I bring my hands up to my face, screwing my fists into my eye sockets, wanting to rip my own thoughts out. Why did whoever-it-is have to send that text? Why did I have to read it?
It can’t be true. It can’t. It’s just scurrilous, hurtful, damaging, horrible …
A tear has escaped from beneath my fists and snaked down my cheek to my chin. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tackle this. Do I call Magnus in Bruges? Do I interrupt his stag do? But what if he’s innocent and he gets angry and the trust between us is ruined?
“We’re going to be there in a few minutes.” Sam’s voice is low and wary. “Poppy, if you’re not up for this I’ll totally understand—”
“No. I am up for it.” I lower my fists, reach for a paper napkin, and blow my nose. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“No. I’m not. But … what can I do?”
“Text the bastard back. Write
I stare at him in slight admiration. That would never even have occurred to me.
“OK.” I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “OK. I’ll do it.” As I reach for the phone, I feel better already. At least I’m doing something. At last I’m not sitting here, wondering in pointless agony. I finish the text, press
“Sent?” Sam has been watching me.
“Yup. Now I’ll just have to wait and see what they say.”
The train is pulling into Basingstoke, and passengers are heading for the doors. I dump my cup in the litter bin, grab my bag, and stand up too.
“That’s enough about my stupid problems.” I force myself to smile at Sam. “Come on. Let’s go and sort yours.”
78 I’ve read four chapters, to be truthful.
79 I can say that because he’s my fiance and I love him.
80 I don’t quite know how. But I feel instinctively that it is.
12
Chiddingford Hotel is large and impressive, with a beautiful main Georgian house at the end of a long drive and some less lovely glass buildings half hidden behind a big hedge. But I seem to be the only one appreciating it as we arrive. Sam isn’t in the best of moods. There was a problem getting a cab, then we got stuck behind some sheep, and then the taxi driver got lost. Sam has been texting furiously ever since we got into our taxi, and as we arrive, two men in suits, whom I don’t recognize are waiting for us on the front steps.
Sam thrusts some notes at the driver and opens the taxi door almost before it brakes. “Poppy, excuse me a moment. Hi, guys … ”
The three of them huddle on the gravel, and I get out more slowly. The taxi pulls away and I look around at the manicured gardens. There are croquet lawns and topiary and even a little chapel, which I bet is lovely for weddings. The place seems empty, and there’s a freshness to the air which makes me shiver. Maybe I’m nervous. Maybe it’s delayed shock.
Or maybe it’s standing here in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what the hell I’m doing here, with my personal life about to collapse in ruins around me.
I pull out my phone for companionship. The feel of it sitting in my hand comforts me a little, but not enough. I read the Unknown Number text a few more times again, just to torture myself, then compose a text to Magnus. After a few false starts I have it exactly right.
Hi. How are you doing? P
No kisses.
As I press
“Poppy.” Sam is turning toward me, and I jump.
“Yes! Here.” I nod, thrusting my phone away. I have to concentrate now. I have to put Magnus from my mind. I have to be useful.
“These are Mark and Robbie. They work for Vicks.”
“She’s on her way down.” Mark consults his phone as we all head up the steps. “Sir Nicholas is staying put for now. We think Berkshire’s the best place for him to be if there’s any chance of being doorstepped.”
“Nick shouldn’t
“Not hiding. Staying calm. We don’t want him rushing to London, looking like there’s a crisis. He’s speaking at a
