Lucinda lives in Battersea. Twenty minutes away by taxi. I’m not going to give her time to get her story straight. I’m going to take her by surprise.
I hail a cab and give her address, then sit back, trying to stay calm and steely, even though the more I think about this, the more flabbergasted I feel. Lucinda took my ring. Does that mean she’s a thief ? Did she make a copy and keep the real one and sell it? I glance at my left hand, suddenly doubtful. Am I so sure this is the real thing?
Or was she somehow meaning to be helpful? Did she forget she had it? Should I give her the benefit of the doubt—
No, Poppy. No chance.
As I arrive at her red-brick-mansion block, a guy in jeans is opening the main front door. I quickly dodge in behind him and head up the three flights of stairs to Lucinda’s flat. This way she’ll get absolutely no warning that I’m here.
Maybe she’ll open the door wearing the real ring, plus all the other jewelry she’s stolen from unsuspecting friends. Maybe no one will answer, because she’s actually in Bruges. Maybe Magnus will open the door dressed in a bedsheet—
Oh God. Stop it, Poppy.
I rap on the door, trying to sound like a delivery guy. It must have worked, because she swings the door open, her face creased in annoyance, her phone to her ear, before stopping dead, her mouth in an O.
I stare back, equally wordless. My eyes flick past Lucinda, to the huge suitcase in the hall, then to the passport in her hand, and then back to the suitcase.
“As soon as possible,” she says. “Terminal Four. Thanks.” She rings off and glares at me, as though daring me to ask what she’s doing.
I’m racking my brains for something inspired and caustic to say, but my inner five-year-old is quicker off the mark.
“You took my ring!” As the words burst out, I can feel my cheeks turning pink, to add to the effect. Maybe I should stamp my foot too.
“Oh for God’s sake.” Lucinda wrinkles her nose disparagingly, as though to accuse one’s wedding planner of theft is a total etiquette no-no. “You got it back, didn’t you?”
“But you took it!” I step inside her flat, even though she hasn’t invited me to, and can’t help glancing around. I’ve never been to Lucinda’s flat before. It’s quite grand and has clearly been interior-decorated, but it’s an absolute mess of cluttered surfaces and chairs, with wineglasses everywhere. No wonder she always wants to meet at hotels.
“Look, Poppy.” She sighs bad-temperedly. “I’ve got things to do, OK? If you’re going to come around and make offensive remarks, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Huh?
She’s the one who did something wrong. She’s the one who took a priceless engagement ring and pretended it was hers. How has she managed to leapfrog over that fact and make it look like I’m in the wrong for even mentioning it?
“Now, if that’s all, I am rather busy—”
“Stop right there.” The force of my own voice takes me by surprise. “That’s not all. I want to know exactly why you took my ring. Were you planning to sell it? Did you need the money?”
“No, I didn’t need the money.” She glares at me. “You want to know why I took it, Miss Poppy? It’s because it should have been mine. ”
“Yours? Wh—”
I can’t even finish the word, let alone the sentence.
“You know Magnus and I are old flames.” She throws the information out casually, like a swatch of material on a table.
“What? No! No one ever told me that! Were you engaged?”
My mind is juddering with shock. Magnus was with Lucinda? Magnus was engaged ? He never mentioned a previous fiancée, let alone that it was Lucinda. Why don’t I know any of this? What is going on ?
“No, we were never engaged,” she says reluctantly, then shoots me a murderous look. “But we should have been. He proposed to me. With that ring.”
I feel a clench of disbelieving pain. Magnus proposed to another girl with my ring ? With our ring ? I want to turn on my heel and leave, escape, block my ears … but I can’t. I have to get to the bottom of all this. Nothing seems to make sense.
“I don’t understand. I don’t get it. You said you should have been engaged. What happened?”
“He bottled it, is what happened,” she says furiously. “The bloody coward.”
“Oh God. At what stage? Had you planned the wedding? He didn’t jilt you, did he?” I say in sudden horror. “He didn’t leave you standing at the altar?”
Lucinda has closed her eyes as though reliving it. Now she opens them and gives me a vicious glare.
“ Far worse. He chickened out halfway through the bloody proposal.”
“What?” I peer at her, not quite understanding. “What do you—”
“We were on a skiing holiday, two years ago.” Her brow tightens in memory. “I wasn’t stupid, I knew he’d brought the family ring. I knew he was going to propose. So we’d had dinner one night, and it was just us in the chalet. The fire was going, and he knelt down on the rug and brought out this little box. He opened it up, and there was this amazing vintage emerald ring.”
Lucinda pauses, breathing hard. I don’t move a muscle.
“He took hold of my hand, and he said, ‘Lucinda, my darling, will you … ’ ” She inhales sharply, as though she can hardly bear to carry on. “And I was going to say yes! I was all poised! I was only waiting for him to get to the end. But then he stopped. He started sweating. And then he stood up and said, ‘Bugger. Sorry. I can’t do this. Sorry, Lucinda.’ ”