Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (103 page)

She stops, breathing hard, and I hear Ernie begin to wail plaintively in the background. I feel completely shocked, as though she’s slapped me in the face.

“You’re right,” I say at last.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds quite upset too. “But I am right.”

“I know you are.” I rub my face. “Look . . . I will face this out. I don’t know how. But I will.” Ernie’s wailing has increased to lusty screaming, and I can barely hear myself over the noise. “You’d better go,” I say. “Give my godson my love. Tell him . . . his godmother’s sorry she’s such a flake. She’s going to try and do better.”

“He sends all his love back,” says Suze. She hesitates. “And he says remember, even though we might get a bit cross with you, we’re still ready to help. If we can.”

“Thanks, Suze,” I say, my throat thick. “Tell him . . . I’ll keep you posted.”

I put my phone away and sit still, gathering my thoughts. At last I get to my feet, brush myself down, and walk back out onto the shop floor.

Alicia’s standing five yards away.

My stomach gives a little flip. How long has she been there for? What did she hear?

“Hi,” I say, my voice crackly with nerves.

“Hi,” she says. Very slowly she walks toward me, her eyes running over me appraisingly

“So,” she says pleasantly. “Does Robyn know you’re planning to run off to get married on a beach?”

Fuck.

“I’m . . .” I clear my throat. “I’m not planning to run off to a beach!”

“Sounded to me like you were.” Alicia examines a nail. “Isn’t there a clause about that in her contract?”

“I was joking! It was . . . you know, just being funny . . .”

“I wonder if Robyn would find it funny.” Alicia gives me her most ingratiating smile. “To hear that Becky Bloomwood doesn’t care about having a grand reception. To hear that her favorite, goody-two-shoes Little Miss Perfect client . . . is going to fly the coop!”

I have to keep calm. “You wouldn’t say anything to Robyn.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You can’t! You just . . .” I break off, trying to stay composed. “Alicia, we’ve known each other a long time. And I know we haven’t always . . . seen eye to eye . . . but come on. We’re two British girls in New York. Both getting married. In a way, we’re . . . we’re practically sisters!”

I force myself to place a hand on her pink bouclé sleeve. “Surely we have to show solidarity? Surely we have to . . . support each other?”

There’s a pause as Alicia runs contemptuous eyes over me. Then she jerks her arm away from my hand and starts to stride away.

“See you, Becky,” she says over her shoulder.

I have to stop her. Quick.

“Becky!” Eileen’s voice is behind me and I turn round in a daze. “Here’s the pewterware I wanted to show you . . .”

“Thanks,” I say dazedly. “I just have to . . .”

I turn back—but Alicia’s disappeared.

Where did she go?

I hurry down the stairs to ground level, not bothering to wait for the lift. As I enter the floor I pause and look around desperately, searching for a flash of pink. But the whole place is crowded with an influx of excited, yabbering tourists. There are bright colors everywhere.

I push my way through them, breathing hard, telling myself Alicia wouldn’t really say anything to Robyn; she wouldn’t really be so vindictive. And at the same time, knowing that she would.

I can’t see her anywhere on the whole floor. At last I manage to squeeze past a group of tourists clustered round a case full of watches and reach the revolving doors. I push my way out and stand on the street, looking from left to right. I can barely see anything. It’s a blindingly bright day, with low sunlight glinting off plate-glass windows, turning everything into silhouettes and shadows.

“Rebecca.” I feel a hand suddenly pulling sharply at my shoulder. In confusion, I turn round, blinking in the brightness and look up.

As my gaze focuses, I’m gripped by pure, cold terror.

It’s Elinor.

Eighteen

I
SHOULD NEVER HAVE
stepped outside Tiffany.

“Rebecca, I need to talk to you,” says Elinor coldly. “At once.”

She’s wearing a long black coat and oversized black sunglasses and looks exactly like a member of the Gestapo. Oh God, she’s found out everything, hasn’t she? She’s spoken to Robyn. She’s spoken to Alicia. She’s come to haul me in front of the commandant and condemn me to hard labor.

“How did you know where I was?” I falter.

“Michael Ellis told me,” she replies crisply.

Michael
told her? Doesn’t he think I’m suffering enough?

