Having spent a long afternoon upstairs in the studio, working on a canvas commissioned by a wealthy factory owner—‘Summat blue and green, lad, to hang in t’boardroom’—Caspar was cleaning brushes over the sink.
As Claudia switched the kettle on, the phone rang.
‘Oh hi,’ said Babette’s voice. ‘Is Caspar with you?’
‘Hang on, he’s covered in paint. I’ll have to put the phone to his ear.’
‘Don’t worry, I just called to remind him about tonight.’ Babette sounded cheerful. ‘We’re off to a bash at the Wellington Gallery. Tell him I’ve got his jacket back from the cleaners, I’ve booked the cab for eight thirty, and if he’s hungry there’s a dozen oysters sitting here waiting for him.’
‘Heavens, you know what they say about oysters.’
‘Yes, well, the cab can always wait.’ Babette was laughing. ‘Damn, there goes my other phone. Blow him a kiss from me, okay? Tell him to hurry home. Byeee.’
Caspar nodded when Claudia relayed the message, and carried on cleaning his brushes.
‘She won’t keep the cab waiting. Babette’s never been late for anything in her life.’
Claudia, who liked Babette, said, ‘She’s exactly right for you. The perfect wife. I can’t imagine what you’ve done to deserve her.’
He grinned. ‘Maybe I’m a perfect husband.’
‘Are you?’ Daringly, overcome with curiosity, Claudia said, ‘Are you faithful?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I am.’
When Caspar had finished cleaning himself up with another spirit-soaked rag, she passed him his coffee. Across the hall, the clock struck six.
‘Poppy should be home by now.’
‘Been and gone,’ said Caspar.
‘Really? Where?’
He looked out of the kitchen window at next door’s cat launching itself at a starling.
‘For a walk, she said.’
‘A what?’ Claudia was incredulous. ‘Poppy doesn’t go for walks.’
Caspar shrugged. It had happened the last three or four times he had come to the house. Poppy had made some bizarre excuse or other and promptly disappeared.
‘Looks like she does now.’
Claudia watched him drink his coffee. When she sipped hers, she almost gagged.
‘This has got sugar in it! You’ve got mine. Here—’ she swapped mugs, gazing at him in disbelief—‘didn’t you even notice?’
But Caspar, clearly distracted, only shook his head. Something was on his mind.
Claudia wondered if Poppy had been making a nuisance of herself.
‘She’s been a bit odd lately,’ she ventured. ‘Had you noticed?’
Caspar was trailing his forefinger through a pile of sugar he had spilled earlier on the worktop. He drew an unsmiley face.
‘Not really. Well… maybe a bit.’
He was being evasive. More than likely, Claudia decided, he was playing the situation down in order to protect Poppy. In the past they had always got on so well.
But Caspar was married now. There was Babette to think of.
Claudia had promised Jake she wouldn’t tell anyone what he had told her, but what he’d really meant was don’t embarrass Poppy by blabbing to all their friends. Surely, she thought, it was only fair to put Caspar in the picture, to give him some warning. Then if Poppy did do anything stupid—like fling herself at him—he’d be able to handle it. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard. Better still, aware of the potential awkwardness of such a situation, he could make sure it didn’t have a chance to happen in the first place.
‘Actually, there’s something I think you should know about Poppy.’
Caspar’s jaw tightened. When Claudia put on her compassionate face, the news had to be bad.
All of a sudden he knew what she was going to say. In an odd way, he realized, he had been dreading this moment for weeks.
‘Don’t tell me. She’s pregnant.’
Claudia almost dropped her coffee mug. The pain and guilt in Caspar’s eyes was unmistakable. He wasn’t asking, he was telling her.
‘What? You mean she’s having your baby?’ She gasped and covered her mouth. ‘Oh Caspar, how could you? Poor Babette…’
He frowned. ‘Hang on a sec, it’s not mine. I thought you meant she was having Tom’s baby.’
Bewildered, Claudia said, ‘But I didn’t even know she was pregnant.’
‘In that case,’ Caspar heaved a sigh of relief, ‘she probably isn’t.’ His eyes narrowing, he looked at Claudia. ‘But why on earth did you think it was mine?’
‘I d-didn’t really.’ Stammering, she tried to explain. ‘It… it just kind of tied in with what I was about to tell you. The thing is, Jake told me and I thought you should know… but then I thought maybe you knew already…’
‘If I wanted a cryptic crossword, I’d buy the Telegraph. Get to the point.’
Claudia took a deep breath.
‘Poppy’s got a thumping great crush on you. Actually, she told Jake she was in love with you, but you know how Poppy exaggerates. Anyway,’ she chided, ‘it’s probably your own fault. You know what you’re like—half the time you flirt without even realizing you’re doing it. And Poppy’s vulnerable right now—she’s single again and probably panicking that she’ll never meet the right man. Look,’ Claudia went on, because Caspar seemed too shell-shocked to say anything, ‘I’m just saying watch yourself. The way Poppy’s feeling at the moment, you could end up getting pounced on. Don’t give her any encouragement, that’s all,’ she concluded kindly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to Poppy or Babette.’
The private viewing at the Wellington Gallery hadn’t gone well for the exhibiting artist, who only sold two paintings, but the evening had been a profitable one for Babette.
‘Networking, that’s what it’s all about,’ she told Caspar in the cab as they made their way home. She flipped through her Filofax, happily pointing out the names and numbers of influential contacts she had made during the course of the evening. ‘Damn, I’m good! Play my cards right and I’ve got myself another fifty grand’s worth of business here. Are you okay, darling? You’ve been quiet. Come on, cheer up. Play your cards right and you could make love tonight to a future Businesswoman of the Year.’
Caspar shook his head.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. It’s over.’ Reluctantly, he closed the bulging Filofax and took her hand in his. ‘It’s been fun, we’ve had a great time. But I’m moving out tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ For a second Babette looked as if she was about to cry. ‘Oh, right. Okay.’
‘I know this is all rather sudden. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. I just have to go.’
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
‘Where?’
‘Home,’ said Caspar.
‘To…?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Well, hopefully.’ Gazing out through the window at the wet street, he realized the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
‘Oh well, here’s to the good times.’ Recovering herself, Babette reached up and planted a kiss on his cheek. She even managed a smile. ‘After all, we had fourteen good weeks together.’ Wryly she added, ‘And you did say it wouldn’t last.’