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“Wow. Well … yes, please!”
“No problem. We should get this knocked out in”—he glances at his watch—“three
hours?”
“Great!”
As I stand up, I’m astounded. I can’t believe this was so easy. In fact, I feel quite
exhilarated with relief. This will see me through a couple of days and then I’ll get the real thing
back and it’ll all be OK.
When we return to the showroom, I sense a rustle of interest. Martha’s head pops up from
the book she was writing in, and a couple of girls in dove gray are whispering and nodding at me
from their position by the door. Mark leads us over to Martha again, who beams at me even more
widely than before.
“Look after these lovely people for me, Martha, will you?” he says, giving her a folded
piece of paper. “Here are the details. Bye, again.”
He and Sam shake hands warmly, then Mark disappears off to the rear of the shop.
“You look happy!” Martha says to me with a twinkle.
“I’m so happy!” I can’t contain my delight. “Mark’s brilliant. I just can’t believe what he
can do!”
“Yes, he is rather special. Oh, I’m so pleased for you.” She squeezes my arm. “What a
wonderful day for you both!”
Oh … shit. Suddenly I realize what she means. I glance sharply at Sam, but he’s stepped
aside to read something on his phone and is oblivious.
“So, we’re all dying to know.” Martha’s eyes are twinkling. “What are you getting?”
“Er … ”
This conversation has definitely lurched in the wrong direction. But I can’t think how to
steer it back.
“Martha told us about the vintage Cartier watch!” Another girl in dove gray joins the
conversation, and I can see two other girls edging forward to listen.
“We’ve all been guessing out here.” Martha nods. “I think Mark will have made you
something really special and bespoke. With some wonderful, romantic touch.” She clasps her
hands. “Maybe a flawless diamond—”
“Those princess-cut ones are exquisite,” a girl in dove gray gushes.
“Or an antique,” chimes in another girl eagerly. “Mark has some amazing old diamonds
with stories attached to them. There’s an incredible pale-pink one; did he show you that?”
“No!” I say quickly. “Um … you don’t understand. I’m not—I mean—”
Oh God. What can I say? I’m not getting into the whole story.
“We love a beautiful ring.” Martha sighs happily. “It doesn’t matter what it is, really, as
long as it’s magical for you. Oh, come on.” She gives an impish smile. “I have to know.” She
opens the paper with a beaming flourish. “And the answer is … ”
As she reads the words on the page, Martha’s voice cuts off in a sort of gasp. For a
moment she seems unable to speak. “Oh! A simulated emerald,” she manages at last, sounding
strangled. “Lovely. And simulated diamonds too. So pretty.”
There’s nothing I can say. I’m aware of four crestfallen faces gazing at me. Martha looks
most devastated of all.
“We thought it was a lovely ring,” I offer lamely.
“It is! It is!” Martha is obviously forcing herself to nod animatedly. “Well …
congratulations! So sensible of you to go for simulations.” She exchanges looks with the other
girls in dove gray, who all hastily chime in.
“Absolutely!”
“Very sensible!”
“Lovely choice!”
The bright voices so don’t match the faces. One girl almost looks like she wants to cry.
Martha seems slightly fixated by Sam’s vintage gold Cartier. I can practically read her
mind: He can afford vintage Cartier for himself and he bought his girlfriend a FAKE?
“Can I just see the price?” Sam has finished tapping at his phone and takes the paper
from Martha. As he reads it, he frowns. “Four hundred and fifty pounds—that’s a lot. I thought
Mark promised a discount.” He turns to me. “Don’t you think that’s too much?”
“Maybe.”53 I nod, a bit mortified.
“Why’s it so expensive?” He turns to Martha, and her eyes flick yet again to his Cartier
watch before she addresses him with a professional smile.
“It’s the platinum, sir. It’s a precious, timeless material. Most of our customers value a
material that will last a lifetime.”
“Well, can we have something cheaper? Silver plate?” Sam turns to me. “You agree,
don’t you, Poppy? As cheap as possible?”
I hear a couple of stifled gasps across the shop. I catch a glimpse of Martha’s horrified
face and can’t help flushing.
“Yes! Of course,” I mutter. “Whatever’s cheapest.”
“I’ll just check with Mark,” says Martha after rather a long pause. She moves away and
makes a brief phone call. As she returns to the register, she’s blinking fast and can’t look me in
the eye. “I’ve spoken to Mark and the ring can be made in silver-plated nickel, which brings the
price down to”—she taps again—“one hundred and twelve pounds. Would you prefer that
option?”
“Well, of course we would.” Sam glances at me. “No-brainer, right?”
“I see. Of course.” Martha’s bright smile has frozen solid. “That’s … fine. Silver-plated
nickel it is. ’ She seems to gather control of herself. “In terms of presentation, sir, we offer a
deluxe leather ring box at thirty pounds, or a simpler wooden box for ten pounds. Each option
will be lined with rose petals and can have a personalization. Perhaps initials or a little
message?”
“A message?” Sam gives an incredulous laugh. “No, thanks. And no packaging. We’ll
have it as is. D’you want a carrier bag or something, Poppy?” He glances at me.
Martha is breathing harder and harder. For a moment I think she might lose it.
“Fine!” she says at last. “Absolutely fine. No box, no rose petals, no message.… ” She
taps at her computer. “And how will you be paying for the ring, sir?” She’s obviously mustering
all her energies to stay pleasant.
“Poppy?” Sam nods at me expectantly.
As I pull out my purse, Martha’s expression is so aghast, I nearly expire with
embarrassment.
“So … you’ll be paying for the ring, madam.” She can barely get the words out.
“Wonderful! That’s … wonderful. No problem at all.”
I tap in my PIN and take the receipt. Yet more girls in dove gray have appeared in the
showroom, and they’re standing in clusters, whispering and staring at me. My entire body is
drenched in mortification.
Sam, of course, has noticed nothing.
“Will we see you both later?” Martha clearly makes a supreme effort to recover herself as
she ushers us to the door. “We’ll have champagne waiting and we’ll take a photo for your album,
of course.” A tiny glow comes back into her eyes. “It’s such a special moment when you first
take the ring and slide it onto her finger—”
“No, I’ve spent far too long here already,” says Sam, absently glancing at his watch.
“Can’t you just bike it round to Poppy?”
This seems to be the last straw for Martha. When I’ve given her my details and as we’re
walking out, she suddenly exclaims, “Could I have a little word about care and upkeep, madam?
Just very quickly?” She grabs my arm and pulls me back into the shop, her grip surprisingly
strong. “In seven years of selling engagement rings, I’ve never done this before,” she whispers
urgently into my ear. “I know he’s a friend of Mark. And I know he’s very handsome. But … are