Mini Shopaholic

by Sophie Kinsella

I swallow, several times. This is all getting too heavy. I’m not sure I can cope. It was easier when Elinor was just the big bad witch that we never saw.

  ‘If you refuse my offer,’ she adds, as matter-of-fact as ever, ‘then you are denying me this privilege.’

  ‘Puzzle?’ Minnie is tugging hopefully at Elinor’s bag. ‘Puzzle?’

  ‘Here you are, Minnie.’ Elinor reaches into her bag, pulls out one of the puzzles that she had earlier in the Ritz, and presents it to Minnie. Then she looks directly at me. ‘Please.’

  My mind is shooting back and forth helplessly like a pinball. I can’t … I mustn’t … I could …

  Luke would never know …

  No, I can’t …

  But we wouldn’t have to cancel … Luke would get his party …

  ‘Perhaps you need time to think about it,’ says Elinor, and I look up, focusing on her as though for the first time. Standing there, holding her expensive bag with two gloved hands, her hair gusting a little in the wind, she looks pale and old and shadowy. And almost … humble.

  This is maybe the most mindblowing thing of all. Elinor Sherman, grandest, snootiest woman in the world, for once hasn’t told me or bossed me or lectured me. She’s asked. And now she’s waiting meekly for an answer.

  Or at least as meekly as you can when you’re dressed head-to-toe in Chanel with your driver waiting.

  ‘OK,’ I say slowly, and give her a sudden grin. ‘OK, Elinor. You’re on.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Elinor hesitates. ‘Rebecca, I wish to say something else. I know you have been determined to throw this party yourself. I know you take pride in being independent. But you must not underestimate the pleasure it will give others to do something for Luke, in whichever way is appropriate.’

  ‘My friend Suze said something like that to me, too,’ I say slowly. ‘She wanted to help but I wouldn’t let her.’

  I wince as I remember Suze’s hurt voice, saying, ‘It’s not always about you, OK? It’s not because we think you can’t do it. It’s because Luke isn’t just your husband, he’s our friend too, and we wanted to do something nice for him.’

  She really wanted to get involved. And I was too proud to let her. Even now, I haven’t actually asked, have I? I’ve waited for her to volunteer. Well, no wonder she hasn’t.

  I suddenly feel like the biggest cow there ever was.

  ‘Elinor, excuse me a minute …’ I take a few steps away, pulling out my phone, and speed-dial Suze again.

  ‘Bex?’ She sounds surprised. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Listen, Suze,’ I say in a trembling rush. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I’d asked you to help with the party all along. I love your idea about the special shortbread. Luke would be so touched. And I was just going to say …’ I swallow hard. ‘Is it too late? Would you help?’

  There’s a still, beating silence for a moment, then Suze says, ‘Be honest, Bex. Have you got yourself in a totally shit mess?’

  ‘Yes!’ I give a half-laugh, half-sob. ‘I have.’

  ‘Then Tarkie owes me a fiver,’ she says with satisfaction. ‘OK. When, where, and what do I need to do?’

  KENTISH ENGLISH SPARKLING WINE

  Spandings House

  Mallenbury

  Kent

  Ms Rebecca Brandon

  The Pines

  43 Elton Road

  Oxshott

  Surrey

  3 April 2006

  Dear Mrs Brandon

  Thank you very much for your letter of 27 March.

  I’m glad our consignment of 50 bottles of sparkling wine reached you safely and that on tasting, you were so ‘struck’ by its punchy and distinctive flavour. We’re very proud of it!

  However, I totally understand if, as you say, you have recently discovered the Temperance Movement and decided to make your party teetotal. We will arrange to have the bottles picked up without delay and hope your party goes with a (dry) swing!

  Yours truly

  Paul Spry

  Marketing Director

  P.S. We will shortly be launching a non-alcoholic sparkling wine and I will be pleased to forward you ten bottles, with our compliments.

  EIGHTEEN

  So much has happened. There are only three days to go. I can’t quite believe it. And finally, finally, everything is on track.

  Elinor has the most amazing contacts in the world. She can just make things happen. She points her bony finger and it’s instantly done. At least, she points her bony finger at an assistant, and he gets it instantly done.

