I've Got Your Number

“Me neither,” I chime in.

“Are you sure?” She twinkles at me. “It’s a big moment for the two of you. Just a little glass to take off the nerves?”

Oh my God! She thinks we’re an engaged couple. I glance at Sam for help—but he’s typing something on his phone. And there’s no way I’m launching into the story of losing my priceless heirloom ring in front of a bunch of strangers and hearing all the gasps of horror.

“I’m fine, honestly.” I smile awkwardly. “It’s not—I mean, we’re not—”

“That’s a wonderful watch, sir!” Martha’s attention has been distracted. “Is that vintage Cartier? I haven’t seen one quite like it.”

“Thanks.” Sam nods. “Got it at auction in Paris.”

Now that I notice it, Sam’s watch is quite amazing. It’s got an old leather strap, and the dull gold dial has the patina of another age. And he got it in Paris. That’s pretty cool.

“Goodness.” As we walk, Martha takes my arm and leans in, lowering her voice, girl-to-girl. “He has exquisite taste. Lucky you! You can’t say the same of all the men who come in here. Some of them go for absolute horrors. But a man who buys himself vintage Cartier has got to be on the right track!”

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 fiance’s back. But there’s no other way.