Mini Shopaholic (13 page)

The waiter arrives, and we both order salads, and he refreshes our water. As Bonnie sips meticulously, I can’t help eyeing her with curiosity. If you think about it, this is the Other Woman in Luke’s life. (Not in a Camilla Parker-Bowles kind of way. Definitely not. I’m not falling into that trap again of thinking Luke’s having an affair and hiring private detectives and getting myself all stressed out over nothing.)

‘Did you want some wine, Becky?’ says Bonnie suddenly. ‘I have to remain professional, I’m afraid …’ She gives a regretful smile.

‘Me too,’ I nod, still fixated by Bonnie.

She spends more time with Luke than I do. She knows all about huge areas of his life that he never bothers telling me about. She probably has all sorts of interesting insights on him.

‘So … what’s Luke like as a boss?’ I can’t resist asking.

‘He’s admirable.’ She smiles and takes a piece of bread from the basket.

Admirable
. That’s so typical. Discreet, bland, tells me nothing.

‘How is he admirable, exactly?’

Bonnie gives me a strange look, and I suddenly realize I sound as if I’m fishing for compliments.

‘Anyway, he can’t be Mr Perfect,’ I add hurriedly. ‘There must be things he does that annoy you.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She gives another closed smile and sips her water.

Is she going to bat away every question like that? I suddenly feel an urge to get underneath her professional veneer. Maybe I could bribe her with a hazelnut chocolate.

‘Come on, Bonnie!’ I persist. ‘There must be
something
that annoys you about Luke. Like, I get annoyed when he answers the BlackBerry all the time in the middle of conversations.’

‘Really.’ Bonnie gives a guarded laugh. ‘I couldn’t say.’

‘Yes you could!’ I lean across the table. ‘Bonnie, I know you’re a professional, and I respect that. And so am I. But this is off the record. We can be honest with each other. I’m not leaving this restaurant till you tell me something that annoys you about him.’

Bonnie has turned pink and keeps glancing towards the door as though for escape.

‘Look,’ I say, trying to get her attention. ‘Here we are together, the two women who spend the most time with Luke. We know him better than anyone else. Shouldn’t we be able to share our experiences and learn from each other? I won’t
tell
him or anything!’ I add, suddenly realizing I might not have made this clear enough. ‘This is strictly between you and me. I swear.’

There’s a long pause. I think I might be getting through to her.

‘Just one thing,’ I cajole. ‘One teeny, tiny little thing …’

Bonnie takes a gulp of water as though stiffening her nerves.

‘Well,’ she says at last. ‘I suppose the birthday-card situation is a
little
frustrating.’

‘Birthday-card situation?’

‘The staff birthday cards, you know.’ She blinks at me. ‘I have a stack of them for him to sign for the whole year, but he won’t get round to it. Which is understandable, he’s very busy …’

‘I’ll get him to do them,’ I say firmly. ‘Leave it to me.’

‘Becky.’ Bonnie blanches. ‘Please don’t, that’s not what I meant …’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say reassuringly. ‘I’ll be really subtle.’

Bonnie still looks troubled. ‘I don’t like you to be involved.’

‘But I
am
involved! I’m his wife! And I think it’s monstrous that he can’t be bothered to sign his own staff’s birthday cards. You know why it is?’ I add knowledgeably. ‘It’s because he doesn’t care about his own birthday, so he thinks no one else does too. It wouldn’t even
occur
to him that anyone cared.’

‘Ah.’ Bonnie nods slowly. ‘Yes. That makes sense.’

‘So, when’s the next company birthday? Who’s next on the list?’

‘Well, actually …’ Bonnie turns a little pink. ‘It’s my own birthday in two weeks’ time …’

‘Perfect! Well, I’ll make sure he’s signed the cards by then.’ A new thought strikes me. ‘And what’s he going to get you as a present? What did he get you for Christmas? Something really nice, I hope.’

‘Of course! He got me a lovely gift!’ Bonnie’s bright voice is a little forced. ‘This beautiful bracelet.’

She shakes her arm and a gold link bracelet falls down from under her sleeve. I stare at it, speechless. Luke bought her this?

I mean, it’s not a bad bracelet. But it’s
so
not Bonnie’s colouring or style, or anything. No wonder she’s hidden it up her sleeve. And she probably feels she has to wear it to work every day, poor thing.

Where did he get it anyway – totallyblandpresentsforyoursecretary.com? Why didn’t he ask
me?

Things are becoming clearer to me. We need to coordinate, Bonnie and me. We need to work as a team.

‘Bonnie,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘Would you like to have a
proper
drink?’

‘Oh, no …’ she begins.

‘Come on,’ I say coaxingly. ‘Just one tiny glass of wine at lunchtime doesn’t make anyone unprofessional. And I promise I won’t mention it.’

‘Well,’ Bonnie relents, ‘perhaps I will have a small vermouth on the rocks.’

Yay! Go Bonnie!

By the time we’ve finished our salads and are sipping coffees, we’re both a million times more relaxed. I’ve made Bonnie laugh with stories of Luke doing yoga on honeymoon, and she’s told me about some previous boss trying the lotus position and having to go to Casualty. (She was too discreet to mention who it was. I’ll have to Google.) And most importantly, I’ve hatched my plan.

‘Bonnie,’ I begin as the waiter presents us with the bill and I swipe it before she can protest. ‘I just want to say again, I’m
so
grateful to you for helping me with the party.’

‘Really, it’s no trouble at all.’

‘And it’s made me realize something. We can help each other!’ My voice rises in enthusiasm. ‘We can pool our resources. Think what we can achieve if we work in partnership! Luke doesn’t need to know. It can be our own private arrangement.’

As soon as I say ‘private arrangement’, Bonnie looks a little uncomfortable.

‘Becky, it’s been very pleasant spending time with you,’ she begins. ‘And I do appreciate your wishing to help. However—’

‘So let’s keep in touch, OK?’ I interrupt. ‘Keep my number on speed-dial. And anything you want me to nudge Luke about, just let me know. Big or small. I’ll do whatever I can.’

She’s opening her mouth to protest. She
can’t
backtrack now.

‘Bonnie, please. I really care about Brandon Communications,’ I say with sudden warmth. ‘And it might just be that I can make a difference to things. But I’ll only know that if you keep me in the loop! Otherwise I’m powerless! Luke tries to protect me, but he doesn’t realize he’s shutting me out. Please let me help.’

Bonnie looks taken aback by my little speech, but it’s kind of true – I have felt shut out by Luke, ever since he wouldn’t let me go to the trial. (OK,
not
trial. Hearing. Whatever it was called.)

‘Well,’ she says at last, ‘I didn’t see it quite like that. Of course, I’d be glad to let you know if I ever think there’s anything you could … contribute.’

‘Fab!’ I beam. ‘And in return, maybe you could do the odd little favour for me?’

‘Of course.’ Bonnie looks as though she can’t quite keep up. ‘I’d be glad to. Did you have anything specific in mind?’

‘Well, yes, actually, I
did
have one small request.’ I take a sip of cappuccino. ‘It would really, really help me out if you could do it.’

‘To do with the party?’ Bonnie is already getting out her notebook.

‘No, this isn’t to do with the party. It’s more general.’ I lean across the table. ‘Could you tell Luke that a gym is better than a wine cellar?’

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.