The Model Wife Part 38

'Like I say, I think she's got a bit of a bug. She wouldn't let me take her temperature. When she wakes up I'll give her some Calpol.' Poppy looked at her husband. 'What do you want to do?'

'Just sit by her for a while. When she wakes up I'll read to her.'

'I'll go out then. How long do you want?'

'A couple of hours,' Luke shrugged.

'Fine. I'll come back at four. Call me if you think she's getting worse.'

She could have gone shopping, looking for a necklace to set off the yellow and green top she planned to wear that night, but her heart wasn't in it, so instead she walked down to the ca.n.a.l, where she sat on a bench and watched a family of ducks drift by. Tears splashed down her face. Seeing Clara with Luke made her realize how horribly she'd messed up. Another child was going to grow up without a father, with a mother who had to work every second of the day just to survive. Poppy thought she'd broken the cycle by marrying Luke, but it seemed there was no escaping her destiny.

She thought ahead to the evening. She was meant to be going to a party in Regent's Park to celebrate the opening of a new art gallery. For once Meena couldn't come with her, ordered back to Wembley to celebrate her brother's birthday. A month ago, there was no way Poppy would have gone on her own, but now the prospect didn't bother her. She was more concerned about whether she should leave Clara if she was ill.

It sounded like a very glamorous event and Poppy liked galleries. If the people were boring, she'd look at the art. But that was beside the point. She had to go because this was her job now, rather than just a way of earning pin money. She couldn't just duck in and out at will; she had to think about how to support herself and Clara. Still, Clara's health came first. Brigita was coming at six; she'd take her advice on what was the best thing to do.

She returned home on the dot of four to find Luke holding a very rumpled-looking Clara in his arms, her arms shielding her eyes.

'Is bright, bright, Mummy. Wanna go back to bed.'

Poppy held out her arms. Luke pa.s.sed her to her. 'Sweetpea, are you OK?'

'Bright!'

'Have you had a drink?'

'She had a beaker of water,' said Luke. 'And I gave her some Calpol at three. You'll call the doctor if she gets worse?'

'Of course!'

He knelt down and kissed Clara. 'Darling, Daddy has to go now, but I'll see you soon.'

A look of devastation crossed Clara's face. 'Don't go, Daddy.'

'I have to.'

She flung herself at him, screaming, wrapping her arms round his legs. Luke tried to prise her off. Poppy swallowed back the tears.

'Darling, Daddy has to go, but he'll be back very soon. I promise.'

'Noooooo!'

'I love you.' Over the bawling, he spoke to Poppy. 'You and I need to talk properly.'

'I know.'

'Maybe one day next week. We could have lunch.' He grinned ruefully. 'I'm free every day.'

'I'm quite busy next week. A lot of meetings and some modelling jobs. I'll look at my diary and let you know what I can do.'

'OK.' Luke knelt down and kissed his sobbing child.

'My angel, I love you. I'll see you very soon. We'll go to the zoo.'

Clara screamed for the next hour. Poppy tried to feed her, but she threw all her supper on the floor. It was a huge relief when Brigita arrived.

'Do you think she's OK? Should I go out tonight?'

Brigita frowned. 'She has temperature and a little rash. I think maybe she is having the poxy.'

'The what?'

'The chicken's poxy. Is very common in children. And not serious.'

'I should stay at home,' Poppy said.

'No, no, Mummy. Dinna you fret. This is not serious condition. You go out. Enjoy. Brigita can cope.'

'Are you sure?' Poppy was torn. She felt she should be at home, but what realistically could she do? She thought of the episode on Toby's birthday. Little children were always getting sick and then getting better in the time it took to run a bath.

'I am completely sure,' Brigita said. 'If Clara gets worse I will call you. Now go and get dressed. Don't wear the black dress, it makes yer knees look funny.'

The party was in a marquee in the middle of Regent's Park. Poppy had to run the gamut of photographers to leave the flat and then another gamut when she arrived. Walking under the long awning that led to the main marquee, she saw Toby standing at the cloakroom. For a second she froze. She turned to an expressionless waiter, took a gla.s.s of champagne from his tray and downed it in one. Then she stalked up to Toby.

'h.e.l.lo,' she said coolly.

'Oh! Hi!' He bent down and kissed her on both cheeks. 'How nice to see you.'

'And you,' she said haughtily. She hadn't meant to check in her denim jacket or her bag but she wanted to keep Toby talking, so she handed them over to the young French woman behind the desk. Her emotions were seesawing. She'd dismissed Toby as dodgy, as a lightweight, but seeing him again she still felt the urge to prove herself to him, to see him grovel for his dilettantish behaviour.

'How have you been?' she said.

'Really well. Look. I... I'm sorry, I've been meaning to call you, but it's all been frantic. For you too, I'm guessing.'

'Yes, it's been really busy.'

'Shall we?' he said, flicking his head towards the main marquee where the party was buzzing away.

Poppy followed him in. It was quickly apparent that this was a more upmarket do than normal. The glamour models and boyband members who normally made up the numbers had been replaced by beaky-nosed men and women with accents so cut-gla.s.s they could double as trifle bowls. As usual, Toby seemed completely at ease, moving from group to group, shaking hands, laughing. Ill at ease, Poppy followed him like a shadow. She'd dismissed Toby as a stupid fling, but seeing him again she couldn't deny the attraction that crackled between them like a force field, nor the fury she felt at how he'd treated her.

She focused her attention on a young man in a green Nehru jacket with a name Poppy knew would sprain her tongue if she tried to repeat it back to him.

'How do you know Toby?'

'Oh, just from round and about,' she said airily.

'So you must know Inge too?'

