Perfect Timing (31 page)

‘Smile,' said Jake, ‘you're frightening the customers.'

Poppy knew she was looking down in the dumps. It suited her mood. Down in the dumps was how she felt.

‘I'll read this, then they won't be able to see my face.' She reached for her dog-eared copy of
Miller's Guide
and opened it at random.

Rifling through the pages didn't help. Poppy chewed her thumbnail and gazed morosely at the photographs: a pair of Tiffany peridot and diamond earrings, pairs of candelabra,
endless
pairs of wheelback, ladderback, and splatback chairs…

With a mammoth sigh she slammed the book shut, making Jake jump.

‘What is it?' He knew something was up. Poppy hadn't even been able to finish her mid-morning banana doughnut.

‘Nothing. Just… oh, nothing.'

‘Tom?' Jake looked worried. He wished he'd never tracked Tom Kennedy down now. The fairy-tale happy ending hadn't taken long to turn sour.

‘No.' Sensing his discomfort, she managed an invalid's smile. ‘I'm glad I got out when I did. And I'm glad you found him for me. If you hadn't, I would always have wondered. It's just such a let-down,' Poppy said sadly, ‘spending your whole life believing in love at first sight then discovering it doesn't exist. It's worse than finding out about Father Christmas.'

The tatty
Miller's Guide
slid off her lap. When she leaned over and picked it up, it fell open at a page of Staffordshire figures, every one a perfectly matched pair.

‘Ohhh,' Poppy wailed in frustration, convinced the book was doing it on purpose. ‘Couples, couples everywhere I bloody look! It's not
fair
.'

Trying to help, Jake said, ‘You'll find someone else.'

Wearily, Poppy turned and looked at him.

‘Oh, I've found someone else.'

‘You have? Who?' Bewildered, he wondered why, in that case, she was so miserable.

‘Doesn't matter who.' Poppy looked evasive. ‘He's already one of a pair.'

Jake was shocked. ‘You mean he's married? Poppy, are you mad? How could you get yourself involved with a—'

‘I'm not,' she intercepted, her cheeks reddening. ‘Anyway, he wasn't married when I met him.'

‘For God's sake, Poppy.'

‘I didn't
want
it to happen.' Poppy rolled her eyes at his stupidity. ‘You can't always help who you fall in love with. You of all people,' she added, unable to resist the dig, ‘should know that.'

Jake ignored it.

‘Look, having an affair with a married man isn't the answer.'

‘I'm not having an affair with him. And don't preach at me,' Poppy said sulkily. ‘Stop sounding like a relationship counselor.'

Thank goodness there were no customers within earshot. Jake, determined to make her see sense, said, ‘Listen to me, Poppy. Get out while you can. It's for your own good. They never leave their wives. Promise me,' he said urgently, ‘please promise me you won't see him again.'

Poppy had finished chewing her thumbnail. She'd chewed so far down it hurt.

‘Could be tricky.' She examined her thumb. ‘Seeing as I live in his house.'

Up until now Jake had somehow assumed she'd fallen for a fellow trader, most probably the dark-haired, notoriously charming—and married—ceramics expert who was always timing his coffee breaks to coincide with hers.

But Caspar…

He opened his mouth to speak.

‘Don't,' Poppy blurted out. ‘Just don't, okay? I know it's totally pathetic of me. Dammit, I know better than anyone what Caspar's like!' She was twiddling her hair furiously, a sure sign of agitation. ‘And you don't have to lecture me—I'm not planning to do anything drastic. It's like measles. I'll get over it.' She winced as a strand of hair got caught up in her earring. More entanglements. Irritably she said, ‘Claudia did. I suppose I will too.'

Whoever said confession was good for the soul? Some idiot. Poppy was already deeply regretting telling Jake.

He was still looking appalled.

‘Does Caspar know?'

‘Are you mad? Of course Caspar doesn't know! Nobody knows.' It occurred to Poppy that newly-in-love people had a sickening habit of telling each other everything. ‘And you aren't going to tell anyone either. Especially not Claudia.' She gave Jake a deadly, I-mean-it look. ‘If you breathe a word, I'll break your new glasses.'

Jake still missed his old, taped-together pair, the ones Poppy had so triumphantly snapped in half.

He looked rueful. ‘What's new?'

Claudia was surprised how easy it had been to feel comfortable in Jake's house. Accustomed as she was to opulence, elegance, and space, clutter and fraying curtains weren't her taste. But somehow the fact that his style was less
Homes and Gardens
, more
Exchange and Mart
, didn't bother her nearly as much as she expected it to. The effect was cozy, undemanding, as relaxed as Jake himself.

