I didn’t know Sam had a brother either. As I sit there, digesting all this, I feel a bit chastened. I’ve never even heard of Tim or Andrew or Josh. But then, why
All this time I’ve thought I could see Sam’s entire life. But it wasn’t his entire life, was it? It was one in-box. And I judged him on it.
He has friends. He has a life. He has a relationship with his family. He has a whole load of stuff I have no idea about. I was an idiot if I thought I’d got to know the whole story. I know a single chapter. That’s all.
I take a swig of wine, numbing the strange wistfulness that suddenly washes over me. I’ll never know all of Sam’s other chapters. He’ll never tell me and I’ll never ask. We’ll part ways and I’ll just have the impression I’ve already got. The version of him that lives in his PA’s in-box.
I wonder what impression he’ll have of me. Oh God. Better not go there.
The thought makes me snort with laughter, and David eyes me curiously.
“Funny girl, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” My phone buzzes and I pull it to me, not caring if I’m rude. It’s telling me I have a voice mail from Magnus.
Magnus?
Abruptly my thoughts swoop away from Sam, away from David and this place, to the rest of my life. Magnus. Wedding. Anonymous text.
“Hey, Pops!” Magnus’s distinctive voice is muffled by a background thump of music. “Could you call Professor Wilson and remind her I’m away? Thanks, sweets. Number’s on my desk.
I listen to it twice over for clues, even though I have no idea what kind of clues I’m hoping to glean.83 As I ring off, my stomach is churning. I can’t bear it. I don’t
I’ve run out of conversational gambits, so I kick off my shoes, draw my feet up onto the bench, and hug my knees morosely. I’m aware that around us, in the bar, the White Globe Consulting employees have started to cluster. I can hear snatches of low, anxious conversation, and I’ve caught the word
For the millionth time I wonder what Vicks and Sam are up to. I wish I could help. I wish I could do something. I feel powerless sitting out here—“OK!” A sharp female voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up to see Willow standing in front of me, glaring down. She’s changed into a halter-neck evening dress, and even her shoulders are twitchy. “I’m going to ask you this straight, and I hope you’ll answer it straight. No games. No playing around. No little tricks.”
She’s practically spitting the words at me. Honestly. What little tricks am I supposed to have played?
“Hello,” I say politely.
The trouble is, I can’t see this woman without remembering all her screwy capital-letter emails. It’s as though they’re emblazoned on her face.
“Who
“I’m Poppy,” I interrupt.
“ ‘Poppy.’ ” She sounds deeply suspicious, as though Poppy must be my invented escort-agency name.
“Have you met David?” I add politely. “He’s an old university friend of Sam’s.”
“Oh.” At these words I can see interest flash across her features. “Hello, David, I’m Willow.” Her gaze swivels to focus on him, and I swear I feel a cooling on my face.
“Charmed, Willow. Friend of Sam’s, are you?”
“I’m Willow.” She says it with slightly more emphasis.
“Nice name.” He nods.
“I’m Willow.
David wrinkles his brow thoughtfully. “Don’t think so.”
“But … ” She looks as though she’s going to expire with outrage. “I’m
“Not right now you’re not, are you?” says David jovially—then shoots me a tiny wink.
I’m actually warming to this David. Once you get past the bad shirt and the dodgy investments, he’s OK.
Willow looks incandescent. “This is just … The world is going insane,” she says, almost to herself. “You don’t know me, but you know
“I assumed she was Sam’s special lady,” says David innocently.
“Her?