anagram of gullible nit wits. Watch out for hidden cameras everyone, and grumpy council officials with beards—’
‘You really are a bunch of peasants,’ said Caspar. ‘How can you not have heard of von Kantz? You’ll be telling me next you’ve never heard of de Kooning.’
More blank faces. Edward de Kooning, for decades one of Wilhelm’s friends and rivals, was possibly the greatest living exponent of this form of art, and nobody here even recognized the name.
‘Picasso?’ said Caspar. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘How much is this painting likely to fetch?’ Jake asked quietly.
Caspar rapped Poppy across the knuckles to regain her attention.
‘Will you stop looking for hidden cameras? This isn’t a joke.’ Then he turned to look at Jake. ‘Three quarters of a million pounds.’
Chapter 28
‘You know what you are, don’t you?’ Dina said flatly. ‘Weird, that’s what. Mental. You bid for that picture. That means it’s yours. Jake didn’t even want the flaming thing. He sacked you, for God’s sake! I’d tell the stingy bugger to stick his lousy job.’
It was seven thirty on Friday evening and Poppy was plowing through a bowl of muesli. If she was going to keep pace with Dina in the Malibu and orange juice department it was best to give her stomach a rock-solid lining before they set out. She looked up at Dina, who was layering bright blue mascara onto her eyelashes.
‘Jake isn’t a stingy bugger. He’s lovely. And I like my job.’
‘Yes, but if you had three quarters of a million pounds you’d never need to work again! It’d be permanent holiday time. If I had that kind of cash,’ said Dina vehemently, ‘you wouldn’t see me for dust.’
Muesli took forever to chew. Gamely, Poppy swallowed another mouthful.
‘Anyway, it wouldn’t be my cash. It’s Jake’s picture. He paid for it.’
‘He wouldn’t have it if it wasn’t for you.’ Dina finished with the mascara and untwirled a bright pink lipstick. ‘If you ask me, you should get yourself a bloody good lawyer. You’re entitled to at least half.’
‘But I didn’t ask you.’ Poppy wished she had never mentioned the painting now. All she wanted was for Dina to stop going on about it.
‘Suit yourself.’ Dina shrugged, mildly offended by the lack of gratitude. ‘I’m on your side, aren’t I? I’m your best friend.’
All of a sudden, Poppy thought dryly. Money did that to people; it could have the weirdest effects. Like turning casual friends into best ones, as if by magic.
‘I can’t stay out too late,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to be at work by nine tomorrow morning. I’m not going on to any clubs.’
‘If I had three quarters of a million pounds,’ Dina said dreamily, ‘I’d go clubbing it every single night. You wouldn’t catch me sloping off early on account of some poxy job.’
Poppy must be going down with something, Dina decided as she let herself into the house much, much later. She hadn’t seemed herself at all tonight. She’d been quiet. She’d even snapped once or twice when Dina had brought up the subject of the painting. And when she’d told Poppy about nosy Edna Frost who lived next door to the McBrides and who had last week been diagnosed with lung cancer, the oddest thing had happened.
‘Snooping old cow, all she’s ever done is make everyone else’s lives a misery,’ she had told Poppy. ‘If you ask me it couldn’t happen to a better person. She got what she deserved.’
Okay, Dina acknowledged now with a twinge of guilt, so it wasn’t a very nice thing to say, but she had been on her sixth Malibu by then, and Edna Frost had been the neighbor from hell. But what she couldn’t get over was the way Poppy’s eyes had filled with tears—actual tears—as if the news really was upsetting. She hadn’t said a word, just sat there with her eyes brimming and her fingers clenching and unclenching in her lap.
Still, never mind. Dina dismissed the bizarre episode with a shrug. Poppy was probably getting her period. And it hadn’t mattered a jot that she’d gone home early, as it happened, because by the time the wine bar had called last orders, Dina had found herself being chatted up by a couple of guys on a works night out. Once she’d been drawn into conversation with the rest of their party, it had seemed only natural that she should go along with them to the Jack of Clubs.
And where’s the harm in that, Dina asked herself as she headed through to the kitchen dumping her coat, hat, and gloves along the way. What was wrong with a spot of harmless flirting, a bit of smooching to the slow numbers, a quick cuddle in the corner of the club with the less acne-ridden of the two lads who had chatted her up?