  So she’s not exactly a riot. We don’t exactly high-five each other when we get a result. And she doesn’t seem to understand the function of chocolate, let alone want to share the odd KitKat. But the plus points are:

  1.She wants Luke’s party to be fabulous.

  2.She’s thrown a million smart parties before.

  3.She has loads and loads and loads of money.

  I mean, money’s just not an issue any more. Even Suze has been quite wide-eyed at the way Elinor doles it out without a flicker. Jess, of course, can’t cope. Jess puts her hands over her ears and says, ‘I don’t want to know.’ And then she takes them off again and lectures Elinor on sustainability and responsible sourcing. To my amazement, Elinor always listens gravely – and a few times she’s even agreed to Jess’s suggestions. (Although not the one about knitting woolly hats out of recycled yarn which we hand out to guests, so we won’t need heaters. Thank God.)

  Honestly, the party’s going to be just …

  I mean, it’ll be the most …

  No. I won’t say anything more. I don’t want to jinx it.

  It’s even been quite fun, the five of us having our top-secret meetings. (Me, Suze, Jess, Bonnie and Elinor.) Elinor always leaves first and the rest of us wait breathlessly till she’s out of earshot, then erupt with hysteria at something she said or did. I mean, she’s still totally ice-queen most of the time. But even so, she’s almost starting to feel – in a weird way – like one of the gang.

  Luke has no idea. None. He still thinks I’m at work two and a half days a week and I haven’t put him right.

  The only unresolved issue is the meeting with Christian Scott-Hughes. Bernard Cross has been at some retreat in Sweden and uncontactable. But he’s back today. Elinor has stated she’s going to get on the phone to him this morning and won’t take no for an answer. And I believe her.

  So the biggest challenge left is keeping the party secret from Luke until Friday. But we’ve got this far; we can make it to Friday, surely. Today, Bonnie’s finally revealing to Luke’s entire staff that there isn’t a conference, it’s a surprise party instead. There’s bound to be a big buzz, and we decided I should keep Luke out of the office on some pretext. So we’re going to see a possible school for Minnie this morning. (I told Luke we’d already left it really late, and he had to come too because otherwise they’d think we weren’t committed parents and no, I couldn’t just tell him about it later.)

  ‘Ready?’ Luke hurries down the stairs, looking immaculate in a navy suit and his really expensive cashmere coat from Milan.

  ‘Yes, ready.’ I finish doing my lipstick and survey myself in the hall mirror. The school we’re going to see today has a red and navy uniform, so I’m wearing red and navy too, to show how keen we are. (I nearly bought the crested hat off the website, but then I thought that was going a bit far.)

  ‘Nanny Sue just called,’ Luke adds. ‘She’s coming at six o’clock.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say after a pause. There’s no point trying to argue Luke out of Nanny Sue. I’ve already tried.

  ‘Good luck at the school!’ says Janice, who has come over to look after Minnie. ‘Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine, just the two of us!’ I glance over and she gives me the tiniest of winks.

  I’ve already exchanged about ten secret texts with Janice since breakfast. The marquee guys are coming over to prepare her garden this morning, but neither of us mentions that, obviously.

  As I’m h
eading out of the door, Janice pulls me back with an urgent whisper.

  ‘Love, I heard from your mother yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  The estate agents are having a nightmare finding us a rental place, so Mum and Dad are still living it up in the The West Place, having mud wraps and champagne cocktails every day, I expect.

  ‘She told me she’s not invited to the party.’ Janice peers at me anxiously. ‘That can’t be true, Becky, love?’

  That is so Mum. Trying to get everyone on her side. And anyway, it’s not true. She’s had an invitation.

  ‘Why does she want to come, anyway?’ I know I sound sulky but I can’t help it. ‘She said it would be a fiasco.’

  ‘But Becky, it’s going to be a wonderful party.’ Janice looks all flustered. ‘You can’t let her miss it.’

  ‘She can come if she wants. She knows where I am.’

  My phone bleeps with a text and I pull it out.

  I have secured a brief interview with Bernard today. I will keep you informed. Kind regards. Elinor.

  Elinor has to be the only person in the world who writes ‘kind regards’ on text messages. Mind you, ‘kind regards’ is a lot better than ‘I remain disapprovingly yours’, which is how she once ended a letter to me.

