Mini Shopaholic

‘Give that back!’ His voice rises harshly and he pulls the BlackBerry out of my grasp.

I stare at him in shock, blood pulsing through my cheeks. He really meant that. He really didn’t want me to see. Is this about Minnie? Or … something else?

‘What’s the secret?’ I say at last. ‘Luke, what are you hiding?’

‘Nothing,’ he says defensively. ‘There’s work-in-progress on there. Rough stuff. Sensitive stuff. I don’t like anyone seeing it.’

Yeah, right. His eyes keep flicking to his BlackBerry. He’s lying. I know it.

‘Luke, you’re keeping something from me.’ I swallow hard. ‘I know you are. We’re a couple! We shouldn’t have secrets from each other!’

‘You can talk!’ He throws back his head and laughs. ‘My darling, I don’t know whether it’s shopping, or some massive debt, or you really are having Botox … but there’s something going on that you don’t want me to know about. Isn’t there?’

Shit.

‘No there is not!’ I say hotly. ‘Absolutely not!’

Please let him think it’s shopping, please let him think it’s shopping …

There’s an odd, tingly pause, then Luke shrugs.

‘Fine. Well then … neither of us is hiding anything.’

‘Fine.’ I lift my chin. ‘Agreed.’

THIRTEEN

As soon as I get up the next morning I call Bonnie’s line and leave an urgent message for her to call back. She’ll tell me what’s going on. Downstairs at breakfast there’s a prickly atmosphere, and Luke keeps glancing warily at me as though he’s not sure how to proceed.

‘So!’ he suddenly says in fake, cheerful tones. ‘Big day today. I’m trying to arrange a meeting with Sir Bernard Cross’s right-hand man, Christian Scott-Hughes. We feel Sir Bernard might be sympathetic to the climate-technology cause.’

God, he’s transparent. He’s not going to tell me about whatever-it-is on the BlackBerry … so instead he’s offering me some boring old piece of information about climate technology and he thinks that’ll fool me.

‘Fab,’ I say politely.

Actually, I am quite impressed. Sir Bernard Cross is massive. (In both senses: he’s always in the news because of being a billionaire philanthropist with lots of extreme views, and he weighs about twenty-five stone.)

‘Christian Scott-Hughes is Sir Bernard’s executive director and hugely influential,’ Luke is saying. ‘If we can win him round, then we’re a long way down the road.’

‘Why don’t you go and meet Bernard Cross himself?’ I say, and Luke gives a little laugh.

‘Sir Bernard doesn’t just meet people,’ he says. ‘That’s like saying, “Why don’t we just meet the Queen herself?” You don’t do that. You go through layers. You work the system.’

I don’t get that at all. If I wanted to see the Queen, I’d aim to see the Queen. But there’s no point saying that to Luke, because he’ll just give me some lecture about how I don’t understand the complexities of his business, like that time when I suggested matchmaking all his single clients.

And anyway, I don’t really care one way or the other about Sir Bernard Big-belly

‘How about you?’ He drains his coffee. ‘Work OK?’

‘Booming, actually,’ I say smugly. ‘Our appointment book is fuller than it’s ever been and the managing director just sent me an email telling me how brilliant I am.’

Luke gives an incredulous laugh. ‘I don’t know how you do it. Every other sector is dead, but you’re still managing to sell expensive designer clothes …’ His face suddenly blanches. ‘Becky, please tell me you’re not just selling them all to yourself.’

I gasp with affront. Number one, I made a promise, which I am keeping. Number two, if I was doing that, then why would I be standing here in a skirt which I bought five years ago from Barneys?

‘If you really want to know,’ I say haughtily, ‘we at The Look have a unique approach to fashion selling which is seeing us through the difficult times.’

I won’t explain that ‘unique’ means ‘we hide the clothes in computer-paper boxes’. Luke doesn’t need to hear every tedious little detail of my job, does he?

‘Well, all power to you then.’ Luke gives me a disarming smile. ‘I have to go. Give my love to Suze.’

I’m meeting Suze before work to see Ernie’s art exhibition at his school and – hopefully – bump into his headmistress. (I’ve prepared all sorts of cutting remarks. She’ll be quaking in her boots by the time I’ve finished with her.) And then we’re both going on to The Look for the big promotional tie-in meeting. 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">