I've Got Your Number

“Because it’s the most ridiculous fucking idea I’ve ever heard!” Vicks explodes. “That’s why not!”

Sam regards her steadily, then turns to me. “Come on, Poppy. We’ll trawl the building.”

Vicks is shaking her head. “And if she does recognize his voice? Then what? Citizen’s arrest?”

“Then it’ll be a start,” says Sam. “Ready, Poppy?”

“Poppy.” Vicks comes over and faces me head-on. Her cheeks are pink and she’s breathing hard. “I have no idea who you are. But you don’t have to listen to Sam. You don’t have to do this. You owe him nothing. This is all nothing to do with you.”

“She doesn’t mind,” says Sam. “Do you, Poppy?”

Vicks ignores him. “Poppy, I strongly advise you to leave. Now.”

“That’s not the kind of girl Poppy is,” says Sam with a scowl. “She doesn’t bail out on people. Do you?” He meets my eyes, and his gaze is so unexpectedly warm, I feel an inward glow.

I turn to Vicks. “You’re wrong. I do owe Sam one. And Sir Nicholas is a potential patient at my physio practice, actually. So he is something to do with me too.”

I quite liked dropping that in, although I bet Sir Nicholas never does make it down to Balham.

“And anyway,” I continue, lifting my chin nobly, “whoever it was, whether I knew them or not, if I could help in some way, I would. I mean, if you can help, you have to help. Don’t you think?”

Vicks stares at me for a moment, as though trying to work me out—then gives a strange, wry smile.

“OK. Well, you got me. I can’t argue against that.”

“Let’s go.” Sam makes for the door.

I grab my bag and wish yet again that my T-shirt didn’t have a huge great splotch on it.

“Hey, Wallander,” Vicks chimes in sarcastically. “Small point. In case you’d forgotten, everyone’s either at the conference or on their way to the conference.”

There’s another silence, apart from Sam tapping his pen furiously again. I don’t dare speak. I certainly don’t dare look at Vicks.

“Poppy,” says Sam at last. “Do you have a few hours? Could you come down to Hampshire?”

77 Or than I do, for that matter. Not that anyone’s asked me.

11

This is totally surreal. And thrilling. And a bit of a pain. All at the same time.

It’s not that I’m regretting my noble gesture, exactly. I still mean what I said in the office. How could I possibly walk away? How could I not at least try to help Sam out? But, on the other hand, I thought it would take about half an hour. Not a train journey down to Hampshire, just for starters.

I’m supposed to be at the hairdresser’s right now. I’m supposed to be talking about updos and trying on my tiara. Instead, I’m on Waterloo station concourse, buying a cup of tea and clutching the phone, which, needless to say, I grabbed from the desk as we left. Sam could hardly complain. I’ve texted Sue to tell her that I’m really sorry, I’ll have to miss the appointment with Louis, but of course I’ll pay the whole fee and please give Louis my love.

I looked at it after I’d finished typing it, and I deleted half the kisses. Then I put them back in again. Then I took them out again. Maybe five is enough.

Now I’m waiting for Magnus to pick up. He’s leaving for his stag trip to Bruges this afternoon, so it’s not like I was going to see him, but still. I feel like if I don’t at least ring him, it’ll be wrong.

“Oh, hi, Magnus!”

“Pops!” The line is terrible, and I can hear the public-address system in the background. “We’re about to board. You OK?”

“Yes! I just wanted to … ” I trail off, not sure where I’m going with this.

Just wanted to tell you that I’m off to Hampshire with a man you know nothing about, embroiled in a situation you know nothing about.

“I’ll … be out tonight,” I say lamely. “In case you call.”

There. That’s honest. Kind of.

“OK!” He laughs. “Well, you have fun. Sweets, I’ve got to go.”

“OK! Bye! Have a good time!” The phone goes dead and I look up to see Sam watching me. I tug my shirt self-consciously, wishing again that I’d popped to the shops. It turns out that Sam does keep a spare shirt in his office, and my T-shirt was so frightful that I borrowed it. But it makes the situation even stranger, wearing his stripy Turnbull & Asser.

“Saying goodbye to Magnus,” I explain needlessly, as he’s been standing there the whole time and must have heard every word.

“That’ll be two pounds.” The woman at the sandwich shop hands me my cup.

“Thanks! Right … shall we go?”

As Sam and I walk down the concourse and get into the carriage, I feel unreal. I’m stiff with awkwardness. We must look like a couple to anyone watching. What if Willow sees us?

No. Don’t be paranoid. Willow was on the second coach to the conference. She sent an email to Sam, telling him. And, anyway, it’s not like Sam and I are doing anything illicit. We’re just … friends.

No, friends doesn’t feel right. Not colleagues either. Not really acquaintances …

OK. Let’s face it. It’s weird.