More and more easily, Claudia realized, she could envisage living here. Threadbare carpets weren't the end of the world. Besides, she thought, once I persuade Jake to part with a bit of money we can buy new ones. Together we could really do this place up.

That evening, having come straight from work to his house, she had made a lasagna and opened a bottle of Chianti. Another thing she loved about Jake was how appreciative he was of her cooking.

‘This is terrific. Better than Bertolli's,' he told her as he mopped up the last of the sauce with ciabatta.

This, coming from Jake, was the ultimate compliment. Glowing with pleasure, Claudia caught sight of her candlelit reflection in the big mirror behind him. She looked so bright-eyed and happy, for a split second she barely recognized herself.

‘It's Poppy's favorite. She's always nagging me to make it.'

Jake poured more wine.

‘Maybe we should have invited her over here tonight. There would have been enough for three.'

‘I prefer it like this,' said Claudia. ‘Just us. Anyway, Poppy's been such a grouch lately. She even had a go at me last night for leaving my clothes in the washing machine. I mean, honestly, the nerve of that girl! I told her she had a bloody cheek and the next thing I knew, she'd dragged all my stuff out of the machine and dumped it on the floor.'

‘She's going through a bad patch,' said Jake, ever the peacemaker.

‘Don't start feeling sorry for her! If you ask me,' Claudia pronounced bluntly, ‘she's behaving like a spoiled brat. Everything Poppy wants, Poppy gets. Even Tom Kennedy, thanks to all
our
hard work. And then what does she do? Dumps him, for no sensible reason at all. I still can't figure out why. What was wrong with him, for heaven's sake? Nothing, that's what.' With an air of triumph, Claudia waved her fork at Jake. ‘Which is why she's being so grumpy now, I bet you anything. She regrets it. She probably went to see him and begged him to have her back, and Tom told her to take a hike. Well, good for him,' she declared roundly. ‘Serves Poppy jolly well right.'

Having a go at Poppy was one thing but elevating Tom to hero status was quite another. Claudia made him sound like Rhett Butler telling Scarlett he didn't give a damn.

This was so unfair Jake couldn't—simply couldn't—let it pass.

‘Look, if I tell you something,' he lowered his voice, ‘will you promise, absolutely
promise
, not to breathe a word to another soul?'

Claudia leaned towards him. She adored secrets.

‘Jake, you can trust me! What is it? Of
course
I won't tell.'

Having spent a long afternoon upstairs in the studio, working on a canvas commissioned by a wealthy factory owner—‘Summat blue and green, lad, to hang in t'boardroom'—Caspar was cleaning brushes over the sink.

As Claudia switched the kettle on, the phone rang.

‘Oh hi,' said Babette's voice. ‘Is Caspar with you?'

‘Hang on, he's covered in paint. I'll have to put the phone to his ear.'

‘Don't worry, I just called to remind him about tonight.' Babette sounded cheerful. ‘We're off to a bash at the Wellington Gallery. Tell him I've got his jacket back from the cleaners, I've booked the cab for eight thirty, and if he's hungry there's a dozen oysters sitting here waiting for him.'

‘Heavens, you know what they say about oysters.'

‘Yes, well, the cab can always wait.' Babette was laughing. ‘Damn, there goes my other phone. Blow him a kiss from me, okay? Tell him to hurry home. Byeee.'

Caspar nodded when Claudia relayed the message, and carried on cleaning his brushes.

‘She won't keep the cab waiting. Babette's never been late for anything in her life.'

Claudia, who liked Babette, said, ‘She's exactly right for you. The perfect wife. I can't imagine what you've done to deserve her.'

He grinned. ‘Maybe I'm a perfect husband.'

‘Are you?' Daringly, overcome with curiosity, Claudia said, ‘Are you faithful?'

‘Don't look at me like that. Yes, I am.'

When Caspar had finished cleaning himself up with another spirit-soaked rag, she passed him his coffee. Across the hall, the clock struck six.

‘Poppy should be home by now.'

‘Been and gone,' said Caspar.

‘Really? Where?'

He looked out of the kitchen window at next door's cat launching itself at a starling.

‘For a walk, she said.'

‘A what?' Claudia was incredulous. ‘Poppy doesn't go for walks.'

Caspar shrugged. It had happened the last three or four times he had come to the house. Poppy had made some bizarre excuse or other and promptly disappeared.

