Shopaholic Ties the Knot (14 page)

“It’s great, thanks.” I beam at him.

“You know, I recommend you to everyone I meet. ‘You need clothes, go to Becky Bloomwood at Barneys.’ I tell busboys, businessmen, random people I meet on the street . . .”

“I wondered why I kept getting all these strange people through.” I smile at him.

“Seriously, I wanted to ask a small favor.” Michael lowers his voice slightly. “I’d be grateful if you could help out my daughter, Lucy. She just broke up with a guy and I think she’s going through a patch of lacking self-confidence. I told her I knew who could fix her up.”

“Absolutely,” I say, feeling touched. “I’d be glad to help.”

“You won’t bankrupt her, though. Because she’s only on a lawyer’s salary.”

“I’ll try not to,” I say, laughing. “How about you?”

“You think I need help?”

“To be honest, you look pretty good already.” I gesture to his immaculate dark gray suit, which I’m certain didn’t give him much change out of $3,000.

“I always dress up when I know I’m going to be seeing the beautiful people,” says Michael. He looks around the party with an amused expression, and I follow his gaze. A nearby group of six middle-aged women are talking at each other animatedly, seemingly without taking breath. “Are these your friends?”

“Not really,” I admit. “I don’t know many people here.”

“I guessed as much.” He gives me a quizzical smile and takes a sip of champagne. “So . . . how are you getting along with your future mother-in-law?” His expression is so innocent, I want to laugh.

“Oh, like a house on fire,” I say, grinning. “Can’t you tell?”

“What are you talking about?” says Luke, suddenly appearing at my shoulder. He hands me a full glass of champagne and I shoot a glance at Michael.

“We were just talking about wedding plans,” says Michael easily. “Have you decided on a honeymoon location yet?”

“We haven’t really talked about it.” I look at Luke. “But I’ve had some ideas. We need to go somewhere really nice and hot. And glamorous. And somewhere I’ve never been before.”

“You know, I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit in much of a honeymoon,” says Luke with a small frown. “We’ve just taken on NorthWest and that means we may be looking at expanding again. So we might have to make do with a long weekend.”

“A long weekend?” I stare at him in dismay. “That’s not a honeymoon!”

“Luke,” says Michael reprovingly. “That won’t do. You have to take your wife on a nice honeymoon. As best man, I insist. Where have you never been, Becky? Venice? Rome? India? Africa?”

“I haven’t been to any of them!”

“I see.” Michael raises his eyebrows. “This could turn out to be some honeymoon.”

“Everyone has seen the world except me. I never even had a gap year. I never did Australia, or Thailand . . .”

“Neither did I,” says Luke, shrugging.

“I haven’t
done
anything! You know, Suze’s mother’s best friend in the whole world is a Bolivian peasant.” I look at Luke impressively. “They ground maize together on the plains of the Llanos!”

“Looks like it’s Bolivia,” says Michael to Luke.

“You want to grind maize on our honeymoon?”

“I just think maybe we should broaden our horizons a bit. Like . . . go backpacking, maybe.”

“Becky, are you aware of the concept of backpacking?” says Luke mildly. “All your possessions in one rucksack. Which you have to
carry
. Not FedEx.”

“I could do that!” I say indignantly. “Easily! And we’d meet loads of really interesting people—”

“I know interesting people already.”

“You know bankers and PR people! Do you know any Bolivian peasants? Do you know any homeless people?”

“I can’t say I do,” says Luke. “Do you?”

“Well . . . no,” I admit after a pause. “But that’s not the point. We should!”

“OK, Becky,” says Luke lifting a hand. “I have a solution. You organize the honeymoon. Anywhere you want, as long as it doesn’t take more than two weeks.”

“Really?” I gape at him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. You’re right, we can’t get married and not have a proper honeymoon.” He smiles at me. “Surprise me.”

“Well, OK. I will!”

I take a sip of champagne, feeling all bubbly with excitement. How cool is this? I get to choose the honeymoon! Maybe we should go to an amazing spa in Thailand, or something. Or some spectacular safari . . .

“Speaking of homeless,” says Luke to Michael, “we’ll be out on the streets in September.”

“Really?” says Michael. “What happened?”

“The lease on our apartment is up—and the owner’s selling. Everyone out.”

