by Jill Mansell
‘Yes, but—’
‘And then two years ago,’ she continued blandly, ‘a high-risk deal came off. In Spain, it was. This massive company was so desperate to get their hands on our bit of land, we could pretty much name our price. Alex thought of a number, doubled it, and the daft buggers said yes. We made three million, overnight.’
‘Whereabouts in Spain was this?’
‘Barcelona.’
‘I know Barcelona quite well,’ said Hugo, who wasn’t an actor for nothing. If Rita could lie through her teeth, so could he. He’d make a far better job of it too. ‘Which company negotiated the deal?’
Rita’s eyes flickered. She tried to light another cigarette, then realized she already had one on the go.
‘God, I can’t remember. Los something…’
‘Loss of three million, I should think.’ Hugo leaned towards her, his mouth twitching. ‘Come on, you can tell me. What really happened?’
Rita looked even more agitated than when she hadn’t been allowed to smoke.
‘I can’t…’
‘If it helps at all, I asked Poppy when I rang her to get your address. She seems to think Alex was something to do with the Great Train Robbery.’
‘My Alex? He couldn’t have robbed anyone to save his life! Anyway, he got travel-sick on trains.’ Flustered, Rita tried to stub out her lighter. She sighed. ‘It wasn’t anything illegal, okay? Oh hell… the thing is, we made a pact never to tell anyone. It just seemed safer, easier… people can get so funny…’
She rubbed the ash off the gold Cartier lighter. Hugo was sitting there looking at her, not saying a word.
But he’s come up from nothing, thought Rita; he’s got money now, enough to appreciate the problems.
In fact, if anyone could truly understand why she and Alex had done what they had, it was Hugo.
‘People do get funny,’ she said again, psyching herself up to confess. ‘When you’ve got money and they haven’t, they treat you differently. If you’ve earned it, at least they can respect you for that. It’s when you haven’t earned it they really give you a hard time.’ She took a gulp of brandy; she’d started, now it was too late to stop. ‘Two years ago, me and Alex watched one of those documentary thingies on TV, about people who’d won tons of money and how it had fucked up—sorry, messed up—their lives. They didn’t know who their friends were anymore. They got hate mail. Death threats. They argued about how much to give to their relatives. Their marriages broke up, they wished they’d never won it… I’m not kidding, it was real Hammer Horror stuff, the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.’
Still Hugo didn’t speak.
‘Well, you can guess the rest,’ Rita went on. ‘We said right, that was it, no more lottery for us. Except Alex had already bought our tickets for Saturday’s draw.’ She paused then said simply, ‘Three days later, we won.’
Margaret McBride looked as if she’d won the lottery and lost her ticket. When Ben and Dina finally clattered into the sitting room that night, she greeted them with a disapproving glare and her arms tightly folded across her chest.
‘It’s one o’clock in the morning,’ she announced grimly, ‘and you promised to be back by eleven. It’s downright inconsiderate, that’s what it is.’
Dina, clinging to Ben’s arm, did her best not to giggle. Ben nudged her in the ribs and tried to look suitably apologetic.
‘Mum, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to be late—’
‘But you are,’ his mother interjected, ‘and being sorry just isn’t good enough. Apart from anything else, the pubs shut at eleven. I can’t imagine what you’ve been doing for the last two hours.’
Dina couldn’t help it; a great snort of laughter escaped and she had to hide her face in Ben’s shoulder. If Margaret McBride knew what they’d really been up to, she’d have a heart attack. Making riotous love in the bus shelter around the corner simply wasn’t what respectable married couples did in their free time.
‘Margaret, it won’t happen again, I’m really, really sorry.’ Dina made an effort and pulled herself together. ‘There was a party at the pub, an after-hours thing, that’s why we’re late. How was Daniel, anyway? Did you manage to settle him all right?’
Her mother-in-law’s expression softened. Daniel was the absolute light of her life.
‘No trouble at all. Went out like a light.’ She looked proud. ‘He’s always a good boy for his Nan.’
‘I don’t know what we’d do without you, Mum,’ said Ben, because outrageous flattery always went down well.
