The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

  I look at her face again. She isn't kidding. She really was worried. Suddenly I feel awful. I should never have vanished like that. It was completely thoughtless and irresponsible and selfish.

  'Oh Suze.' On impulse, I hurry forward and hug her tightly. 'I'm really sorry. I never meant to worry you.'

  'It's OK,' says Suze, hugging me back. 'I was worried for a bit – but then I knew you must be all right when I saw you on the telly. You were fantastic, by the way.'

  'Really?' I say, a tiny smile flickering round the corners of my mouth. 'Did you really think so?'

  'Oh yes!' says Suze. 'Much better than whatshisface Luke Brandon. God, he's arrogant.'

  'Yes,' I say after a tiny pause. 'Yes, I suppose he is. But he was actually quite nice to me afterwards.'

  'Really?' says Suze indifferently. 'Well, you were brilliant, anyway… Do you want some coffee?'

  'Love some,' I say, and she disappears into the kitchen.

  I pick up my letters and bills and begin slowly to leaf through them. Once upon a time this lot would have sent me into a blind panic. In fact, they would have gone straight into the bin, unread. But you know what? Today I don't feel a flicker of fear. Honestly, how could I have been so silly about my financial affairs? How could I have been so cowardly? This time I'm just going to face up to them properly. I'm going to sit down with my chequebook and my latest bank statements, and sort methodically through the whole mess.

  Staring at the clutch of envelopes in my hand, I feel suddenly very grown-up and responsible. Far-sighted and sensible. I'm going to sort my life out and keep my finances in order from now on. I've completely and utterly changed my attitude towards money.

  Plus…

  OK, I wasn't actually going to tell you this. But Morning Coffee are paying me absolute loads. Loads. You won't believe it, but for every single phone-in I do, I'm going to get-

  Oh, I'm all embarrassed now. Let's just say it's… it's quite a lot. Heehee!

  I just can't stop smiling about it. I've been floating along, ever since they told me. So the point is, I'll easily be able to pay all these bills off now. My VISA bill, and my Octagon bill, and the money I owe Suze and everything! Finally, finally my life is going to be sorted.

  'So, why did you just disappear like that?' asks Suze, coming back out of the kitchen and making me jump. 'What was wrong?'

  'I don't really know,' I say, with a sigh, putting the letters back down on the hall table. 'I just had to get away and think. I was all confused.'

  'Because of Tarquin?' says Suze at once, and I feel myself stiffen apprehensively.

  'Partly,' I say after a pause, and swallow. 'Why? Has he…'

  'I know you're not that keen on Tarkie,' says Suze wistfully, 'but I think he still really likes you. He came round a couple of nights ago, and left you this letter.'

  She gestures to a cream envelope stuck in the mirror. With slightly trembling hands I take it. Oh God, what's he going to say? I hesitate, then rip it open and a ticket fails onto the floor.

  'The opera!' says Suze, picking it up, 'Tonight!' She looks up. 'God, it's lucky you came back today, Bex.'

  My dear Rebecca. I'm reading incredulously. Forgive my reticence in contacting you before.

  But the more time passes, the more I realize how much I enjoyed our evening together and how much I would like to repeat it.

  I enclose a ticket for Die Meistersinger at the Opera House. I shall be attending in any case and if you were able to join me, I would be delighted.

  Yours very sincerely

  Tarquin CleathStuart

  I stare at the letter, completely confused. What does this mean? That Tarquin didn't see me leafing through his chequebook after all? That he did see – but has decided to forgive me? That he's a complete schizoid?

  'Oh Bex, you must go!' says Suze, reading over my shoulder. 'You've got to go. He'll be devastated if you don't. I really think he likes you.'

  'I can't go,' I say, thrusting the letter down. 'I've got a business meeting tonight.'

  'Well that's OK!' says Suze. 'You can cancel it.'

  'I… I can't. It's quite important.'

  'Oh,' says Suze, crestfallen. 'But what about poor Tarkie? He'll be sitting there, waiting for you, all excited…'

  'You go instead,' I suggest. 'You go.'

  'Really?' Suze pulls a face and glances down at the ticket. 'I suppose I could. I quite like opera. But honestly…' She looks up. 'Who's your business meeting with, anyway?'

  'It's… it's with Luke Brandon,' I say, trying to sound unconcerned. But it's no good, I can feel myself starting to blush.

