by Jill Mansell
‘It must be dreadful,’ Jake had said earlier in his gentle, not-quite-serious fashion. ‘She’s bad enough to work with. Actually living in the same house must be hell.’
Now, returning from the loo, she saw that one of Caspar’s friends had joined their party.
‘…and don’t expect any sympathy from Claudia,’ Jake was saying, ‘she’s on my side.’
This time the look he gave her was almost proprietorial. Claudia experienced a warm glow in her stomach. She liked being on the same side as Jake.
‘This is terrible,’ complained Poppy, ‘I’m being ganged up on. Thanks, Jake, I wish I’d never invited you now.’
Claudia was glad she had. In her excitement, she downed her drink in one go. Goodness, it was warm in here. If she pretended to sway a bit in the heat she could brush her bare arm against Jake’s woolly-sweatered one. Juvenile but exciting. Thank heavens he’d taken off his windbreaker.
‘More drinks?’ Jake said hurriedly. ‘Same again all round? And, er, maybe we should take a look at the pictures. It’s why we’re here, after all.’
Kate was hailed by someone she knew. Poppy and Claudia trooped obediently across to the nearest wall to inspect a garish yellow and pink abstract by one of the other showcased artists. It was eight feet square and eye-bogglingly intricate. The title was ‘Knitting; the dropped stitch.’
‘Good job my granny’s dead,’ said Poppy, ‘she’d have had something to say about that.’ She peered over the shoulder of the Japanese man in front of her, studying the price list on his brochure. ‘Fourteen thousand pounds, good grief.’
‘Don’t,’ Claudia hissed. ‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘Damn right it’s embarrassing. Fourteen grand for that! I’d far rather have a Caspar French,’ Poppy went on, ‘in fact I’m going to ask Harry to buy me two. I overheard one of the New York dealers just now saying they’re the hottest investment since De Kooning.’
The Japanese buyer’s ears twitched. Seconds later he moved off.
‘You don’t for one moment think he believed you,’ sneered Claudia. ‘Honestly, that is so juvenile.’
Poppy was stung. She’d thought it was a brilliant ploy.
‘It might work. If I heard someone saying something like that, I’d believe them.’
‘Yes, well. You’re gullible. Most people have more sense.’
‘Thanks.’
Poppy gritted her teeth. If Claudia was going to start harping on about being gullible, she might be forced to remind her who had just forked out three hundred and something pounds for a copy of a chain-store dress.
But this time, for once, Claudia backed down.
‘Okay, I’m sorry.’ She shook her head to show Poppy she meant it. This was Caspar’s exhibition and it mustn’t be spoiled. Besides, she was bursting to bombard Poppy with a million questions about Jake.
The apology had made Poppy instantly suspicious. She moved along and began studying another of the bizarre abstracts. This one, turquoise and grey, bore the title ‘A Kiss in a Tree’.
‘Anyway, you were right,’ Claudia ventured, eager to clear the air. ‘Caspar’s stuff is tons better than this rubbish.’
A very tall, bearded man with hooded grey eyes gave her an angry stare.
‘That’s the artist,’ murmured Poppy.
‘Shit.’
‘Only joking.’
Poppy grinned. Claudia suppressed the urge to throttle her. Instead, in casual tones she said, ‘Jake’s quite nice, isn’t he?’
‘Who, you mean Jake my boss? Trainspotter Jake?’
Claudia looked flustered. ‘It was only the windbreaker. Well, and the trousers. What I mean is, he’s better than you expect… once you actually get to know him.’
Poppy looked amused.
‘I’m sure he’ll be flattered to hear it.’
‘I can’t remember,’ Claudia blurted out in desperation, ‘if you said he was married or living with someone.’
‘Now this,’ said Poppy, ‘is what I call interesting. Don’t tell me you’re keen on Jake.’
Why did she have to look so… so gleeful? Affronted, Claudia lifted her chin.
‘I’m only asking. Why shouldn’t I? He’s obviously keen on me.’
Poppy grinned. ‘No he isn’t.’
‘Yes he is.’
‘Claudia, I promise you. He isn’t.’
‘You don’t know that.’ God, Poppy could be a cow sometimes. ‘What are you, some kind of world authority on The Kind of Girls Men Go For?’
