Furious wasn’t the word. Caspar, enjoying every moment and making only a token effort not to show it, lay across the sofa with his feet up pretending to watch The Open University.
Poppy stood with her back to the bottle-strewn fireplace. Tom endlessly paced the room.
‘Can’t we at least have some privacy?’ he demanded, glaring at Caspar’s suntanned feet. The fact that they were propped up on the arm of the sofa seemed to annoy him more than anything else. ‘This is ridiculous. Does he have to be here?’
‘I want him to stay. I’m not going to change my mind,’ said Poppy. ‘You shouldn’t have come. I told you not to.’
‘Shouldn’t have come?’ Tom stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you mad? You left me a note, Poppy. I woke up this morning and found a fucking note, telling me it was all over. Did you seriously expect me to leave it at that?’
‘Well, yes.’ Poppy deliberately didn’t look at Caspar, who was half-killing himself trying to keep a straight face. ‘It was what you did, to Jan, after you met me. The only difference is you did it on the phone. I heard you, remember?’
‘That was different,’ he shouted. ‘That was only Jan. We weren’t even living together.’
Poppy stood her ground. ‘Neither were we. Two and a half hours doesn’t count.’
‘But we were going to get married,’ Tom raged, unable to understand why he wasn’t getting through to her. ‘This is ridiculous. Poppy, you can’t do it.’
‘I can. I have. It wouldn’t work,’ she told him simply. ‘I’m staying here.’
Tom’s black eyes blazed.
‘Who put you up to this?’ Furiously he jabbed a finger in Caspar’s direction. ‘Him? What happened when you were making that exhibition of yourself on the doorstep last night—did he make you a better offer?’
‘Now you’re just being stupid,’ Poppy wailed. ‘I told you before, there’s nothing going on between Caspar and me. He’s married.’
Caspar, gazing steadily at a sociologist in bell-bottoms being witty on the TV screen, thought, So I am; I nearly forgot.
‘Oh my God,’ shouted Claudia, jerking awake and clapping her hands over her ears as an alarm clock three inches away from her head exploded into life. ‘Turn that thing OFF!’
‘Sorry.’ Leaning across, Jake silenced the terrible jangling. He hadn’t even been asleep. For the past hour he had been watching Claudia beside him, reminding himself that last night really had happened, and wondering if it was humanly possible to be happier than this.
She groaned aloud and squinted at the clock.
‘It’s eight o’clock. On a Sunday.’
‘There’s a flea market in Hertfordshire.’
‘Flea market…’
The look of undiluted horror on Claudia’s face brought Jake out in goose bumps.
‘I won’t go. It’s just what I normally do on Sundays. I set the alarm yesterday, before the party. Before… oh hell,’ he shook his head in resignation, ‘this is a good start.’
Claudia lay back against her tartan pillow, overcome with remorse. I’m so used to feeling miserable, she realized, I’ve forgotten I don’t need to be anymore.
‘My fault. I’m a terrible grouch.’ Her fingers brushed Jake’s bare shoulder, cold to the touch because, in her sleep, she’d managed to hog most of the duvet. How typical of him, she thought with a rush of love, not to have grabbed it back.
By the time Jake had finished making the coffee and carried it upstairs, the bed was empty and the shower was going full pelt next door. When Claudia emerged ten minutes later she was fully dressed.
Having rather hoped for a repeat performance of last night, his face fell.
‘You’re going?’
‘Not unless you want me to.’
‘I don’t want you to.’
Claudia took one of the mugs from him. Crossing the room, she drew back the faded blue curtains. Sunlight poured in. ‘It’s morning. Sure you still respect me?’
Jake said quietly, desperately, ‘I love you.’
‘Oh Jake.’ Claudia bit her lower lip, willing herself this time to say the right thing. ‘If you truly mean it, then I love you too. But you’ll have to be patient. I’m not used to being happy and I’m not used to being nice. I’m especially not used to men being nice to me—’
Clumsily, since they were both still holding brimming mugs of coffee, Jake kissed her. He felt Claudia’s mouth begin to tremble against his own.
‘Come on. You aren’t going anywhere.’ With his free hand he began unbuttoning her navy cashmere cardigan. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’
Claudia wanted to, like anything, but the urge to start being nice—to show Jake she could be if she really tried—was overwhelming.
‘No.’ She pulled away, wincing as hot coffee slopped over the back of her hand. ‘I want you to take me to a flea market.’
Jake, who would a million times rather have stayed in bed, said, ‘But—’
‘I mean it. Get dressed,’ Claudia told him firmly. ‘We’re going to Hertfordshire.’
‘Well well, it just goes to show the quiet ones are always the worst.’ Angie, phoning up for a post-party gossip, sounded amused. ‘We did wonder what had happened to you after that thrilling punch-up. And what a very Clint Eastwoody thing to do! Who’d have thought dear old Jake had it in him?’
‘Mum—’
‘And how wildly romantic, darling! What did he do, carry you off into the sunset on his white Vespa?’
‘Don’t you dare make fun of Jake,’ said Claudia, her knuckles turning pale around the receiver. ‘I mean it, don’t start. I love him and he loves me. I’m happy. Just this once, don’t try and ruin everything, okay?’
