I've Got Your Number

I've Got Your Number Page 52

The back door opens with a clang of iron bolts. “Sorry I’m late,” comes a familiar piercing voice. “It’s been a bugger of a day.”

Striding up the aisle, holding several bags full of silk, is Lucinda. She’s wearing a beige shift dress and massive sunglasses on her head and looks hassled. “Reverend Fox! Did you get my email?”

“Yes, Lucinda,” says Reverend Fox wearily. “I did. I’m afraid the church pillars cannot be sprayed silver under any circumstances.”

Lucinda stops dead, and a bolt of gray silk starts unraveling, all the way down the aisle.

“They can’t ? Well, what am I supposed to do? I promised the florist silver columns!” She sinks down on a nearby pew. “This bloody wedding! If it’s not one thing it’s another—”

“Don’t worry, Lucinda, dear,” says Wanda, swooping down on her fondly. “I’m sure you’re doing a marvelous job. How’s your mother?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” Lucinda waves a hand. “Not that I ever see her. I’m up to my eyes with it—where is that dratted Clemency?”

“I’ve booked the cars, by the way,” I say quickly. “All done. And the confetti. I was also wondering, shall I book some rosebuds for the ushers’ buttonholes?”

“If you could,” she says a little tetchily. “I would appreciate it.” She looks up and seems to take me in properly for the first time. “Oh, Poppy. One piece of good news: I’ve got your ring! It was caught on the lining of my bag.”

She pulls out the emerald ring and holds it out. I’m so blindsided, all I can do is blink.

The real ring. My real, vintage, priceless emerald engagement ring. Right there, in front of my eyes.

How did she—

What the hell—

I can’t bring myself to look at anybody else. Even so, I’m aware of glances of astonishment all around me, crisscrossing like laser beams, moving from my fake ring to the real one and back again.

“I don’t quite understand—” begins Paul at last.

“What’s up, everyone?” Magnus is striding up the aisle, taking in the tableau. “Someone seen a ghost? The Holy Ghost?” He laughs at his own joke, but no one joins in.

“If that’s the ring”—Wanda seems to have found her voice—“then what’s that?” She points at the fake on my finger, which of course now looks like something out of a fairground machine.

My throat is so tight I can hardly breathe. Somehow I have to save this situation. Somehow. They must never know I lost the ring.

“Yes! I …  thought you’d be surprised!” Somehow I find some words; somehow I muster a smile. I feel as though I’m walking over a bridge which I’m having to construct myself as I go, out of playing cards. “I actually … had a replica made!” I try to sound casual. “Because I lent the original to Lucinda.”

I look at her desperately, willing her to go along with this. Thankfully she seems to have realized what a faux pas she’s committed.

“Yes!” she joins in quickly. “That’s right. I borrowed the ring for … for—”

“—for design reasons.”

“Yes! We thought the ring could be inspiration for—”

“—the napkin rings,” I grasp from nowhere. “Emerald napkin rings! Which we didn’t go with in the end,” I add carefully.

There’s silence. I pluck up the courage to look around.

Wanda’s face is creased deeply with a frown. Magnus looks perplexed. Paul has taken a step backward from the group, as though to say, “Nothing to do with me.”

“So thanks very much.” I take the ring from Lucinda with trembling hands. “I’ll just … put that back on.”

I’ve crashed onto the far bank and am clinging to the grass. Made it. Thank God.

But as I rip the fake ring off, drop it into my bag, and slide the real thing on, my mind is in overdrive. How come Lucinda had the ring? What about Mrs. Fairfax? What the fuck is going on ?

“ Why exactly did you have a replica made, sweets?” Magnus looks totally baffled.

I stare at him, desperately trying to think. Why would I have gone to all the trouble and expense of making a fake ring?

“Because I thought it would be nice to have two,” I venture feebly after a pause.

Oh God. No. Bad. I should have said, “For travel.”

“You wanted two rings?” Wanda seems almost speechless.

“Well, I hope that desire won’t apply to your husband as well as your engagement ring!” Antony says, with heavy humor. “Eh, Magnus?”