“Luke, you’re going to love her,” I say patiently. “I know you are.”
I reach into my bag to check that my phone’s charged, then halt as I spot something on Luke’s desk. It’s a clipping from the financial pages about some new unit trust, with “Baby fund?” scribbled in the margin.
Ooh!
“So, you’re thinking of putting the baby’s money in a tracker fund, are you, Luke?” I say carelessly. “Interesting decision.”
Luke looks taken aback for a moment, then follows my gaze.
“Maybe I am,” he says in equally nonchalant tones. “Or maybe it’s a double-bluff to fool the spying opposition.”
“The opposition doesn’t need to spy.” I give him a kind smile. “She has her own brilliant ideas. In fact, if you need any tips, I’d be happy to help. For a small fee.”
“That’s quite all right,” he says politely. “Going well, is it, then? Your own investment.”
“Brilliantly, thanks. Couldn’t be better.”
“Excellent. Glad to hear it.”
“Yes…that recent Japanese farming investment I made was fantastic….” I clap a hand over my mouth. “Oops! Said too much!”
“Yup, Becky. You really fool me.” Luke grins. “Shall we go?”
We emerge from the building and Luke ushers me into Iain’s black Mercedes limo.
“Luke.” Iain nods from his seat by the window. “Rebecca.”
Iain is a thickset guy in his early forties, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He’s quite good-looking, actually, but has terrible skin which he covers up by having a Permatan. And he wears too much aftershave. Why do men do that?
“Thanks for the lift, Iain,” I say in my best charming-corporate-wife manner.
“No problem.” Iain’s gaze drops to my swelling stomach. “Been eating too many pies, Rebecca?”
Ha-ha.
“Something like that,” I say, as pleasantly as I can.
As the car pulls away, Iain takes a slurp of his take-out coffee. “How long to go before the big day?”
“Seventeen weeks.”
“So, how do you fill the time until then? Don’t tell me — yoga classes. My girlfriend’s become a yoga nut,” he adds to Luke, without giving me a chance to answer. “Load of bollocks if you ask me.”
Honestly. Number one, yoga is not bollocks, it’s a way to channel your spirit through the chakras of life, or whatever it is.
And number two, I don’t need ways to fill my time, thank you.
“Actually, Iain, I’m head personal shopper at a top London department store,” I inform him. “So I don’t have too much time for yoga.”
“A department store?” He swivels in his seat to regard me. “I didn’t know that. Which one?”
I really fell into this one.
“It’s…new,” I say, examining my nails.
“Called?”
“It’s called…The Look.”
“The Look?” Iain guffaws in disbelief and nearly drops his coffee. “Luke, you didn’t tell me your wife worked for The Look! Business slow enough for you, is it, Rebecca?”
“It’s not that bad,” I say politely.
“Not that bad? There’s never been a bigger retail flop in history! I hope you’ve got rid of your stock options!” He guffaws again. “Not counting on a Christmas bonus, are you?”
This guy is really starting to annoy me. It’s one thing for me to be rude about The Look; they’re my employer. But it’s quite another matter for other people to be rude.
“Actually, I think The Look is poised for a turnaround,” I say coolly. “We’ve had a shaky start, I’ll grant you, but all the basics are there.”
“Well, good luck.” Iain’s face is creased with amusement. “Word of advice? I’d be looking for another job.”
I force a smile, then turn to look out the window, seething. God, he’s patronizing. I’ll show him. The Look could be a success. It just needs…well. It needs customers, for a start.
The car draws up to the sidewalk and the uniformed driver gets out to open the door.
“Thanks again for the lift, Iain,” I say politely. “Luke, I’ll see you in there.”
“Uh-huh.” Luke nods, frowning as he clicks open his briefcase. “I shouldn’t be too long. So, Iain, what exactly was the problem with this outline?”
As the driver hands me out to the sidewalk, both men are already engrossed in paperwork.
“Will you be all right from here?” The driver gestures at the corner. “Fencastle Street’s just round there, only I can’t get right to it because of the bollards.”