I've Got Your Number

“Yes, he is rather special. Oh, I’m so pleased for you.” She squeezes my arm. “What a wonderful day for you both!”

Oh … shit. Suddenly I realize what she means. I glance sharply at Sam, but he’s stepped aside to read something on his phone and is oblivious.

“So, we’re all dying to know.” Martha’s eyes are twinkling. “What are you getting?”

“Er … ”

This conversation has definitely lurched in the wrong direction. But I can’t think how to steer it back.

“Martha told us about the vintage Cartier watch!” Another girl in dove gray joins the conversation, and I can see two other girls edging forward to listen.

“We’ve all been guessing out here.” Martha nods. “I think Mark will have made you something really special and bespoke. With some wonderful, romantic touch.” She clasps her hands. “Maybe a flawless diamond—”

“Those princess-cut ones are exquisite,” a girl in dove gray gushes.

“Or an antique,” chimes in another girl eagerly. “Mark has some amazing old diamonds with stories attached to them. There’s an incredible pale-pink one; did he show you that?”

“No!” I say quickly. “Um … you don’t understand. I’m not—I mean—”

Oh God. What can I say? I’m not getting into the whole story.

“We love a beautiful ring.” Martha sighs happily. “It doesn’t matter what it is, really, as long as it’s magical for you. Oh, come on.” She gives an impish smile. “I have to know.” She opens the paper with a beaming flourish. “And the answer is … ”

As she reads the words on the page, Martha’s voice cuts off in a sort of gasp. For a moment she seems unable to speak. “Oh! A simulated emerald,” she manages at last, sounding strangled. “Lovely. And simulated diamonds too. So pretty.”

There’s nothing I can say. I’m aware of four crestfallen faces gazing at me. Martha looks most devastated of all.

“We thought it was a lovely ring,” I offer lamely.

“It is! It is!” Martha is obviously forcing herself to nod animatedly. “Well … congratulations! So sensible of you to go for simulations.” She exchanges looks with the other girls in dove gray, who all hastily chime in.

“Absolutely!”

“Very sensible!”

“Lovely choice!”

The bright voices so don’t match the faces. One girl almost looks like she wants to cry.

Martha seems slightly fixated by Sam’s vintage gold Cartier. I can practically read her mind: He can afford vintage Cartier for himself and he bought his girlfriend a FAKE?

“Can I just see the price?” Sam has finished tapping at his phone and takes the paper from Martha. As he reads it, he frowns. “Four hundred and fifty pounds—that’s a lot. I thought Mark promised a discount.” He turns to me. “Don’t you think that’s too much?”

“Maybe.”53 I nod, a bit mortified.

“Why’s it so expensive?” He turns to Martha, and her eyes flick yet again to his Cartier watch before she addresses him with a professional smile.

“It’s the platinum, sir. It’s a precious, timeless material. Most of our customers value a material that will last a lifetime.”

“Well, can we have something cheaper? Silver plate?” Sam turns to me. “You agree, don’t you, Poppy? As cheap as possible?”

I hear a couple of stifled gasps across the shop. I catch a glimpse of Martha’s horrified face and can’t help flushing.

“Yes! Of course,” I mutter. “Whatever’s cheapest.”

“I’ll just check with Mark,” says Martha after rather a long pause. She moves away and makes a brief phone call. As she returns to the register, she’s blinking fast and can’t look me in the eye. “I’ve spoken to Mark and the ring can be made in silver-plated nickel, which brings the price down to”—she taps again—“one hundred and twelve pounds. Would you prefer that option?”

“Well, of course we would.” Sam glances at me. “No-brainer, right?”

“I see. Of course.” Martha’s bright smile has frozen solid. “That’s … fine. Silver-plated nickel it is. ’ She seems to gather control of herself. “In terms of presentation, sir, we offer a deluxe leather ring box at thirty pounds, or a simpler wooden box for ten pounds. Each option will be lined with rose petals and can have a personalization. Perhaps initials or a little message?”

“A message?” Sam gives an incredulous laugh. “No, thanks. And no packaging. We’ll have it as is. D’you want a carrier bag or something, Poppy?” He glances at me.

Martha is breathing harder and harder. For a moment I think she might lose it.

“Fine!” she says at last. “Absolutely fine. No box, no rose petals, no message.… ” She taps at her computer. “And how will you be paying for the ring, sir?” She’s obviously mustering all her energies to stay pleasant.

“Poppy?” Sam nods at me expectantly.