‘The best baby-sitter in the world,’ echoed Dina, secretly sliding her fingers under Ben’s shirt at the back and running them up his spine. She stifled a grin as he squirmed and made a dash for the kitchen.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Mum, fancy a cup of tea before you go?’
Margaret McBride hesitated, then smiled and nodded.
‘Just a quick one then.’ Now why was Dina giggling like that? Still, at least the girl seemed more cheerful these days. ‘So you enjoyed yourselves this evening,’ she said to her daughter-in-law. They’d apologized for being late; she couldn’t be cross with them for long. ‘Had a good time, by the look of you.’ Not to mention a few drinks.
‘Oh yes, we definitely enjoyed ourselves. It was brilliant.’ Dina realized as she said it that she meant every word. She nodded happily. Who would’ve thought you could have so much fun with your own husband? ‘We had the best time in the world.’
Chapter 56
‘Smile,’ said Jake, ‘you’re frightening the customers.’
Poppy knew she was looking down in the dumps. It suited her mood. Down in the dumps was how she felt.
‘I’ll read this, then they won’t be able to see my face.’ She reached for her dog-eared copy of Miller’s Guide and opened it at random.
Rifling through the pages didn’t help. Poppy chewed her thumbnail and gazed morosely at the photographs: a pair of Tiffany peridot and diamond earrings, pairs of candelabra, endless pairs of wheelback, ladderback, and splatback chairs…
With a mammoth sigh she slammed the book shut, making Jake jump.
‘What is it?’ He knew something was up. Poppy hadn’t even been able to finish her mid-morning banana doughnut.
‘Nothing. Just… oh, nothing.’
‘Tom?’ Jake looked worried. He wished he’d never tracked Tom Kennedy down now. The fairy-tale happy ending hadn’t taken long to turn sour.
‘No.’ Sensing his discomfort, she managed an invalid’s smile. ‘I’m glad I got out when I did. And I’m glad you found him for me. If you hadn’t, I would always have wondered. It’s just such a let-down,’ Poppy said sadly, ‘spending your whole life believing in love at first sight then discovering it doesn’t exist. It’s worse than finding out about Father Christmas.’
The tatty Miller’s Guide slid off her lap. When she leaned over and picked it up, it fell open at a page of Staffordshire figures, every one a perfectly matched pair.
‘Ohhh,’ Poppy wailed in frustration, convinced the book was doing it on purpose. ‘Couples, couples everywhere I bloody look! It’s not fair.’
Trying to help, Jake said, ‘You’ll find someone else.’
Wearily, Poppy turned and looked at him.
‘Oh, I’ve found someone else.’
‘You have? Who?’ Bewildered, he wondered why, in that case, she was so miserable.
‘Doesn’t matter who.’ Poppy looked evasive. ‘He’s already one of a pair.’
Jake was shocked. ‘You mean he’s married? Poppy, are you mad? How could you get yourself involved with a—’
‘I’m not,’ she intercepted, her cheeks reddening. ‘Anyway, he wasn’t married when I met him.’
‘For God’s sake, Poppy.’
‘I didn’t want it to happen.’ Poppy rolled her eyes at his stupidity. ‘You can’t always help who you fall in love with. You of all people,’ she added, unable to resist the dig, ‘should know that.’
Jake ign
ored it.
‘Look, having an affair with a married man isn’t the answer.’
‘I’m not having an affair with him. And don’t preach at me,’ Poppy said sulkily. ‘Stop sounding like a relationship counselor.’
Thank goodness there were no customers within earshot. Jake, determined to make her see sense, said, ‘Listen to me, Poppy. Get out while you can. It’s for your own good. They never leave their wives. Promise me,’ he said urgently, ‘please promise me you won’t see him again.’
Poppy had finished chewing her thumbnail. She’d chewed so far down it hurt.
‘Could be tricky.’ She examined her thumb. ‘Seeing as I live in his house.’
Up until now Jake had somehow assumed she’d fallen for a fellow trader, most probably the dark-haired, notoriously charming—and married—ceramics expert who was always timing his coffee breaks to coincide with hers.
But Caspar…
He opened his mouth to speak.
