Showing posts with label your. Show all posts
Showing posts with label your. Show all posts
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Download Gratis 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Terbaru 2016
Download Gratis 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Terbaru 2016
Download Gratis 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Terbaru 2016 : Selamat malam sobat MalingFile semua bagaimana nih kabar kalian semua di malam hari ini semoga kalian semua selalu sehat dan semangat dalam menjalani segala aktivitas kalian semua di hari ini. Pada kesempatan kali ini admin akan share sebuah game terbaru Desember 2016 yang sudah banyak di mainkan oleh kalangan remaja dan kalangan gamer semua. Game yang akan memberikan sajian terbaru dan berbeda dengan game yang lainnya. Game yan satu ini akan membuat kalian semua menjadi ketagihan jika biasanya 300 di tampilkan di dalam film kini admin share pada kalian semua dalam bentuk Apk Mod terbaru game petualangan Desember 2016.
Download Juga : Download Gratis Om Telolet Om Mod Apk Terbaru 2016 Part 3
300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Terbaru 2016 : 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk - Adalah sebuah Game Mod Apk terbaru Desember 2016 yang memiliki tampilan grafis yang sangat bagus sekali sehingga kalian semua tidak akan bosan saat memainkan game yang satu ini. Game 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Full Version ini juga memiliki ukuran space yang sangat rendah sekali sehingga HP kalian semua tidak akan lemot ataupun hang saat di mainkan. Game 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Full Hack ini juga memiliki berbagai kelebihan di segi fitur sehingg akan membuat permianan ini semakin seru dan samakin menegangkan. Game 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk.
Download Juga : Download Gratis Hot Wheels Race Off Mod Apk Terbaru 2016
Download 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk : Game yang di adaptasi dari sebuah film yang sangat bagus sekali sehingg menyisakan berbagai pesan moral dari film tersebut kini hadir kembali dalam kemasan yang berbeda yaitu Game 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Gratis Download. Cara main dari Game ini sangatlah mudah sekali kalian semua harus menyelesaikan misi yang ada di dalam game ini. Game 300 Seize Your Glory Mod Apk Latest Version ini mengharuskan kalian untuk memimpin pasukan yang harus menghadapi musuh yang semakin banyak semakin susah dan akan semakin meyulitkan.
Screenshot
Link Download
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Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Amazer Pro Find your way Apk Download v1 0 1 For Android
Amazer Pro Find your way Apk Download v1 0 1 For Android
Google Play Store Apk Price : $0.95
Google Play Store Apk Rating : 5.0
Google Play Store Apk Downloads :
Download Free From Androidpureapk
Description
«Amazer Pro» — the most popular and interesting 2D maze game for your smartphone and tablet. Become familiar with the concept throughout the first levels and then improve your skills to overcome enemies and obstacles. You will be facing a unique game field with shaded regions in which you must collect all the keys to open the gates to the next level of your adventure. Different bonuses are available to help you battle your enemies in the Amazer world. These bonuses can be found in select dark corners of the maze or you can purchase them at our in-app store.
Amazer Pro - Find your way Apk Download v1.0.1 For Android
Features:? Discover many bright and puzzling levels
? Simple tutorial for beginners
? Different play modes
? Intuitive touch control provides a comfortable game
Try Also This Game : Bomb Hunters (Unreleased) Mod Apk
? Innovative game mechanics
? Universal app with excellent graphics
? Ability to set records and compete with other players worldwide
? Autosave completed levels
? Synchronize your progress through Facebook
? Beautiful, live HD graphics optimized for all types of screens!
Amazer Pro - Find your way Apk Information
Requires : Android 4.0 and upSize : 34 mb
Version : 1.0.1
How to install:
-Download apk from Androidpureapk-Install The apk
-Run the App
-And enjoy it
How To Download Apk/Data Files(Guide)
Amazer Pro - Find your way Apk
Amazer Pro - Find your way Apk (Click Here)
Available link for download
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
How To Know If Your Smartphone is 4G LTE Supported
How To Know If Your Smartphone is 4G LTE Supported
Most of the telecommunications in Nigeria are now migrating from existing 2G and 3G services to genuinely high-speed mobile broadband on 4G/LTE and this is time for us to dump outdated 3G network and moves forward with 4G LTE network.
