‘Yes, I imagine it might make a difference.’ She looked beyond me and blew a line of smoke. Then back at me, curiously. ‘I should think she got the shock of her life, didn’t she? Not just seeing you, but knowing the financial cat was out of the bag?’
‘Well, I would have found out eventually of course, but yes. I definitely found out sooner than she’d hoped. Ha!’ I barked out a strange-sounding laugh. ‘She can put that in her pipe and smoke it.’
‘Sit down, Poppy,’ she said gently.
I crossed to the sofa and perched, still in my coat. Archie appeared again and toddled across to clamber on my lap.
‘Why don’t you ring your solicitor, find out where you stand?’
‘Really?’
‘Why not? Tell him what’s happened.’
It was the green light I’d been hoping for. ‘You mean now? On a Saturday? You don’t think it could wait till Monday?’ I was already on my feet, setting Archie down, looking for my mobile. Not in my pocket. In my bag? No. Down the side of the sofa, perhaps. I searched frantically, already rehearsing in my head: hello, Sam, it’s Poppy. No. Too familiar. Good morning, Sam, it’s Poppy Shilling here.
‘Well, I suppose I did mean Monday,’ Peggy said slowly.
I turned, one hand between the sofa cushions. I must have looked disappointed. My face might even have collapsed.
‘But why not today?’ she said quickly. ‘Everyone keeps odd hours these days and a lot of people work at the weekend.’
‘They do, don’t they?’ I agreed eagerly, retrieving my phone. ‘And he did give me his mobile number.’
‘Well, there you are, then.’ Her eyes were steady. ‘Have you got some lunch, Poppy?’
‘Oh yes, there’s some cheese in the fridge.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘Well, there are some eggs.’
‘They’re quite old. A couple of weeks. Why don’t you come across to me and bring the children? I’ll make some pasta.’
‘No, no, Peggy, we’re fine. I’ll pop to the shop.’
I glanced up at her from my mobile, finger poised. Go, Peggy, go. I need to do this alone.
‘And thank you so much for looking after the children,’ I said breathlessly, knowing better than to pay her. She got to her feet unwillingly. Slowly picked up her Marlboro Lights. I walked her to the door so she had little choice but to exit. ‘I’ll see you later. Or tomorrow,’ I promised. ‘Soon, anyway. Thanks so much for coming.’
‘Look after yourself, Poppy.’
The moment the front door had shut behind her, I hustled Archie down to the kitchen and settled him with his sister at the table, with juice and biscuits, making a long arm to flick on the television in the corner. Oh yes, it still came into its own in extremis. Then I slipped back into the sitting room. Adrenalin was rushing around my body like nobody’s business. I liked a plan. Liked it very much. It helped enormously to see a way forward. My heart was racing as I punched out his number. It rang for a bit, then he answered.
‘Hello!’ Deep, but cheerful. Not low and suspicious like Phil would have been if he didn’t recognize the number. No question mark stuck on the end.
‘Hello, Sam, I’m so sorry to bother you on a Saturday, it’s Poppy Shilling here.’
‘Oh, hi, Poppy.’ A hint of surprise there, I thought.
I hurried on, explaining the situation, tumbling over my words, getting a bit muddled occasionally – I should have sat down and thought this through, had a bit of paper in front of me with bullet points – but eventually I got my point across: that my husband’s lover had, moments ago, tied the knot with a man of surely some standing. That she’d seamlessly cruised on in her scheming little way, whilst I groped around in mine. But surely I’d got her this time?
‘And she was so shocked to see me, Sam,’ I rushed on. ‘I’m in the choir, you see, didn’t stalk her or anything, wasn’t lying in wait; she had no idea I’d be there. She must have thought she’d got away with it!’
There was a long silence on the other end. ‘Well, I’m afraid she may have done just that, Poppy,’ he said eventually. ‘You see, it makes no difference whether she marries or not. If she’s entitled to anything, her claim still stands.’
I stared out of my sitting-room window to the road. Felt my tummy shrivel. ‘But – but Simon Devereux is well off! He’s a flipping Sotheby’s expert or something, works in Bond Street
