Perfect Timing (27 page)

Tom emerged from the shower drying his dark hair with a towel. He came up behind Poppy, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed doing her eyes with the help of a shaving mirror.

‘You look gorgeous. Take that dress off.'

It was Poppy's favorite dress, one of her charity shop bargain buys from Help The Aged. When Caspar had first seen her in it he had whistled and said, ‘Help The Aged on their way to a heart attack, more like.'

She grinned at Tom's reflection in the mirror.

‘No time for that now. We're supposed to be meeting your friends at eight.'

‘Dress,' murmured Tom, unzipping it in one smooth movement, ‘off.'

‘Oh God, we'll be horribly late.'

But instead of ravishing her body, Tom was pulling a carrier bag out of the wardrobe.

‘Surprise.'

Poppy realized he wanted her undressed for quite a different reason. He wanted her out of her short white strapless number with the flirty hem and into a far more elegant affair in navy blue crêpe, with a high neckline and below-the-elbow sleeves. It was calf-length, clearly expensive and extremely grown-up.

‘It's beautiful,' she said, touched by the trouble he had taken. If you didn't count the Motorhead tee-shirt Rob had once given her for Christmas, no man had ever bought her clothes before. ‘Um… do you think it's quite me?'

‘This one's nice,' Tom picked up the white dress, then pointed to the navy one Poppy was wriggling into, ‘but that one's better.' His dark eyes softened as she zipped herself into it. ‘There, see the difference.'

Poppy saw. She looked positively nun-like.

‘Don't you like it?' He sounded concerned.

Hastily she looked ecstatic.

‘Oh yes, yes! It's just the length. I'm not used to… well, so much material.' She kissed him. ‘All my dresses are short. But this is… it's brilliant.'

He smiled, reassured.

‘I prefer long. You're mine, Poppy. I don't want other men ogling your body.'

‘Sure you wouldn't like me to sling on a yashmak?'

‘No, that's okay. They can ogle your face.' Tom looked amused. ‘I'd just rather keep the rest of you to myself.'

They were meeting his friends at a restaurant in Hampstead. Richard Mason worked with Tom, and his wife Anna stayed at home to look after their two children.

‘You'll like them,' Tom assured Poppy. ‘Better still, they'll like you.'

As usual, he was right.

‘We've heard so much about you,' Anna told Poppy when they were seated at their table. ‘We couldn't believe it when we heard Tom had found you again. It's just so romantic, like something out of a film. Not like Richard and me.' She pulled an unromantic face. ‘All we did was get pissed and crash into each other one night in a pub.'

‘Ah, but we had a happy ending,' Richard put in. ‘I made an honest woman of you, didn't I? And now here we are, two kids and a gerbil later.' He gave Anna's hand a squeeze. ‘It might not be the stuff of film scripts but we're a good team.'

When they had ordered from the menu Richard went on, ‘Anyway, talking of happy endings. How long before we can expect a bit of knot-tying from you two?'

‘Oh yes,' Anna exclaimed with longing, ‘I could buy a new hat!'

Poppy gulped a lungful of wine and spluttered into her hand.

‘We've only known each other a month.'

‘Listen, when Tom met you last year he told me he knew in an instant you were The One for him. The other week he said This Is It, Together Forever and other such tosh.' Richard, who played rugby and didn't much go in for soulful declarations of love, mimed sticking his fingers down his throat. A nearby waiter looked alarmed. ‘I wouldn't ask, only it's going to be fun watching the secretaries in the office hold a communal wake.'

‘Stop it, you're embarrassing Poppy,' said Anna. She leaned across the table, bright-eyed. ‘He's such a nosy bugger. Don't tell him, okay? Tell me.'

‘Of course we'll be getting married,' said Tom. In his right hand he held his glass. Beneath the table his left hand stroked the inside of Poppy's thigh. ‘But big weddings take time to organize. Besides, this is the twenty-first century. These days it's compulsory to live together first.'

Poppy turned to stare at him. They had talked about it, of course, but only in a desultory fashion. No definite decisions had been reached.

‘You mean…?'

‘As Richard says,' Tom grinned, ‘why wait? It's what we both want.'

‘Fab!' Anna clapped her hands. ‘Can we order champagne?'

‘You really want me to move into your flat?' Poppy was thrilled but nervous. ‘Are you sure? I'll turn it into a terrible heap.'

Tom started to laugh. ‘No you won't. It's just a matter of getting you house-trained. Anyway, once you give up work, you'll have more time to clear up after yourself.'

Richard was busy ordering two bottles of Bollinger. At the same time, their food arrived.

‘Give up work?' echoed Poppy. This was definitely news to her. ‘What, and be like a… a
housewife
?'

