Sophie Kinsella - I've Got Your Number

“No, I’ve spent far too long here already,” says Sam, absently glancing at his watch. “Can’t you just bike it round to Poppy?”

This seems to be the last straw for Martha. When I’ve given her my details and as we’re walking out, she suddenly exclaims, “Could I have a little word about care and upkeep, madam? Just very quickly?” She grabs my arm and pulls me back into the shop, her grip surprisingly strong. “In seven years of selling engagement rings, I’ve never done this before,” she whispers urgently into my ear. “I know he’s a friend of Mark. And I know he’s very handsome. But … are you sure ?”

As I eventually emerge onto the street, Sam is waiting for me, looking impatient.

“What was that about? Everything OK?”

“Yes! All fine!”

My face is scarlet and I just want to get out of here. As I glance back toward the shop, I can see Martha talking animatedly to the other girls in dove gray and gesticulating out the window toward Sam, a look of outrage on her face.

“What’s going on?” Sam frowns. “She didn’t try to sell you the expensive ring, did she? Because I’ll have a word with Mark—”

“No! Nothing like that.” I hesitate, almost too embarrassed to tell him.

“Then what?” Sam peers at me.

“She thought you were my fiancé and you were making me buy my own engagement ring,” I admit at last. “She told me not to marry you. She was very worried for me.”

I won’t go into Martha’s theory about generosity in the jewelry shop and generosity in bed and how they relate. 54

I can see the light slowly dawning on Sam’s face.

“Oh, that’s funny.” He bursts into laughter. “That’s very funny. Hey.” He hesitates. “You didn’t want me to pay for it, did you?”

“No, of course not!” I say, shocked. “Don’t be ridiculous! I just feel terrible that the whole shop thinks you’re a cheapskate, when you were actually doing me a massive favor. I’m really sorry.” I wince.

Sam looks baffled. “What does that matter? I don’t care what they think of me.”

“You must care a bit. ”

“Not one bit.”

I peer at him closely. His face is calm. I think he means it. He doesn’t care. How can you not care?

Magnus would care. He always flirts with shop assistants and tries to work out if they recognize him from TV. And one time, when his card was declined in our local supermarket, he made a point of going back in there the next day and telling them about how his bank completely cocked up the day before.

Oh well. Now I don’t feel quite so bad.

“I’m going to grab a Starbucks.” Sam starts heading off down the street. “Want one?”

“I’ll get them.” I hurry after him. “I owe you one. Big-time.”

I don’t have to be back at the clinic till after lunch, because I got Annalise to swap her morning off with mine. For a hefty bribe.

“You remember I mentioned a man called Sir Nicholas Murray,” Sam says as he swings the coffee shop door open. “He’s sending over a document. I’ve told him to use my own email address, but if by any chance he sends it your way by mistake, please let me know at once. ”

“OK. He’s quite famous, isn’t he?” I can’t resist adding. “Wasn’t he number eighteen in the world’s movers and shakers in 1985?”

I did some Googling last night, and I’m totally on top of the whole subject of Sam’s company. I know everything. I could go on Mastermind. I could do a PowerPoint presentation. In fact, I wish someone would ask me to do one! Facts I know about White Globe Consulting, in no particular order:

1. It was started in 1982 by Nicholas Murray and now it’s been bought out by some big multinational group.

2. Sir Nicholas is still the CEO. Apparently he can smooth a meeting’s atmosphere by just arriving and can stop a deal in its tracks with a single shake of the head. He always wears floral shirts. It’s his thing.

3. The finance director was a protégé of Sir Nicholas, but he’s recently left the company. His name is Ed Exton.

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4. Ed and Sir Nicholas’s friendship has disintegrated over the years, and Ed didn’t even attend the party when Sir Nicholas was knighted.

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5. They had this scandal recently when a guy called John Gregson made a politically incorrect joke at a lunch and had to resign.

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Some people thought it was unfair, but the new chairman of the board apparently has “zero tolerance for inappropriate behaviour.”

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6. Sir Nicholas is currently advising the prime minister on a new special “happiness and well-being’ committee, which all the newspapers have been rude about. One even described Sir Nicholas as past his prime and had a cartoon of him as a flower with straggly petals. (I won’t mention that to Sam.)

7. They won an award for their paper recycling program last year.

“Well done on the recycling, by the way,” I add, eager to display my knowledge. “I saw your statement that environmental responsibility is a fundamental linchpin for any company that aspires to excellence. So true. We recycle too.”

“What?” Sam seems taken aback, even suspicious. “How did you see that?”

“Google search. It’s not against the law!” I add, at his expression. “I was interested. Since I’m sending on emails all the time, I thought I’d find out a bit about your company.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Sam shoots me a dubious look. “Double tall cappuccino, please.”

“So, Sir Nicholas is advising the prime minister! That’s really cool!”

This time, Sam doesn’t even answer. Honestly. He’s not exactly a great ambassador.

“Have you been to Number Ten?” I persist. “What’s it like?”

“They’re waiting for your coffee order.” Sam gestures at the barista.

Obviously he’s going to give away absolutely nothing. Typical. You’d think he’d be pleased that I’m interested in what he does.

“Skinny latte for me.” I haul out my purse. “And a chocolate chip muffin. You want a muffin?”

“No, thanks.” Sam shakes his head.

“Probably for the best.” I nod wisely. “Since you refuse to go to the dentist.”

Sam gives me a blank look, which could mean, “Don’t go there,’ or “I’m not listening,’ or, again, “What do you mean, the dentist?”

I’m beginning to learn how he works. It’s like he has an on switch and an off switch. And he only flips the on switch when he can be bothered.

I click on my browser, search for another revolting picture of manky teeth, and forward it to him silently.

“This Savoy reception, by the way,” I say as we go to pick up our drinks. “You need to send your acceptance.”

“Oh, I’m not going to that,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

“Why not?” I stare at him.

“I have no particular reason to.” He shrugs. “And it’s a heavy week for social events.”

I don’t believe this. How can he not want to go to the Savoy? God, it’s all right for top businessmen, isn’t it? Free champagne, yawn, yawn. Goody bags, yet another party, yawn, how tedious and dull.

“Well, you should let them know, then.” I barely hide my disapproval. “In fact, I’ll do it right now. Dear Blue, Thanks so much for the invitation, ” I read aloud as I type. “ Unfortunately, Sam will be unable to attend on this occasion. Best wishes, Poppy Wyatt. ”

“You don’t have to do that.” Sam is staring at me, bemused. “One of the PAs at the office is helping me out now. Girl called Jane Ellis. She can do that.”

Yes, but will she do it? I want to retort. I’m aware of this Jane Ellis, who has started making an occasional appearance in Sam’s in-box. But her real job is working for Sam’s colleague Malcolm. I’m sure the last thing she wants to be doing is wrangling Sam’s schedule on top of her usual workload.