Mini Shopaholic

My mobile suddenly rings and I practically leap off the sofa, I’m so nervy. What if it’s The Look telling me they’ve done their investigation and I’m fired? What if it’s Luke and he hears Elinor’s voice?

But as I pull out my phone I see Bonnie’s ID.

‘Elinor, excuse me a moment,’ I say quickly, and head over to the other side of the massive sitting room. ‘Hi Bonnie, what’s up?’

‘Dear, I can’t speak for long.’ Bonnie sounds really flustered. ‘But we’ve had rather a set-back.’

‘Set-back?’ I feel a jolt. ‘What do you mean?’

Please let it be something small. Please let it be that we’ve got another nut-allergy person. I can’t cope with anything else big …

‘I don’t know if you’re aware that Luke’s been trying to set up a meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes? He’s Sir Bernard Cross’s—’

‘… right-hand man,’ I join in. ‘Yes, he won’t stop talking about it.’

‘Well, they’ve set a date. The only date Christian can do. And it’s 7 April.’

I feel a nasty little twinge. ‘What time?’

‘Lunchtime.’

I breathe out. ‘Well, that should still be all right—’

‘In Paris.’

‘Paris?’ I stare at the phone in horror.

‘They’re planning to stay overnight. Luke’s asked me to book flights and a hotel.’

No. No. I can’t be hearing this.

‘He can’t go to Paris! Tell him his diary’s booked! Or phone Christian Scott-Hughes’s office and tell them—’

‘Becky, you don’t understand.’ Bonnie sounds as hassled as I feel. ‘Christian Scott-Hughes is a very busy man. Just to get this slot has been quite a coup. If we rearrange, it will be for several months’ time. I simply can’t do it.’

‘But what about that whole fake conference you set up?’

‘Luke’s missing it. He says it’s not important enough.’

I stare blindly at a gilt-framed painting of a girl in a red hat. My mind is whirling. Luke can’t go to Paris on the day of his party. It just can’t happen.

‘You’ll just have to get him to reschedule,’ I say desperately. ‘Make up some reason. Anything!’

‘I’ve tried!’ Bonnie sounds at the end of her tether. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried! I’ve suggested that he really should be at the conference, I’ve invented a lunch with his financial backers … I’ve even reminded him it’s his birthday. He just laughed. He won’t listen to anything I say. Becky …’ She exhales. ‘I know you wanted to surprise him. But I think you’re going to have to tell him the truth.’

‘No!’ I stare at the phone, aghast.

‘But it’s the only way …’

‘It’s not!’

‘Dear, is the surprise really that important?’

‘Yes!’ I cry out, suddenly near tears. ‘It is!’ I know she thinks I’m crazy and irrational. And maybe I am. But I’m not giving up now.

As I put down the phone I’m trembling. It’s as if the line of tension has been drawn up another 50 per cent, till I can hardly breathe. Barely knowing what I’m doing I head back to the sofa, reach for a tiny sugared bun and stuff it into my mouth. Then another one. Maybe sugar will help me think.

How do I stop Luke going to Paris? Pinch his passport? Kidnap him? Find some brilliant, watertight excuse which will stop him going?

Suddenly I become aware that Elinor has stopped reaching for pieces of puzzle and her chilly eye is resting on me. If she tells me my shoe is scuffed I will honestly throw this bun at her.

‘Rebecca, are you quite well? Have you had a shock?’

I automatically open my mouth to say, ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’ But suddenly … I just can’t. I’m not strong enough to keep up the happy façade. Not to someone who doesn’t even count.

‘To be honest, I’ve been better.’ With a shaky hand I pour myself a cup of tea and stir three sugars into it, slopping some over the edge.

‘Would you like a brandy? Or a stiff cocktail?’

I eye her a bit suspiciously. Elinor’s offering me a cocktail? Is she making a dig?

No. Her face is humourless. I think she means it. And you know what? It’s the most welcome suggestion anyone has made to me for a long time.

‘Yes please,’ I say after a pause. ‘I’d love a stiff cocktail.’

Elinor passes me the room-service list and I order an apple martini, and after about a nano-second it appears. I sip it gratefully and the alcohol hits my bloodstream and at once I feel a bit better. Once I’m halfway down I stop trembling. God, I could do with about three of these. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">