‘Why not?' Tom's fingers were still caressing her leg. He looked pleased with himself. ‘I can afford to support both of us. Darling, you don't
need
to work.'

‘She's in shock,' said Anna. ‘Poppy, don't look like that… you'll love it! Take it from me, not having to go out to work is the best thing ever.'

Stunned, Poppy glugged down more wine. This wasn't something she had ever considered. Surely, giving up work was what you did once you had children.

‘I'm not pregnant,' she blurted out, in case Tom thought she was.

‘Give me a chance.' His dark eyes regarded her with affection. ‘It's only been a month.'

‘Think about it,' Anna went on enthusiastically, ‘you'll be a lady of leisure! No beastly early mornings battling through the rain, getting crushed to a pulp on the tube, never having enough time to do lovely things like shopping for clothes because you've got to work instead. I used to be a nurse.' She pulled a face. ‘The sister in charge of our ward was a right cow. I tell you, chucking in my job was the best move I ever made.'

The conversation moved on to Bastard Bosses each of them had been forced to work for over the years. Since Jake wasn't a bastard, Poppy used the breathing space to turn Tom's suggestion over in her mind. Okay, she liked her job, but maybe Anna had a point. To be unemployed and forced to survive on some miserable government check was depressing beyond belief, but giving up work knowing you were financially secure was surely the height of luxury. It was why people played the lotto, wasn't it? Instead of slaving your life away in some smelly office, you actually got to sit back and enjoy all those acres and acres of delicious free time.

I could go to the theatre, thought Poppy, who had never been to a theatre in her life. I could take long walks, go to coffee mornings, meet friends for lunch, join a health club like Princess Di did, have—what were they called? Oh yes, that was it—
pedicures
…

‘What are you thinking?' Tom whispered, his mouth brushing her ear.

It was Poppy's turn to squeeze his leg. He was so perfect for her; he knew her better than she knew herself.

‘Just how clever you are,' she murmured back. ‘I think I could enjoy giving up work.'

‘I love you. I want to look after you.'

It was such a novelty. No one had ever said that to her before. Poppy felt dizzy with desire.

‘I love you too.'

It wasn't exactly the surprise of the century but that didn't mean Caspar had to like it.

‘I'm moving in with Tom,' Poppy announced, almost bashfully. Her eyes were bright and there were spots of color high up on each cheekbone.

Tom, who was holding her hand, said easily, ‘You've had her long enough. My turn now.'

Haven't had her at all, thought Caspar, hating the way Tom's fingers stroked the inside of Poppy's wrist almost as much as he hated the aura of blissful happiness surrounding them like ectoplasm.

‘First you and Babette,' said Poppy, ‘now us. It must be catching!'

‘Yeah, well, that's great.' Caspar knew he didn't sound as thrilled as he was supposed to sound. ‘When are you off? Straight away?'

‘Well, Tom's having the bedroom redesigned. The decorators arrive tomorrow and they reckon it'll take a week. So if it's okay with you, I'll move out next Saturday.'

Tom said, ‘It'll be chaos until then.'

‘It'll be chaos when I move in.' Poppy grinned.

‘No it won't. I told you, it's simply a matter of getting you trained.'

Caspar tried to imagine the new, improved, fully house-trained Poppy Dunbar, the perfect Stepford Wife.

‘Are you okay? I know it's not much notice,' Poppy put in hurriedly, ‘but I can still pay the rent up to the end of the month.'

She was beginning to look hurt. Caspar pulled himself together.

‘Don't be daft. Sorry. I was miles away.' He broke into a smile. ‘Trying to figure out who we can invite to your leaving party.'

She brightened. ‘Oh, you don't have to—'

‘'Course we do. Next Saturday. It's about time we had another party anyway. It'll be a bloody good bash.'

Poppy looked excited. ‘Can I invite everyone from the antiques market?'

‘Actually,' said Tom, ‘I was planning something for next Saturday. Dinner with the head of our firm. Perhaps you could hold your party on the Friday?'

‘Afraid not,' Caspar lied smoothly, for the hell of it. ‘I'm busy then. You'll just have to put your boss off.'

‘Daddy! I didn't know you were in London! When did you sneak back?'

It was Saturday afternoon and the phone had been ringing incessantly all day. As word spread that Caspar was holding another of his infamous parties, friends and friends-of-friends had been calling up out of the blue on the off-chance of being asked along.

‘Last night.' Hugo Slade-Welch's deep hint-of-Edinburgh voice was as unmistakable as ever. He sounded amused. ‘And I don't sneak anywhere. I'm staying at the Hyde Park Hotel for a few weeks, taking a break between films. I wondered what you were doing this evening. Thought I might take my little girl out on the town.'

