Shopaholic and Sister

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Of course not!” I laugh shrilly. “Er… Luke, do you know Nathan Temple? We met in Milan, um… remember, darling?” I give a bright, fake smile as if I’m a dinner party hostess and this is all perfectly normal.

  “Good evening, Mr. Temple,” says Luke calmly. “How nice to meet you properly.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Nathan Temple claps Luke on the back. “So, you’re feeling better, I hope.”

  Luke’s eyes flicker toward me, then immediately back to Nathan Temple.

  “I’m feeling quite well,” he replies. “May I ask what this… unexpected visit is regarding?”

  “Well,” says Nathan Temple, reaching in his coat pocket for a monogrammed silver cigar case. “Seems you won’t take calls from my office.”

  “I’ve been very busy this week,” Luke replies without flinching. “I do apologize if my secretaries have failed to pass on your messages. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

  “My hotel project,” says Nathan, offering Luke a cigar. “Our hotel project, I should say.”

  Luke starts to reply, but Nathan Temple lifts a hand to stop him. He carefully lights his cigar and puffs on it a few times. “Forgive me for turning up here out of the blue,” he says at last. “But when I want something… I don’t hang around. I go and get it. Much like your good wife here.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m sure she told you the story.”

  “I think she was probably saving up the best part,” Luke says with a tight smile.

  “I like your wife,” Nathan Temple says affably. He blows out a cloud of smoke and runs appraising eyes over me. “You want to come to work for me anytime, sweetheart, you just give me a ring.”

  “Gosh!” I say, a bit thrown. “Er… thanks!”

  I glance apprehensively at Luke. A vein is throbbing in his forehead.

  “Becky,” he says in polite, measured tones. “Might we have a little word? Do excuse us for a moment,” he adds.

  “No problem.” Nathan Temple nods at his cigar. “I’ll finish this up. Then we can talk.”

  Luke marches me into a little meeting room and closes the door. Then he turns to me, his face all tight and businesslike.

  Suddenly I’m scared.

  “OK, Becky, start from the beginning. No—” He interrupts himself. “Cut to the middle. How do you know Nathan Temple?”

  “I met him when we were in Milan. I was in this shop and he… he did me this favor.”

  “He did you a favor?” Luke looks taken aback. “What kind of favor? Were you taken ill? Did you get lost?”

  My mind is scurrying around, trying to think of the best way to put it. I’m not sure there is one.

  “There was this… handbag,” I say at last.

  “A handbag?” Luke looks taken aback. “He bought you a handbag?”

  “No! I bought it. But he got me to the top of the list. He was really sweet! And I was really grateful… ” I’m twisting my hands into knots. “So then when we were back in England he phoned up and said he wanted you to be involved with his hotel… ”

  “And what did you say?” says Luke, his voice dangerously quiet.

  “The thing is”—I swallow—“I thought you’d love to do a hotel launch.”

  The door suddenly bursts open and Gary comes into the room.

  “What’s going on?” he says, wide-eyed. “What’s Nathan Temple doing here?”

  “Ask Becky.” Luke gestures toward me. “It seems she’s been having quite the correspondence with him.”

  “I didn’t know who he was!” I say defensively. “I had no idea! He was just this lovely Cockney man who got me my bag…”

  “Bag?” says Gary, his eyes swiveling from me to Luke. “What bag?”

  “Becky appears to have offered my services to Nathan Temple in return for a handbag,” says Luke curtly.

  “A handbag?” Gary looks stunned.

  “It wasn’t just any old handbag!” I exclaim, rattled. “It was a limited edition Angel bag! There’s only a few of them in the whole world! It was on the cover of Vogue! All the movie stars want one and everything!”

  Both men look at me as though I’m speaking Martian.

  “And anyway,” I say, my face burning, “I thought doing a hotel launch would be fab! It’s five-star and everything! You’d get to meet celebrities!”

  “Celebrities?” echoes Luke, suddenly losing it. “Becky, I don’t need to meet those kind of celebrities! I don’t need to be launching some tacky criminal’s hotel! I need to be here, with my team, focusing on my new client’s needs.”