4G LTE allowed smartphone technology to spread its wings. That’s because it’s much, much faster than 3G. So when you want to download the new game or stream a TV show in HD, you can do it without buffering and legs that make the experience not worth the wait.Using a 4G smartphone with 4G LTE network means you can download files from the Internet up to 10 times faster than with 3G.
Based on peoples comments in the previous post about 4G LTE, we noticed that lots of people cant different if their smartphone is 3G or 4G enabled device, now we are here to sort it out.
Whether you are using Android smartphone, iPhone, Windows Phone or even a Blackberry device, you can check if that your mobile phone support 4G network. The steps are very simple, just follow it accordingly.
To Know If Your Smartphone is 4G LTE Supported
For Android Device
Go to Settings >> Network Settings >> Mobile Network. It should give you a drop-down menu of mobile standards such as 2G, 3G or LTE (4G). If you don’t see 4G or LTE, then your smartphone doesn’t support the standard.
iPhone Users
Go to Settings >> General >> Cellular >> Enable 4G LTE.
Blackberry Users
Go to settings >> Network and Connection >> Mobile Network >> Network mode and you’ll see 4G&3G&2G. however, if you are using Blackberry Q5 and below, you won’t get 4G network services.
Windows Phone Users
Go to Settings > Celluar + Sim > Highest connection speed and check if LTE is part of the options.
Available link for download
Friday, February 3, 2017
Your Heart belongs to me by Dean Koontz
Your Heart belongs to me by Dean Koontz
From the #1 New York Times bestselling master of suspense comes a riveting thriller that probes the deepest terrors of the human psyche—and the ineffable mystery of what truly makes us who we are. Here a brilliant young man finds himself fighting for his very existence in a battle that starts with the most frightening words of all…
At thirty-four, Internet entrepreneur Ryan Perry seemed to have the world in his pocket—until the first troubling symptoms appeared out of nowhere. Within days, he’s diagnosed with incurable cardiomyopathy and finds himself on the waiting list for a heart transplant; it’s his only hope, and it’s dwindling fast. Ryan is about to lose it all…his health, his girlfriend Samantha, and his life. One year later, Ryan has never felt better. Business is good and he hopes to renew his relationship with Samantha. Then the unmarked gifts begin to appear—a box of Valentine candy hearts, a heart pendant. Most disturbing of all, a graphic heart surgery video and the chilling message: Your heart belongs to me. In a heartbeat, the medical miracle that gave Ryan a second chance at life is about to become a curse worse than death. For Ryan is being stalked by a mysterious woman who feels entitled to everything he has. She’s the spitting image of the twenty-six-year-old donor of the heart beating steadily in Ryan’s own chest. And she’s come to take it back.
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An Excerpt; Your Heart belongs to me by Dean Koontz Book
On that Wednesday morning in September, in his bedroom, when he drew open the draperies and saw blue sky as polished as a plate, and the sea blue with the celestial reflection, he wanted surf and sand more than he wanted breakfast. He went on-line, consulted a surfcast site, and called Samantha.
She must have glanced at the caller-ID readout, because she said, “Good morning, Winky.”
She occasionally called him Winky because on the afternoon that she met him, thirteen months previously, he had been afflicted with a stubborn case of myokymia, uncontrollable twitching of an eyelid. Sometimes, when Ryan became so obsessed with writing software that he went thirty-six hours without sleep, a sudden-onset tic in his right eye forced him to leave the keyboard and made him appear to be blinking out a frantic distress signal in Morse code. In that myokymic moment, Samantha had come to his office to interview him for an article that she had been writing for Vanity Fair. For a moment, she had thought he was flirting with her—and flirting clumsily. During that first meeting, Ryan wanted to ask for a date, but he perceived in her a seriousness of purpose that would cause her to reject him as long as she was writing about him. He called her only after he knew that she had delivered the article. “When Vanity Fair appears, what if I’ve savaged you?” she had asked.
“You haven’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t deserve to be savaged, and you’re a fair person.”