  Thx! I text back. Look forward to hearing!

  I head out into the drive – and it takes me a moment to notice what Luke is doing. He’s unlocking the garage. Shit. Shit! Where did he get the key from? I hid it, precisely so he wouldn’t open it and find the manky marquee, plus 132 plastic-bag pom-poms. (Which I am not disposing of, whatever Elinor says. I made them for the party and they took me hours and they’re bloody well going in the party.)

  ‘Nooooo!’ Somehow I make it across the drive in order to dive between him and the garage door. ‘Don’t! I mean … what do you need? I’ll get it. You start the engine. Get the car warmed up.’

  ‘Becky!’ Luke looks astonished. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You … don’t want to get your nice coat dirty!’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to get your coat dirty,’ he points out reasonably. ‘I’m only after the road map. My bloody sat nav is on the blink.’ He reaches for the handle again but I block his way.

  ‘We can buy one on the way.’

  ‘Buy one?’ He peers at me. ‘Why would we do that?’

  ‘You can always do with an extra road map.’ My hand is clamped on the garage door handle. ‘It’ll be fun. We can choose it together!’

  ‘But we’ve already got one,’ he says patiently. ‘If you just let me into the garage—’

  OK, I need extreme measures.

  ‘Do you know how desperate I am to buy something?’ I cry dramatically, my voice throbbing like a Shakespearean actress. ‘You won’t let me buy any clothes. Now you won’t let me buy a road map, either! I need to spend some money or I’m going to go crazy!’

  I break off, panting. Luke looks so freaked out, I almost feel sorry for him.

  ‘OK, Becky. Fine.’ He backs away, shooting me wary little looks. ‘We can stop at a service station. No problem.’

  ‘Good.’ I fan myself as though overcome by emotion. ‘Thank you for understanding. So, where did you get the garage key?’ I add casually. ‘I thought it was lost.’

  ‘It was the damnedest thing.’ Luke shakes his head. ‘I was looking for it, and I said aloud, “Where is that key?” and Minnie led me to it at once. She must have hidden it herself!’

  Honestly. That’s the last time I include Minnie in any of the preparations. She’s a total blab.

  ‘You’ll never guess where it was,’ Luke adds as he starts the car. ‘Inside your make-up bag. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Incredible!’ I try to muster an astonished voice. ‘What a little monkey!’

  ‘By the way, do you want to come to Paris with me on Friday?’ Luke adds casually as he reverses.

  I’m so thrown I can’t answer. I gaze blankly back at him, my mind skittering. What do I say? What would be the natural reaction?

  ‘Paris?’ I manage at last. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to Paris for this meeting, remember? Just thought you and Minnie might like to come along. We could make a weekend of it. You know it’s my birthday?’

  The word ‘birthday’ is like a hand grenade going off in the car. What do I say? Do I pretend I’ve forgotten? Do I pretend I didn’t hear him?

  No. Act normal, Becky. Act normal.

  ‘Um … is it?’ I swallow. ‘Wow, of course it’s your birthday! Well, that sounds lovely.’

  ‘We’ll have to spend Friday night with my clients, I’m afraid, but at least it should be a celebration. I mean, once we’ve seen Christian, we’re well on the way to meeting with Sir Bernard himself!’ Luke sounds ebullient. ‘I’ll get Bonnie to make the arrangements. So that’s agreed?’

  ‘Fab!’ I smile weakly. ‘I just need to text Suze about something …’

  I reach for my phone and quickly text Bonnie:

  Luke wants to take us to Paris on Friday! Do NOT book tickets!!

  Honestly, I’m going to crack up at this rate. No I’m not. It’s fine. Elinor’s on the case. Deep breaths. Only three days to go.

  *

  Hardy House School is a much nicer school than St Cuthbert’s, I instantly decide. For a start, the secretary who greets us has a really cool Pippa Small necklace on. And there aren’t any pupils called Eloise. (I asked.) And they make their own homemade biscuits.

  As we sip our coffee and eat the biscuits, we have a view out to the playground, which is surrounded by horse chestnuts. I watch all the little girls running round and skipping, and feel a sudden pang of longing. I can just see Minnie joining in with all of them. It would be perfect.

  ‘D’you think Minnie’ll get a place?’ I turn anxiously to Luke.

