Bonnie stares back at me, flummoxed.
‘I’m sorry?’ she says at last.
‘We’re buying this house,’ I explain, ‘and Luke wants a wine cellar in the basement, but I want a gym. So could you persuade him that a gym is a better choice?’
‘Becky,’ Bonnie looks perturbed, ‘I really don’t think this is appropriate …’
‘Please!’ I wheedle. ‘Bonnie, do you realize how much Luke respects your opinion? He listens to you all the time. You can influence him!’
Bonnie seems almost at a loss for words. ‘But … but how on earth would I even bring up the subject?’
‘Easy!’ I say confidently. ‘You could pretend to be reading an article about it and you could casually say how you’d never buy a house that converted the whole basement into a wine cellar and you’d much prefer a gym. And you could say you think wine tastings are really overrated and boring,’ I add.
‘But Becky—’
‘And then we’d really be helping each other out. Girl power.’ I smile at her as winningly as I can. ‘The sisterhood.’
‘Well … I’ll do my best to bring it up in conversation,’ says Bonnie at last. ‘I can’t promise anything, but—’
‘You’re a star! And anything else you want me to do or say to Luke, just text. Anything at all.’ I offer her the plate of chocolate mints. ‘Here’s to us! The Becky and Bonnie team!’
EIGHT
As I walk down the street after lunch, I feel exhilarated. Bonnie’s amazing. She’s the best assistant Luke’s ever had, by a million miles, and we’re going to make a fabulous duo. Plus I’ve already phoned that concierge company she recommended and been put through to their party division. Everything’s going so easily!
Why on earth have I never used a concierge service before? They all seem really pleasant and it’s as though nothing’s too much trouble. We have to become members. According to the disembodied voice that talks while you’re waiting, they can do anything, from getting sold-out theatre tickets, to chartering a plane, to getting someone to bring you a cup of tea in the middle of the Navajo desert.
You know. If you wanted one.
‘Hi!’ A cheery-sounding guy comes on to the line. ‘My name’s Rupert. Harry explained the brief. You’re looking for the ultimate surprise party for your husband.’
‘Yes! With fire-eaters and jugglers and a marquee and a disco.’
‘OK, let’s see.’ He pauses and I can hear the flipping of pages. ‘We recently organized a birthday party for three hundred in a series of Bedouin tents. We had jugglers, fire-eaters, three international buffets, dancing on a star-lit floor, the birthday girl arrived on an elephant, award-winning cameramen to capture the event …’
I’m breathless, just listening to the list.
‘I want that one,’ I say. ‘That exact one. It sounds fab.’
‘Great.’ He laughs. ‘Well, maybe we could meet up, finesse the details, you could look at the rest of our event portfolio …’
‘I’d love to!’ I say joyfully. ‘My name is Becky, I’ll give you my number.’
‘Just one small detail,’ adds Rupert pleasantly after I’ve dictated my mobile-phone number. ‘You’ll have to join The Service. I mean, obviously we can fast-track your membership …’
‘I’d love to,’ I say firmly. ‘I was thinking of doing it anyway.’
This is so cool. We’re going to have a private concierge service! We’ll be able to get into concerts and all the best hotels and secret clubs. I should have done this years ago—
‘So, I’ll email those forms to you this afternoon …’ Rupert’s saying.
‘Fab! How much does it cost?’ I add as an afterthought.
‘The annual fee is all-inclusive,’ replies Rupert smoothly. ‘We don’t sting you for any extra charges, unlike some of our competitors! And for you and your husband, it would come in at six.’
‘Oh right,’ I say uncertainly. ‘Six … hundred pounds, you mean?’
‘Thousand.’ He gives a relaxed laugh. ‘I’m afraid.’
Six thousand pounds? Just for the annual fee? Yikes.
I mean, I’m sure it’s worth it, but …
‘And …’ I swallow, hardly daring to ask. ‘That party we were talking about. With the tents and the jugglers and everything. About how much would that cost?’
‘That came in under budget, you’ll be pleased to hear.’ Rupert gives a little laugh. ‘The total was two hundred and thirty.’
I feel a bit wobbly. Two hundred and thirty thousand pounds?
‘Becky? Are you still there? Obviously we can work with budgets a lot smaller than that!’ He sounds cheery and light-hearted. ‘A hundred grand would normally be our starting point …’
‘Right!’ My voice is a bit shrill. ‘Great! Well … you know what, actually … thinking about it … I’m still at a very early planning stage. So maybe I’ll call you back and we can have a meeting at a … later date. Thanks so much. Bye.’
I switch off my phone before my cheeks can turn any redder. Two hundred and thirty thousand pounds? For a party? I mean, I really love Luke and everything, but two hundred and thirty thousand—
‘Becky?’
I look up and jump a mile. It’s Luke. What’s Luke doing here? He’s standing about three yards away, staring at me in astonishment. To my sudden horror I realize I’m holding the transparent folder full of guest lists, conference details and everything else. I’m about to give the whole bloody thing away.
