‘I don’t know...’ Suddenly her thoughts veered to Maryann. In particular to the issue of her needing a ground-floor flat. Like Poppy, she lived hand to mouth, and Poppy knew her lovely neighbour was scared about what the future held for her now.
‘A new apartment,’ she said, waiting for her boss to laugh and tell her she was dreaming.
‘Now you’re speaking my language,’ he said, confidence oozing from every pore. ‘A penthouse, no doubt. How many bedrooms?’
‘It can’t be a penthouse, they’re on the top floor.’
‘I’m well aware of where a penthouse is located,’ he said. ‘I own several.’
Poppy was so deep in thought she barely heard him. ‘It has to be on the ground floor. And near Brixton.’
‘Brixton?’
‘Yes. Maryann is really attached to Brixton.’
‘Maryann?’
‘My neighbour.’ The more she thought about it, the more she warmed to the idea. ‘And it should be near a park and the tube. Maryann likes to go into Stratford most Saturday afternoons. Her husband is buried there.’
‘Right.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. Give the details to HR.’
‘I’m not giving the details to HR!’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘It will completely ruin my professional reputation before I’ve even got one.’
‘Fine, send me an email. But what does your neighbour have to do with this anyway?’
‘The apartment is for her.’
‘I thought it was for you.’
‘She needs it more than I do.’
He looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown two heads. ‘Okay, fine, whatever. And the last one?’
Poppy stared at him, realising too late that in negotiating with him she was entering into a deal she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to make. A deal with the devil. ‘I...eh... I don’t have a third.’ Mostly because her brain had now turned to mush.
‘Nothing for yourself?’
Those first two were for her. For her peace of mind. She shook her head, trying to clear her thinking. What was she doing even considering this?
‘No need to stress,’ he said, once more reading her correctly. ‘When you think of it, you let me know. In the meantime we will leave for Italy at the end of the week.’
‘I don’t have a passport!’
‘I’ll take care of it. And Poppy?’
She raised troubled eyes to his. ‘Yes?’
He came around his desk all lean, hard, muscular grace. ‘Thank you.’
He held out his hand and guided her to her feet. Poppy felt a tingling sensation light up her arm at his touch, distracting her. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘The end of the week? That’s too soon. I can’t get organised by then.’ Meaning that she couldn’t organise care for Simon by then.
‘You’ll have to. That’s when my grandparents are holding their anniversary party.’
‘Anniversary party?’ Her stomach pitched alarmingly. ‘This gig just gets better and better.’
‘My grandparents are very important to me. Please remember that.’
‘So how can you lie to them so easily?’ she asked, hoping to see some faint trace of humanity in him.