A shard of unease pierced Poppy's breastbone. 'Um, no,' she said with a forced smile.

The man looked horrified. 'Oh Christ! Have I put my foot in it? I'm always doing that.'

Poppy gave a hollow laugh. 'Goodness, Toby's not my boyfriend. He's just a... mate.'

'Thank G.o.d. I thought I'd really gone and goofed. Mind you, it wouldn't have completely surprised me if they'd split up. Their relationship's always been pretty volatile but since he moved into her place in Sh.o.r.editch it seemed to be on stronger ground. The thing is she's away so much for work and a lot of temptation comes his way and... Are you OK?'

Thea was the happiest she'd been in weeks. Luke had left late that morning to visit Clara and after that he was taking Tilly and Isabelle to the theatre. She'd got her old Sat.u.r.day back: a swim at the scuzzy local pool, a film at the Ritzy in Brixton with a family pack of Skittles. Now, as the sun started to go down, she turned Bob up loud on the stereo and ran a scalding Jo Malone bath. This was the life.

'All by myself,' she warbled as she climbed into the scalding water, 'and it's blooooody great!'

But it wasn't really funny. She had to give Luke his marching orders. Maybe tonight when he got back. No, he'd still have to sleep there; it would be ludicrous. She'd tell him in the morning, giving him all day to make alternative arrangements. Hopefully seeing his children that day would have p.r.i.c.ked his conscience enough to make him realize he had to go home.

She reached for her phone in preparation for a long chat with Rachel, just three days off her due date. But as she called her number, Luke's phone began blaring in the other room, some stupid hip-hop tune he'd allowed one of his children to programme in. b.u.g.g.e.r. He'd obviously left it behind. Not Thea's problem. She dialled her friend.

'Hi, I can't come to the phone right now.'

So much for that. Thea left a message asking if she'd gone into labour, then dunked her head under the water. When she came up for air, Luke's phone was still ringing. Voicemail calling back. It would ring twice more, then give up.

But the phone kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

'Oh for Christ's sake,' Thea bawled when the hideous tune had repeated itself for ten minutes. 'I'm coming!' Crossly, she hauled herself out of the bath and, wrapped in a towel, padded across the flat. She'd turn the b.l.o.o.d.y thing off. But then looking at the caller IDshe saw 'Brigita'. One of Luke's floozies, she thought drily, but then she remembered: Clara's nanny. She switched the voice to voicemail but within seconds 'Brigita' started calling again. Surely Luke hadn't been so tacky as to have a fling with her too? She would put nothing past him. Crossly, she answered, 'h.e.l.lo?'

'Luke? Where is Luke?'

'He's not here. He's at the theatre.'

'Oh no.' There was no mistaking the terror in Brigita's voice.

Dread shot down Thea's spine. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'I am at the hospital with Clara. She's reight poorly. She get a rash, so I take her in and the doctors say they think is meningitis. And I can't find Poppy. Or Luke. Help me. Please. Help.'

47.

Desperate to find Luke, Thea called the theatre.

'I'm sorry,' said an adenoidal-sounding woman. 'The interval has just finished and we can't page members of the audience until the play's over.'

'When will that be?'

'Another two hours. It's Hamlet Hamlet, you know. Very long.'

'That's no good!' Thea screamed. 'His daughter is in hospital. She may be dying. You have to page him now now.'

The woman sighed dramatically. 'For a dying child I'll make an exception.'

As Luke was being tannoyed to gasps from the packed auditorium, Thea called Brigita to try to find Poppy.

'She was going to a party, but she don't answer her phone.' Brigita wept.

'What party was it?' Silly bimbo, what a thing to do when your child is sick.

'I don't know.' Brigita struggled for something that might help. 'She wear a dress, not jeans, so I think it's a posh one.'

'That doesn't narrow it down.' Thea chewed her lip. Years of journalistic experience had made her an expert at tracking things down. 'How did she get there?'

'In a minicab.'

'Do you know the name of the firm?'

'Yeah. Cooper's. She always uses them.' 'I'll call Cooper's,' Thea said.

Poppy had been drinking steadily. The lights in the room flashed in and out of focus as she reeled round the gallery. She was aware of people staring at her as she stalked towards Toby, but she didn't care.

'Toby, who's Inge?'

A quick but definite look of unease pa.s.sed over his face. 'Who told you about Inge?'

'That guy over there. He says you're living in her flat in Sh.o.r.editch.'

A heavy sigh. 'I thought you knew.'

'How would I know? I think you forgot to tell me. Here's my flat, by the way don't use the beauty flash balm in the bathroom because it's my girlfriend's.'

'Um. She's my fiancee actually.' He high-fived a pa.s.sing Indian man. 'Rav, I'll be with you in a minute. Sorry, Poppy, I thought you realized.'

'She won't be your fiancee when she finds out about us.'

Toby looked incredulous. 'There is is no us. We just shared some good times.' no us. We just shared some good times.'

'There was more to it than that,' she argued. 'You slept with me.'

He shook his head. 'Oh Christ, I thought you of all people would understand. After all, you're married, I thought you had more to lose than me.'

Poppy felt like one of Clara's towers when she pulled out the bottom brick. She realized she'd still obscurely been hoping that Toby was her white knight who would gallop in just before the credits to save her. As all her dreams crashed down, she knew no one was going to rescue her, that she was on her own. She couldn't be angry with him. She could only be angry with herself.

'Poppy, come back!'

But she had disappeared into the crowd.

The man at Cooper's minicabs was enjoying his power kick.

'What you are asking for is cla.s.sified information, darling.' He sucked his teeth. 'You could be a stalker or anything, innit?'