I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 119

Now, of course, all the odd looks and edgy voices between Antony and Wanda make sense. I was so paranoid. I assumed they were all about how crap I was.

“I thought you hated me,” I say, almost to myself. “And I thought you were angry he’d used the family ring, because … I dunno. I wasn’t worthy of it.”

“Not worthy ?” Wanda seems absolutely appalled. “Who has put these ideas into your head?”

“What was the problem, then?” I feel the old hurt rising again. “I know you weren’t happy about it, so don’t pretend.”

Wanda appears to debate internally for a moment. “We’re being frank with each other?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “Please.”

“Well, then.” Wanda sighs. “Magnus has taken that family ring out of the bank’s safe so many times now, Antony and I have developed our own private theory.”

“Which is what?

“The family ring is so easy. ” She spreads her hands. “It requires no thought. He can do it on impulse. Our theory is that when he really wants to commit to someone, he’ll find a ring for himself. He’ll choose something carefully. Give it some thought. Perhaps even let his bride choose her own.” She gives me a rueful smile. “So when we learned that he’d used the family ring yet again, I’m afraid alarm bells rang.”

“Oh. I see.”

I twist the ring round my finger. It suddenly feels heavy and lumpish. I thought having a family ring was special. I thought it meant Magnus was more committed to me. But now I’m seeing it as Wanda sees it. A thoughtless, easy, no-brainer choice. I cannot believe how everything I thought has been turned on its head. I cannot believe how I misinterpreted everything.

“For what it’s worth,” adds Wanda, a little despondently, “I’m very sorry things have ended like this. You’re a lovely girl, Poppy. Great fun. I was looking forward to having you as a daughter-in-law.”

I wait for my hackles to rise at the phrase great fun, for my internal prickliness to put in an appearance—but somehow it doesn’t. For the first time since I’ve met Wanda, I’m able to take her words at face value. By great fun she doesn’t mean low IQ and inferior degree. She means great fun.

“I’m sorry too,” I say—and I’m speaking the truth. I do feel sad. Just as I work Wanda out, it’s all over.

I thought Magnus was perfect and his parents were my only problem. Now I’m feeling like it’s the other way round. Wanda’s great; shame about her son.

“Here.” I wrench the ring off and hand it to her.

“Poppy!” She looks startled. “Surely—”

“It’s all over. I don’t want to wear it anymore. It belongs to you. To be honest, it never really felt like mine.” I grab my bag and stand up. “I think I should go.”

“But … ” Wanda seems bewildered. “Please don’t rush into anything. Have you spoken to Magnus?”

“Not yet.” I breathe out. “But it’s kind of irrelevant. It’s over.”

That’s pretty much the end of the conversation. Wanda sees me to the door and presses my hand as I leave, and I feel a sudden rush of affection for her. Maybe we’ll stay in touch. Maybe I’ll lose Magnus but gain Wanda.

The massive front door closes, and I push my way through the overgrown rhododendrons, down the path to the gate. I’m expecting to crumble into tears any moment. My perfect fiancé isn’t perfect after all. He’s a lying, unfaithful, commitment-phobic flake. I’m going to have to call off a whole wedding. My brothers won’t get to walk me up the aisle after all. I should be in bits. But as I walk down the hill, all I can feel is numb.

I can’t face the tube. Nor can I afford any more taxis. So I head toward an out-of-the-way bench in a patch of sunshine, sit down, and stare blankly into space for a while. Random thoughts are floating around my brain, bouncing off one another as though in zero gravity.

So much for all that … . I wonder if I’ll be able to sell my wedding dress .…  I should have known it was too good to be true … . I must tell the vicar … . I don’t think Toby and Tom ever liked Magnus, not that they admitted it .…  Did Magnus ever love me at all?

At last I heave a sigh and switch on my phone. I have to get back to real life. The phone is flashing with messages, about ten of them from Sam, and for a ridiculous instant I think, Oh my God, he’s psychic, he knows.

But as I click on them, I immediately realize how stupid I’m being. Of course he’s not texting about my personal life. This all is strictly business.