“You don’t know me well enough to be sure of that.”
“From your interviewing style,” he said, “I know you’re smart, clear-thinking, free of political dogma, and without envy. If I’m not safe with you, then I’m safe nowhere except alone in a room.”
He had not sought to flatter her. He merely spoke his mind. Having an ear for deception, Samantha recognized his sincerity. Of the qualities that draw a bright woman to a man, truthfulness is equaled only by kindness, courage, and a sense of humor. She had accepted his invitation to dinner, and the months since then had been the happiest of his life. Now, on this Wednesday morning, he said, “Pumping six-footers, glassy and epic, sunshine that feels its way deep into your bones.”
“I’ve got a deadline to meet.”
“You’re too young for all this talk about death.”
“Are you riding another train of manic insomnia?”
“Slept like a baby. And I don’t mean in a wet diaper.”
“When you’re sleep-deprived, you’re treacherous on a board.”
“I may be radical, but never treacherous.”
“Totally insane, like with the shark.”
“That again. That was nothing.”
“Just a great white.”
“Well, the bastard bit a huge chunk out of my board.”
“And—what?—you were determined to get it back?”
“I wiped out,” Ryan said, “I’m under the wave, in the murk, grabbin’ for air, my hand closes around what I think is the skeg.” The skeg, a fixed fin on the bottom of a surfboard, holds the stern of the board in the wave and allows the rider to steer. What Ryan actually grabbed was the shark’s dorsal fin.
Samantha said, “What kind of kamikaze rides a shark?”
“I wasn’t riding. I was taken for a ride.”
“He surfaced, tried to shake you off, you rode him back down.”
“Afraid to let go. Anyway, it lasted like only twenty seconds.”
“Insomnia makes most people sluggish. It makes you hyper.”
“I hibernated last night. I’m as rested as a bear in spring.”
She said, “In a circus once, I saw a bear riding a tricycle.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It was funnier than watching an idiot ride a shark.”
“I’m Pooh Bear. I’m rested and cuddly. If a shark knocked on the door right now, asked me to go for a ride, I’d say no.”
“I had nightmares about you wrestling that shark.”
“Not wrestling. It was more like ballet. Meet you at the place?”
“I’ll never finish writing this book.”
“Leave the computer on when you go to bed each night. The elves will finish it for you. At the place?”
She sighed in happy resignation. “Half an hour.”
“Wear the red one,” he said, and hung up. The water would be warm, the day warmer. He wouldn’t need a wet suit. He pulled on a pair of baggies with a palm-tree motif. His collection included a pair with a shark pattern. If he wore them, she would kick his ass. Figuratively speaking. For later, he took a change of clothes on a hanger, and a pair of loafers. Of the five vehicles in his garage, the customized ’51 Ford Woodie Wagon—anthracite-black with bird’s-eye maple panels—seemed to be best suited to the day. Already stowed in the back, his board protruded past the lifted tailgate windows, skeg up. At the end of the cobblestone driveway, as he turned left into the street, he paused to look back at the house: gracefully sloping roofs of red barrel tile, limestone-clad walls, bronze windows with panes of beveled glass refracting the sun as if they were jewels.
A maid in a crisp white uniform opened a pair of second-floor balcony doors to air the master bedroom. One of the landscapers trimmed the jasmine vines that were espaliered on the walls flanking the carved-limestone surround at the main entrance.
In less than a decade, Ryan had gone from a cramped apartment in Anaheim to the hills of Newport Coast, high above the Pacific. Samantha could take the day off on a whim because she was a writer who, though struggling, could set her own hours. Ryan could take it off because he was rich.
Quick wits and hard work had brought him from nothing to the pinnacle. Sometimes when he considered his origins from his current perch, the distance dizzied him. As he drove out of the gate-guarded community and descended the hills toward Newport Harbor, where thousands of pleasure boats were docked and moored in the glimmering sun-gilded water, he placed a few business calls.
A year previously, he had stepped down as the chief executive officer of Be2Do, which he had built into the most successful social-networking site on the Internet. As the principal stockholder, he remained on the board of directors but declined to be the chairman.
