I've Got Your Number

When Ruby gets an idea, she goes for it. She’s already striding along the pavement and into the Costa two doors away. As Annalise and I push our way in, she’s heading up to the till.

“Hello there!” she begins cheerfully. “I“d like three lattes, three doughnuts, three plain croissants, three almond croissants—”

“Ruby, stop!” I start giggling.

“Three pains au chocolat—we’ll give them to the patients if we can’t finish them—three apple muffins—”

“Three tins of breath mints,” chimes in Annalise.

“Breath mints?” Ruby turns to regard her scornfully. “Breath mints?”

“And some cinnamon swirls,” Annalise adds hurriedly.

“That’s more like it. Three cinnamon swirls … ”

My phone rings in my pocket, and my stomach lurches. Oh God, who’s this? What if it’s Magnus?

What if it’s Sam?

I haul it out, taking a step away from Ruby and Annalise, who are arguing about what kind of cookies they should buy. As I see the screen, I feel a dreadful squeezing sensation inside. It’s Unknown Number. Whoever-it-is has finally phoned me back.

This is it. This is where I find out the truth. For good or for bad. I’m so petrified, my hand is actually shaking as I press accept, and at first I can’t catch my breath to speak.

“Hello?” a girl’s voice is saying down the line. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Is that Clemency? I can’t tell.

“Hi,” I manage to utter at last. “Hello. This is Poppy speaking. Is this Clemency?”

“No.” The girl sounds surprised.

“Oh.” I swallow. “Right.”

It’s not Clemency? Who is it, then? My mind is scampering around frantically. Who else could have sent me that text? Does this mean Lucinda’s not involved after all? I can see Annalise and Ruby eyeing me curiously from the register and I swing away.

“So.” I try desperately to sound dignified and not at all like someone who’s about to be totally humiliated and have to call their entire wedding off. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?”

“Yes. I’m urgently trying to get in touch with Sam Roxton.”

Sam?

The tension that’s been growing inside me breaks with a crash. It’s not Unknown Number after all. At least, it’s Different Unknown Number. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved.

“How did you get this number?” the girl is demanding. “Do you know Sam?”

“Er … yes. Yes, I do.” I try to gather myself. “Sorry. I misunderstood for a moment. I thought you were someone else. Can I take a message for Sam?”

I say it automatically before I realize that I’m not forwarding things to Sam anymore. Still, I can get a message to him, can’t I? Just for old times’ sake. Just to be helpful.

“I’ve tried that.” She sounds quite high-handed. “You don’t understand. I need to speak to him. Today. Now. It’s urgent.”

“Oh. Well, I can give you his email address—”

“That’s a joke.” She cuts me off impatiently. “Sam never reads emails. But, believe me, this is important. I have to speak to him, as soon as possible. It’s about the phone, in fact. The phone you’re holding right now.”

What?

I gape at the receiver, wondering if I’ve gone crazy. How does some strange girl know what phone I’m holding?

“Who are you?” I say in astonishment, and she heaves a sigh.

“No one remembers who I am, do they? I worked for Sam. I’m Violet.”

Thank God I didn’t eat the cinnamon swirls, is all I can say. Violet turns out to be about ten feet tall, with skinny legs clad in frayed denim shorts and massive dark eyes with traces of makeup around them.92 She looks like a cross between a giraffe and a bush baby.

It turned out that she lives in Clapham and it would take her only about five minutes to get here to see me. So here she is, in Costa, chomping on a chicken wrap and swigging a smoothie. Ruby and Annalise have gone back to work, which is a good thing, because I couldn’t cope with having to explain the whole saga to them. It’s all too surreal.

As Violet has told me several times, if she hadn’t happened to be in London, between jobs, and happened to see the headlines as she went to get a pint of milk, she would never have known about the scandal. And if she hadn’t happened to have a brain in her head, she wouldn’t have realized that she totally knew what had been going on the whole time. But are people grateful? Do they want to hear? No. They’re all idiots.

“My parents are on this stupid cruise,” she’s saying with disdain. “I tried to look in their telephone book, but I don’t know who’s who, do I? So I tried ringing Sam’s line, then Nick’s line … but I only got snotty PAs. No one would listen to me. But I need to tell someone.” She bangs her hand on the table. “Because I know something was going on. I even sort of knew it at the time? But Sam never listened to me? Do you find he never listens to you?” She focuses on me with interest for the first time. “Who