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ He looks up from his BlackBerry. ‘Why wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Because it’s really oversubscribed!’

  I glance again at the sheet of paper I’ve been given entitled ‘Our Entry Procedure’. There are six stages to it, starting with filling out a form, and ending with ‘Final Assessment Tea Party’. Suddenly I can see why everyone gets stressed out by schools. I’m already terrified. What if Minnie grabs all the cakes and yells ‘Miiiine’? They’ll never give her a place.

  ‘Luke, stop looking at your BlackBerry!’ I hiss. ‘We have to make a good impression!’ I pick up a leaflet on attainment grades and start flipping through it, just as the door opens and the secretary appears again.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Brandon? Come this way, please.’ She ushers us along a short passage smelling of beeswax. ‘Here’s the headmistress’s office,’ she says, leading us straight into a panelled room with a mahogany desk and green upholstered chairs. ‘Our current head, Mrs Bell, is leaving at the end of term, and the prospective head is with us for a few days, so we thought it would make more sense for you to see her. She’ll be along in just a moment.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Luke charmingly. ‘And may I compliment the school on your delicious home-made biscuits?’

  ‘Thank you!’ She smiles. ‘I’ll be back presently with the new head. Her name is Mrs Grayson,’ she adds as she exits. ‘Harriet Grayson.’

  ‘There,’ murmurs Luke. ‘We’re making a perfect impression.’

  I can’t reply. In fact, I’ve frozen. Don’t I know that name?

  OK. This could be bad. I need to get out of here, or warn Luke, or—

  But the door is already swinging open again – and it’s her. It’s Harriet Grayson, MA, dressed in the same knitted suit. She comes forward with a professional smile – then recognition flashes across her face.

  ‘Professor Bloomwood!’ she says in astonishment. ‘It is Professor Bloomwood, isn’t it?’

  There is no way out of this. None.

  ‘Um … yes!’ I say at last, blood flooding my face. ‘Hi!’

  ‘Well, what a surprise!’ She beams at Luke. ‘Profes
sor Bloomwood and I have met before. Brandon must be your married name?’

  ‘That’s … that’s right.’ I gulp.

  I risk a tiny glance at Luke, then wish I hadn’t. His expression makes me half want to burst into laughter and half want to dash out of the room.

  ‘Are you in the art world too, Mr Brandon?’ she says pleasantly as she shakes his hand.

  ‘The art world?’ Luke says after a fairly long pause.

  ‘No, he’s not,’ I chime in hurriedly. ‘Not at all. Anyway, moving on to the really important subject, we’d like to send our daughter Minnie here. I love your playground. Beautiful trees!’ I’m hoping we can move on, but Harriet Grayson, MA looks puzzled.

  ‘So, are you relocating from New York?’

  ‘Um … that’s right,’ I say after a pause. ‘Isn’t it, darling?’ I shoot Luke a brief, desperate look.

  ‘Goodness! But what about your work at the Guggenheim, Professor Bloomwood?’

  ‘The Guggenheim?’ echoes Luke in a slightly strangled voice.

  ‘Yes, the Guggenheim. Absolutely.’ I nod several times, playing for time. ‘Obviously I’ll miss the Guggenheim very much. But I’ll be … focusing on my own art.’

  ‘You’re an artist yourself?’ Harriet Grayson seems bowled over. ‘How wonderful! Are you a painter?’

  ‘Not really.’ I cough. ‘My work is … it’s quite hard to describe …’

  ‘Becky’s art form is unique,’ Luke suddenly chimes in. ‘She creates … unreal worlds. Fantasyland, some might call it.’

  I shoot him a tiny glare, just as there’s a knock on the door.

  ‘Mr Brandon?’ The secretary looks in tentatively. ‘You have an urgent message to call your office.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Luke looks surprised. ‘It must be very important for them to interrupt me. Excuse me.’ As he heads out of the room, I grab the prospectus and flick randomly to a page.

  ‘So!’ I say hastily. ‘When you say the children read every day, what exactly do you mean by that?’

  Thank God. For about five minutes Mrs Grayson talks about reading schemes and I nod intelligently. Then I ask a question about the science building and I get another three minutes, and I’m about to move on to netball when the door opens.