He didn’t. He didn’t. I stare at her in disbelief, almost wanting to laugh.
“What did you say?”
“I yelled, ‘Do what, you prick? You haven’t even bloody proposed yet!’ ” But he didn’t have anything to say. He closed up the box and put the ring away. And that was that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “That’s really awful.”
“He’s such a commitment-phobe, he couldn’t even commit to a fucking proposal ! He couldn’t even see that through!” She looks absolutely livid, and I don’t blame her.
“So, why on earth did you agree to organize his wedding?” I say incredulously. “Isn’t that rubbing it in your face, every day?”
“It was the least he could do to make amends.” She glowers at me. “I needed a job. Although, actually, I’m thinking of changing career. Arranging weddings is a bloody nightmare. ”
No wonder Lucinda’s been in such a bad mood this whole time. No wonder she’s been so aggressive toward me. If I had known for one second that she was an old flame of Magnus’s …
“I was never going to keep the ring,” she adds sulkily. “I just wanted to give you a scare.”
“Well, you managed it, all right.”
I can’t believe I’ve let this woman into my life, confided in her, discussed all my hopes for my wedding day—and she’s an ex of Magnus. How could he have let this happen? How could he have thought it would ever work?
I feel like some kind of filter has been lifted from my eyes. I feel like I’m finally waking up to reality. And I haven’t even tackled my main fear yet.
“I got the idea you were still sleeping with Magnus,” I blurt out. “I mean, not when you were going out together. Now. Recently. Last week.”
There’s silence and I look up, hoping she’ll launch into some stinging denial. But as I meet her eye, she turns away.
“Lucinda?”
She grabs her suitcase and starts wheeling it toward the door. “I’m going away. I’ve had enough of this whole thing. I deserve a holiday. If I have to talk weddings for one more second—”
“Lucinda?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” she erupts impatiently. “Maybe I slept with him a few times for old times’ sake. If you can’t keep tabs on him, you shouldn’t marry him.” Her phone rings and she answers. “Hi. Yes. Coming down. Excuse me.” She ushers me out of the flat, bangs the door, and double-locks it.
“You can’t just leave !” I’m shaking all over. “You have to tell me what happened!”
“What do you want me to say?” She throws her hands up. “These things happen. You weren’t meant to find out, but there you go.” She manhandles her suitcase into the lift. “Oh, and by the way, if you think you and I are the only girls he’s hauled that emerald ring out of the safe for, think again. We’re on the end of a list, sweetie.”
“What?” I’m starting to hyperventilate. “What list? Lucinda, wait! What are you talking about?”
“Work it out, Poppy. It’s your problem. I’ve sorted the flowers and the order of service and the almonds and the fucking … dessert spoons.” She jabs a button and the lift doors start to close. “This one’s all yours.”
88 OK, unlikely.
89 OK, even less likely.
90 Aka Clemency. Possibly.
91 And if you think she wouldn’t, you don’t know Annalise.
92 Either this is a very arty look, like you see in fashion magazines, or she didn’t take her makeup off yesterday. (Still. Like I can talk.)
93 No one’s ever grabbed my hand to look at the ring before. That is definitely an invasion of personal space.
14
After Lucinda’s gone, I stand motionless for about three minutes solid, in a state of shock. Then, abruptly, I come to. I head for the stairwell and down the stairs. As I step out of the building I switch off my phone. I can’t afford any distractions. I need to think. I need to be alone. Like Lucinda said, I need to work this out for myself.
I start walking along the pavement, not caring which direction I’m going. My mind is circling around all the facts, the guesses, the speculation, and back to the facts. But gradually, as I walk, thoughts seem to settle into place. My resolve hardens. I have a plan.
I don’t know where my sudden determination has come from: whether Lucinda has spurred me on or whether I’ve just had enough of avoiding confrontation while my stomach ties itself up in knots. But I’m going to face this one down. I’m going to do it. The weirdest thing is, I keep hearing Sam’s voice in my ear, reassuring me and bolstering me and telling me I can do it. It’s as if he’s giving me a pep talk, even though he’s not here. And it’s making me stand taller. It’s making me feel like I can do this. I’m going to be a Whole New Poppy.
As I reach the corner of Battersea Rise, I feel ready. I haul out my phone, turn it on, and, without reading a single new message, speed-dial Magnus. Of course he doesn’t answer, but I expected that.
“Hi, Magnus,” I say in the most crisp, businesslike tones I can muster. “Can you call me as soon as possible? We need to talk.”
OK. Good. That was dignified. A brief, cutting message that he will understand. Now ring off.
Ring off, Poppy.
But I can’t. My hand feels welded to the phone. While I’m connected to him, or even just to his voice mail, I can feel my defenses coming down. I want to talk. I want to hear from him. I want him to know how shocked and hurt I am.