“Oh!” I say, suddenly diverted from pleasant visions of me and Luke standing on top of one of the pyramids. “That reminds me. Luke, I heard this really odd conversation just now. Some people were saying that we were going to move to this building. Where did they get that from?”

“It’s a possibility,” says Luke.

“What?” I stare at him blankly. “What do you mean, it’s a possibility? Have you gone mad?”

“Why not?”

I lower my voice a little. “Do you really think I want to live in this stuffy building full of horrible old women who look at you as though you smell?”

“Becky—” interrupts Michael, jerking his head meaningfully.

“It’s true!” I turn to him. “Not one of the people who lives in this building is nice! I’ve met them, and they’re all absolutely—”

Abruptly I halt, as I realize what Michael’s trying to tell me.

“Except . . . for . . . Luke’s mother,” I add, trying to sound as natural as possible. “Of course.”

“Good evening, Rebecca,” comes a chilly voice behind me, and I stand up, cheeks flaming.

There she is, standing behind me, wearing a long white Grecian-style dress that falls in pleats to the ground. She’s so thin and pale, she looks just like one of her own pillars.

“Hello, Elinor,” I say politely. “You look lovely. I’m sorry I was a little late.”

“Rebecca,” she replies, and offers me a cheek. “I hope you’ve been circulating? Not just sitting here with Luke?”

“Er . . . kind of . . .”

“This is a good opportunity for you to meet some important people,” she says. “The president of this building, for example.”

“Right.” I nod. “Well, er . . . maybe.”

This is probably not the moment to tell her that there’s no way in a million years I’m moving to this building.

“I’ll introduce you to her later. But now I’m about to make the toast,” she says. “If you would both come over to the podium.”

“Excellent!” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic, and take a gulp of champagne.

“Mother, you’ve met Michael,” says Luke.

“Indeed,” says Elinor with a gracious smile. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you,” says Michael pleasantly. “I intended to come to the launch of your foundation but unfortunately couldn’t make it up from Washington. I hear it went very well, though?”

“It did. Thank you.”

“And now another happy occasion.” He gestures around the room. “I was just saying to Luke, how lucky he was to have landed such a beautiful, talented, accomplished girl as Becky.”

“Indeed.” Elinor’s smile freezes slightly.

“But you must feel the same way.”

There’s silence.

“Of course,” says Elinor at last. She extends her hand and, after a tiny hesitation, places it on my shoulder.

Oh God. Her fingers are all cold. It’s like being touched by the ice queen. I glance at Luke, and he’s glowing with pleasure.

“So! The toast!” I say brightly. “Lead the way!”

“See you later, Michael,” says Luke.

“Have a good one,” replies Michael, and gives me the tiniest of winks. “Luke,” he adds more quietly as she moves away, “on the subject of your mother’s charity, I’d like to have a word later.”

“Right,” says Luke after a pause. “Fine.”

Is it my imagination or does he look slightly defensive?

“But do the toast first,” says Michael pleasantly. “We’re not here to talk business.”

As I walk through the room with Luke and Elinor, I can see people starting to turn and murmur. A little podium has been set up at one end of the room, and as we step up onto it I start to feel a little nervous for the first time. Silence has fallen around the room and the entire assembled gathering is looking at us.

Two hundred eyes, all giving me the Manhattan Onceover.

Trying to stay unself-conscious, I search among the crowd for faces I recognize. But apart from Michael at the back, there isn’t a single one.

I keep smiling, but inside I feel a bit low. Where are my friends? I know Christina and Erin are on their way—but where’s Danny? He promised he was going to come.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Elinor graciously, “welcome. It gives me enormous pleasure to welcome you here tonight on this happy occasion. Particularly Marcia Fox, president of this building, and Guinevere von . . .”

“I don’t care about your stupid list!” comes a high-pitched voice from the door, and a couple of heads at the back turn to look.

“. . . von Landlenburg, associate of the Elinor Sherman Foundation . . .” says Elinor, her jaw growing more rigid.

“Let me in, you stupid cow!”

There’s a scuffling sound and a small scream, and the whole room turns to see what’s going on.

“Get your hands off me. I’m pregnant, OK? If anything happens I’ll sue!”

“I don’t believe it!” I shriek in delight, and jump down off the podium. “Suze!”

