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morning, and I see Sam talking about some memo and saying it must have been sexed up, and I
think, yes!” She bangs her hand on the table again. “That’s what was going on.”
“How many voice mails were there in all?”
“Four? Five?”
“But there aren’t any voice mails on here now. At least, I haven’t found any.” I can
hardly bear to ask the question. “Did you … delete them?”
“No!” She beams in triumph. “That’s the point! I saved them. At least, my boyfriend,
Aran, did. I was writing one out one night, and he was, like, ‘Babe, just save it to the server.’
And I was like, ‘How do I save a voice mail?’ So he came into the office and put them all on a
file. He can do amazing stuff, Aran,” she adds proudly. “He’s a model too, but he writes games
on the side.”
“A file?” I’m not following. “So where’s the file now?”
“It must still be there.” She shrugs. “On the PA’s computer. There’s an icon called voice
mails on the desktop.”
An icon on the PA’s computer. Just outside Sam’s office. All the time, it was right there,
right in front of our face.
“Will it still be there?” I feel a blast of panic. “Won’t it be deleted?”
“Don’t know why it would be.” She shrugs. “Nothing was deleted when I arrived. There
was just a big old pile of crap I was supposed to wade through.”
I almost want to laugh hysterically. All that panic. All that effort. We could have simply
gone to the computer outside Sam’s office.
“Anyway, I’m going to the States tomorrow, and I had to tell someone, but it’s
impossible to get in touch with Sam at the moment.” She shakes her head. “I’ve tried emailing,
texting, phoning—I’m, like, if you only knew what I had to tell you … ”
“Let me have a go,” I say after a pause, and type a text to Sam.
Sam, you have to call me. Now. It’s about Sir Nicholas. Could be a help. Not a
time-waster. Believe me. Call at once. Please. Poppy.
“Well, good luck with that.” Violet rolls her eyes. “Like I told you, he’s gone off radar.
His PA said he’s not responding to anybody. Not emailing, not answering calls—” She breaks
off as the ti
the display.
“OK.” Her eyes widen. “I’m impressed.”
I press accept and lift the receiver to my ear. “Hi, Sam.”
“Poppy.”
His voice feels like a blast of sunshine in my ear. There’s so much I want to say. But I
can’t. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
“Listen,” I say. “Are you in your office? Go to your PA’s computer. Quickly.”
There’s the briefest pause, then he says, “OK.”
“Look on the desktop,” I instruct him. “Is there a file called Voice Mails?”
There’s silence for a little while—then Sam’s voice comes down the phone.
“Affirmative.”
“OK!” My breath comes out in a whoosh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it. “You need
to look after that file carefully. And now you need to speak to Violet.”
“Violet?” He sounds taken aback. “You don’t mean Violet my flaky ex-PA?”
“I’m with her now. Listen to her, Sam. Please.” I pass the phone over.
“Hey, Sam,” says Violet easily. “Sorry about leaving you in the lurch and all that. But
you’ve had Poppy to help you out, yeah?”
As she’s talking, I head up to the counter and buy myself another coffee, even though I’m
so wired I probably shouldn’t. Hearing Sam’s voice has thrown me. I immediately wanted to talk
to him about everything. I wanted to nestle up and hear what he had to say.
But that’s impossible. Number one, because he’s mired in massive problems of his own.
Number two, because who is he? Not a friend. Not a colleague. Just some random guy who has
no place in my life. It’s over. The only place for us to go from here is goodbye.
Maybe we’ll exchange the odd text. Maybe we’ll meet up awkwardly in a year’s time.
Both of us will look different and we’ll say hello stiltedly, already regretting the decision to
come. We’ll laugh about how bizarre that whole phone business was. We’ll never mention what
happened in the woods. Because it didn’t happen.
“You OK, Poppy?” Violet is standing in front of me, waving the phone in front of my
face. “Here.”
“Oh!” I come to and take it. “Thanks. Did you speak to Sam?”
“He opened the file as I was talking to him. He’s pretty stoked. He said to say he’d call
you later.”
“Oh. Well … he doesn’t have to.” I pick up my coffee. “Whatever.”
“Hey, nice rock.” Violet grabs my hand.93 “Is that an emerald?”
“Yes.”
“Cool! So, who’s the lucky guy?” She gets out an iPhone. “Can I take a picture of it? I’m
just getting ideas for when Aran becomes a gazillionaire. Did you choose it yourself?”
“No, he had it already when he proposed. It’s a family ring.”
“Romantic.” Violet nods. “Wow. So you didn’t expect it?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Were you like, ‘Fuck!’ ”
“Kind of.” I nod.
It seems a million years ago now, that evening when Magnus proposed. I was so giddy. I
felt as if I’d entered a magic bubble where everything was shiny and perfect and nothing could
ever go wrong again. God, I was a fool …
A tear splashes onto my cheek before I can stop it.
“Hey.” Violet looks at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” I smile, wiping at my eyes. “It’s … Things aren’t exactly brilliant. My fiancé
might be cheating on me, and I don’t know what to do.”
Just letting the words out makes me feel better. I take a deep breath and smile at Violet.
“Sorry. Ignore that. You don’t want to know.”
“No. It’s fine.” She draws her feet up onto her chair and regards me intently. “Why aren’t
you sure if he is or not? What makes you think he is?”
“Someone sent me an anonymous text. That’s it.”
“So ignore it.” Violet gives me a close look. “Or do you have a gut feeling? Does it seem
like something he might do?”
I’m silent for a moment. I so wish I could say, “Never! Not in a million years!” But too
many moments are sticking in my brain. Moments I haven’t wanted to see, that I’ve tried to
blank out. Magnus flirting with girls at parties. Magnus surrounded by all his female students, his
arms casually draped around their shoulders. Magnus being practically molested by A
The thing is, girls like Magnus. And he likes them.
“I don’t know,” I say, staring into my coffee. “Maybe.”
“And do you have any idea who he’s doing it with?”
“Maybe.”
“So!” Violet seems galvanized. “Confront the situation. Have you spoken to him? Have
you spoken to her?”
“He’s in Bruges, on his stag do. I can’t talk to him. And she’s—” I break off. “No. I
can’t. I mean, it’s a possibility. She’s probably totally i
“Are you sure he’s on his stag do?” says Violet, raising her eyebrows, then grins. “No,
I’m just winding you up.” She pushes my arm. “I’m sure he is. Hey, babe, I have to go and pack.
Hope it all works out for you. Give my love to Sam.”
As she strides out of the coffee shop, about six male heads turn. I’m pretty sure that if
Magnus were here, his would be one of them.
I stare morosely into my coffee for a little while. Why do people have to keep telling me