Shopaholic to the Rescue

by Sophie Kinsella

  We’re silent for a moment. My stomach is churning, over and over. I hate this situation. I want someone to blame, but I’m not sure I can blame even Alicia for this.

  “It’s all so horrible,” I say miserably.

  “This is big stuff. It’s hard.” Luke wraps his arms around me tight and kisses my forehead. I sink into his embrace and breathe in his familiar scent: part aftershave, part laundered shirt, part Luke.

  “Oh, and by the way, Bryce isn’t running a cult after all,” I tell him gloomily. “He’s trying to rip off Alicia. Tarkie wants me to warn her. But how can I? I can’t say, Guess what? Tarkie just rang me!”

  “It’s awkward,” Luke agrees.

  The idea suddenly hits me. “Luke, you tell Alicia. Say you heard it on the grapevine. Keep me out of it.”

  “Oh no, no.” Luke shakes his head with a short laugh. “I’m not getting into this.”

  “Please,” I wheedle. “Please, Luke.”

  What’s the point of having a husband if he won’t cover your back once in a while? I mean, it’s practically in the vows.

  There’s silence as Luke pours himself a grapefruit juice. Then he looks up with a sigh.

  “OK, I’ll do it. But, Becky, you’re going to have to tell Suze sometime that you spoke to Tarquin. These things have a habit of coming out.”

  “I know.” I nod fervently. “I will. But I can’t right now. She’ll murder me.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Not a lot. My father’s a good man, apparently.”

  “Well, we knew that.” Luke laughs at my expression. “Becky, cheer up. It’s good news, remember? A day ago we thought Tarquin had been kidnapped and left for dead.”

  “Yes, but it’s all so complicated.” Dolefully, I select a pain au chocolat, an almond croissant, and a Danish whirl. I’ll put one in my bag for later, in case Minnie needs a snack. “And what do we do now? You know what I think? If Tarkie’s fine and Dad doesn’t want us to find him, I think we should just go home.”

  “Right.” Luke nods thoughtfully. “Good point. Do you want to say that to your mother or shall I?”

  —

  OK, so that was a nonstarter. I should have realized Mum was never going to agree to go home in a million years. By the end of what you could call an “animated discussion” (the waitstaff had to ask us to keep it down), we’ve reached a compromise. We’ll go to see Dad’s other old friend, the one in Tucson. Raymond Earle. And if we can’t find anything out from him, we’ll go back to L.A. and wait for Dad to return.

  Whereupon, no doubt, Dad will refuse to say what he was up to. And it will be one of the great unsolved puzzles of our time. And Mum will nearly expire in rage. But, as Luke keeps telling me, that’s not my problem.

  We’re all up at the buffet again now, having a last go-round. I can’t believe I’m putting yet more food on my plate, but there’s just so much. Every time you think I’ve had everything, you turn a corner and see some huge pile of fresh waffles, or chicken skewers, or chocolate-covered strawberries, and a bit of your brain shouts, I’ve paid for this! I need to eat it! even while the other bit is moaning, I’m full! Take it awaaaay!

  I pour a glass of milk for Minnie and glance over at Suze, who’s getting some juice on the other side of the counter. My whole body is tense with guilt. I’ve never had secrets from Suze before.

  Well, except the odd tiny one, like that time I borrowed her Monsoon top and it wasn’t even hers and she only found out years later. But apart from that.

  Alicia is taking some slivers of pineapple from a fruit display, and as I watch, Luke approaches her, his phone in his hand.

  “Oh, Alicia,” he says, sounding casual. “Just heard a bit of gossip on the grapevine. Chap didn’t want me to let on who he was, but he has it on good authority that Bryce Perry is intending to set up a rival establishment to Golden Peace.”

  “What?” Alicia’s cry of shock pierces the sound of buffet chatter.

  “That’s what I heard. You might want to check it out.”

  He sounds totally laid-back and hasn’t even glanced at me. God, I love Luke.

  “So that’s what he’s up to?” Alicia’s eyes glitter. “That’s why he’s targeted Tarquin? For backing?”

  “Could be.”

  Alicia’s new-agey, Zen-like manner seems to be fading away, fast. She looks absolutely livid.