‘Calm down, calm down.’ Poppy made soothing gestures with her hands. ‘You’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
If I could get hold of the right end, Claudia thought vengefully, I’d hit you with it.
‘Look,’ Poppy continued, ‘what I meant was, Jake doesn’t go for any kind of girl. He’s gay.’
Claudia was stunned. ‘Gay? Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. He keeps pretty quiet about it, but he definitely is,’ Poppy explained in businesslike fashion. ‘That’s why there’s no point trying to chat him up. So you see, I wasn’t being bitchy when I said he wouldn’t be interested in you, I was just being honest.’ Unaware that Jake was back from the bar and standing right behind her, she went on: ‘I know it’s sad but what can you do? Jake’s as bent as a nine bob note. Actually I think he may be a transvestite too—’
‘RIGHT,’ Jake hissed into her ear, ‘that is ENOUGH. What in heaven’s name do you think you are PLAYING AT?’
Poppy jumped a mile. The voice was so filled with fury she barely recognized it. When she turned and saw the look in Jake’s eyes she felt herself go white. She had never seen him so mad before. She wouldn’t have believed him capable of such blood-curdling fury.
‘Oh Jake, I’m sorry… I know it isn’t something you make a song and dance about’—help, more visions of Shirley Bassey—‘but I just thought it would be easier to explain to Claudia why she shouldn’t… um, why you… er, wouldn’t…’
Jake looked ready to explode. Poppy gave up trying to explain. Cringing, she edged a few inches backwards. What a good job they were surrounded by people so Jake couldn’t bellow at her.
‘I-do-not-believe-this.’ He wasn’t bellowing. The words were spat out through gritted teeth, which was bad enough. ‘Let’s get one thing settled right now. I am not gay. I never have been gay and I never will be gay.’ His dark eyes, like twin coals, bored through his spectacles and directly into Poppy’s brain. ‘And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t wear women’s clothes either.’
‘Oh,’ said Poppy in a small voice. ‘Jake, I’m sorry. My mistake.’
‘You see, this is exactly what she’s like,’ Claudia told Jake with an air of triumph. ‘She says things without thinking, just comes out with these ridiculous statements—’
‘I didn’t say it without thinking’—Poppy was indignant—‘I just thought the wrong thing in the first place.’
Jake had begun to calm down. At least, steam was no longer billowing out of his ears. He frowned. ‘But why, what made you think it? I never gave you any reason to believe I was gay.’
Poppy squirmed. Why had she thought it?
‘I suppose because you don’t have a girlfriend.’ Oh dear, that sounded pitiful. ‘And you never say much about your social life. Um…’ Yes, that was it! ‘…and then there was that phone call from Ellis!’ She seized gratefully upon it, like a lifebelt. ‘You were supposed to be meeting him tonight, remember? But he had to cancel—’
‘Ellis Featherstone,’ said Jake with a sigh, ‘lives three doors away from me. He’s the local coordinator for Neighborhood Watch. Yes, Ellis is gay,’ he concluded evenly, ‘but I’m fairly sure it’s not catching.’
‘Okay, so I made a mistake.’ Poppy still couldn’t get over the change in Jake. Talk about the worm turning, she marveled. Jake had turned into a full-grown leopard.
Poppy wasn’t the only one impressed by the transformation. Claudia couldn’t stop gaz
ing at Jake. The news that he wasn’t gay after all had cheered her right up. Emboldened by all the adrenaline whooshing through her veins, she seized one of the drinks Jake had carried back from the bar and glugged down another glass of slightly warm champagne.
‘What made you say it tonight, anyway?’ Jake persisted. In his other hand was Poppy’s drink. Before he could pass it to her, Claudia whisked it from his grasp.
Poppy opened her mouth to explain.
‘Well—’
‘The truth is, she couldn’t believe you were chatting me up,’ Claudia blithely cut in, her tongue by this time thoroughly loosened. ‘I told her you were, she said you weren’t.’ Breathing in, so her chest swelled out like a pouter pigeon, Claudia gave Jake the benefit of her perfect cleavage. ‘Poppy can’t believe any man would want to chat me up.’