Claudia melted when her father called her his little girl. He was such a hero in her eyes, not least for having put up with her mother for as long as he had. And it was such an age since she'd last seen him, not since Christmas in fact, when Angie had given him that nude portrait of herself and he had carted it back unwrapped through customs at Heathrow, telling the press he couldn't have hoped for a better Christmas present, his old dartboard was worn right out.

‘Oh Daddy, I'd love to see you. But Poppy, who's been living here with us, is moving out tonight. Caspar's holding the most massive party.'

‘Is he indeed? What, young people only or are old fogeys allowed in as well?'

‘Of course you could come!' Claudia swiveled round as Caspar, lugging two crates of wine, pushed the hall door open with his elbow. ‘It's my father. He'd like to come tonight.'

‘Just what we need, more bloody gate-crashers,' said Caspar loudly. ‘And a struggling no-hope actor at that.' He dumped the crates and grabbed the receiver.

‘Hello, you old bugger. When are you going to get yourself a proper job?'

‘Daddy?' said Claudia, when she had wrestled the phone back. ‘No, of course you don't have to bring a bottle. I just wondered, are you bringing anyone else?'

‘You mean Alice, presumably?' Hugo's tone was dry. ‘No, Alice and I have had a parting of the ways. When I left Bel Air she was throwing all her shoes into cases. Shouldn't take her more than a week. By the time I get back next month, she'll be gone.' He didn't sound too upset. ‘Ah well, at least we weren't married.'

Alice was a silicone-boobed aspiring actress who had once had a walk-on part in
Baywatch
. Or as Hugo had once been heard to remark, a bounce-on part.

‘Well, she was too young for you, Daddy.'

‘I know, I know. Women are like cigarettes, I guess. A hard habit to break.'

‘She was quite fun,' Claudia admitted.

‘Oh, Alice was okay. Drew a moustache on that expensive painting Caspar did of your mother.'

‘Did she?'

‘Mm.' Hugo chuckled. ‘And it wasn't on her face.'

By nine o'clock the house was filling up fast. In the sitting room, now minus most of its furniture, music blared. As usual, the kitchen was bursting at the seams.

Another crowd of guests piled in through the front door. Luckily it was a warm dry evening, which meant the garden—even if it wasn't the best tended in Cornwallis Crescent—could be pressed into service to take the overspill.

Caspar was watching Poppy introduce Tom to her friends from the Markham Antiques Market.

‘No wonder she's so besotted,' said Babette, holding out her glass for a refill of Chablis. ‘He's definitely gorgeous. Looks like Rufus Sewell.' She raised her brimming glass to smiling lips. ‘In fact he's nearly as handsome as you, darling one.'

‘What I don't get,' said Caspar with a touch of irritation, ‘is the first time he saw Poppy she had her skirt up round her ears. He obviously liked what he saw. So what's with this new look?' He nodded in the direction of Poppy who was wearing yet another long dress bought for her by Tom, a high-necked black jersey affair with a bias cut skirt that swirled just above her ankles. It had clearly cost a great deal and would have suited any number of women to a tee, but it still wasn't Poppy.

‘Maybe he wants to make sure it doesn't happen again,' Babette said calmly. ‘Some men are like that. It's the whore-madonna thing. They don't mind seeing other girls with their bits on show, but their own wives and girlfriends are another matter.'

Crossly, Caspar said, ‘I know that, but what the hell's Poppy doing, going along with it? She looks about forty.'

‘She's flattered.' That was the thing about Babette; she had all the answers. ‘He adores her and she loves it that he cares. It's why some women stay with their men, even when they're being battered senseless every Friday night. They think it shows they care.'

‘Christ.' Caspar wondered wildly if that was why Poppy was keeping her legs hidden. Maybe beneath all those yards of exquisitely draped jersey her thighs were beaten black and blue. He experienced a sudden urge to rush up to Poppy and do a Bucks Fizz, rip her skirt clean off…

Thinking better of it, he poured himself another drink. It crossed his mind that Tom Kennedy was clearly the possessive type and that upstairs in his studio he still had, somewhere, the interesting selection of photographs taken of Poppy getting up to all sorts while he and Claudia had both been away.

Caspar shook his head. Bloody hell, what was the matter with him tonight? As if he didn't know. He was more jealous than he'd ever been in his life and it wasn't a happy experience. Of course he wouldn't stoop so low, shatter Poppy's newfound happiness…

It would just be nice if someone else did.

‘Look, there's Claudia,' said Babette excitedly. ‘With her dad. Now that would be a catch. Imagine handling
his
PR.'

‘Oh no, what's
she
doing here?' wailed Claudia as Angie, in a flesh-colored chiffon dress and the highest of high heels, made her impressive entrance at nine thirty. She looked more burnished and golden than ever and her perfume was apparent even at twenty paces. Before she had time to do more than wave gaily across at her daughter and ex-husband she was accosted by Caspar's sculptor friend, all but foaming at the mouth with lust.