  “Anyway.” Luke shrugs. “As I say, just a rumor, but you might want to investigate.”

  “Yes. Yes. Thank you for the tip, Luke.” Already she’s heading over to Suze. “You’ll never guess what Luke just told me,” she begins, before lowering her voice discreetly.

  “Really?” I can hear Suze saying in shock. “Oh my God.”

  “I know. I know!” Alicia’s voice rises again in fury. “All this time, he’s been Wilton’s trusted right-hand man, and now he’s betraying us!”

  “So that’s—” Suze stops herself dead and there’s a weird pause. Her eyes are distant, and I can’t work out what she’s thinking at all.

  Alicia has pulled out her phone to start texting. “I don’t know what Wilton will say,” she mutters. “It’s taken years for him to build up such an amazing, blue-chip client list, and Bryce wants to steal it?”

  I feel such a jolt of shock that I goggle at her. Hello? You want to talk about pinching clients?

  Alicia, do you remember when you tried to steal all Luke’s clients? I want to call out. Do you remember when you tried to wreck everything he’d worked so hard for?

  But there’s no point. I think she’s airbrushed that whole incident out of her memory.

  As she’s texting away, Danny comes over to her and Suze, his plate piled high with bacon. I can see an evil gleam in his eye, and he shoots me a tiny wink before speaking.

  “So I hear Bryce is going into competition with you!” he begins with great interest. “That’s a piece of news. Tell me, Alicia, is he going to charge any less than you? Because I have to tell you, Golden Peace is waaaay expensive.”

  “I have no idea,” says Alicia stonily.

  “I mean, I love a good mindfulness class as much as the next guy,” Danny continues airily. “But if Bryce opens a more reasonable alternative, then it’ll be a no-brainer. I mean, who doesn’t need to be price-conscious, right? Even movie stars. I’d think you would lose a lot of clients.”

  “Danny!” says Suze sharply.

  “Just being honest,” says Danny innocently. “So, Alicia, if Bryce opens up a rival center, will your empire collapse, do you think?” He blinks at her. “Will you have to get a job?”

  “Danny, shut up!” says Suze furiously.

  “Wilton and I will not let some employee undermine us,” snaps Alicia. “Who does this Bryce Perry think he is?”

  He is very good-looking, I want to point out. And everyone does worship him. But I don’t say this, because I think she’d probably attack me with a fork.

  “Come on, Alicia.” Suze glares at Danny again. “Let’s sit down.”

  As I’m wondering whether to follow them or just hide out by the muffins, I see Elinor approaching. She seems a lot better, which is either down to the fruit salad she’s been nibbling or because of her impending custom-made Danny Kovitz Classic wardrobe (I still can’t wait to see her in that coat).

  “Would you like a muffin?” I venture politely, and she shoots a disdainful look at them.

  “I hardly think so.” She glances over at Suze and Alicia. “What was Luke saying about Wilton Merrelle?”

  “One of his employees is planning to open a rival center and steal all his customers. Why? Do you know him?”

  “He’s an atrocious man,” says Elinor crisply, and I try not to beam in delight. A bit of bitching about Wilton Merrelle is just what I’m in the mood for.

  “Why?” I repeat encouragingly. “You can tell me. I’m really discreet.”

  “He practically forced a friend of mine out of her Park Avenue condominium.”

  “How
did he do that?” I ask, agog.

  “He bought the apartment next door and pestered and pestered. Poor Anne-Marie was quite beleaguered. She felt she had no choice but to sell to him.”

  “Poor woman!” I say in sympathy. “So, what happened to her?”

  “She was forced to spend more time on her estate in the Hamptons,” says Elinor, without blinking.

  OK, Elinor needs to work on her sob stories a little. But even so, it feels cozy, sharing a common enemy with her.

  “Well, Alicia’s just as bad as Wilton,” I say. “Worse.” I’m about to launch into a whole list of Alicia’s dastardly deeds, when I see Elinor picking up a grape on a cocktail stick and looking at it curiously.

  “This is a particularly minimalist canapé,” she observes.

  “It’s not a canapé, it’s for the chocolate fountain.” I point. “See?”