It was like a mating dance, thought Poppy, struggling to keep a straight face as Jake’s eyes inadvertently dipped into the cleavage then slid nervously away. It was like one of those displays of plumage you saw birds doing on David Attenborough programs. Claudia was silently commanding Jake to respond and chat her up some more. Poor Jake, over his passionate outburst now, was looking downright scared.
Several minutes of awkward small talk later, Jake made his excuses and left.
‘Well, thanks,’ snapped Claudia when he had gone.
‘Oh come on,’ Poppy sighed. She had had more than enough of Claudia for one night.
‘He would have asked me out, you know. You frightened him off.’ Claudia glared at her. ‘And don’t tell me you didn’t do it on purpose.’
By midnight, the last guests were drifting away into the night. Only when Caspar had flagged down a cab and piled his own small party inside did he realize why Poppy and Claudia had spent the last couple of hours at different ends of the room.
‘Come on, no need for this.’ Buoyed up by the success of the exhibition, Caspar attempted a reconciliation.
‘I’m all right,’ sniffed Claudia. ‘It’s her. Jake would have asked me out if she hadn’t stuck her oar in. If you ask me, she’s jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ shrieked Poppy. ‘You were the one who called him a trainspotter! Then you started flaunting your chest at him. He only left early because he was too embarrassed to look at you.’
‘Girls, girls,’ said Caspar. By the sound of her, Claudia had been drinking for England. He watched her struggling to light the tipped end of her cigarette. Luckily the lighter was upside down too.
‘And you’re jealous because my dress cost more than yours did,’ Claudia declared, giving up on the cigarette and chucking it out of the cab window.
‘Oh yes, of course I am.’ Poppy lifted her eyebrows in a what-can-you-do-with-a-mad-woman? kind of way.
‘Don’t do that with your eyebrows,’ howled Claudia.
‘I’ll do whatever I like with my eyebrows. I paid three hundred and seventy-five pounds for them at Hyper Hyper.’
Claudia wondered if she’d ever wanted to strangle anyone this much before in her life. There was that hateful, barely-visible grin again, the one Poppy used when she was making fun of her.
‘You’re going to regret this.’ Realizing she didn’t have the strength for anything more physical, Claudia waggled an index finger at Poppy instead. ‘I was going to tell you something. Something important. You should, you know… you should be nice to me…’
Poppy thought she’d been an awful lot nicer than Claudia deserved. Exerting superhuman control, she said, ‘Go on then, what is this oh-so-important thing I need to know?’
‘I’m not sure I want to tell you.’ The pointed finger jabbed like a conductor’s baton. ‘I don’t think you deserve to know. You shouldn’t—’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ yelped Poppy, throwing herself back in her seat, ‘will someone please shut this girl up? What have I done to deserve her?’
‘Claudia,’ said Caspar not unkindly, ‘shut up.’
‘But—’
‘No, I mean it. You’ve drunk enough to float the QE2.’
‘Oh well,’ Claudia looked affronted, ‘in that case I won’t breathe another word.’ She shook back her heavy blonde hair. ‘Not one single word about the pianist at the Cavendish jazz club… the pianist whose name happens to be Alex Fitzpatrick…’
Chapter 13
Claudia woke up next morning with a cracking headache. When she rolled over and realized her alarm clock hadn’t gone off, and that it was now nine thirty, she groaned aloud.
‘It’s okay,’ said Poppy, nudging open the bedroom door with her elbow and plonking a tray on the end of Claudia’s bed. ‘I turned off the alarm. And I’ve phoned your office. I said there’d been a car crash outside the house and you’d rescued a little old lady from the wreckage. You had to wrap her severed finger in frozen peas and take it along to the hospital but you’d be back at work this afternoon.’
Claudia nodded, winced, and clutched the side of her head. Getting into a sitting position was worse than climbing Everest. One thing about Poppy, she certainly came up with some inventive reasons for being late for work.
‘Here, drink this.’ Poppy passed her a cup of tea. She dropped three asprins into Claudia’s trembling outstretched hand. ‘And I’ve made you some toast if you think you can keep it down.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘And I’m sorry if I was horrible last night.’
‘I’m sorry too.’ Claudia looked shamefaced. It had all come hurtling back to her. ‘I didn’t behave very well either. I can’t believe I threatened not to tell you about the Alex Fitzpatrick thing.’ She gulped down the last few mouthfuls of too-hot tea. It singed her tonsils but quenched her raging thirst. ‘I would have told you, of course I would.’
