I've Got Your Number

“I don’t want a raging mother-in-law, thanks very much!”

“She’ll be raging either way,” Annalise points out. “You just have to decide which is worse: pregnant daughter-in-law or flaky daughter-in-law who lost the priceless heirloom ring? I’d say go with pregnant.”

“Stop it! I’m not saying I’m pregnant!” I look at the ring again and rub the fake emerald. “I think it’ll be fine,” I say, as much to convince myself as anything. “It’ll be fine.”

“Is that Magnus?” says Ruby suddenly. “Across the street?”

I follow her gaze. There he is, holding an umbrella against the rain, waiting for the traffic lights to change.

“Shit.” I leap to my feet and clasp my right hand casually over my left. No. Too unnatural. I thrust my left hand into my uniform pocket, but and my arm is left sticking out at an awkward angle.

“Bad.” Ruby is watching. “Really bad.”

“What shall I dooo?” I wail.

“Hand cream.” She reaches for a tube. “Come on. I’m giving you a manicure. Then you can leave a bit of the cream on. Accidentally on purpose.”

“Genius.” I glance over at Annalise and blink in surprise. “Er … Annalise? What are you doing ?”

In the thirty seconds since Ruby spotted Magnus, Annalise seems to have applied a fresh layer of lip gloss and sprayed scent on, and is now pulling a few sexy strands of hair out of her ballerina’s bun.

“Nothing!” she says defiantly, as Ruby starts rubbing cream into my hands.

I only have time to dart her a suspicious look before the door opens and Magnus appears, shaking water from his umbrella.

“Hello, girls!” He beams around as though we’re an appreciative audience waiting for his entrance. Which I suppose we are.

“Magnus! Let me take your coat.” Annalise has rushed forward. “It’s OK, Poppy. You’re having your manicure. I’ll do it. And maybe a cup of tea?”

Ooh. Typical. I watch as she slides Magnus’s linen jacket from his shoulders. Isn’t she doing that a bit slowly and lingeringly? Why does he need to take his jacket off, anyway? We’re about to go.

“We’re nearly finished.” I glance at Ruby. “Aren’t we?”

“No hurry,” says Magnus. “Plenty of time.” He looks around the reception and breathes in, as though appreciating some beautiful vista. “Mmmm. I remember coming here the first time as though it were yesterday. You remember, Pops? God, that was amazing, wasn’t it?” He meets my eye with a suggestive glint and I hastily telegraph back, Shut up, you idiot. He is going to get me in so much trouble.

“How’s your wrist, Magnus?” Annalise is approaching him with a cup of tea from the machine. “Did Poppy ever give you a three-month follow-up appointment?”

“No.” He looks taken aback. “Should she have done?”

“Your wrist’s fine,” I say firmly.

“Shall I take a look?” Annalise is ignoring me completely. “Poppy shouldn’t be giving you therapy now, you know. Conflict of interests.” She takes his wrist. “Where was the pain exactly? Here?” She unbuttons his cuff, moving up his arm. “Here?” Her voice deepens slightly and she bats her eyelashes at him. “What about … here?”

OK. This is the limit.

“Thanks, Annalise!” I beam brightly at her. “But we’d better be going to the church. For the meeting about our wedding, ” I add pointedly.

“About that.” Magnus frowns briefly. “Poppy, can we have a quick chat? Maybe go into your room a moment?”

“Oh.” I feel a flicker of foreboding. “OK.”

Even Annalise looks taken aback, and Ruby raises her eyebrows.

“Cuppa, Annalise?” she says. “We’ll just be out here. No rush.”

As I usher Magnus in, my mind is skittering in panic. He knows about the ring. The Scrabble. Everything. He’s having cold feet. He wants a wife he can talk to about Proust.

“Can you lock the door?” He fiddles with the catch and after a moment has secured it. “There. Excellent!” As he turns, there’s an unmistakable light in his eyes. “God, Poppy, you look hot.”

It takes about five seconds for the penny to drop.

“ What? No. Magnus, you have to be joking.”

He’s heading toward me with an intent, familiar expression. No way. I mean, no way.

“Stop!” I bat him away as he reaches for the top button of my uniform. “I’m at work!”