‘Darling, I assumed you'd invited her. When she rang me this afternoon I mentioned I was coming along to your party tonight. All she said was fine, we'd bump into each other then.' Hugo's smile was rueful. ‘Should've known better, I suppose, after all those years of practice. My dear ex-wife evidently hasn't lost her touch.'

‘She'll tell me I've put on weight.' Claudia, who had, looked miserable. For weeks now she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Jake. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to think about him without reaching for the biscuit tin. She had put on a terrifying seven pounds and the bugger of it was, he still hadn't phoned.

When an extremely famous person puts in an appearance at a party, the non-celebrities generally pretend they haven't spotted him. Only when they know for sure he can't see them will their eyes swivel furtively in the VIP's direction.

Not Dina.

‘Oh wow, you're Hugo Slade-Welch!' she squealed, charging up to him and all but ricocheting off his broad chest. ‘Am I a big fan of yours! I've seen all your films. You were brill in
Black Thursday
. I'm Dina, a friend of Claudia's—hi, Claudia—God, I can't believe I'm standing here talking to you, I've never met a film star before! Here, have a cigarette.'

Claudia glared at Dina, who was thrusting a crumpled packet of Embassy Regal practically up her father's nose. This girl really did have an endless supply of nerve. And to say she was a
friend
of hers…

Hugo, looking amused, said, ‘Actually, I don't smoke.'

‘Oh well, never mind. You can still autograph the packet.'

‘Daddy, why don't we—?'

‘Hang on, not so fast. Who's got a pen around here? Hugo, how about you?'

Claudia was about to spontaneously combust at the chummy use of her father's Christian name when she realized Dina was actually pulling open his jacket. Locating a fountain pen in Hugo's inside pocket, she whisked it out.

‘Ooh now, there's fancy! I might have known a big star like you would have a real ink job. And feel how heavy it is! How much did that set you back?'

‘Dina—'

Claudia's eyes were almost as narrowed as her mouth. Snotty bitch. Dina refused to be cowed.

‘Okay, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I'm not going to nick it. Here—' she offered the uncapped pen back to Hugo—‘tell you what, real ink won't work on the fag packet. How about autographing me instead?'

Dina was wearing a sequined boob tube and skin-tight blue satin trousers. She thrust her chest forward and pointed to the area midway between the top of the tube and her left collarbone.

Outraged, Claudia hissed, ‘Do you have any idea how stupid you're making yourself look?'

‘Come on, it's only a bit of fun! Everyone'll think it's a tattoo.'

‘Leave my father alone.'

‘It's okay, really,' Hugo placated his angry daughter. In an attempt to defuse the situation he smiled and winked at both of them. ‘I've been asked to autograph stranger parts of the anatomy in my time. Claudia, would you be an angel and fetch me another drink?'

All Claudia wanted to do was slap Dina's ridiculous over-made-up face, but her father was clearly anxious to avoid a scene. She stomped off, cannoning into people on all sides, unaware that Dina's cigarette had burned a neat hole in the back of her dress.

‘Please excuse my daughter,' said Hugo, his famously blue eyes twinkling. ‘She is rather protective.'

‘Jealous, more like. What with your last girlfriend being exactly the same age as me. And I'm very into older men,' Dina told him, cleverly blowing her cigarette smoke out sideways so it didn't go straight in his face. ‘You can understand why she's worried. If we got married, I'd be her stepmother.'

‘Now there's a thought.' Since Dina was still pointing to her chest, Hugo leaned forward and signed his name with care. ‘You aren't married yourself then, I take it?'

‘Well… kind of. But you know how it is. If a better offer came along it wouldn't be a problem.'

‘That can't be easy for you.' Hugo was sympathetic. ‘I mean, a lovely young girl such as yourself must receive offers all the time. I daresay they're hard to resist.'

He's chatting me up, thought Dina, so dizzy with excitement she could hardly breathe. Here I am, in London, at a party so glamorous you aren't even expected to chip in for the booze, being chatted up by an honest-to-goodness movie star.

In an instant her mind conjured up a whole series of thrilling fantasies: Dina and Hugo whizzing round the world on their private jet… sunning themselves on the deck of a yacht… arriving at the Oscars ceremony hand in hand… being photographed for
Hello!
magazine…

‘So Hugo, what kind of car do you drive?'

‘Well—'

‘D'you know what I'd have, if I was loaded? A bright green Rolls Royce.'

‘Well now, that sounds a wonderful choice.' He smiled down at her. ‘I did own a Silver Shadow many years ago—'

‘Are they good? I'd still rather have a Rolls. Tell you what,' said Dina, slipping her arm through his, ‘why don't we go out into the garden? Before that old witch Claudia gets back.'