‘Don’t,’ Poppy blurted out. ‘Just don’t, okay? I know it’s totally pathetic of me. Dammit, I know better than anyone what Caspar’s like!’ She was twiddling her hair furiously, a sure sign of agitation. ‘And you don’t have to lecture me—I’m not planning to do anything drastic. It’s like measles. I’ll get over it.’ She winced as a strand of hair got caught up in her earring. More entanglements. Irritably she said, ‘Claudia did. I suppose I will too.’
Whoever said confession was good for the soul? Some idiot. Poppy was already deeply regretting telling Jake.
He was still looking appalled.
‘Does Caspar know?’
‘Are you mad? Of course Caspar doesn’t know! Nobody knows.’ It occurred to Poppy that newly-in-love people had a sickening habit of telling each other everything. ‘And you aren’t going to tell anyone either. Especially not Claudia.’ She gave Jake a deadly, I-mean-it look. ‘If you breathe a word, I’ll break your new glasses.’
Jake still missed his old, taped-together pair, the ones Poppy had so triumphantly snapped in half.
He looked rueful. ‘What’s new?’
Claudia was surprised how easy it had been to feel comfortable in Jake’s house. Accustomed as she was to opulence, elegance, and space, clutter and fraying curtains weren’t her taste. But somehow the fact that his style was less Homes and Gardens, more Exchange and Mart, didn’t bother her nearly as much as she expected it to. The effect was cozy, undemanding, as relaxed as Jake himself.
More and more easily, Claudia realized, she could envisage living here. Threadbare carpets weren’t the end of the world. Besides, she thought, once I persuade Jake to part with a bit of money we can buy new ones. Together we could really do this place up.
That evening, having come straight from work to his house, she had made a lasagna and opened a bottle of Chianti. Another thing she loved about Jake was how appreciative he was of her cooking.
‘This is terrific. Better than Bertolli’s,’ he told her as he mopped up the last of the sauce with ciabatta.
This, coming from Jake, was the ultimate compliment. Glowing with pleasure, Claudia caught sight of her candlelit reflection in the big mirror behind him. She looked so bright-eyed and happy, for a split second she barely recognized herself.
‘It’s Poppy’s favorite. She’s always nagging me to make it.’
Jake poured more wine.
‘Maybe we should have invited her over here tonight. There would have been enough for three.’
‘I prefer it like this,’ said Claudia. ‘Just us. Anyway, Poppy’s been such a grouch lately. She even had a go at me last night for leaving my clothes in the washing machine. I mean, honestly, the nerve of that girl! I told her she had a bloody cheek and the next thing I knew, she’d dragged all my stuff out of the machine and dumped it on the floor.’
‘She’s going through a bad patch,’ said Jake, ever the peacemaker.
‘Don’t start feeling sorry for her! If you ask me,’ Claudia pronounced bluntly, ‘she’s behaving like a spoiled brat. Everything Poppy wants, Poppy gets. Even Tom Kennedy, thanks to all our hard work. And then what does she do? Dumps him, for no sensible reason at all. I still can’t figure out why. What was wrong with him, for heaven’s sake? Nothing, that’s what.’ With an air of triumph, Claudia waved her fork at Jake. ‘Which is why she’s being so grumpy now, I bet you anything. She regrets it. She probably went to see him and begged him to have her back, and Tom told her to take a hike. Well, good for him,’ she declared roundly. ‘Serves Poppy jolly well right.’
Having a go at Poppy was one thing but elevating Tom to hero status was quite another. Claudia made him sound like Rhett Butler telling Scarlett he didn’t give a damn.
This was so unfair Jake couldn’t—simply couldn’t—let it pass.
‘Look, if I tell you something,’ he lowered his voice, ‘will you promise, absolutely promise, not to breathe a word to another soul?’
Claudia leaned towards him. She adored secrets.
‘Jake, you can trust me! What is it? Of course I won’t tell.’
Chapter 57
Having spent a long afternoon upstairs in the studio, working on a canvas commissioned by a wealthy factory owner—‘Summat blue and green, lad, to hang in t’boardroom’—Caspar was cleaning brushes over the sink.
As Claudia switched the kettle on, the phone rang.
‘Oh hi,’ said Babette’s voice. ‘Is Caspar with you?’
