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to confront the situation? I do confront things. Loads of times. But it’s not like I can march up to
Magnus on his stag do, or accost Lucinda and accuse her out of the blue. I mean, you need
evidence. You need facts. One anonymous text doesn’t cut it.
My phone starts emitting Beyoncé and I stiffen, in spite of myself. Is that—
No. It’s Unknown Number. But which bloody Unknown Number? I take a swig of
coffee, to steel myself, and answer.
“Hi, Poppy Wyatt here.”
“Hello, Poppy. My name is Brenda Fairfax. I’m calling from the Berrow Hotel. I’ve been
away on holiday for a few days; otherwise of course I should have called at once. I do
apologize.”
Mrs. Fairfax. After all this time. I almost want to burst out laughing.
To think how desperate I was to hear this woman’s voice. And now it’s all irrelevant. I’ve
got the ring back. None of it matters. Why is she calling me, anyway? I told the concierge I’d got
the ring safely. The whole thing is over.
“You don’t need to apologize—”
“But of course I do! What a dreadful mix-up.” She sounds quite flustered. Maybe the
concierge gave her a hard time. Maybe he told her to call me and apologize.
“Please don’t worry. I had a bit of a fright, but it’s all fine now.”
“And such a valuable ring too!”
“It’s fine,” I say soothingly. “No harm done.”
“But I still can’t understand it! One of the waitresses had handed it to me and I was going
to put it in the safe, you see. That’s what I was about to do.”
“Honestly, you don’t have to explain.” I feel quite sorry for her. “These things happen. It
was a fire alarm, you got distracted—”
“No!” Mrs. Fairfax sounds a mite offended. “That’s not what happened at all. I was about
to put it in the safe, as I say. But before I could do so, another lady rushed up to me and told me
it was hers. Another guest at the tea.”
“Another guest?” I say, after a puzzled pause.
“Yes! She said it was her engagement ring and that she’d been frantically searching high
and low. She was very credible. The waitress vouched for the fact that she’d been sitting at the
table. And then she put it on. Well, who was I to disbelieve her?”
I rub my eyes, wondering if I’m hearing this correctly.
“You’re saying someone else took my ring? And said it was hers?”
“Yes! She was adamant that the ring belonged to her. She put it on straightaway and it
fitted. It looked very nice, as it happens. I know that strictly speaking I should have asked her for
proof that she was the owner, and we will be reviewing our official procedures in the light of this
unfortunate occurrence—”
“Mrs. Fairfax.” I cut her off, not remotely interested in official procedures. “Can I just
ask you—did she have long dark hair, by any chance? And a little diamanté hair band?”
“Yes. Long dark hair, with a diamanté hair band, as you say, and a wonderful orange
dress.”
I close my eyes in disbelief. Lucinda. It was Lucinda.
The ring didn’t get caught on her bag lining. She deliberately took it. She knew how
panicked I’d be. She knew how important it was. But she took it and pretended it was hers. God
only knows why.
A pulse is beating in my head as I say goodbye to Mrs. Fairfax. I’m breathing hard and
my hands are balling into fists. Enough is enough. Maybe I don’t have any evidence that she’s
sleeping with Magnus—but I can sure as hell confront her about this. And I’m going to do it
right now.
I don’t know what Lucinda’s doing today. I haven’t had any emails or messages from her
for a couple of days, which is unusual. As I text, my hands are actually shaking.
Hi Lucinda! How’s it going? What are you up to? Can I help? Poppy.
Almost immediately she replies:
Just polishing off some loose ends at home. Don’t worry, nothing for you to help with.
Lucinda
Lucinda lives in Battersea. Twenty minutes away by taxi. I’m not going to give her time
to get her story straight. I’m going to take her by surprise.
I hail a cab and give her address, then sit back, trying to stay calm and steely, even
though the more I think about this, the more flabbergasted I feel. Lucinda took my ring. Does
that mean she’s a thief? Did she make a copy and keep the real one and sell it? I glance at my left
hand, suddenly doubtful. Am I so sure this is the real thing?
Or was she somehow meaning to be helpful? Did she forget she had it? Should I give her
the benefit of the doubt—
No, Poppy. No chance.
As I arrive at her red-brick-mansion block, a guy in jeans is opening the main front door.
I quickly dodge in behind him and head up the three flights of stairs to Lucinda’s flat. This way
she’ll get absolutely no warning that I’m here.
Maybe she’ll open the door wearing the real ring, plus all the other jewelry she’s stolen
from unsuspecting friends. Maybe no one will answer, because she’s actually in Bruges. Maybe
Magnus will open the door dressed in a bedsheet—
Oh God. Stop it, Poppy.
I rap on the door, trying to sound like a delivery guy. It must have worked, because she
swings the door open, her face creased in a
her mouth in an O.
I stare back, equally wordless. My eyes flick past Lucinda, to the huge suitcase in the
hall, then to the passport in her hand, and then back to the suitcase.
“As soon as possible,” she says. “Terminal Four. Thanks.” She rings off and glares at me,
as though daring me to ask what she’s doing.
I’m racking my brains for something inspired and caustic to say, but my i
five-year-old is quicker off the mark.
“You took my ring!” As the words burst out, I can feel my cheeks turning pink, to add to
the effect. Maybe I should stamp my foot too.
“Oh for God’s sake.” Lucinda wrinkles her nose disparagingly, as though to accuse one’s
wedding pla
“But you took it!” I step inside her flat, even though she hasn’t invited me to, and can’t
help glancing around. I’ve never been to Lucinda’s flat before. It’s quite grand and has clearly
been interior-decorated, but it’s an absolute mess of cluttered surfaces and chairs, with
wineglasses everywhere. No wonder she always wants to meet at hotels.
“Look, Poppy.” She sighs bad-temperedly. “I’ve got things to do, OK? If you’re going to
come around and make offensive remarks, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Huh?
She’s the one who did something wrong. She’s the one who took a priceless engagement
ring and pretended it was hers. How has she managed to leapfrog over that fact and make it look
like I’m in the wrong for even mentioning it?
“Now, if that’s all, I am rather busy—”
“Stop right there.” The force of my own voice takes me by surprise. “That’s not all. I
want to know exactly why you took my ring. Were you pla
money?”
“No, I didn’t need the money.” She glares at me. “You want to know why I took it, Miss
Poppy? It’s because it should have been mine.”
“Yours? Wh—”