These days, he devoted himself largely to creative development, envisioning and designing new services to be provided by the company. And he tried to persuade Samantha to marry him.
He knew that she loved him, yet something constrained her from committing to marriage. He suspected pride. The shadow of his wealth was deep, and she did not want to be lost in it. Although she had not expressed this concern, he knew that she hoped to be able to count herself a success as a writer, as a novelist, so that she could enter the marriage as a creative—if not a financial—equal.
Ryan was patient. And persistent. Phone calls completed, he transitioned from Pacific Coast Highway by bridge to Balboa Peninsula, which separated the harbor from the sea. Cruising toward the peninsula point, he listened to classic doo-wop, music younger than the Woodie Wagon but a quarter of a century older than he was. He parked on a tree-lined street of charming homes and carried his board half a block to Newport’s main beach. The sea poured rhythmic thunder onto the shore.
She waited at “the place,” which was where they had first surfed together, midway between the harbor entrance and the pier. Her above-garage apartment was a three-minute walk from here. She had come with her board, a beach towel, and a small cooler. Although he had asked her to wear the red bikini, Samantha wore yellow. He had hoped for the yellow, but if he had asked for it, she would have worn red or blue, or green. She was as perfect as a mirage, blond hair and golden form, a quiver of light, an alluring oasis on the wide slope of sun-seared sand.
“What’re those sandals?” she asked.
“Stylin’, huh?”
“Are they made from old tires?”
“Yeah. But they’re premium gear.”
“Did you also buy a hat made from a hubcap?”
“You don’t like these?”
“If you have a blowout, does the auto club bring you a new shoe?”
Kicking off the sandals, he said, “Well, I like them.”
“How often do they need to be aligned and balanced?”
Soft and hot, the sand shifted underfoot, but then was compacted and cool where the purling surf worked it like a screed. As they waded into the sea, he said, “I’ll ditch the sandals if next time you’ll wear the red bikini.”
“You actually wanted this yellow one.”
He repressed his surprise at her perspicacity. “Then why would I ask for the red?”
“Because you only think you can read me.”
“But I’m an open book, huh?”
“Winky, compared to you, Dr. Seuss’s simplest tale is as complex as Dostoyevsky.”
They launched their boards and, prone upon them, paddled out toward the break. Raising his voice above the swash of the surf, he called to her: “Was that Seuss thing an insult?” Her silvery laughter stirred in Ryan memories of mermaid tales awash with the mysteries of the deep. She said, “Not an insult, sweetie. That was a thirteen-word kiss.” Ryan did not bother to recall and count her words from Winky to Dostoyevsky. Samantha noticed everything, forgot nothing, and was able to recall entire conversations that had occurred months previously.
Sometimes he found her as daunting as she was appealing, which seemed to be a good thing. Samantha would never be predictable or boring. The consistently spaced waves came like boxcars, four or five at a time. Between these sets were periods of relative calm.
While the sea was slacking, Ryan and Samantha paddled out to the lineup. There, they straddled their boards and watched the first swell of a new set roll toward the break.
From this more intimate perspective, the sea was not as placid and blue as it had appeared from his house in the hills, but as dark as jade and challenging. The approaching swell might have been the arching back of some scaly leviathan, larger than a thousand sharks, born in the deep but rising now to feed upon the sunlit world.
Sam looked at Ryan and grinned. The sun searched her eyes and revealed in them the blue of sky, the green of sea, the delight of being in harmony with millions of tons of water pushed shoreward by storms three thousand miles away and by the moon now looming on the dark side of the earth.
Available link for download
Monday, January 30, 2017
Ive Got Your Number by Sophie Kinsella
Ive Got Your Number by Sophie Kinsella
I’ve lost it. The only thing in the world I wasn’t supposed to lose. My engagement ring. It’s been in Magnus’s family for three generations. And now the very same day his parents are coming, I’ve lost it. The very same day! Do not hyperventilate, Poppy. Stay positive !!
Poppy Wyatt has never felt luckier. She is about to marry her ideal man, Magnus Tavish, but in one afternoon her “happily ever after” begins to fall apart. Not only has she lost her engagement ring in a hotel fire drill but in the panic that follows, her phone is stolen. As she paces shakily around the lobby, she spots an abandoned phone in a trash can. Finders keepers! Now she can leave a number for the hotel to contact her when they find her ring. Perfect!
