‘Come on, get up,’ Caspar announced, throwing back the duvet. ‘Things to do, places to go. You can’t spend all morning in bed.’
Poppy winced and tried to curl herself into a ball. ‘It’s my day off.’
‘And we’re going out.’
‘Somewhere nice?’ Cautiously she opened an eye. Caspar had showered already and left it running for her. She watched him throw on a crumpled white rugby shirt and jeans.
‘Somewhere extremely nice.’ Hauling Poppy out of bed, he pointed her in the direction of the bathroom. ‘The electricity showrooms. We need a dishwasher.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Claudia doesn’t live here anymore.’ He threw a pair of Poppy’s leggings after her. ‘Hurry up.’
Outside the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky. They made their way towards the shops on foot.
‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this,’ grumbled Poppy, glad of her sunglasses. ‘Not on my day off. Talk about domesticated.’
They were passing a delicatessen. Caspar glanced at their reflections in the window. Poppy’s still-damp hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, tied with a red scarf that was already coming undone. She was wearing RayBans, a cropped red tee-shirt, white leggings, and gold sandals.
‘You don’t look domesticated. Cheer up—’ he gave her waist a squeeze—‘think of all the washing-up we won’t have to do. You’ll be able to spend more time in bed.’
‘Only if you’re there too.’ Reluctantly, because she was still supposed to be cross with him, Poppy broke into a grin. Sex with Caspar had been a total revelation; she couldn’t imagine ever tiring of it. He had made her life idyllic.
How long did it take to choose a silly dishwasher anyway? Poppy brightened at the prospect of enticing Caspar back into bed. They could be home in less than an hour.
Recognizing the glint in her eye, Caspar said, ‘You are disgraceful. A shameless hussy.’
‘I’m a happy hussy.’ Reaching up, she kissed him. ‘You’re not bad, you know. Even if your idea of a romantic day out is a trip to the electricity showrooms.’
‘Actually, I thought we might visit B & Q afterwards.’ Caspar sounded amused. ‘Take a look at kitchen units.’
‘That would be too much excitement for one day.’
‘I know how to give a girl a good time.’
‘Come home with me,’ said Poppy, ‘and I’ll show you a better one.’
As they began to cross the road she spotted a familiar figure, a vision in billowing violet chiffon, hurrying up a broad flight of steps leading into an official-looking building.
‘Look, it’s Rita! Wearing a hat,’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that the Register Office? She must be going to someone’s wedding.’
‘Must be.’
‘But that’s weird. I asked her if she wanted to meet me for lunch today and she said she was visiting a friend in Kent.’
As she gazed over the tops of cars, Poppy’s bewilderment grew. Rita reemerged from the building, hanging onto her flower-strewn, Queen-of-Ascot hat with one hand and lighting a cigarette with the other. Behind her, clutching a suitcase, was… of all people… Claudia.
‘Hang on, what’s happening?’ Astonished, Poppy pulled off her sunglasses. Now Jake had joined the small group at the top of the steps. And, looking intensely glamorous in a dove-grey morning suit, Hugo Slade-Welch.
She turned to Caspar. ‘Is something going on that I don’t know about? Is… is Rita marrying Hugo?’
‘No. You’re marrying me.’
‘I’m what?’
They were still halfway across the road. Caspar steered Poppy safely onto the pavement. Fishing in his shirt pocket, he pulled out the heavy, diamond-encrusted gypsy ring she had last seen on that eventful afternoon on Jake’s stall. The one she had thought he was buying for Babette. The one Jake had later told her he’d sold to an Australian tourist.
‘Well, I’d like you to.’ Caspar waved the ring at her. ‘It rather depends on you saying yes.’
Shakily Poppy said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so.’
‘You mean, you—you planned all this?’
‘It helps,’ said Caspar, ‘if you want the guests to turn up.’
‘My God, I can’t believe it. But—my hair!’ she wailed, clutching her head. ‘And my clothes… whatever made you do it like this? Why did it have to be a surprise?’
‘Look.’ Caspar turned her to face him. ‘With your track record, I thought it was the only way. Every time someone wants to marry you, you do your party trick and run a mile. Sometimes a hundred miles,’ he added dryly. ‘I didn’t want you pulling that one on me.’
‘But I wouldn’t!’ Poppy stared at him, amazed he could even think such a thing. ‘It’s different this time. I love you.’
‘Yes, well. I wasn’t prepared to risk it. This way, you don’t have a chance to get cold feet. Everyone’s here already, waiting for us. In half an hour it’ll be done.’ Caspar took her trembling hands in his. ‘That is, if you want to.’
Poppy frowned. ‘You haven’t asked me yet.’
He half-smiled, inwardly far less confident than he appeared. He just wished she would put him out of his agony and say yes.
‘Sorry. Will you marry me?’
‘On one knee.’
‘Come on, not here.’
‘Yes here.’
Caspar looked appalled.
‘In the street?’
‘Not in the actual road,’ Poppy said generously, ‘in case you get run over by a bus. You can do it on the pavement.’
Passers-by were beginning to take notice. An ear-splitting, four-fingered whistle rang out from the top of the Register Office steps. Rita yelled, ‘Blimey, you two, are you getting hitched or what?’
‘Hurry up,’ shouted Claudia, holding up the suitcase. ‘I’ve got your clothes in here. You can change in the loo.’
Further up the road the traffic lights had turned red. Cars, cabs, and a couple of double-deckers ground to a halt. Interested faces peered down at Caspar as he sank to one knee.
‘Say you’ll marry me,’ he hissed. ‘Quickly.’
Poppy thought her heart would explode with joy. She flung out her arms and kissed him. Between kisses she said breathlessly, ‘Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you.’ Car horns tooted all around them as Caspar stood up, hugely relieved that ordeal was out of the way. The passengers on the nearest bus applauded.
‘You look great.’
Rita, crammed into the loo behind Poppy, was handing over eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick like an efficient nurse in an operating theatre. Except efficient nurses in operating theatres didn’t pass sterile instruments with cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths.
Poppy finished her make-up with sixty seconds to spare. She fiddled with a few tendrils of hair and hastily checked her overall reflection in the mirror.
‘I’m getting married. I’m actually getting married.’ As she spoke, a horrible thought struck her. ‘Oh help, where are we going after this? The house is a complete tip—’
‘Don’t panic, that’s all sorted. Everyone back to my place.’
Poppy was touched. ‘Oh Rita, you are brilliant. What would I do without you?’
‘Silly girl. D’you think Alex would have wanted your wedding reception held anywhere else?’ Rita hugged her. ‘Oh Lord, don’t you dare cry…’
‘I wish he was here.’ Poppy grabbed a handful of loo roll and dabbed her brimming eyes.
‘I know, love. So do I. Now come on, we’ve got a wedding to go to. Anyway,’ Rita announced, to distract her, ‘there’s another little surprise for you when we get home.’
Poppy didn’t know if she could cope with anymore surprises.
‘What?’
‘I’ve got Kenda’s Kitchen doing the food.’ Rita’s grin was mischievous. ‘For old times’ sake.’