I've Got Your Number

As she reads the words on the page, Martha’s voice cuts off in a sort of gasp. For a moment she seems unable to speak. “Oh! A simulated emerald,” she manages at last, sounding strangled. “Lovely. And simulated diamonds too. So pretty.”

There’s nothing I can say. I’m aware of four crestfallen faces gazing at me. Martha looks most devastated of all.

“We thought it was a lovely ring,” I offer lamely.

“It is! It is!” Martha is obviously forcing herself to nod animatedly. “Well … congratulations! So sensible of you to go for simulations.” She exchanges looks with the other girls in dove gray, who all hastily chime in.

“Absolutely!”

“Very sensible!”

“Lovely choice!”

The bright voices so don’t match the faces. One girl almost looks like she wants to cry.

Martha seems slightly fixated by Sam’s vintage gold Cartier. I can practically read her mind: He can afford vintage Cartier for himself and he bought his girlfriend a FAKE?

“Can I just see the price?” Sam has finished tapping at his phone and takes the paper from Martha. As he reads it, he frowns. “Four hundred and fifty pounds—that’s a lot. I thought Mark promised a discount.” He turns to me. “Don’t you think that’s too much?”

“Maybe.”⁵³ I nod, a bit mortified.

“Why’s it so expensive?” He turns to Martha, and her eyes flick yet again to his Cartier watch before she addresses him with a professional smile.

“It’s the platinum, sir. It’s a precious, timeless material. Most of our customers value a material that will last a lifetime.”

“Well, can we have something cheaper? Silver plate?” Sam turns to me. “You agree, don’t you, Poppy? As cheap as possible?”

I hear a couple of stifled gasps across the shop. I catch a glimpse of Martha’s horrified face and can’t help flushing.

“Yes! Of course,” I mutter. “Whatever’s cheapest.”

“I’ll just check with Mark,” says Martha after rather a long pause. She moves away and makes a brief phone call. As she returns to the register, she’s blinking fast and can’t look me in the eye. “I’ve spoken to Mark and the ring can be made in silver-plated nickel, which brings the price down to”—she taps again—“one hundred and twelve pounds. Would you prefer that option?”

“Well, of course we would.” Sam glances at me. “No-brainer, right?”

“I see. Of course.” Martha’s bright smile has frozen solid. “That’s … fine. Silver-plated nickel it is. ’ She seems to gather control of herself. “In terms of presentation, sir, we offer a deluxe leather ring box at thirty pounds, or a simpler wooden box for ten pounds. Each option will be lined with rose petals and can have a personalization. Perhaps initials or a little message?”

“A message?” Sam gives an incredulous laugh. “No, thanks. And no packaging. We’ll have it as is. D’you want a carrier bag or something, Poppy?” He glances at me.

Martha is breathing harder and harder. For a moment I think she might lose it.

“Fine!” she says at last. “Absolutely fine. No box, no rose petals, no message.… ” She taps at her computer. “And how will you be paying for the ring, sir?” She’s obviously mustering all her energies to stay pleasant.

“Poppy?” Sam nods at me expectantly.

As I pull out my purse, Martha’s expression is so aghast, I nearly expire with embarrassment.

“So … you’ll be paying for the ring, madam.” She can barely get the words out. “Wonderful! That’s … wonderful. No problem at all.”

I tap in my PIN and take the receipt. Yet more girls in dove gray have appeared in the showroom, and they’re standing in clusters, whispering and staring at me. My entire body is drenched in mortification.

Sam, of course, has noticed nothing.

“Will we see you both later?” Martha clearly makes a supreme effort to recover herself as she ushers us to the door. “We’ll have champagne waiting and we’ll take a photo for your album, of course.” A tiny glow comes back into her eyes. “It’s such a special moment when you first take the ring and slide it onto her finger—”

“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.