‘Sweetheart, as if I would!’ Angie sounded contrite. ‘Baby girl, I want you to be happy. Daddy and I were discussing it at the party, in fact—saying wouldn’t it be wonderful to see you off that lonely, dusty old shelf.’
Pride mingled with recklessness.
‘Yes, well, maybe I’m off it now.’
Claudia had to hold the phone away from her ear. For a small woman, Angie had a loud laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Oh sweetheart, have a bit of fun with Jake by all means. But you can’t seriously want to spend the rest of your life with him!’
‘Why not?’ Claudia countered hotly. It was what she wanted more than anything.
‘Darling, darling.’ At the other end of the line Angie was still gurgling merrily away. ‘Jake’s a nice enough lad, bless him. But let’s face it, he’s hardly going to set the world alight. He’s not exactly a thrill-a-minute merchant, is he?’
‘For God’s sake, I don’t want—’
‘Listen to me, Claudia, I’m your mother. I know you and I know the kind of man you need. A risk taker! Someone to make your pulse race! Someone,’ Angie declared passionately, ‘who rides a Harley Davidson, not a Vespa.’
Claudia howled, ‘Jake doesn’t have a Vespa!’
‘I know he doesn’t. I talked to him on Saturday night, remember?’ Her mother’s tone was cutting. ‘He drives a van.’
Claudia was still boiling with rage when Jake and Poppy arrived at the house an hour later. Jake, who had given Poppy a lift home from work, was looking forward to taking Claudia out to a popular new Italian restaurant in Fulham. Now, to his dismay, Claudia was insisting she was too wound up to eat.
‘You can share my Welsh rarebit,’ said Poppy, who knew Jake was ravenous. She offered him the least burnt slice, which he wolfed down in seconds. Generously—because she was hungry too—she gave him the rest.
‘My mother is the bitch of bitches,’ Claudia seethed.
Poppy tore open a packet of chocolate biscuits and emptied them onto a plate.
‘Yes, but what exactly did she say?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not? Was it something awful about me?’
‘No.’
Jake finished the last of the incinerated Welsh rarebit and reached for a biscuit.
‘I expect it was about me.’
Claudia didn’t deny it, so he knew he was right. He shrugged and helped himself to another biscuit.
‘Don’t let her get to you. It doesn’t bother me.’
‘She just doesn’t want me to be happy. She always has to stick her oar in.’
If Jake wasn’t bothered, Poppy didn’t see why they couldn’t all know what Angie had said to upset Claudia so much.
‘Go on, you may as well tell us,’ she wheedled. ‘What did she say?’
It was a relief to blurt it out.
‘That Jake isn’t very exciting.’
Jake looked amused. ‘I’m not very exciting. I already know that.’
‘She said what I needed was a man to make my pulse race. Someone who takes risks. A red-hot chili pepper,’ Claudia recited bitterly, ‘not a wet lettuce.’
Jake rather wished he hadn’t asked now. He pretended not to mind.
Across the table, Poppy sensed his discomfort. Rushing to his defense she declared, ‘Chili peppers make my eyes water and my nose run. And some lettuces are great. You could be a cool iceberg, Jake. Or a drop-dead trendy lollo rosso.’
But Poppy was trying too hard to help. Jake wondered if maybe Claudia was upset because there was an element of truth in what Angie had said.
‘Is that what you want?’ he said quietly. ‘A risk taker? Someone who’d make your pulse race?’
‘No thanks. My mother has spent her life making my pulse race.’
Claudia stared hard out of the window. She loved Jake, she really did, but Angie’s cutting remarks had unsettled her. Outside, it was raining. A sleek, dark green Lotus shot up the street, the driver tooting his horn in appreciation as he passed a pretty girl in a miniskirt. Across the road, parked beneath dripping plane trees, stood Jake’s rusty old van with Landers’ Antiques stenciled across the side.
‘How about some ice cream?’ suggested Poppy brightly. ‘I’ve got Chunky Monkey or New York Fudge Crunch.’
‘Vanilla?’ asked Jake.
‘That’s so boring! Come on, live a little.’
Abruptly Claudia turned away from the window.
‘We’d better get a move on. Our table’s booked for seven thirty.’
‘You said you didn’t want to eat.’ Jake looked startled.
‘I changed my mind. I do now.’
‘But I’ve just…’ He gestured towards the empty plates littering the table. Between them, he and Poppy had finished the whole plate of biscuits. ‘I’m not hungry anymore.’
‘Oh I don’t believe this!’ shouted Claudia. ‘You are so selfish. All that money of yours and you won’t even take me out for a lousy pizza.’
Poppy stared at her.
‘Claudia, you said you couldn’t eat a thing. You can’t blame—’
‘It’s okay,’ Jake cut in, ‘we’ll go.’ He knew why Claudia was so on edge. He just wished she wouldn’t drag his money into every argument they ever had.
‘Mind your tights, by the way, on the passenger seat,’ Poppy called out as they left the house. ‘There’s a hole in the plastic with a spring sticking out.’
Claudia, who was wearing a cream linen dress and Donna Karan opaque stockings, said, ‘Your van is the pits. Why don’t you buy something decent?’
‘I am. I’ve ordered a brand new one.’ Jake looked pleased with himself.
‘I didn’t mean another van. Why can’t you get a Mercedes? Or… or a Lotus?’ she demanded fretfully. ‘You can afford it.’