Tom emerged from the shower drying his dark hair with a towel. He came up behind Poppy, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed doing her eyes with the help of a shaving mirror.
‘You look gorgeous. Take that dress off.’
It was Poppy’s favorite dress, one of her charity shop bargain buys from Help The Aged. When Caspar had first seen her in it he had whistled and said, ‘Help The Aged on their way to a heart attack, more like.’
She grinned at Tom’s reflection in the mirror.
‘No time for that now. We’re supposed to be meeting your friends at eight.’
‘Dress,’ murmured Tom, unzipping it in one smooth movement, ‘off.’
‘Oh God, we’ll be horribly late.’
But instead of ravishing her body, Tom was pulling a carrier bag out of the wardrobe.
‘Surprise.’
Poppy realized he wanted her undressed for quite a different reason. He wanted her out of her short white strapless number with the flirty hem and into a far more elegant affair in navy blue crêpe, with a high neckline and below-the-elbow sleeves. It was calf-length, clearly expensive and extremely grown-up.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, touched by the trouble he had taken. If you didn’t count the Motorhead tee-shirt Rob had once given her for Christmas, no man had ever bought her clothes before. ‘Um… do you think it’s quite me?’
‘This one’s nice,’ Tom picked up the white dress, then pointed to the navy one Poppy was wriggling into, ‘but that one’s better.’ His dark eyes softened as she zipped herself into it. ‘There, see the difference.’
Poppy saw. She looked positively nun-like.
‘Don’t you like it?’ He sounded concerned.
Hastily she looked ecstatic.
‘Oh yes, yes! It’s just the length. I’m not used to… well, so much material.’ She kissed him. ‘All my dresses are short. But this is… it’s brilliant.’
He smiled, reassured.
‘I prefer long. You’re mine, Poppy. I don’t want other men ogling your body.’
‘Sure you wouldn’t like me to sling on a yashmak?’
‘No, that’s okay. They can ogle your face.’ Tom looked amused. ‘I’d just rather keep the rest of you to myself.’
They were meeting his friends at a restaurant in Hampstead. Richard Mason worked with Tom, and his wife Anna stayed at home to look after their two children.
‘You’ll like them,’ Tom assured Poppy. ‘Better still, they’ll like you.’
As usual, he was right.
‘We’ve heard so much about you,’ Anna told Poppy when they were seated at their table. ‘We couldn’t believe it when we heard Tom had found you again. It’s just so romantic, like something out of a film. Not like Richard and me.’ She pulled an unromantic face. ‘All we did was get pissed and crash into each other one night in a pub.’
‘Ah, but we had a happy ending,’ Richard put in. ‘I made an honest woman of you, didn’t I? And now here we are, two kids and a gerbil later.’ He gave Anna’s hand a squeeze. ‘It might not be the stuff of film scripts but we’re a good team.’
When they had ordered from the menu Richard went on, ‘Anyway, talking of happy endings. How long before we can expect a bit of knot-tying from you two?’
‘Oh yes,’ Anna exclaimed with longing, ‘I could buy a new hat!’
Poppy gulped a lungful of wine and spluttered into her hand.
‘We’ve only known each other a month.’
‘Listen, when Tom met you last year he told me he knew in an instant you were The One for him. The other week he said This Is It, Together Forever and other such tosh.’ Richard, who played rugby and didn’t much go in for soulful declarations of love, mimed sticking his fingers down his throat. A nearby waiter looked alarmed. ‘I wouldn’t ask, only it’s going to be fun watching the secretaries in the office hold a communal wake.’
‘Stop it, you’re embarrassing Poppy,’ said Anna. She leaned across the table, bright-eyed. ‘He’s such a nosy bugger. Don’t tell him, okay? Tell me.’
‘Of course we’ll be getting married,’ said Tom. In his right hand he held his glass. Beneath the table his left hand stroked the inside of Poppy’s thigh. ‘But big weddings take time to organize. Besides, this is the twenty-first century. These days it’s compulsory to live together first.’
Poppy turned to stare at him. They had talked about it, of course, but only in a desultory fashion. No definite decisions had been reached.
‘You mean…?’
‘As Richard says,’ Tom grinned, ‘why wait? It’s what we both want.’
‘Fab!’ Anna clapped her hands. ‘Can we order champagne?’
‘You really want me to move into your flat?’ Poppy was thrilled but nervous. ‘Are you sure? I’ll turn it into a terrible heap.’