Well, perfect except that the phone’s owner, businessman Sam Roxton, doesn’t agree. He wants his phone back and doesn’t appreciate Poppy reading his messages and wading into his personal life.
What ensues is a hilarious and unpredictable turn of events as Poppy and Sam increasingly upend each other’s lives through emails and text messages. As Poppy juggles wedding preparations, mysterious phone calls, and hiding her left hand from Magnus and his parents . . . she soon realizes that she is in for the biggest surprise of her life.
Poppy Wyatt has never felt luckier. She is about to marry her ideal man, Magnus Tavish, but in one afternoon her “happily ever after” begins to fall apart. Not only has she lost her engagement ring in a hotel fire drill but in the panic that follows, her phone is stolen. As she paces shakily around the lobby, she spots an abandoned phone in a trash can. Finders keepers! Now she can leave a number for the hotel to contact her when they find her ring. Perfect!
Well, perfect except that the phone’s owner, businessman Sam Roxton, doesn’t agree. He wants his phone back and doesn’t appreciate Poppy reading his messages and wading into his personal life.
What ensues is a hilarious and unpredictable turn of events as Poppy and Sam increasingly upend each other’s lives through emails and text messages. As Poppy juggles wedding preparations, mysterious phone calls, and hiding her left hand from Magnus and his parents . . . she soon realizes that she is in for the biggest surprise of her life.
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Download Links For the Ebook
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| Download the ebook for Free - Ive got yor number by sophie kinsella EPUB on OneDrive |
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| Download the Ebook for Free (PDF) |
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Sneak Peek on Ive Got Your Number by Sophie Kinsella Ebook
Perspective. I need to get perspective. It’s not an earthquake or a crazed gunman or a nuclear meltdown, is it? On the scale of disasters, this is not huge. Not huge. One day I expect I’ll look back at this moment and laugh and think, Ha-ha, how silly I was to worry—
Stop, Poppy. Don’t even try. I’m not laughing—in fact, I feel sick. I’m walking blindly around the hotel ballroom, my heart thudding, looking fruitlessly on the patterned blue carpet, behind gilt chairs, under discarded paper napkins, in places where it couldn’t possibly be. I’ve lost it. The only thing in the world I wasn’t supposed to lose. My engagement ring. To say this is a special ring is an understatement. It’s been in Magnus’s family for three generations. It’s this stunning emerald with two diamonds, and Magnus had to get it out of a special bank vault before he proposed. I’ve worn it safely every day for three whole months, religiously putting it on a special china tray at night, feeling for it on my finger every thirty seconds … and now, the very day his parents are coming back from the States, I’ve lost it.
The very same day. Professors Antony Tavish and Wanda Brook-Tavish are, at this precise moment, flying back from six months’ sabbatical in Chicago. I can picture them now, eating honey-roasted peanuts and reading academic papers on their his ’n’ hers Kindles. I honestly don’t know which of them is more intimidating. Him. He’s so sarcastic. No, her. With all that frizzy hair and always asking you questions about your views on feminism. OK, they’re both bloody scary. And they’re landing in about an hour, and of course they’ll want to see the ring— No. Do not hyperventilate, Poppy. Stay positive. I just need to look at this from a different angle. Like … what would Poirot do? Poirot wouldn’t flap around in panic. He’d stay calm and use his little gray cells and recall some tiny, vital detail which would be the clue to everything. I squeeze my eyes tight. Little gray cells. Come on. Do your best. Thing is, I’m not sure Poirot had three glasses of pink champagne and a mojito before he solved the Murder on the Orient Express. “Miss?” A gray-haired cleaning lady is trying to get round me with a Hoover, and I gasp in horror. They’re Hoovering the ballroom already? What if they suck it up?
“Excuse me.” I grab her blue nylon shoulder. “Could you just give me five more minutes to search before you start Hoovering?”
“Still looking for your ring?” She shakes her head doubtfully, then brightens. “I expect you’ll find it safe at home. It’s probably been there all the time!”
