Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6)

‘See you.’ I nod.

I’m off the hook. He’s just going to leave it. Even though there’s no way in a million years he believes the boob-job story.

Thanks for trusting me, I want to message silently back into his head. I wasn’t doing anything bad, –promise.

I hold my breath and watch him walk away till he rounds the corner. Then I collapse on a nearby bench, pull out a compact mirror and start studying my face in detail.

OK, Luke knows nothing about anything. I could easily have had Botox. Look at that totally smooth bit, right by my hair. He must be blind.

I get back to The Look to find Jasmine on the phone.

‘Yeah, two o’clock, no problem,’ she’s saying. ‘See you then.’ She puts the receiver down and gives me a look of triumphant joy. (That’s to say, one corner of her mouth raises reluctantly in a smile. I’ve learned to read Jasmine pretty well.) ‘Well, your plan’s working. Three clients have uncancelled their appointments.’

‘Fantastic!’

‘And there’s a customer waiting right now,’ Jasmine adds. ‘No appointment. Says she wants to see you, no one else. She’s lurking around the floor till you get back.’

‘OK,’ I say in surprise. ‘Well, just give me a minute.’

I hurry to my dressing room, put my bag away and freshen up my lipgloss, wondering who it might be. People do quite often drop in without an appointment, so it could be anybody. God, I hope it’s not that girl who wants to look like Jennifer Aniston, because the truth is, she’s never going to in a million years, however many halter tops she buys—

‘Rebecca.’

A familiar, haughty voice interrupts my thoughts. For an instant I can’t react. I think I might be dreaming. The back of my neck is prickling as I finally turn round … and there she is. Immaculate as ever in a pistachio-coloured suit, rigid hair, equally immobile face and her crocodile Birkin dangling from one skinny arm.

It WAS her, shoots through my mind. It WAS her outside the church.

‘Elinor!’ I manage. ‘What a surprise.’

This would be the understatement of the year.

‘Hello, Rebecca.’ She looks around the dressing room disdainfully as though to say ‘I expected no better,’ which is a nerve, as it’s just been redecorated.

‘Er … what can I do for you?’ I say at last.

‘I wish to …’ She stops and there’s a long, frozen silence. I feel as though we’re in a play and we’ve both forgotten our lines. What the hell are you doing here? is what I really want to say. Or, frankly, just Hhhnnnnhh?

This silence is getting ridiculous. We can’t stand here for ever like two mannequins. Elinor told Jasmine she was a customer. Well, fine. I’ll treat her like a customer.

‘So, are you after anything in particular?’ I take out my notepad, just as if she were any other client. ‘Day wear, perhaps? We have some new Chanel pieces in, which I believe might be your style.’

‘Very well,’ says Elinor after a lengthy pause.

What?

She’s going to try on clothes? Here? Seriously?

‘OK,’ I say, feeling a bit surreal. ‘Fine. I’ll select some pieces that I think would … er … suit you.’

I go to collect the clothes myself, return to the dressing room and hand them to Elinor.

‘Feel free to try on as many or as few as you like,’ I say politely. ‘I’ll be just outside if you need any advice or help.’

I close the door quietly, and give a silent scream. Elinor. Here. What the fuck is going on? Am I going to tell Luke about this? The whole thing is too freaky. I suddenly wish I’d pressed Luke more on what exactly happened between them, and what heinous thing she said. Should I be telling Elinor dramatically to get out now and never darken the door of The Look again?

But if I did that I’d probably get fired.

After about a minute the door opens again and Elinor appears, holding the whole armful of clothes. She can’t have tried them on, she hasn’t had nearly enough time.

‘Shall I take those for you?’ I force myself to stay polite.

‘Yes. They were satisfactory.’ She nods.

For a moment I think I can’t have understood.

‘You mean … you want to take them?’ I say disbelievingly. ‘You’re going to buy them?’

‘Very well. Yes.’ She frowns impatiently as though this conversation is already irritating her.

Eight grand’s worth of clothes? Just like that? My bonus is going to be fantastic.

‘OK! Well, that’s great!’ I’m trying to suppress my glee. ‘Any alterations needed or anything?’