‘I know.’
Poppy had barely slept. She still hadn’t been able to get over the hand fate had played in Claudia’s revelation. To think, if Ellis Featherstone hadn’t phoned up last week she would never have come to the inescapable conclusion that Jake was gay. She wouldn’t have told Claudia, Jake wouldn’t have overheard, and the ensuing furious row would never have taken place. And if it hadn’t, Claudia wouldn’t have stomped off to the far end of the gallery and happened to overhear a couple of jazz-buff art dealers chatting amicably about the blues style of the resident pianist at a tucked-away little place called the Cavendish Club.
It was mind-boggling. As far as Poppy was able to work out, she owed it all to Neighborhood Watch. Either that or to the entire criminal fraternity, because if it weren’t for them, the Neighborhood Watch scheme would never have been invented.
‘So d’you think he’s the one?’ ventured Claudia. ‘Could he really be your dad?’
Poppy was sitting on the bed hugging her knees to her chest. No longer tarted up, as Caspar so romantically called it, she looked about sixteen with her red-gold hair flopping into her eyes and the remains of last night’s hard-to-get-off mascara clinging to her lashes. She was wearing a yellow sweatshirt and polka-dot leggings, and her feet were bare.
‘I think he really could be.’ She nodded, resting her chin on one knee. ‘But there’s only one way to find out. I’m going along to the Cavendish Club tonight.’
Hopefully, Claudia thought, she would be over her hangover by then. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘Would you?’ The look Poppy gave her was one of amazement mixed with relief. ‘I’d love you to. That’d be such a help.’
Heavens, thought Claudia, startled that she had even suggested it. Looks like we might be going to get along after all.
She glanced at her watch. It was now quarter to ten.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work too?’
‘I phoned Jake.’ Poppy helped herself to the toast Claudia was too hungover to eat. ‘Said I’d be late.’
‘Did you use the severed finger?’
‘No. He never believes my excuses.’ Poppy looked gloomy. ‘It’s a waste of time thinking them up.’
‘But he’s speaking to you, that’s something.’ Claudia felt
her heart do a small practice flutter. ‘Did he… um, mention me at all?’
‘Actually he did,’ said Poppy with a grin. Good old Jake, at least he hadn’t borne a grudge. ‘He said he had a hot date for tomorrow night and please could he borrow your little black dress.’
The Cavendish Club, in Covent Garden, was reached by teetering down a flight of steep, ankle-turning steps. Converted from an old wine cellar with arched brick ceilings and uneven flagstone floors, it had a smell all its own—a sweet, pervasive mixture of damp, drink, and nicotine. The regulars were the genuine jazz buffs, but the Cavendish was well-known enough to attract a wide mix of visitors ranging from students to tourists.
Luckily there were no dress rules.
‘We look like The Odd Couple,’ Claudia complained as they made their way there. She was wearing a charcoal grey polo-neck cashmere pullover, expensive black trousers, and a discreet amount of gold—very chic if she did say so herself. Poppy had turned out in a miles-too-big white tee-shirt that kept slipping off her shoulders and ancient jeans.
‘You didn’t like it when we wore the same thing.’
‘I know. I just thought you might want to look smart… to meet your father…’ Claudia began to wish she hadn’t raised the issue. ‘…that is, if it is him.’
Poppy wasn’t going to admit she’d tried on practically every outfit in her meager wardrobe before coming out. She glanced across at Claudia as they approached the Cavendish, already belting out music at only eight o’clock.
‘What’s he going to say, “Oh no, sorry, you aren’t wearing top-to-toe Armani, I can’t possibly acknowledge you as my daughter”? Please,’ said Poppy defiantly. ‘If he is my father, whatever he’s wearing isn’t going to make an ounce of difference to me. I daresay he’ll forgive me if my tee-shirt isn’t haute couture.’
The stage upon which the band played was situated at the far end of the largest of three interconnecting cellars. Their instruments were there, and a lanky youth was setting up mikes, but the music they had heard outside came from a tape deck at the back of the stage. The members of the band were, by the look of it, over at the bar getting a few quick drinks down them in order to sustain them through their set.