I've Got Your Number

This is painful. What do I say?

“Er … right,” I mumble, staring at the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you,” says Martha charmingly. “Please let me know if you change your mind about the champagne. Have a wonderful session with Mark!” She ushers us into a large back room with a concrete floor, lined with metal-fronted cabinets. A guy in jeans and rimless specs gets up from a trestle table and greets Sam warmly.

“Sam! Been too long!”

“Mark! How are you doing?” Sam claps Mark on the back, then steps aside. “This is Poppy.”

“Good to meet you, Poppy.” Mark shakes my hand. “So, I understand you need a replica ring.”

I feel an immediate lurch of paranoia and guilt. Did he have to say it out loud like that, for anyone to hear?

“Very temporarily.” I keep my voice almost to a whisper. “Just while I find the real thing. Which I will, really, really soon.”

“Understood.” He nods. “Useful to have a replica anyway. We do a lot of replacements for travel and so forth. Normally we only make replicas of jewelry we’ve designed ourselves, but we can make the odd exception for friends.” Mark winks at Sam. “Although we do try to be a little discreet about it. Don’t want to undermine our core business.”

“Yes!” I say quickly. “Of course. I want to be discreet too. Very much so.”

“Do you have a picture? A photo?”

“Here.” I haul out a photo which I printed off my computer this morning. It’s of Magnus and me at the restaurant where he proposed. We got the couple at the next table to take a picture of us, and I’m holding up my left hand proudly, with the ring clearly visible. I look absolutely giddy—which, to be fair, is how I was feeling.

Both men stare at it in silence.

“So, that’s the guy you’re marrying,” says Sam at last. “The Scrabble fiend.”

“Yes.”

There’s something in his tone which makes me feel defensive. I have no idea why.

“His name’s Magnus,” I add.

“Isn’t he the academic?” Sam’s frowning at the photo. “Had the TV series?”

“Yes.” I feel a flash of pride. “Exactly.”

“That’s a four-carat emerald, I’d guess?” Mark Spencer looks up from squinting at the photo.

“Maybe,” I say helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how many carats your engagement ring is?”

Both men shoot me an odd look.

“What?” I feel myself flush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d lose it.”

“That’s very sweet,” says Mark with a wry little smile. “Most girls have it down to the nearest decimal. Then they round up.”

“Oh. Well.” I shrug to cover my embarrassment. “It’s a family ring. We didn’t really talk about it.”

“We have a lot of mounts in stock. Let me look… .” Mark pushes his chair away and starts searching through the metal drawers.

“He still doesn’t know you’ve lost it?” Sam jerks a thumb at the picture of Magnus.

“Not yet.” I bite my lip. “I’m hoping it’ll turn up and … ”

“He’ll never have to know you lost it,” Sam finishes for me. “You’ll keep the secret safe till your deathbed.”

I look away, feeling twingey with guilt. I don’t like this. I don’t like having secrets from Magnus. I don’t like being the kind of person who has assignations behind her fiancé’s back. But there’s no other way.

“So, I’m still getting Violet’s emails on this.” I gesture at him with the phone, to distract myself. “I thought the tech people were sorting it out.”

“So did I.”

“Well, you’ve got some new ones. You’ve been asked about the Fun Run four times now.”

“Hmm.” He barely nods.

“Aren’t you going to answer? And what about your hotel room for this conference in Hampshire? Do you need it for one night or two?”

“I’ll see. Not sure yet.” Sam seems so unmoved, I feel a stab of frustration.

“Don’t you answer your emails?”

“I prioritize.” He calmly taps at his screen.

“Ooh, it’s Lindsay Cooper’s birthday!” Now I’m reading a round-robin email. “Lindsay in marketing. Do you want to say happy birthday to her?”

“No, I do not.” He sounds so adamant, I feel a bit affronted.