  “I didn’t realize!” I say desperately. “I thought it was a brilliant networking coup!”

  “Calm down, boss,” Gary says to Luke soothingly. “We haven’t promised him anything—”

  “She has.” Luke gestures toward me, and Gary now seems at a total loss.

  “I didn’t… promise exactly.” My voice shakes a little. “I just said… you’d be delighted.”

  “You realize how much harder this makes it for me?” Luke is holding his head in his hands. “Becky, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me about it in Milan?”

  The room is very still.

  “Because the Angel bag cost two thousand euros,” I say at last in a tiny voice. “I thought you’d be cross.”

  “Jesus Christ…” Luke sounds at the end of his tether.

  “And then I didn’t want to bother you! You were so busy with the Arcodas pitch… I thought I’d deal with it myself. And I was dealing with it.”

  “ ‘Dealing with it,’ ” echoes Luke incredulously. “How were you dealing with it?”

  “I told Nathan Temple you were ill,” I gulp.

  Comprehension dawns on Luke’s face.

  “The bunch of flowers,” he says in even tones. “Was that from Nathan Temple?” Oh God.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “He sent you flowers?” says Gary in disbelief.

  “And a fruit basket,” says Luke shortly.

  Gary gives a sudden snort of laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” says Luke, his voice like whiplash. “We’ve just won the biggest pitch of our lives. We should be out celebrating. Not having to deal with bloody Nathan Temple sitting in our foyer.” He sinks into a chair.

  “We don’t want to make an enemy of him, Luke,” says Gary, pulling a small face. “Not if he’s going to buy the Daily World.”

  Luke’s face is tense and motionless. I don’t dare say a word.

  Then abruptly he stands up. “We can’t sit here all day. I’ll go and see him. If I have to do the job I have to do the job.” He gives me a look. “I just hope the handbag was worth it, Becky. I really hope it was worth it.”

  I feel a sudden stab of pain.

  “Luke, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry. I never meant… I never realized—”

  “Yeah, Becky,” he interrupts in weary tones. “Whatever.”

  He leaves the room, followed by Gary. And I just sit there. Suddenly there’s a tear rolling down my cheek. Everything was so perfect. And now it’s all ruined.

  Sixteen

  THIS HAS BEEN the worst week of our entire marriage.

  I’ve barely seen Luke, he’s been so tied up with work. He’s had meetings every day with the Arcodas Group, plus there’s been a huge crisis with one of his banking clients, and one of his main account managers was rushed to the hospital with meningitis. It’s all been total mayhem.

  And today, instead of having a chance to relax and regroup, he’s got to fly out to Cyprus to visit Nathan Temple’s hotel and start planning the launch. A launch which he doesn’t want to do, but has to — because if he pulls out with some excuse, Nathan Temple might get offended. According to all the business press, it’s looking likely that Nathan Temple’s going to buy the Daily World newspaper. So as Luke said, he can’t afford to antagonize him.

  “Can I do anything?” I say nervously as I watch him put shirts into a suitcase.

  “No,�
�� he says shortly. “Thanks.”

  This is how he’s been all week. All quiet and scary and barely looking me in the eye. And when he does look me in the eye, he looks so fed up that I feel a bit sick.

  I’m trying really hard to keep positive and look on the bright side. I mean, it’s probably totally normal for couples to have blips like this. Just like Mum said. This is the Second Big Row of our marriage, and the air will clear again and everything will be fine… Except I’m not sure the Second Big Row should come two days after the First Big Row. And I’m not sure it should last a whole week.

  I tried e-mailing Mum on her cruise ship to ask her advice, but I got a message back saying that the Mind Body Spirit cruise was a retreat from the outside world, and no passengers could be contacted until next Friday, when they dock in Athens.

  Luke zips up his suit carrier and disappears into the bathroom without even looking at me. He’ll be gone in a few minutes. We can’t leave each other like this. We just can’t.

  He comes out again and dumps his shaving kit in his suitcase.