  'Luke Brandon?' says Suze, puzzled. 'But what-'

  She stares at me, and her expression slowly changes.

  'Oh no Bex! Don't tell me…'

  'It's just a business meeting,' I say, avoiding her eye. 'That's all. Two businesspeople meeting up and talking about business. In a… in a business situation. That's all.'

  And I hurry off to my room.

  Business meeting. Clothes for a business meeting. OK, let's have a look.

  I pull all my outfits out of the wardrobe and lay them on the bed. Blue suit, black suit, pink suit. Hopeless. Pin-striped suit? Hmmm. Maybe overdoing it. Cream suit… too weddingy. Green suit… isn't that bad luck or something?

  'So what are you going to wear?' says Suze, looking in through my open bedroom door. 'Are you going to buy something new?' Her face lights up. 'Hey, shall we go shopping?'`

  'Shopping?' I say distractedly. 'Ahm… maybe.'

  Normally, of course, I'd jump at the chance of a shopping trip. Leap at it. But somehow today… Oh, I don't know. I almost feel too tense to go shopping. Too keyed up. I don't think I'd be able to give it my full attention.

  'Bex, did you hear me?' says Suze in surprise. 'I said, "Shall we go shopping?"'

  'Yes, I know.' I glance up at her, then reach for a black top and look at it critically. 'Actually, I think I'll take a rain-check.'

  'You mean…' Suze pauses. 'You mean you don't want to go shopping?'

  'Exactly.'

  There's silence, and I look up, to see Suze staring at me.

  'I don't understand,' she says, and she sounds quite upset. 'Why are you being all weird?'

  'I'm not being weird!' I give a little shrug. 'I just don't feel like shopping.'

  'Oh God, there's something wrong, isn't there?' wails Suze. 'I knew it. Maybe you're really ill.' She hurries into the room and reaches for my head. 'Have you got a temperature? Does anything hurt?'

  'No!' I say, laughing. 'Of course not!'

  'Have you had a bump on the head?' She wiggles her hand in front of my face. 'How many fingers?'

  'Suze, I'm fine,' I say, thrusting her hand aside. 'Honestly. I'm just… not in a shopping mood.' I hold a grey suit up against myself. 'What do you think of this?'

  'Honestly, Bex, I'm worried about you,' says Suze, shaking her head. 'I think you should get yourself checked out. You're so… different. It's frightening.'

  'Yes well.' I reach for a white shirt and smile at her. 'Maybe I've changed.'

  It takes me all afternoon to decide on an outfit. There's a lot of trying on, and mixing and matching, and suddenly remembering things at the back of my wardrobe (I must wear those purple jeans some time). But eventually I plump for simple and straightforward. My nicest black suit (Jigsaw sale, two years ago), a white T-shirt (M and S) and knee-high black suede boots (Dolce and Gabbana, but I told Mum they were from BHS. Which was a mistake, because then she wanted to get some for herself, and I had to pretend they'd all sold out). I put it all on, screw my hair up into a knot, and stare at myself in the mirror.

  'Very nice,' says Suze admiringly from the door. 'Very sexy.'

  'Sexy?' I feel lollop of dismay. 'I'm not going for sexy! I'm going for businesslike.'

  'Can't you be both at once?' suggests Suze. 'Businesslike and sexy?'

  'I… No,' I say after a pause, and look away. 'No, I don't want to.'

  I don'
t want Luke Brandon to think I've dressed up for him, is what I really mean. I don't want to give him the slightest chance to think I've misconstrued what this meeting is about. Not like last time.

  With no warning, a surge of flesh humiliation goes through my body as I remember that awful moment in Harvey Nichols. I shake my head hard, trying to clear it; trying to calm my beating heart. Why the hell did I agree to this bloody dinner, anyway?

  'I just want to look as serious and businesslike as possible,' I say, and flown sternly at my reflection.

  'I know, then,' says Suze. 'You need some accessories. Some businesswoman-type accessories.'

  'Like what? A Filofax?'

  'Like…' Suze pauses thoughtfully. 'OK, I've got an idea. Wait there '

  I arrive at the Ritz that evening five minutes after our agreed time of 7.30, and as I reach the entrance to the restaurant, I see Luke there already, sitting back looking relaxed and sipping something that looks like a gin and tonic. He's wearing a different suit from the one he was wearing this morning, I can't help noticing, and he's put on a fresh, dark green shirt. He actually looks… Well. Quite nice. Quite good-looking. Not that businessy, in fact.

