Page 11 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I’m in the business of happily ever afters – or HEAs – and it is both a privilege and a pleasure. So, if Kate Whitaker needs my help – no matter what this is about – I’ll be there for her.

‘Right,’ says Tristan, downing the rest of his espresso. ‘I’m off like a bucket of prawns in the hot sun.’

‘Really?’ I ask, blinking at him.

‘What? Don’t you loike it when I speak Strayan?’ he asks, bunging on adreadfulAustralian accent.

‘No, babe. I prefer it when I’m the Aussie and you sound likeyou.’

‘Which is…?’

‘Like a BBC news presenter circa 1964.’

We hold each other’s gaze, both smiling mischievously, then he springs into action, depositing his tiny cup into the dishwasher and checking his briefcase. I glance at the time, realising that I need to get going too. I drink another glug of tea, then quickly tidy the kitchen. After saying our goodbyes to Saffron – mine tolerated and Tristan’s embraced – we leave together.

It’s such a rarity, we indulge in a soft, lingering kiss in the lift as we ride to the ground floor. Outside our building, we part ways with another quick kiss and head off in opposite directions.

4

POPPY

It takes Kate Whitaker twenty uninterrupted minutes for her to explain her predicament and when she finishes, she peers at me expectantly. ‘So, what do you think?’ she asks.

I blink back at her, dumbfounded, as I sift through everything she’s told me. It’s not often I’m left speechless. I was a psychologist before I was a matchmaker and people have told me all sorts of things, some of them almost unimaginable, but this is a doozy.

I inhale deeply, buying an extra moment to respond.

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she says, which is impressive, becauseIdon’t.

‘What’s that?’ I ask with a slight smile.

‘That this sounds like one of those sensational, real-life stories you’d read about inWomen’s Weekly. Or maybe an episode ofBlack Mirror,’ she adds with a dry laugh.

‘It is remarkable,’ I say – the first word that comes to mind.

‘That’s one way to describe it.’ She sits back heavily against her chair. ‘Poppy, the man leads a double life! How did I not spot the signs? I’m a project manager – and a good one at that. I’mpaidto see how the minutiae form the big picture. How could I be so utterly oblivious?’

‘Because, from where you were, you didn’t have access to the big picture,’ I say, my professional insight finally kicking in.

‘I suppose so. And now I do – well, more of it than I had before.’

‘Exactly. So, all the lies you swallowed, all the niggling doubts – now you have context for them. I bet he had an answer at the ready for every question you raised.’

Pathological liars typically do, I think.

‘Oh, absolutely! How about this one? I couldn’t go to his house because it was being renovated andthat’swhy he was living at the Langham,’ she says sarcastically. ‘I really should have figured that one out – living in a hotel for six months on a pilot’s salary? And how long can bathroom renovations actually take? The only upside of that lie is having stayed there. It’s a lovely hotel.’

She pauses, her expression wistful, but I keep quiet, letting her sort through her thoughts.

‘Honestly, Poppy, I can’t believe how naïve I’ve been. I’mfartoo trusting. I mean,hello! Giant red flags everywhere!’ she exclaims, waving her arms about to demonstrate.

‘You are being way too hard on yourself. Love can make you blind to red flags. That’s one of the reasons we carefully vet everyone who signs on with Ever After.’

‘You’re a red-flag filter,’ she says.

‘I haven’t heard it put like that before, but yes.’

Kate huffs noisily, then looks out the window. ‘I think I know what I want to do, a way for me to move forward’ – her gaze lands back on me – ‘but I keep going back and forth.’

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