“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 fiancee, 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.’ “
He didn’t. He didn’t. I stare at her in disbelief, almost wanting to laugh.
“What did you say?”
“I yelled, ‘Do what, you prick? You haven’t even bloody proposed yet!’ But he didn’t have anything to say. He closed up the box and put the ring away. And that was that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “That’s really awful.”
“He’s such a commitment-phobe, he couldn’t even commit to a fucking proposal! He couldn’t even see that through!” She looks absolutely livid, and I don’t blame her.
“So, why on earth did you agree to organize his wedding?” I say incredulously. “Isn’t that rubbing it in your face, every day?”
“It was the least he could do to make amends.” She glowers at me. “I needed a job. Although, actually, I’m thinking of changing career. Arranging weddings is a bloody nightmare.”
No wonder Lucinda’s been in such a bad mood this whole time. No wonder she’s been so aggressive toward me. If I had known for one second that she was an old flame of Magnus’s …
“I was never going to keep the ring,” she adds sulkily. “I just wanted to give you a scare.”
“Well, you managed it, all right.”
I can’t believe I’ve let this woman into my life, confided in her, discussed all my hopes for my wedding day—and she’s an ex of Magnus. How could he have let this happen? How could he have thought it would ever work?
I feel like some kind of filter has been lifted from my eyes. I feel like I’m finally waking up to reality. And I haven’t even tackled my main fear yet.
“I got the idea you were still sleeping with Magnus,” I blurt out. “I mean, not when you were going out together. Now. Recently. Last week.”
There’s silence and I look up, hoping she’ll launch into some stinging denial. But as I meet her eye, she turns away.
“Lucinda?”
She grabs her suitcase and starts wheeling it toward the door. “I’m going away. I’ve had enough of this whole thing. I deserve a holiday. If I have to talk weddings for one more second—”
“Lucinda?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” she erupts impatiently. “Maybe I slept with him a few times for old times’ sake. If you can’t keep tabs on him, you shouldn’t marry him.” Her phone rings and she answers. “Hi. Yes. Coming down. Excuse me.” She ushers me out of the flat, bangs the door, and double-locks it.
“You can’t just leave!” I’m shaking all over. “You have to tell me what happened!”
“What do you want me to say?” She throws her hands up. “These things happen. You weren’t meant to find out, but there you go.” She manhandles her suitcase into the lift. “Oh, and by the way, if you think you and I are the only girls he’s hauled that emerald ring out of the safe for, think again. We’re on the end of a list, sweetie.”
“What?” I’m starting to hyperventilate. “What list? Lucinda, wait! What are you talking about?”
“Work it out, Poppy. It’s your problem. I’ve sorted the flowers and the order of service and the almonds and the fucking … dessert spoons.” She jabs a button and the lift doors start to close. “This one’s all yours.”
88 OK, unlikely.
89 OK, even less likely.
90 Aka Clemency. Possibly.
91 And if you think she wouldn’t, you don’t know Annalise.
92 Either this is a very arty look, like you see in fashion magazines, or she didn’t take her makeup off yesterday. (Still. Like I can talk.)
93 No one’s ever grabbed my hand to look at the ring before. That is definitely an invasion of personal space.
After Lucinda’s gone, I stand motionless for about three minutes solid, in a state of shock. Then, abruptly, I come to. I head for the stairwell and down the stairs. As I step out of the building I switch off my phone. I can’t afford any distractions. I need to think. I need to be alone. Like Lucinda said, I need to work this out for myself.
I start walking along the pavement, not caring which direction I’m going. My mind is circling around all the facts, the guesses, the speculation, and back to the facts. But gradually, as I walk, thoughts seem to settle into place. My resolve hardens. I have a plan.
I don’t know where my sudden determination has come from: whether Lucinda has spurred me on or whether I’ve just had enough of avoiding confrontation while my stomach ties itself up in knots. But I’m going to face this one down. I’m going to do it. The weirdest thing is, I keep hearing Sam’s voice in my ear, reassuring me and bolstering me and telling me I can do it. It’s as if he’s giving me a pep talk, even though he’s not here. And it’s making me stand taller. It’s making me feel like I can do this. I’m going to be a Whole New Poppy.
As I reach the corner of Battersea Rise, I feel ready. I haul out my phone, turn it on, and, without reading a single new message, speed-dial Magnus. Of course he doesn’t answer, but I expected that.