  “It’s our first anniversary soon, you know.” I’d been hoping Luke and I could do something romantic, like a candlelight picnic. “We should… plan something.”

  “I’m not even sure if I’ll be back in time,” says Luke.

  He sounds like he doesn’t care, either. Our first anniversary and he’s not even interested. Suddenly my head is hot and I can feel tears pushing at my eyes. The whole week has been awful and now Luke’s leaving and he won’t even smile at me.

  “You don’t have to be so unfriendly, Luke,” I say in a rush. “I know I’ve made a mess, but I didn’t mean to. I’ve said I’m sorry about a zillion times.”

  “I know,” says Luke in the same old weary tones.

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “What do you expect me to do, Becky?” he retorts in sudden exasperation. “Say it doesn’t matter? Say I don’t mind that just when I should be putting all my efforts into the Arcodas Group, I find myself flying off to some godforsaken island?” He clicks his case shut. “You want me to say I’m happy to be associated with some tacky hotel?”

  “It won’t be tacky!” I exclaim in dismay. “I’m sure it won’t! Nathan Temple said it was going to be of the highest quality! You should have seen him in that shop in Milan, Luke. He would only accept the best! The best leather… the best cashmere…”

  “And I’m sure he’ll have the best water beds,” Luke says with a sarcastic edge to his voice. “Becky, don’t you understand? I have a few principles.”

  “So do I!” I say in shock. “I have principles! But that doesn’t make me a snob!”

  “I am not a snob,” retorts Luke tightly. “I simply have standards.”

  “You are a snob!” My voice rushes out before I can stop it. “Just because he used to run motels! I’ve been looking up Nathan Temple on the Internet. He does loads for charity, he helps people… ”

  “He also dislocated a man’s jaw,” Luke cuts in. “Did you read about that?”

  For a few moments I’m halted.

  “That was… years ago,” I say at last. “He’s made amends… he’s reformed… ”

  “Whatever, Becky.” Luke sighs and picks up his briefcase. “Can we just leave it?”

  He heads out of the room and I hurry after him.

  “No. We can’t leave it. We have to talk, Luke. You’ve barely looked at me all week.”

  “I’ve been busy.” He reaches into his briefcase, takes out a foil strip of ibuprofen, and pops out a couple of tablets.

  “No, you haven’t.” I bite my lip. “You’ve been punishing me.”

  “Can you blame me?” Luke thrusts his hands through his hair. “This has been a hell of a week.”

  “Then… let me help!” I say eagerly. I follow him into the kitchen, where he’s running water into a glass. “There must be something I could do. I could do research—”

  “Please!” Luke interrupts, and swigs down his ibuprofen. “No more help. All your ‘help’ does is waste my bloody time. OK?”

  I stare at him, my face burning. He must have looked at my ideas in the pink folder. He must have thought they were total rubbish.

  “Right,” I say at last. “Well… I won’t bother anymore.”

  “Please don’t.” He walks off into the study, and I can hear him opening desk drawers.

  I want to say something else. Something witty and incisive which will prove him wrong. But I can’t think of it.

  As I’m standing there, the blood thumping round my head, I hear the sound of the letter box. I go into the hall, where a package is lying on the doormat. It’s a slim Jiffy bag for Luke, with a smudged postmark. I pick it up and stare at the handwriting, written in black marker pen. It looks kind of familiar — except it’s not.

  “You’ve got a parcel,” I say.

  Luke comes out of the study, holding a pile of files, and dumps them in his briefcase. He takes the package from me, rips it open, and pulls out a compact disc, together with a letter.

  “Ah!” he exclaims, sounding more pleased than he has all week. “Excellent.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “Your sister,” says Luke.

  I feel like he’s hit me in the solar plexus.

  My sister? Jess? My eyes drop down to the package in disbelief. That’s Jess’s handwriting?

  “Why…” I’m trying to keep my voice calm. “Why is Jess writing to you?”