“Maybe.” I force myself to nod politely, although I feel like screaming, “I’m not that stupid!” I spot another cleaner, on the other side of the ballroom, clearing cupcake crumbs and crumpled paper napkins into a black plastic bin bag. She isn’t concentrating at all. Wasn’t she listening to me?
“Excuse me!” My voice shrills out as I sprint across to her. “You are looking out for my ring, aren’t you?”
“No sign of it so far, love.” The woman sweeps another load of detritus off the table into the bin bag without giving it a second glance. “Careful!” I grab for the napkins and pull them out again, feeling each one carefully for a hard lump, not caring that I’m getting buttercream icing all over my hands. “Dear, I’m trying to clear up.” The cleaner grabs the napkins out of my hands. “Look at the mess you’re making!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I scrabble for the cupcake cases I dropped on the floor. “But you don’t understand. If I don’t find this ring, I’m dead.”
I want to grab the bin bag and do a forensics check of the contents with tweezers. I want to put plastic tape round the whole room and declare it a crime scene. It has to be here, it has to be.
Unless someone’s still got it. That’s the only other possibility that I’m clinging to. One of my friends is still wearing it and somehow hasn’t noticed. Perhaps it’s slipped into a handbag … maybe it’s fallen into a pocket … it’s stuck on the threads of a jumper … The possibilities in my head are getting more and more far-fetched, but I can’t give up on them. “Have you tried the ladies’ room?” The woman tries to get past me. Of course I’ve tried the ladies’ room. I checked every single cubicle, on my hands and knees. And then all the basins. Twice. And then I tried to persuade the concierge to close it and have all the sink pipes investigated, but he refused. He said it would be different if I knew it had been lost there for certain, and he was sure the police would agree with him, and could I please step aside from the desk as there were people waiting? Police. Bah. I thought they’d come roaring round in their squad cars as soon as I called, not just tell me to come down to the police station and file a report. I don’t have time to file a report! I’ve got to find my ring! I hurry back to the circular table we were sitting at this afternoon and crawl underneath, patting the carpet yet again. How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so stupid?
It was my old school friend Natasha’s idea to get tickets for the Marie Curie Champagne Tea. She couldn’t come to my official hen spa weekend, so this was a kind of substitute. There were eight of us at the table, all merrily swigging champagne and stuffing down cupcakes, and it was right before the raffle started that someone said, “Come on, Poppy, let’s have a go with your ring.” I can’t even remember who that was. Annalise, maybe? Annalise was at university with me, and now we work together at First Fit Physio, with Ruby, who was also in our physio course. Ruby was at the tea too, but I’m not sure she tried on the ring. Or did she? I can’t believe how rubbish I am at this. How can I do a Poirot if I can’t even remember the basics? The truth is, everyone seemed to be trying on the ring: Natasha and Clare and Emily (old school friends up from Taunton), Lucinda (my wedding planner, who’s kind of become a friend) and her assistant, Clemency, and Ruby and Annalise (not only college friends and colleagues but my two best friends. They’re going to be my bridesmaids too).
I’ll admit it: I was basking in all the admiration. I still can’t believe something so grand and beautiful belongs to me. The fact is, I still can’t believe any of it. I’m engaged! Me, Poppy Wyatt. To a tall, handsome university lecturer who’s written a book and even been on the TV. Only six months ago, my love life was a disaster zone. I’d had no significant action for a year and was reluctantly deciding I should give that match.com guy with the bad breath a second chance—and now my wedding’s only ten days away! I wake up every morning and look at Magnus’s smooth, freckled, sleeping back and think, My fiancé, Dr. Magnus Tavish, Fellow of King’s College London,1 and feel a tiny tweak of disbelief. And then I swivel round and look at the ring, gleaming expensively on my nightstand, and feel another tweak of disbelief. What will Magnus say? My stomach clenches and I swallow hard. No. Don’t think about that. Come on, little gray cells. Get with it. I remember that Clare wore the ring for a long time. She really didn’t want to take it off. Then Natasha started tugging at it, saying, “My turn, my turn!” And I remember calling out, “Careful!”