Tom started to laugh. ‘No you won’t. It’s just a matter of getting you house-trained. Anyway, once you give up work, you’ll have more time to clear up after yourself.’
Richard was busy ordering two bottles of Bollinger. At the same time, their food arrived.
‘Give up work?’ echoed Poppy. This was definitely news to her. ‘What, and be like a… a housewife?’
‘Why not?’ Tom’s fingers were still caressing her leg. He looked pleased with himself. ‘I can afford to support both of us. Darling, you don’t need to work.’
‘She’s in shock,’ said Anna. ‘Poppy, don’t look like that… you’ll love it! Take it from me, not having to go out to work is the best thing ever.’
Stunned, Poppy glugged down more wine. This wasn’t something she had ever considered. Surely, giving up work was what you did once you had children.
‘I’m not pregnant,’ she blurted out, in case Tom thought she was.
‘Give me a chance.’ His dark eyes regarded her with affection. ‘It’s only been a month.’
‘Think about it,’ Anna went on enthusiastically, ‘you’ll be a lady of leisure! No beastly early mornings battling through the rain, getting crushed to a pulp on the tube, never having enough time to do lovely things like shopping for clothes because you’ve got to work instead. I used to be a nurse.’ She pulled a face. ‘The sister in charge of our ward was a right cow. I tell you, chucking in my job was the best move I ever made.’
The conversation moved on to Bastard Bosses each of them had been forced to work for over the years. Since Jake wasn’t a bastard, Poppy used the breathing space to turn Tom’s suggestion over in her mind. Okay, she liked her job, but maybe Anna had a point. To be unemployed and forced to survive on some miserable government check was depressing beyond belief, but giving up work knowing you were financially secure was surely the height of luxury. It was why people played the lotto, wasn’t it? Instead of slaving your life away in some smelly office, you actually got to sit back and enjoy all those acres and acres of delicious free time.
I could go to the theatre, thought Poppy, who had never been to a theatre in her life. I could take long walks, go to coffee mornings, meet friends for lunch, join a health club like Princess Di did, have—what were they called? Oh yes, that was it—pedicures…
‘What are you thinking?’ Tom whispered, his mouth brushing her ear.
It was Poppy’s turn to squeeze his leg. He was so perfect for her; he knew her better than she knew herself.
‘Just how clever you are,’ she murmured back. ‘I think I could enjoy giving up work.’
‘I love you. I want to look after you.’
It was such a novelty. No one had ever said that to her before. Poppy felt dizzy with desire.
‘I love you too.’
It wasn’t exactly the surprise of the century but that didn’t mean Caspar had to like it.
‘I’m moving in with Tom,’ Poppy announced, almost bashfully. Her eyes were bright and there were spots of color high up on each cheekbone.
Tom, who was holding her hand, said easily, ‘You’ve had her long enough. My turn now.’
Haven’t had her at all, thought Caspar, hating the way Tom’s fingers stroked the inside of Poppy’s wrist almost as much as he hated the aura of blissful happiness surrounding them like ectoplasm.
‘First you and Babette,’ said Poppy, ‘now us. It must be catching!’
‘Yeah, well, that’s great.’ Caspar knew he didn’t sound as thrilled as he was supposed to sound. ‘When are you off? Straight away?’
‘Well, Tom’s having the bedroom redesigned. The decorators arrive tomorrow and they reckon it’ll take a week. So if it’s okay with you, I’ll move out next Saturday.’
Tom said, ‘It’ll be chaos until then.’
‘It’ll be chaos when I move in.’ Poppy grinned.
‘No it won’t. I told you, it’s simply a matter of getting you trained.’
Caspar tried to imagine the new, improved, fully house-trained Poppy Dunbar, the perfect Stepford Wife.
‘Are you okay? I know it’s not much notice,’ Poppy put in hurriedly, ‘but I can still pay the rent up to the end of the month.’
She was beginning to look hurt. Caspar pulled himself together.
‘Don’t be daft. Sorry. I was miles away.’ He broke into a smile. ‘Trying to figure out who we can invite to your leaving party.’
She brightened. ‘Oh, you don’t have to—’
‘’Course we do. Next Saturday. It’s about time we had another party anyway. It’ll be a bloody good bash.’
Poppy looked excited. ‘Can I invite everyone from the antiques market?’
‘Actually,’ said Tom, ‘I was planning something for next Saturday. Dinner with the head of our firm. Perhaps you could hold your party on the Friday?’
‘Afraid not,’ Caspar lied smoothly, for the hell of it. ‘I’m busy then. You’ll just have to put your boss off.’