  “She’s edited that CD for us.” He scans to the bottom of the page. “She really is a total star. She’s better than our own IT guys. And you know, she wouldn’t take any payment. I must send her some flowers.”

  His voice is all warm and appreciative, and his eyes are glowing. Suddenly there’s a huge lump in my throat.

  He thinks Jess is fab, doesn’t he? Jess is fab… and I’m crap.

  “So Jess has been a help to you, has she?” I say, my voice trembling.

  “Yes. To be honest, she has.”

  “I suppose you’d rather she was here than me. I suppose you’d rather we swapped places.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Luke folds up the letter and pops it back in the Jiffy bag.

  “If you think Jess is so great, why don’t you just go and live with her?” I can’t seem to control the words — they escape in an avalanche. “Why don’t you just go and… and talk about computers together?”

  “Becky, calm down,” says Luke, clearly amazed.

  But I can’t calm down.

  “It’s OK! You can be honest! If you prefer a miserable skinflint with zero dress sense and zero sense of humor to me… just say so! Maybe you should marry her if she’s so great! I’m sure you’d have a wonderful time together… ”

  “Becky!” Luke cuts me off with a look which chills me to the marrow. “Just stop right there.”

  I don’t dare move a muscle. I feel like we’ve plunged to some new, scary place in our relationship.

  “I know you didn’t get along with Jess,” he says at last. “But you should know this. Your sister is a good person. She’s honest, reliable, and hardworking. She spent hours on this for us.” He taps the disc. “She volunteered to do it herself, and she didn’t ask for any pay or any thanks. I would say she’s a truly selfless person.” He takes a few steps toward me, his expression unrelenting. “You could learn a lot from your sister.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing will come out. I feel quite hollow with fear. Right now there’s nothing in Luke’s face to say he’s my husband and he loves me.

  “I have to go.” Luke looks at his watch. “I’ll get my stuff.”

  He strides out of the kitchen. But I can’t move from the spot.

  “I’m off.” Luke reappears at the kitchen door holding his case. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Luke… I’m sorry.” At last I’ve found my voice, even if it is all shaky. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment to you.” I raise my head, tryin
g to keep a grip on myself. “But if you really want to know… you’ve been a disappointment to me too. You’ve changed. You were fun on our honeymoon. You were fun and you were laid-back and you were kind… ”

  Suddenly I have a memory of Luke as he was. Sitting on his yoga mat with his bleached plaits and his earring. Smiling at me in the Sri Lankan sunshine. Reaching over to take my hand.

  I feel an unbearable yearning for that easy, happy man, who bears no resemblance to the stressed corporate animal standing in front of me.

  “You’re different.” The words come out in a sob and I can feel a tear trickling down my cheek. “You’ve gone back to the way you used to be before. The way you promised you’d never be again.” I wipe away the tear roughly. “This isn’t what I thought married life would be like, Luke.”

  “Nor me,” says Luke. There’s a familiar wryness to his voice, but he isn’t smiling. “I have to go. Bye, Becky.”

  A few moments later I hear the front door slam.

  I sink down onto the floor and bury my face in my knees. And he didn’t even kiss me goodbye.

  For a while I don’t move. I just sit there in the hall, hugging my knees. Our marriage is in tatters. And it hasn’t even been a year.

  At last I rouse myself and get stiffly to my feet. I feel numb and spaced-out. Slowly I walk into the silent, empty dining room, where our carved wooden table from Sri Lanka is standing proudly in the middle of the room.

  The sight of it makes me want to cry all over again. I had such dreams for that table. I had such dreams of what our married life was going to be like. All the visions are piling back into my head: the glow of candlelight, me ladling out hearty stew, Luke smiling at me lovingly, all our friends gathered round the table…

  Suddenly I feel an overwhelming, almost physical longing. I have to talk to Suze. I have to hear her sympathetic voice. She’ll know what to do. She always does.

  I hurry, almost running, to the phone and jab in the number.

  “Hello?” It’s answered by a high-pitched woman’s voice — but it’s not Suze.

  “Hi!” I say, taken aback. “It’s Becky here. Is that—”