She wiped away an unwelcome tear of frustration. “The spice tender. The fifth bidder for the contract.”
Francis slowly nodded, and as Poppy glared at him, a look of understanding appeared on his face. It quickly turned to one of dismay. “You are the fifth bidder? But how?”
“The tender closed the day I arrived. I saw the notice on the wall of the superintendent’s office when I went to collect the keys for the warehouse. I worked all night on the proposal and made the deadline with a few minutes to spare.”
His eyes narrowed on her, and Poppy was certain she could smell the tart scent of suspicion as it oozed from Francis’s pores.
“You lied to me,” he said.
She shook her head, annoyed but not the least surprised that he would take this tack. Blame her for his problems.
And to think that I thought you might be more than just the sum of your polished accent and fine clothes.
“Not at the outset. I hadn’t even met you when I submitted my bid. If you would have a care as to recall certain facts, you would remember that our first encounter was when you decided to dump your barrels and ropes at my front door.”
“But you lied to me.”
“And at what point did you ever mention the spice contract to me?” Poppy stepped forward and stabbed her finger into Francis’s chest. He didn’t budge an inch. “You throw your so-called business rules around to suit yourself. I wasn’t undermining you or lying when I pitched for the contract.”
Tears rolled freely down her cheeks. A mixture of anger and hurt gripped her heart.
“And what about the warehouse? At what point, were you going to mention that you intended to marry me so you could get your hands on this warehouse? Oh, sorry. Was that too forward of me?”
Francis’s lips moved, but nothing came out.
It was time to end the evening. To bring an end to this farce.
Poppy clenched her fists. “I won’t apologize for the tender bid. As you are wont to say, Mister Saunders, this is purely business. Nothing more. The only thing I am sorry for, is that I crossed a line with you, one which I knew I shouldn’t have done. All I can say is that I am grateful things didn’t progress any further.”
“Poppy,” he whispered.
“I shall send a note to Will and Hattie apologizing for this evening. They don’t deserve to be caught up in the middle of a business battle. Because business is all that you and I have left.”
He drew closer, and despite her best efforts, Poppy couldn’t look away. The hurt and disbelief in Francis’s eyes tore at her soul. Whatever hope either of them had held at the start of tonight lay in ashes on the floor.
“I want you to leave, Francis. The only thing I will ask of you is that you respect the rule of English law. If you attempt to undermine my business in any way, I shall lodge legal proceedings against you personally and the Saunders Shipping Company.” She bent and picked up the tea set, handing it to him once more. “Good night.”
“You can’t give a friend back the gift they gave you,” he protested.
“Well then, you shouldn’t have a problem. We are not friends; we were barely past the point of cordial acquaintances. Anything else which transpired between us I have already noted was purely an error of judgement on my part. And a misunderstanding on yours. I intend to forget about it. I suggest you do the same.”
Poppy opened the door and motioned for Francis to leave. He hesitated, but to her relief, he went without a word, taking the box with him. She closed the door behind him, turned the key in the lock, and went to find some dry clothes.
She had been a fool, and the price she was going to pay was a familiar one. She was once more alone.
Chapter Thirty-Six
For the longest time, Francis simply stood in the swirling tempest staring at the closed door of warehouse number fourteen. He didn’t notice the rain, only stirring when he was thoroughly soaked through and a shiver rain down his spine.
Passing the planter boxes, he stopped to set one which had fallen over to rights, scooping the dirt back into the pot and placing it safely against the wall. It was only a few yards to his own front door, but his footsteps were slow and labored. Rain dripped off the ends of his hair and into his eyes.
The only way he could be any more drenched was if he had gone and leapt into the water.
Somehow, he managed to make it inside number twelve, where he set the tea set down. He stared at it for a moment, still unsure how it had come to be back in his possession.
We are not friends.
How could Poppy say such a thing? Did she have any idea as to how he felt about her?