  And, come to think of it, this restaurant isn't very businessy, either. It's all chandeliers and gold garlands and soft pink chairs, and the most beautiful painted ceiling, all clouds and flowers. The whole place is sparkling with light, and it looks…

  Well actually, the word that springs to mind is 'romantic'.

  Oh God. My heart starts thumping with nerves, and I glance quickly at my reflection in a gilded mirror. I'm wearing the black Jigsaw suit and white T-shirt and black suede boots as originally planned. But now I also have a crisp copy of the Financial Times under one arm, a pair of tortoiseshell glasses (with clear glass) perched on my head, my clunky executive briefcase in one hand and – Suze's piece de resistance – an AppleMac laptop in the other.

  Maybe I overdid it.

  I'm about to back away and see if I can quickly deposit the briefcase in the cloakroom (or, to be honest, just put it down on a chair and walk away), when Luke looks up, sees me, and smiles. Damn. So I'm forced to go forward over the plushy carpet, trying to look as relaxed as possible, even though one arm is clamped tightly to my side, to stop the FT falling on the floor.

  'Hello,' says Luke as I arrive at the table. He stands up to greet me, and I realize that I can't shake his hand, because I'm holding the laptop. Flustered, I plonk my briefcase on the floor, transfer the laptop to the other side – nearly dropping the FT as I do so – and, with slightly reddened cheeks, hold out my hand.

  A flicker of amusement passes over Luke's face and he solemnly shakes my hand. He gestures to a chair, and watches politely as I put the laptop on the tablecloth, all ready for use.

  'That's an impressive machine,' he says. 'Very… high-tech.'

  'Yes,' I reply, and give him a brief, cool smile. 'I often use it to take notes at business meetings.'

  'Ah,' says Luke, nodding. 'Very organized of you.'

  He's obviously waiting for me to switch it on, so experimentally I press the return key. This, according to Suze, should make the screen spring to life. But nothing happens.

  Casually, I press the key again – and still nothing. I jab at it, pretending my finger slipped by accident – and still nothing. Shit, this is embarrassing. Why do I ever listen to Suze?

  'Is there a problem?' says Luke.

  'No!' I say at once, and snap the lid shut. 'No, I've just… On second thoughts, I won't use it today.' I reach into my bag for a notebook. 'I'll jot my notes down in here.'

  'Good idea,' says Luke mildly. 'Would you like some champagne?'

  'Oh,' I say, slightly thrown. 'Well… OK.'

  'Excellent,' says Luke. 'I hoped you would.'

  He glances up, and a beaming waiter scurries forward with a bottle. Gosh, Krug.

  But I'm not going to smile, or look pleased or anything.

  I'm going to stay thoroughly cool and professional. In fact, I'm only going to have one glass, before moving on to still water. I need to keep a clear head, after all.

  While the waiter fills my champagne flute, I write down, 'Meeting between Rebecca Bloomwood and Luke Brandon' in my notebook. I look at it appraisingly, then underline it twice. There. That looks very efficient.

  'So,' I say, looking up, and raise my glass. 'To business.'

  'To business,' echoes Luke and gives a wry smile. 'What little I've got left of it.'

  'Really?' I stare at him, puzzled – and then the penny drops. 'You mean – after what you said on Morning Coffee? Has it got you into trouble?'

  He nods and I feel a pang of sympathy for him. I mean, Suze is right – Luke is pretty arrogant. But I actually thought it was really good of him to stick his neck out like that and say publicly what he really thought about Flagstaff Life. And now, if he's going to be ruined as result, well, it just seems all wrong.

  'Have you lost everything?' I say quietly, and Luke laughs.

  'I wouldn't go that far. But we've had to do an awful lot of explaining to our other clients this afternoon.' He grimaces. 'It has to be said, insulting one of your major clients on live television isn't exactly normal PR practice.'

  'Well, I think they should respect you!' I retort. 'For actually saying what you think! I mean, so few people do that these days. It could be like…, your company motto. "We tell the truth".'

  I take a gulp of champagne and look up into silence. Luke's gazing at me, an odd expression on his face.

  'Rebecca, you have the uncanniest knack of hitting the nail right on the head,' he says at last. 'That's exactly what some of our clients have said. It's as though we've given ourselves a seal of integrity.'