  Elinor peers at the gushing chocolate as though she’s none the wiser. I take the grape from her, dip it in the chocolate, let it cool slightly, and hand it to her.

  “Ah.” Her brow clears. “I am reminded of the fondues one sees in Gstaad.”

  “You’ve never dipped anything in a chocolate fountain before?”

  “Naturally not,” she confirms with a supercilious air.

  I love it. First-ever hangover. First-ever chocolate fountain. What else is there in the list of Elinor Sherman’s firsts?

  “Elinor,” I say in sudden inspiration. “Have you ever worn a pair of blue jeans before?”

  “Never,” responds Elinor, looking slightly revolted.

  That’s it. I have her Christmas present. Dark-blue skinnies by J Brand.

  Unless…do I dare give her ripped jeans?

  The thought of Elinor unwrapping a pair of ripped jeans on Christmas Day cheers me up so much, I’m still smiling as I return to the table. But I hastily stop as I see Suze’s pained expression.

  “I have to get Tarkie away from Bryce,” she’s saying fervently. “He’ll be trying to fleece him for millions.”

  “If not more,” says Alicia darkly, and jabs at her phone yet again.

  “I mean, should we phone the police again?” Suze looks around the table for support. “Now we have this new information?”

  “Tarkie told me yesterday that he wasn’t going to give Bryce any money,” I venture. “I think he’ll be strong. He’ll just say no.”

  “Bex, you don’t know anything about it! Tarkie’s extremely vulnerable. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted…he was snappy with me in L.A….He’s not normal.”

  Her blue eyes are blazing and I lean away on my chair. Suze can be quite scary when she’s on fire like this.

  “Suze…” I begin cautiously. “I know Tarkie was a bit tense in L.A. I know he said some weird stuff. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he was being brainwashed. He might…well…”

  I trail off feebly. I can’t exactly say, He might not want to talk to you right now.

  “What do you know about it?” Suze bites back.

  “I was just giving you my point of view.”

  “Well, don’t! You’re constantly trying to undermine me. Isn’t she, Alicia?”

  Suze’s eyes are glittering, and she looks so hostile, it’s as if something inside me snaps.

  “You know what, Suze?” I cry out. “Why did you even ask me to come on this trip? In L.A. you said you needed me, so I dropped everything. I was glad to! But you don’t seem to want my companionship or my opinions or anything I have to offer. All you care about is Alicia. And, by the way, guess what, she’s been lying to you!”

  I didn’t mean to blurt that out. But now that I have, I feel an almighty satisfaction.

  “Lying?” Suze’s eyes darken in shock. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, lying! You told me you both stayed in all evening last night?”

  “We did.” Suze glances uncertainly at Alicia.

  “Alicia didn’t! Who were you meeting in the lobby of the Four Seasons at midnight, Alicia? And before you deny it, Danny saw you.” I throw this out with relish and sink back, folding my arms. At last. Alicia is totally exposed as a liar.

  Except she doesn’t look exposed. She doesn’t blush, or seem embarrassed, or drop her glass with a clatter, or do any of the things I would do.

  “I was meeting a private detective,” she says coldly.

  A what?

  “Naturally, I’ve been using my own resources.” She shoots me a withering look. “However, I didn’t want to let Suze know I’d drawn a blank, in case it discouraged her. So thanks, Becky, for ruining all my efforts.”

  There’s a long and prickling silence around the table. My head’s all hot and fuzzy. I can’t believe Alicia’s come out on top again. What is she, a witch?

  “Do you have anything to say, Becky?” Suze asks, and she sounds exactly like my headmistress did when I started the whole “bring your teacher a clothes item” craze (which I still think was a good idea).

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring down, exactly as I did back in Mrs. Brightling’s study.

  “Right. Well.” Suze finishes her coffee. “I think we’d better move on.”

  From: dsmeath@locostinternet.com

  To: Brandon, Rebecca

  Subject: Re: It’s all going wrong

  * * *

  Dear Mrs. Brandon,

  Thank you for your email. I am most sorry to hear of all your difficulties.