‘What a surprise!’ He comes forward to kiss me and I feel a spurt of panic. I hastily try to stuff the folder away, but in my confusion drop it on the pavement.
‘Let me.’ He bends down.
‘No!’ I yelp. ‘It’s private! I mean, it’s confidential. Personal-shopping details of a member of the Saudi Royal Family. Highly sensitive.’ I hastily scrabble for it, folding it up as best I can and shoving the whole lot in my bag. ‘There!’ I bob up again and smile fixedly. ‘So … how are you?’
Luke doesn’t answer. He’s giving me one of those looks. One of those ‘something’s going on’ looks.
‘Becky, what’s up? Were you coming to see me?’
‘No!’ I retort sharply. ‘Of course not!’
‘So what are you doing in this area?’
Immediately I realize my crucial mistake. I should have said I was coming to see him.
‘I … um …’ I try to think quickly of a good reason for being in EC2 at lunchtime. ‘I’m trying to get to know the city better. I’m doing it postcode by postcode. You should see SE24, it’s fab!’
There’s silence.
‘Becky.’ Luke runs both hands through his thick dark hair. ‘Be honest with me. Are you in some kind of … financial trouble? Have you been seeing someone?’
What?
‘No!’ I exclaim, offended. ‘Of course not! At least … no more than normal,’ I add, feeling the need to be honest. ‘That is so typical of you, Luke. You bump into me on the street and immediately assume I’m in debt!’
I mean, I am in debt. But that’s hardly the point.
‘Well, what am I supposed to think?’ he replies heatedly. ‘You act shiftily, you’re hiding paperwork from me, obviously something’s going on …’
Oh God, oh God, I have to deflect him.
‘OK!’ I say. ‘You got me. I was … I was …’ My mind gropes frantically. ‘Having Botox.’
Luke’s face drops and I take the opportunity to zip my bag shut.
‘Botox?’ he says in disbelieving tones.
‘Yes,’ I say defiantly. ‘Botox. I wasn’t going to tell you. And that’s why I was acting weird.’
There. Perfect.
‘Botox,’ he says again. ‘You had Botox.’
‘Yes!’
I suddenly realize I’m speaking with too much animation. I try to make my face all rigid and stary, like middle-aged celebrities. But too late, Luke’s peering closely at my face.
‘Where did you have it?’
/>
‘Er … here.’ I point gingerly to my temple. ‘And … there. And here.’
‘But …’ Luke looks puzzled. ‘Aren’t the lines supposed to disappear?’
What? He’s got a nerve. I don’t have any lines! Like maybe the teeniest odd little line, which you can hardly see.
‘It’s very subtle,’ I say pointedly. ‘It’s the new technique. Less is more.’
Luke sighs. ‘Becky, how much did you pay for this? Where did you have it done? Because there are girls at work who’ve had Botox, and I have to say—’
Oh God. I’d better get him off the subject of Botox quickly, or he’ll be saying, ‘Let’s go to the clinic right now and get our money back.’
‘I only had a tiny bit of Botox,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I was really there about … another procedure.’
‘Something else?’ Luke stares at me. ‘What, for God’s sake?’
My mind is utterly blank. Procedure. Procedure. What do people have done?
‘Boobs,’ I hear myself saying. ‘A boob job.’
From his aghast expression, that possibly wasn’t the right way to go.
‘A boob job?’ he manages at last. ‘You had a—’
‘No! I was just … thinking about having one.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Luke rubs his brow. ‘Becky, we need to talk about this. Let’s get off the street.’ He takes my arm and leads me towards a nearby bar. As soon as we’re inside the door he turns and takes me by the shoulders so hard, I gasp in surprise.
‘Becky, I love you. However you look. Whatever shape you are. And the thought that you felt you had to go off secretly … it kills me. Please, please, please, don’t ever do that again.’
I never expected him to react like that. In fact, he looks so upset, I feel suddenly terrible. Why did I have to make up something so stupid? Why couldn’t I have said I was meeting a client at her office? A million good excuses are coming to mind now, none of which involve clinics or boob jobs.
‘Luke, I’m sorry,’ I falter. ‘I should never have thought about it. I didn’t mean to worry you.’
‘You’re perfect,’ he says almost fiercely. ‘You don’t need to change one hair. One freckle. One little toe. And if it’s me that’s made you feel you should do this … then there’s something wrong with me.’
I think this is the most romantic thing Luke has ever said to me, ever. I can feel tears rising.
‘It was nothing to do with you,’ I gulp. ‘It was … you know. The pressures of society and everything.’
‘Do you even know this place is safe?’ He reaches for the bag. ‘Let me have a look. A lot of these so-called surgeons are irresponsible cowboys. I’m going to get on to our company doctor—’
‘No!’ I instinctively pull my bag close to my chest. ‘It’s OK, Luke. I know it’s safe.’