Dina wandered around the kitchen. Downstairs in Poppy’s tiny room, on the floor beside Poppy’s single bed, her sleeping bag beckoned. Except she wasn’t in the mood for sleep.
London was for having fun in. Dina’s veins were still pulsing with adrenaline. It was only three o’clock; she wasn’t even ready to stop dancing yet. And she was so hungry she could eat a—oh wow! a massive helping of homemade lasagna.
How completely brilliant, thought Dina, grabbing the earthenware dish with both hands and knocking the fridge door shut with her hip. Normally when you arrived home starving from a club and looked in the fridge, the best you could hope for was half a tin of dried-up baked beans and a bit of green bread.
She zapped the lasagna in the microwave, tuned the transistor radio on the windowsill to an all-night music station, and began to sing and dance along to an old Adam Ant hit. She’d had quite a crush on Adam Ant yonks ago, Dina remembered fondly. God, she’d gone to a party once with a white stripe painted across her nose.
‘Ant music yo yo yo yo yo,’ she warbled, bouncing round the kitchen while the lasagna heated up. ‘Ant music yo yo yo yo yo.’ Funny lyrics really, when you came to think about it. Still… ‘Ant music yo yo—’
Dina spun to a halt against the washing machine, clinging on for support. She thought for a moment about climbing inside. She wondered how long he had been standing there watching her. She really wished she hadn’t been singing into an imaginary mike.
‘Sorry.’ He grinned, unrepentant. ‘I heard a noise. I thought maybe we had a burglar. Is that what you are, an all-singing, all-dancing burglar?’
‘I’m Dina. Poppy’s friend.’ Behind her, signaling that the lasagna was ready, the microwave went BEE-EEP. Dina jumped again. Heavens, her nerves were shot to pieces. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Will.’ His mouth tweaked up at the corners. ‘I’m Claudia’s friend.’
He was wearing tartan boxer shorts and nothing else. Dina was impressed by his body—he looked as she imagined Will Carling would look in the locker room. He had sleek dark hair like a seal, small dark eyes, and just the right amount of designer stubble. He also had excitingly hairy legs—a great weakness of Dina’s. Her husband had a good physique but his legs weren’t as hairy as these. Besides, when you knew a body as well as she knew Ben’s, you were bound to lose interest in the end. As she’d tried explaining to Poppy, you could buy the most brilliant pair of shoes in the world but after a while, they just weren’t as brilliant anymore. You got bored with them, slung them to the back of the cupboard, and bought yourself a thrilling new pair instead.
‘Anyway, don’t mind me.’ Will gestured to the radio, where Adam Ant was still yo-yo-ing away. ‘If you want to carry on, feel free.’ He winked. ‘I like a girl who knows how to have a good time.’<
br />
The cheeky bugger was eyeing her up, Dina realized with an involuntary shiver of excitement. She turned to deal with the microwave, standing sideways on so he could see how flat her stomach was. She was immensely proud of her figure and liked to show it off. Not many people could wear cropped tops and skirts this short and get away with it, even if her mother-in-law was forever making snide remarks about catching a chill.
Still, to look at her, Dina thought proudly, you wouldn’t think she’d had a kid. This guy Will, for example, would never guess.
‘So you’re the pushy tart from Bristol who’s bored with motherhood and marriage,’ Will announced.
Bang went that fantasy. So much for ticking the box if you wanted to remain anonymous. Dina bristled at the slur.
‘That’s what Claudia said, is it? She’s an uptight bitch.’
‘Unlike you.’ Will looked entertained. ‘You’re the uninhibited type. I can tell.’
‘I like to have fun,’ said Dina, ‘if that’s what you mean.’ Her stomach emitted a terrific rumble. ‘Sorry. I’m starving.’
‘That smells good.’ Will watched as she removed the lasagna from the microwave. Claudia had mentioned something about food earlier, but he hadn’t been interested then. Now he was quite peckish. He strolled across to the glass-fronted china cabinet and took out two plates.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Get some glasses. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge.’ Dina batted her blue eyelashes at him. This was more like it. This was the kind of fun she liked to have. ‘We’ll have a midnight feast.’
They ate greedily. Dina giggled a great deal at the outrageous remarks Will came out with. He spilled some white wine down her top and told her she should get out of those wet things. He also told her some brilliant jokes. She told him he looked like Will Carling. By the time their plates were empty, there were some serious undercurrents going on.