  We have indeed known each other a long time, and you are very welcome to “pour your heart out” to me. I am flattered that you think of me as “a wise old counselor, like Father Christmas” and will do my best to advise you.

  Mrs. Brandon, for what it is worth: I suggest perhaps you try to bond a little more with Ms. Bitch Long-legs. Lady Cleath-Stuart has clearly allied herself with this woman. If you set up in the opposite “camp,” you risk losing your friend. Find points of common interest and take it from there. I’m sure that with your ingenuity, you can do so with considerable effect.

  I do hope your trip progresses with success and that you find happiness with your friend again.

  Yours sincerely,

  Derek Smeath

  NINE

  Derek Smeath is so wise. He’s always given me good advice over the years, which I really should have followed a bit more. (Or, you know. At all. Especially that time he told me not to take out any more store cards for the free presents. I never did use that set of heated rollers.)

  So as we’re heading out of Vegas, I decide this time I will follow his advice. If I have to bond with Alicia Bitch Long-legs to keep Suze’s friendship, then I will. Somehow. I’ll just have to channel Pollyanna and focus on all of Alicia’s plus points. I’ve even googled ways to bond with co-workers you don’t like and have got some useful tips like find a common hobby and give them an affectionate nickname. (Although how will I ever find a nickname to top “Alicia Bitch Long-legs”?)

  By now we’re speeding along the freeway. I edge toward the table and benches where Alicia and Suze are sitting. Mum, Janice, and Danny are perched on the little sofa along with Minnie, and they’re playing bridge. (They work it so Minnie is “dummy” every time, which is quite clever. The only thing is, Minnie has her own set of cards and keeps plonking them down and saying, “My trick,” and trying to scoop up all the other cards.) Meanwhile, Elinor has stayed in Las Vegas to “rest” for a few days, and I really don’t blame her. Your first-ever hangover is always a shocker. I should think hers will last about a week.

  Either side of us are wide desert plains, with mountains in the distance, and I feel a thrill every time I glance out of the window. I mean, this is a view. This is scenery. Why can’t England have anything like this? When I was a little girl, Mum and Dad used to say, “Look at the lovely scenery, Becky!” and they were talking about three trees and a cow. No wonder I couldn’t get excited and preferred reading Debbie and Her Magic Sparkle Dress.

  As I approach the table, Suze looks up—and for an awful moment I think she’s not
going to shift up and make room for me. But after an awkward beat, she does, and I sit down, trying to appear normal. Like we three always hang out together. Like we’re old mates.

  “I really like your top, Alicia,” I say awkwardly. I’ve decided the quickest way to ingratiate myself is to compliment her. It’s a totally boring top, but that’s not the point.

  “Oh.” Alicia gives me a wary look. “Thanks.”

  “And your hair,” I add randomly. “I love your hair. It’s so shiny.”

  “Thanks,” she repeats shortly.

  “And…er…your perfume.”

  “Thanks,” she says yet again. “It’s the Golden Peace blend.”

  “Well, it’s really gorgeous on you, um…Ali,” I try self-consciously.

  As soon as I’ve said it I realize Alicia is definitely not an Ali. She turns, startled, and I can see Suze gawping at me too.

  “Ali?”

  “I mean…Lissy,” I amend hastily. “Does anyone ever call you Lissy? It suits you. Lissy. Liss.” I give her a friendly little squeeze of the arm, which really doesn’t work.

  “Ow!” She glares at me. “No, they don’t. And please leave my arm alone.”

  “Sorry,” I say, and quickly cast around for more compliments. “You’ve got a really pretty nose! It’s so, um…” I swallow, playing for time. What can you say about a nose? “I love the way your…nostrils go,” I hear myself saying feebly.

  Argh. I love the way her nostrils go?

  Suze is giving me a very strange look, which I pretend I can’t see, while Alicia has turned to survey me with narrowed eyes.

  “Oh, I get it,” she says. “I get what you’re doing. You want the number of my plastic surgeon, don’t you? Well, you’re not getting it.”

  What? I stare at her in bewilderment. Plastic surgeon? What?

  Oh God, this is hopeless. Let’s forget the compliments. And the nicknames.

  “So, tai chi!” I say brightly. “Is that good? Should I try it?”