Page 114 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Is this about the Whitaker case?’ she asks. It’s a fair assumption, even though I have other active cases.

‘Yep. I could be hooking him as soon as tonight.’

‘Oh, good work, Poppy. And you’ve phoned about the contract?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s almost good to go. I’ve got a former colleague looking it over this weekend, so it’ll be ready to send as early as Monday, if needed.’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

‘Of course.’

We chitchat for a minute or two about her family, then wrap up the call. All I need to do now is wait to hear from Dunn. In the meantime, I make another call – this one to Shaz.

‘What’s up?’

‘Do you always answer the phone like that?’

‘Hah! Only when my bestie calls. So, whatisup?’

‘I’ve got a hypothetical for you,’ I begin. ‘For that case with the multiple fiancées.’

‘Go.’

‘You’ve got a narcissist with tendencies towards grandiosity who sees you as a gullible, naïve innocent that he can manipulate into falling for him.Andyou need him to agree to something outrageous – in this instance, donating a huge sum of money to the charity you work for in Melbourne, so your bosses will let you return to London where you’ll resume the courtship. How do you play it?’

‘Fuck me, this is a juicy case.’

‘Juicy, yes, but I also want it to be over –ASAP. So, what do you reckon?’

‘Lean into the narcissism. Onlyhecan solve your problem. And if you can swing it, cry.’

‘Cry? But how do I do that?’

I do cry sometimes – I’m not shut off from my emotions or anything – but I can’t cry on queue. I’m not a trained actor – far from it!

‘I’ll send you something. It’s an exercise I use with my patients to access deep emotions.’

‘Okay, sure,’ I reply, unconvinced.

I ask her to say hi to Lauren for me, then end the call. Less than a minute later, an email hits my inbox and I read though the attachment. Shaz is right – this exercise could be my magic bullet.

Now I just need Dunn to contact Penny. It’s possible that he won’t, but with the other three turning him down and his Saturday-night plans turning to shit, I’m confident he will.

* * *

Tristan taps softly on the door as he opens it and peeks in.

‘Are you finished with— Oh no, you’ve been crying,’ he says, concerned. He crosses to me and bobs down, one hand cupping my cheek.

‘Fakecrying. I had to really sell the whole I-miss-you-and-I-can’t-come-back-to-London-unless-you-write-a-huge-cheque thing.’

‘Oh.’ He sits back on his heels. ‘And?’

‘And he said to send over the necessary paperwork as soon as possible, then book a flight.’

Tristan gives me a concerned side-eye. ‘How does he expect someone who works for a not-for-profit to afford a last-minute flight across the world?’

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