‘Hang on, he’s covered in paint. I’ll have to put the phone to his ear.’
‘Don’t worry, I just called to remind him about tonight.’ Babette sounded cheerful. ‘We’re off to a bash at the Wellington Gallery. Tell him I’ve got his jacket back from the cleaners, I’ve booked the cab for eight thirty, and if he’s hungry there’s a dozen oysters sitting here waiting for him.’
‘Heavens, you know what they say about oysters.’
‘Yes, well, the cab can always wait.’ Babette was laughing. ‘Damn, there goes my other phone. Blow him a kiss from me, okay? Tell him to hurry home. Byeee.’
Caspar nodded when Claudia relayed the message, and carried on cleaning his brushes.
‘She won’t keep the cab waiting. Babette’s never been late for anything in her life.’
Claudia, who liked Babette, said, ‘She’s exactly right for you. The perfect wife. I can’t imagine what you’ve done to deserve her.’
He grinned. ‘Maybe I’m a perfect husband.’
‘Are you?’ Daringly, overcome with curiosity, Claudia said, ‘Are you faithful?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I am.’
When Caspar had finished cleaning himself up with another spirit-soaked rag, she passed him his coffee. Across the hall, the clock struck six.
‘Poppy should be home by now.’
‘Been and gone,’ said Caspar.
‘Really? Where?’
He looked out of the kitchen window at next door’s cat launching itself at a starling.
‘For a walk, she said.’
‘A what?’ Claudia was incredulous. ‘Poppy doesn’t go for walks.’
Caspar shrugged. It had happened the last three or four times he had come to the house. Poppy had made some bizarre excuse or other and promptly disappeared.
‘Looks like she does now.’
Claudia watched him drink his coffee. When she sipped hers, she almost gagged.
‘This has got sugar in it! You’ve got mine. Here—’ she swapped mugs, gazing at him in disbelief—‘didn’t you even notice?’
But Caspar, clearly distracted, only shook his head. Something was on his mind.
Claudia wondered if Poppy had been making a nuisance of herself.
‘She’s been a bit odd lately,’ she ventured. ‘Had you noticed?’
Caspar was trailing his forefinger through a pile of sugar he had spilled earlier on the worktop. He drew an unsmiley face.
‘Not really. Well… maybe a bit.’
He was being evasive. More than likely, Claudia
decided, he was playing the situation down in order to protect Poppy. In the past they had always got on so well.
But Caspar was married now. There was Babette to think of.
Claudia had promised Jake she wouldn’t tell anyone what he had told her, but what he’d really meant was don’t embarrass Poppy by blabbing to all their friends. Surely, she thought, it was only fair to put Caspar in the picture, to give him some warning. Then if Poppy did do anything stupid—like fling herself at him—he’d be able to handle it. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard. Better still, aware of the potential awkwardness of such a situation, he could make sure it didn’t have a chance to happen in the first place.
‘Actually, there’s something I think you should know about Poppy.’
Caspar’s jaw tightened. When Claudia put on her compassionate face, the news had to be bad.
All of a sudden he knew what she was going to say. In an odd way, he realized, he had been dreading this moment for weeks.
‘Don’t tell me. She’s pregnant.’
Claudia almost dropped her coffee mug. The pain and guilt in Caspar’s eyes was unmistakable. He wasn’t asking, he was telling her.
‘What? You mean she’s having your baby?’ She gasped and covered her mouth. ‘Oh Caspar, how could you? Poor Babette…’
He frowned. ‘Hang on a sec, it’s not mine. I thought you meant she was having Tom’s baby.’
Bewildered, Claudia said, ‘But I didn’t even know she was pregnant.’
‘In that case,’ Caspar heaved a sigh of relief, ‘she probably isn’t.’ His eyes narrowing, he looked at Claudia. ‘But why on earth did you think it was mine?’
‘I d-didn’t really.’ Stammering, she tried to explain. ‘It… it just kind of tied in with what I was about to tell you. The thing is, Jake told me and I thought you should know… but then I thought maybe you knew already…’
‘If I wanted a cryptic crossword, I’d buy the Telegraph. Get to the point.’
Claudia took a deep breath.