‘Looks like she does now.'

Claudia watched him drink his coffee. When she sipped hers, she almost gagged.

‘This has got sugar in it! You've got mine. Here—' she swapped mugs, gazing at him in disbelief—‘didn't you even notice?'

But Caspar, clearly distracted, only shook his head. Something was on his mind.

Claudia wondered if Poppy had been making a nuisance of herself.

‘She's been a bit odd lately,' she ventured. ‘Had you noticed?'

Caspar was trailing his forefinger through a pile of sugar he had spilled earlier on the worktop. He drew an unsmiley face.

‘Not really. Well… maybe a bit.'

He was being evasive. More than likely, Claudia decided, he was playing the situation down in order to protect Poppy. In the past they had always got on so well.

But Caspar was married now. There was Babette to think of.

Claudia had promised Jake she wouldn't tell anyone what he had told her, but what he'd really meant was don't embarrass Poppy by blabbing to all their friends. Surely, she thought, it was only fair to put Caspar in the picture, to give him some warning. Then if Poppy did do anything stupid—like fling herself at him—he'd be able to handle it. He wouldn't be caught off-guard. Better still, aware of the potential awkwardness of such a situation, he could make sure it didn't have a chance to happen in the first place.

‘Actually, there's something I think you should know about Poppy.'

Caspar's jaw tightened. When Claudia put on her compassionate face, the news had to be bad.

All of a sudden he knew what she was going to say. In an odd way, he realized, he had been dreading this moment for weeks.

‘Don't tell me. She's pregnant.'

Claudia almost dropped her coffee mug. The pain and guilt in Caspar's eyes was unmistakable. He wasn't asking, he was telling her.

‘What? You mean she's having your baby?' She gasped and covered her mouth. ‘Oh Caspar, how
could
you? Poor Babette…'

He frowned. ‘Hang on a sec, it's not mine. I thought you meant she was having Tom's baby.'

Bewildered, Claudia said, ‘But I didn't even know she was pregnant.'

‘In that case,' Caspar heaved a sigh of relief, ‘she probably isn't.' His eyes narrowing, he looked at Claudia. ‘But why on earth did you think it was mine?'

‘I d-didn't really.' Stammering, she tried to explain. ‘It… it just kind of tied in with what I was about to tell you. The thing is, Jake told me and I thought you should know… but then I thought maybe you knew already…'

‘If I wanted a cryptic crossword, I'd buy the
Telegraph
. Get to the point.'

Claudia took a deep breath.

‘Poppy's got a thumping great crush on you. Actually, she told Jake she was in love with you, but you know how Poppy exaggerates. Anyway,' she chided, ‘it's probably your own fault. You know what you're like—half the time you flirt without even realizing you're doing it. And Poppy's vulnerable right now—she's single again and probably panicking that she'll never meet the right man. Look,' Claudia went on, because Caspar seemed too shell-shocked to say anything, ‘I'm just saying watch yourself. The way Poppy's feeling at the moment, you could end up getting pounced on. Don't give her any encouragement, that's all,' she concluded kindly. ‘It wouldn't be fair to Poppy or Babette.'

The private viewing at the Wellington Gallery hadn't gone well for the exhibiting artist, who only sold two paintings, but the evening had been a profitable one for Babette.

‘Networking, that's what it's all about,' she told Caspar in the cab as they made their way home. She flipped through her Filofax, happily pointing out the names and numbers of influential contacts she had made during the course of the evening. ‘Damn, I'm good! Play my cards right and I've got myself another fifty grand's worth of business here. Are you okay, darling? You've been quiet. Come on, cheer up. Play
your
cards right and you could make love tonight to a future Businesswoman of the Year.'

Caspar shook his head.

‘Sorry, sweetheart. It's over.' Reluctantly, he closed the bulging Filofax and took her hand in his. ‘It's been fun, we've had a great time. But I'm moving out tomorrow.'

‘Oh.' For a second Babette looked as if she was about to cry. ‘Oh, right. Okay.'

‘I know this is all rather sudden. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I just have to go.'

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

‘Where?'

‘Home,' said Caspar.

‘To…?'

He nodded. ‘Yes. Well, hopefully.' Gazing out through the window at the wet street, he realized the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

‘Oh well, here's to the good times.' Recovering herself, Babette reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek. She even managed a smile. ‘After all, we had fourteen good weeks together.' Wryly she added, ‘And you did say it wouldn't last.'