“Bex!” Suze appears through the door, looking tanned and healthy, with beads in her hair and a sizable bump showing through her dress. “Surprise!”

“WE THOUGHT WE’D surprise you!” says Suze after the fuss has died down and Elinor has made her toast—in which she mentions me and Luke once, and the Elinor Sherman Foundation six times. “Like a last bit of our honeymoon! So we turned up at your flat . . .”

“And I was, as ever, running perfectly on time . . .” puts in Danny, giving me an apologetic grin.

“So Danny said why didn’t we come along to the party and give you a bit of a shock?”

“It’s so great to see you.” I give her an affectionate hug. “And Tarquin.” We all glance toward Tarquin, who has been surrounded by a group of avidly interested New York ladies.

“Do you live in a castle?” I can hear one of them saying.

“Well . . . um, yes. Actually, I do.”

“Do you know Prince Charles?” says another, goggling.

“We’ve played polo once or twice . . .” Tarquin looks around, desperate to escape.

“You
have
to meet my daughter,” says one of the ladies, putting a clamplike arm round his shoulders. “She loves England. She visited Hampton Court
six times
.”

“He is spectacular,” says a low voice in my ear, and I look round to see Danny gazing over my shoulder at Tarquin. “Utterly spectacular. Is he a model?”

“Is he a
what
?”

“I mean, this story about him being a farmer.” Danny drags on his cigarette. “It’s bullshit, right?”

“You think Tarquin should be a
model
?” I can’t help a snort of laughter erupting through me.

“What?” says Danny defensively. “He has a fantastic look. I could design a whole collection around him. Prince Charles meets . . . Rupert Everett . . . meets—”

“Danny, you do know he’s straight?”

“Of course I know he’s straight! What do you take me for?” Danny gives a thoughtful pause. “But he went to English boarding school, right?”

“Danny!” I give him a shove and look up. “Hi, Tarquin! You managed to get away!”

“Hello!” says Tarquin, looking a bit harassed. “Suze, darling, have you given Becky the stuff from her mother?”

“Oh, it’s back at the hotel,” says Suze, and turns to me. “Bex, we dropped in on your mum and dad on the way to the airport. They are so obsessed!” She giggles. “They can’t talk about anything but the wedding.”

“I’m not surprised,” says Danny. “It sounds like it’s going to be fairly amazing. Catherine Zeta-Jones, eat your heart out.”

“Catherine Zeta-Jones?” says Suze interestedly. “What do you mean?”

I feel my body stiffen all over. Shit. Think.

“Danny,” I say casually. “I think the editor of
Women’s Wear Daily
is over there.”

“Really? Where?” Danny’s head swivels round. “I’ll be back in a second.” He disappears off into the party and I subside in relief.

“When we were there, they were having this huge argument about how big the marquee should be,” says Suze with another giggle. “They made us sit on the lawn, pretending to be guests.”

I don’t want to hear about this. I take a gulp of champagne and try to think of another topic.

“Have you told Becky the other thing that happened?” says Tarquin, looking suddenly grave.

“Er . . . no, not yet,” says Suze guiltily, and Tarquin gives a deep, solemn sigh.

“Becky, Suze has something she needs to confess.”

“That’s right.” Suze bites her lip and looks abashed. “We were at your parents’ house, and I asked to look at your mum’s wedding dress. So we were all admiring it, and I was holding a cup of coffee . . .” She hangs her head. “And then—I don’t know how it happened, but . . . I spilled my coffee on the dress.”

I stare at her incredulously. “On the dress? Are you serious?”

“We offered to clean it, of course,” says Tarquin. “But I’m not sure it will be wearable. We’re so incredibly sorry, Becky. And we’ll pay for another dress, of course.” He looks at his empty glass. “Can I get anyone another drink?”

“So the dress is . . . ruined?” I say, just to be sure.

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you!” says Suze as soon as Tarquin is out of earshot. “The first time I tried, your mum whisked it away just in time. Then she started getting all worried and saying she’d better put it away. I had to practically
throw
my coffee cup at it, just as she was packing it up—and even then it only just caught the train. Of course, your mum hates me now,” she adds gloomily. “I shouldn’t think I’ll get invited to the wedding.”

“Oh, Suze. She doesn’t really. And thank you
so
much. You’re a complete star. I honestly didn’t think you’d manage it.”