I mean, it’s not like I was irresponsible. I was carefully watching the ring as it was passed round the table. But then my attention was split, because they started calling out the raffle numbers and the prizes were fantastic. A week in an Italian villa, and a top salon haircut, and a Harvey Nichols voucher … The ballroom was buzzing, with people pulling out tickets and numbers being called from the platform and women jumping up and shouting, “Me!” And this is the moment where I went wrong. This is the gut-churning, if-only instant. If I could go back in time, that’s the moment I would march up to myself and say severely, “Poppy, priorities.” But you don’t realize, do you? The moment happens, and you make your crucial mistake, and then it’s gone and the chance to do anything about it is blown away. So what happened was, Clare won Wimbledon tickets in the raffle. I love Clare to bits, but she’s always been a tad feeble. She didn’t stand up and yell, “Me! Woohoo!” at top volume, she just raised her hand a few inches. Even those of us at her table didn’t realize she’d won. As it dawned on me that Clare was waving a raffle ticket in the air, the presenter on the platform said, “I think we’ll draw again, if there’s no winner … ”
“Shout!” I poked Clare and waved my own hand wildly. “Here! The winner’s over here!”
“And the new number is … 4403.” To my disbelief, some dark-haired girl on the other side of the room started whooping and brandishing a ticket. “She didn’t win!” I exclaimed indignantly. “You won.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Clare was shrinking back.
“Of course it matters!” I cried out before I could stop myself, and everyone at the table started laughing. “Go, Poppy!” called out Natasha. “Go, White Knightess! Sort it out!”
“Go, Knightie!” This is an old joke. Just because there was this one incident at school, where I started a petition to save the hamsters, everyone began to call me the White Knightess. Or Knightie, for short. My so-called catchphrase is apparently “Of course it matters!” Anyway. Suffice it to say that within two minutes I was up on the stage with the dark-haired girl, arguing with the presenter about how my friend’s ticket was more valid than hers. I know now that I never should have left the table. I never should have left the ring, even for a second. I can see how stupid that was. But, in my defense, I didn’t know the fire alarm was going to go off, did I?
It was so surreal. One minute, everyone was sitting down at a jolly champagne tea. The next minute, a siren was blaring through the air and everyone was on their feet, heading for the exits in pandemonium. I could see Annalise, Ruby, and all the others grabbing their bags and making their way to the back. A man in a suit came onto the stage and started ushering me, the dark-haired girl, and the presenter toward a side door and wouldn’t let us go the other way. “Your safety is our priority,” he kept saying.
Even then, it’s not as if I was worried. I didn’t think the ring would have gone. I assumed one of my friends had it safe and I’d meet up with everyone outside and get it back. Outside, of course, it was mayhem. As well as our tea, there was some big business conference happening at the hotel, and all the delegates were spilling out of different doors into the road. Hotel staff were trying to make announcements into loudspeakers, and cars were beeping, and it took me ages just to find Natasha and Clare in the mêlée. “Have you got my ring?” I demanded at once, trying not to sound accusatory. “Who’s got it?” Both of them looked blank. “Dunno.” Natasha shrugged. “Didn’t Annalise have it?”
So then I plunged into the throng to find Annalise, but she didn’t have it; she thought Clare had it. And Clare thought Clemency had it. And Clemency thought Ruby might have had it, but hadn’t she gone already? The thing about panic is, it creeps up on you. One minute you’re still quite calm, still telling yourself, Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it can’t be lost. The next, the Marie Curie staff are announcing that the event will be curtailed early due to unforeseen circumstances and are handing out goody bags. And all your friends have disappeared to catch the tube. And your finger is still bare. And a voice inside your head is screeching, Oh my God! I knew this would happen! Nobody should ever have entrusted me with an antique ring! Big mistake! Big mistake! And that’s how you find yourself under a table an hour later, groping around a grotty hotel carpet, praying desperately for a miracle. (Even though your fiancé’s father has written a whole bestselling book on how miracles don’t exist and it’s all superstition and even saying “OMG” is the sign of a weak mind.) Suddenly I realize my phone is flashing and grab it with trembling fingers. Three messages have come in, and I scroll through them in hope.
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