I've Got Your Number
Page 40
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Round-robin emails are the work of the devil.” Sam barely misses a beat. “I’d rather shoot myself than reply to one.”
Well, that’s a nice attitude.
This Lindsay is obviously popular. Every twenty seconds some fresh reply all message arrives on the screen, like, Happy birthday, Lindsay! Have a wonderful celebration, whatever you’re doing. The phone keeps buzzing and flashing. It’s like a party in here. And only Sam is refusing to join in.
Oh, I can’t stand it. How hard is it to type happy birthday ? Why wouldn’t you? It’s two words.
“Can’t I write happy birthday from you?” I beg. “Go on. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll type it.”
“Fuck’s sake !” Sam looks up from his own phone. “OK. Whatever. Say happy birthday. But no smiley faces or kisses,” he adds warningly. “Just happy birthday. Sam. ”
Happy birthday, Lindsay! I type defiantly. Hope you’re having a great time today. Well done again on that website strategy, it was awesome. Best wishes, Sam.
Hurriedly, I send it, before he can wonder why I’m typing so much.
“What about the dentist?” I decide to push my luck.
“What about the dentist?” he echoes, and I feel an almighty surge of exasperation. Is he pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about or has he genuinely forgotten?
“Here we are!” The door opens and Mark appears, holding out a dark-blue velvet tray. “These are our simulated emeralds.”
“Wow,” I breathe, my attention torn away from the phone.
In front of me are ten rows of gleaming emeralds. I mean, I know they’re not real, but quite frankly I couldn’t tell the difference.52
“Is there any stone which strikes you as having a resemblance to the one you’ve lost?”
“That one.” I point to an oval rock in the middle. “It’s almost exactly the same. It’s amazing!”
“Great.” He picks it up with a pair of tweezers and places it on a small plastic dish. “The diamonds are obviously smaller and less noticeable, so I’m fairly confident of a match. You want a little distressing?” he adds. “Take the shine off?”
“Can you do that?” I say in amazement.
“We can do anything,” he says confidently. “We once made the Crown Jewels for a Hollywood movie. Looked absolutely genuine, although they never even used them in the end.”
“Wow. Well … yes, please!”
“No problem. We should get this knocked out in”—he glances at his watch—“three hours?”
“Great!”
As I stand up, I’m astounded. I can’t believe this was so easy. In fact, I feel quite exhilarated with relief. This will see me through a couple of days and then I’ll get the real thing back and it’ll all be OK.
When we return to the showroom, I sense a rustle of interest. Martha’s head pops up from the book she was writing in, and a couple of girls in dove gray are whispering and nodding at me from their position by the door. Mark leads us over to Martha again, who beams at me even more widely than before.
“Look after these lovely people for me, Martha, will you?” he says, giving her a folded piece of paper. “Here are the details. Bye, again.”
He and Sam shake hands warmly, then Mark disappears off to the rear of the shop.
“You look happy!” Martha says to me with a twinkle.
“I’m so happy!” I can’t contain my delight. “Mark’s brilliant. I just can’t believe what he can do!”
“Yes, he is rather special. Oh, I’m so pleased for you.” She squeezes my arm. “What a wonderful day for you both!”
Oh … shit. Suddenly I realize what she means. I glance sharply at Sam, but he’s stepped aside to read something on his phone and is oblivious.
“So, we’re all dying to know.” Martha’s eyes are twinkling. “What are you getting?”
“Er … ”
This conversation has definitely lurched in the wrong direction. But I can’t think how to steer it back.
“Martha told us about the vintage Cartier watch!” Another girl in dove gray joins the conversation, and I can see two other girls edging forward to listen.
“We’ve all been guessing out here.” Martha nods. “I think Mark will have made you something really special and bespoke. With some wonderful, romantic touch.” She clasps her hands. “Maybe a flawless diamond—”
“Those princess-cut ones are exquisite,” a girl in dove gray gushes.
Well, that’s a nice attitude.
This Lindsay is obviously popular. Every twenty seconds some fresh reply all message arrives on the screen, like, Happy birthday, Lindsay! Have a wonderful celebration, whatever you’re doing. The phone keeps buzzing and flashing. It’s like a party in here. And only Sam is refusing to join in.
Oh, I can’t stand it. How hard is it to type happy birthday ? Why wouldn’t you? It’s two words.
“Can’t I write happy birthday from you?” I beg. “Go on. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll type it.”
“Fuck’s sake !” Sam looks up from his own phone. “OK. Whatever. Say happy birthday. But no smiley faces or kisses,” he adds warningly. “Just happy birthday. Sam. ”
Happy birthday, Lindsay! I type defiantly. Hope you’re having a great time today. Well done again on that website strategy, it was awesome. Best wishes, Sam.
Hurriedly, I send it, before he can wonder why I’m typing so much.
“What about the dentist?” I decide to push my luck.
“What about the dentist?” he echoes, and I feel an almighty surge of exasperation. Is he pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about or has he genuinely forgotten?
“Here we are!” The door opens and Mark appears, holding out a dark-blue velvet tray. “These are our simulated emeralds.”
“Wow,” I breathe, my attention torn away from the phone.
In front of me are ten rows of gleaming emeralds. I mean, I know they’re not real, but quite frankly I couldn’t tell the difference.52
“Is there any stone which strikes you as having a resemblance to the one you’ve lost?”
“That one.” I point to an oval rock in the middle. “It’s almost exactly the same. It’s amazing!”
“Great.” He picks it up with a pair of tweezers and places it on a small plastic dish. “The diamonds are obviously smaller and less noticeable, so I’m fairly confident of a match. You want a little distressing?” he adds. “Take the shine off?”
“Can you do that?” I say in amazement.
“We can do anything,” he says confidently. “We once made the Crown Jewels for a Hollywood movie. Looked absolutely genuine, although they never even used them in the end.”
“Wow. Well … yes, please!”
“No problem. We should get this knocked out in”—he glances at his watch—“three hours?”
“Great!”
As I stand up, I’m astounded. I can’t believe this was so easy. In fact, I feel quite exhilarated with relief. This will see me through a couple of days and then I’ll get the real thing back and it’ll all be OK.
When we return to the showroom, I sense a rustle of interest. Martha’s head pops up from the book she was writing in, and a couple of girls in dove gray are whispering and nodding at me from their position by the door. Mark leads us over to Martha again, who beams at me even more widely than before.
“Look after these lovely people for me, Martha, will you?” he says, giving her a folded piece of paper. “Here are the details. Bye, again.”
He and Sam shake hands warmly, then Mark disappears off to the rear of the shop.
“You look happy!” Martha says to me with a twinkle.
“I’m so happy!” I can’t contain my delight. “Mark’s brilliant. I just can’t believe what he can do!”
“Yes, he is rather special. Oh, I’m so pleased for you.” She squeezes my arm. “What a wonderful day for you both!”
Oh … shit. Suddenly I realize what she means. I glance sharply at Sam, but he’s stepped aside to read something on his phone and is oblivious.
“So, we’re all dying to know.” Martha’s eyes are twinkling. “What are you getting?”
“Er … ”
This conversation has definitely lurched in the wrong direction. But I can’t think how to steer it back.
“Martha told us about the vintage Cartier watch!” Another girl in dove gray joins the conversation, and I can see two other girls edging forward to listen.
“We’ve all been guessing out here.” Martha nods. “I think Mark will have made you something really special and bespoke. With some wonderful, romantic touch.” She clasps her hands. “Maybe a flawless diamond—”
“Those princess-cut ones are exquisite,” a girl in dove gray gushes.