  'Oh,' I say, feeling rather pleased with myself. 'Well, that's good. So you're not ruined.'

  'I'm not ruined,' agrees Luke, and gives a little smile. 'Just slightly dented.'

  A waiter appears from nowhere and replenishes my glass, and I take a sip. When I look up, Luke's staring at me again.

  'You know, Rebecca, you're an extremely perceptive person,' he says. 'You see what other people don't.'

  'Oh well.' I wave my champagne glass airily. 'Didn't you hear Zelda? I'm finance guru meets girl-next-door.'

  I meet his eye and we both start to laugh.

  'You're informative meets approachable.'

  'Knowledgeable meets down-to-earth.'

  'You're intelligent, meets charming, meets bright, meets…' Luke tails off, staring down into his drink, then looks up.

  'Rebecca, I want to apologize,' he says. 'I've been wanting to apologize for a while. That lunch in Harvey Nichols… you were right. I didn't treat you with the respect you deserved. The respect you deserve.'

  He breaks off into silence and I stare down at the tablecloth, feeling my cheeks flaming. It's all very well for him to say this now, I'm thinking furiously. It's all very well for him to book a table at the Ritz and order champagne and expect me to smile and say, 'Oh, that's OK.' But underneath all the bright banter, I still feel wounded by that whole episode. And after my success this morning, I'm in fighting mood.

  'My piece in the Daily World had nothing to do with that lunch,' I say without looking up. 'Nothing. And for you to insinuate that it did…'

  'I know,' says Luke, and sighs. 'I should never have said that. It was a… a defensive, angry remark on a day when, frankly, you had us all on the hop.'

  'Really?' I can't help a pleased little smile coming to my lips. 'I had you all on the hop?'

  'Are you joking?' says Luke. 'A whole page in the Daily World on one of our clients, completely out of the blue?'

  Ha. I quite like that idea, actually. The whole of Brandon C thrown into disarray by Janice and Martin Webster.

  'Was Alicia on the hop?' I can't resist asking.

  'She was hopping as fast as her Manolos would let her,' says Luke drily. 'Even faster when I discovered she'd actually spoken to you the day before.'

  Ha!

&nb
sp; 'Good,' I hear myself saying childishly – then wish I hadn't. Top businesswomen don't gloat over their enemies being told off. I should have simply nodded, or said 'Ah,' meaningfully.

  'So – did I have you on the hop, too?' I say, giving a careless little shrug.

  There's silence, and after a while I look up. Luke's gazing at me with an unsmiling expression which makes my heart start to thud.

  'You've had me on the hop for quite a while, Rebecca,' he says quietly. He holds my eyes for a few seconds while I stare back, unable to breathe – then looks down at his menu. 'Shall we order?'

  The meal seems-to go on all night. We talk and talk and eat, and talk, and eat some more. The food is so delicious I can't say no to anything, and the wine is so delicious I abandon my plan of drinking a businesslike single glass and then sticking to water. By the time I'm toying listlessly with chocolate feuillantine with lavender honey ice-cream and caramelized pears, it's about midnight, and my head is starting to droop.

  'How's the chocolate thing?' says Luke, finishing a mouthful of cheesecake.

  'Nice,' I say, and push it towards him. 'Not as good as the lemon mousse, though.'

  That's the other thing – I'm absolutely stuffed to the brim. I couldn't decide between all the scrummy sounding puddings, so Luke said we should order all the ones we liked the sound of. Which was most of them. So now my stomach feels as though it's the size of a Christmas pudding, and just as heavy.

  I honestly feel as if I'll never ever be able to get out of this chair. It's so comfortable, and I'm so warm and cosy, and it's all so pretty, and my head's spinning just enough to make me not want to stand up. Plus… I don't want it all to stop. I don't want the evening to end. I've had such a good time. The amazing thing is how much Luke makes me laugh. You'd think he'd be all serious and boring and intellectual, but really, he's not. In fact, come to think of it, we haven't talked about that unit trust thingy once.

  A waiter comes and clears away all our pudding dishes, and brings us each a cup of coffee. I lean back in my chair, close my eyes and take a few delicious sips. Oh God, I could stay here for ever. I'm actually feeling really sleepy by now – partly because I was so nervous last night about Morning Coffee, I hardly slept at all.