Perfect Timing by Jill Mansell Page B

more than yours did,’ Claudia declared, giving up on the cigarette and chucking it out of the cab window.
    â€˜Oh yes, of course I am.’ Poppy lifted her eyebrows in a what-can-you-do-with-a-mad-woman? kind of way.
    â€˜Don’t do that with your eyebrows,’ howled Claudia.
    â€˜I’ll do whatever I like with my eyebrows. I paid three hundred and seventy-five pounds for them at Hyper Hyper.’
    Claudia wondered if she’d ever wanted to strangle anyone this much before in her life. There was that hateful, barely-visible grin again, the one Poppy used when she was making fun of her.
    â€˜You’re going to regret this.’ Realizing she didn’t have the strength for anything more physical, Claudia waggled an index finger at Poppy instead. ‘I was going to tell you something. Something important. You should, you know… you should be nice to me…’
    Poppy thought she’d been an awful lot nicer than Claudia deserved. Exerting superhuman control, she said, ‘Go on then, what is this oh-so-important thing I need to know?’
    â€˜I’m not sure I want to tell you.’ The pointed finger jabbed like a conductor’s baton. ‘I don’t think you deserve to know. You shouldn’t—’
    â€˜Oh for God’s sake,’ yelped Poppy, throwing herself back in her seat, ‘will someone please shut this girl up? What have I done to deserve her ?’
    â€˜Claudia,’ said Caspar not unkindly, ‘shut up.’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜No, I mean it. You’ve drunk enough to float the QE2.’
    â€˜Oh well,’ Claudia looked affronted, ‘in that case I won’t breathe another word.’ She shook back her heavy blonde hair. ‘Not one single word about the pianist at the Cavendish jazz club… the pianist whose name happens to be Alex Fitzpatrick…’

Chapter 13
    Claudia woke up next morning with a cracking headache. When she rolled over and realized her alarm clock hadn’t gone off, and that it was now nine thirty, she groaned aloud.
    â€˜It’s okay,’ said Poppy, nudging open the bedroom door with her elbow and plonking a tray on the end of Claudia’s bed. ‘I turned off the alarm. And I’ve phoned your office. I said there’d been a car crash outside the house and you’d rescued a little old lady from the wreckage. You had to wrap her severed finger in frozen peas and take it along to the hospital but you’d be back at work this afternoon.’
    Claudia nodded, winced, and clutched the side of her head. Getting into a sitting position was worse than climbing Everest. One thing about Poppy, she certainly came up with some inventive reasons for being late for work.
    â€˜Here, drink this.’ Poppy passed her a cup of tea. She dropped three asprins into Claudia’s trembling outstretched hand. ‘And I’ve made you some toast if you think you can keep it down.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘And I’m sorry if I was horrible last night.’
    â€˜I’m sorry too.’ Claudia looked shamefaced. It had all come hurtling back to her. ‘I didn’t behave very well either. I can’t believe I threatened not to tell you about the Alex Fitzpatrick thing.’ She gulped down the last few mouthfuls of too-hot tea. It singed her tonsils but quenched her raging thirst. ‘I would have told you, of course I would.’
    â€˜I know.’
    Poppy had barely slept. She still hadn’t been able to get over the hand fate had played in Claudia’s revelation. To think, if Ellis Featherstone hadn’t phoned up last week she would never have come to the inescapable conclusion that Jake was gay. She wouldn’t have told Claudia, Jake wouldn’t have overheard, and the ensuing furious row would never have taken place. And if it hadn’t, Claudia wouldn’t have stomped off to the far end of the gallery and