‘No, you don’t!’ he almost shouts in frustration. ‘It’s major fucking surgery, Becky! Do you realize that? And the idea that you would go off like this in secret, risking your life, without even thinking of me or Minnie—’
‘I wouldn’t risk my life!’ I say desperately. ‘I’d never have surgery without telling you! It’s one of those lunchtime keyhole ones, where they just give you an injection.’
‘You think that makes it OK?’ He doesn’t let up an iota. ‘That sounds even more dodgy to me. What exactly does it involve?’
I’m sure I’ve read something about lunchtime boob jobs in Marie Claire, only I can’t quite remember the details now.
‘It’s very minimal. Very safe.’ I rub my nose, playing for time. ‘They mark the area and inject a kind of special foam into the … um, capillaries. And it … er … expands.’
‘You mean … they inflate?’ He stares at me.
‘Kind of.’ I try to sound confident. ‘Just a bit. You know. A size or two.’ I make what I hope is a realistic gesture at my chest.
‘Over what sort of time period?’
I scrabble around for something convincing.
‘About … a week.’
‘Your breasts inflate over the course of a week?’ He seems staggered at this idea. Shit. I should have said an hour.
‘It depends on your body type,’ I add hastily, ‘and your … personal breast metabolism. Sometimes it only takes five minutes. Everyone’s different. Anyway, I won’t be doing it. You’re right, I should never have gone off in secret.’ I gaze up at him with my most heartfelt expression. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I owe it to you and Minnie not to put myself at risk and I’ve learned my lesson now.’
I was hoping Luke might give me a kiss and tell me how perfect I am again. But his face has kind of changed. He doesn’t seem quite so upset and tortured as he did before. In fact, he’s eyeing me with a familiar kind of expression.
Something quite near suspicion.
‘What’s the name of the clinic?’ he says lightly.
‘I can’t remember now.’ I cough. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about it any more. I feel so bad, Luke—’
‘You could look at the paperwork.’ He gestures at my bag.
‘I’ll look later.’ I nod. ‘Later. When I’m less upset at the worry I caused you.’
Luke’s still just giving me that look of his.
Oh God. He’s twigged, hasn’t he? At least, he’s twigged I wasn’t at a boob-job clinic.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he says abruptly.
‘Er … OK,’ I say, my heart pounding. ‘Do you have time?’
‘I can sneak fifteen minutes.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Don’t tell my assistant.’
‘Of course not.’ I give a slightly unnatural laugh. ‘Not that I even know her!’
‘You do know her.’ Luke gives me a puzzled look as he heads to the bar. ‘Bonnie. You’ve met.’
‘Oh right. Of course.’
I subside into a chair and unfurl my clenched fingers from round my bag. This whole secret-party lark is totally stressy, and I’ve only just started.
‘Cheers.’ Luke has returned to the table with two glasses of wine and we clink glasses.
For a while there’s a silence as we sip. Luke keeps eyeing me over the top of his glass. Then, as though coming to a decision, he puts it down.
‘So, some good news. We’ve got a couple of new clients. Not financial.’
‘Ooh!’ I look up with interest. ‘Who?’
Let it be Gucci, let it be Gucci …
‘The first is a climate technology company. They’re lobbying for investment in a new carbon-absorption project and want us to come on board. Could be interesting.’
Carbon absorption. Hmph.
‘Great!’ I say warmly. ‘Well done! What about the other one?’
‘The other one is quite a coup …’ he begins, his eyes sparkling. Then he hesitates, glances at me and sips his wine. ‘Actually, that’s not quite firmed up yet. I’ll let you know when it is. Don’t want to jinx it.’
‘Well, congratulations anyway.’ I lift my glass. ‘I guess you need a bit of good news at the moment.’
‘It’s not great out there.’ He raises his eyebrows wryly. ‘How about your shopping department? I can’t imagine that’s done great the last few days, either.’
‘Well, actually …’ I’m about to tell him about my fab new system where people can hide their shopping from their husbands.
Then I stop. On second thoughts, maybe I won’t.
‘We’re holding up,’ I say instead. ‘You know.’
Luke nods and takes another sip of wine, leaning back in his chair. ‘It’s nice to have a few moments, just the two of us. You should come this way more often. Although maybe not to the plastic-surgery clinic.’ Again he shoots me that sceptical look.
Is he going to push it, or not? I just can’t tell.
‘So, did you see the email about the nannies?’ I change the subject quickly. ‘Aren’t they fab?’
‘Yes!’ He nods. ‘I was impressed.’
We’ve already had loads of CVs sent through from Ultimate Nannies, and
each one looks better than the last! One speaks five languages, one has sailed across the Atlantic and one has two degrees in history of art. If one of them can’t make Minnie well balanced and accomplished I don’t know who can.
‘I’d better go.’ Luke gets to his feet and I grab my bag. We head to the street, and Luke pauses to kiss me. ‘See you later, Becky.’
‘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.
Mini Shopaholic Page 12