“Well, I’m er . . . busy,” I say, trying to duck back inside Tiffany. “I haven’t got time to chat.”

“This is not chat.”

“Whatever.”

“This is very important.”

“OK, look, it might
seem
important,” I say desperately. “But let’s get things in perspective. It’s only a wedding. Compared to things like, you know, foreign treaties . . .”

“I don’t wish to discuss the wedding.” Elinor frowns. “I wish to discuss Luke.”

“Luke?” I stare at her, taken aback. “How come . . . have you spoken to him?”

“I had several disturbing messages from him in Switzerland. And yesterday a letter. I returned home immediately.”

“What did the letter say?”

“I’m on my way to see Luke now,” says Elinor, ignoring me. “I would be glad if you accompany me.”

“Are you? Where is he?”

“Michael Ellis went to search for Luke this morning and found him at my apartment. I’m on my way there now. Apparently Luke wishes to speak to me.” She pauses. “But I wanted to talk to you first, Rebecca.”

“Me? Why?”

Before she can answer, a group of tourists comes out of Tiffany and for a moment we’re submerged by them. I could make my getaway under their cover. I could escape.

But now I’m curious. Why does Elinor want to talk to me?

The crowd melts away and we stare at each other.

“Please.” She nods toward the curb. “My car is waiting.”

“OK,” I say, and give a tiny shrug. “I’ll come.”

Once inside Elinor’s plushy limousine, my terror recedes. As I gaze at her pale, impenetrable face, I feel a slow hatred growing inside me instead.

This is the woman who screwed up Luke. This is the woman who ignored her own fourteen-year-old son. Sitting calmly in her limousine. Still behaving as though she owns the world; as though she’s done nothing wrong.

“So what did Luke write in his letter?” I say.

“It was . . . confused,” she says. “Rambling and nonsensical. He seems to be having some sort of . . .” She gestures regally.

“Breakdown? Yes, he is.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” I retort, unable to keep a sarcastic edge out of my voice.

“He works very hard,” says Elinor. “Perhaps too hard sometimes.”

“It’s not the work!” I say, unable to stop myself. “It’s you!”

“Me.” She frowns.

“Yes, you! It’s the way you’ve treated him!”

There’s a long pause. Then Elinor says, “What do you mean?”

She sounds genuinely taken aback. Is she really that insensitive?

“OK . . . where shall I start? With your charity! The charity that he has spent all his bloody waking hours working for. The charity that you promised him would benefit the profile of his company. But funnily enough didn’t . . . because you took all the credit yourself!”

God, that felt good. Why have I never spoken my mind to Elinor before?

Her nostrils flare slightly and I can tell she’s angry, but all she says is, “That version of events is skewed.”

“It’s not skewed! You used Luke!”

“He never complained about the amount of work he was doing.”

“He wouldn’t complain! But you
must
have seen how much time he was giving you for nothing! You used one of his staff, for God’s sake! I mean, that alone was bound to get him into trouble—”

“I agree,” says Elinor.

“What?” I’m momentarily halted.

“To use staff from Brandon Communcations was not my idea. Indeed, I was against it. It was Luke who insisted. And as I have explained to Luke, the newspaper article was not my fault. I was given the option of a last-minute interview. Luke was unavailable. I told the journalist at great length about Luke’s involvement and gave him Brandon Communications promotional literature. The journalist promised to read it but then used none of it. I assure you, Rebecca, it was out of my control.”

“Rubbish!” I say at once. “A decent journalist wouldn’t completely ignore something like . . .”

Hmm. Actually . . . maybe they would. Now that I think about it, when I was a journalist I always ignored half the stuff the interviewees told me. I certainly never read any of the stupid heavy literature they gave me.

“Well . . . OK,” I say after a pause. “Maybe that wasn’t entirely your fault. But that’s not the main issue. That’s not why Luke’s so upset. A few days ago, he went looking for family photos in your apartment. But he didn’t find any. Instead, he found some letters from his dad. All about how you didn’t want him when he was a child. How you weren’t interested in meeting him, even for ten minutes.”

Elinor’s face flinches slightly but she says nothing.

“And that brought back a lot of other really painful stuff. Like when he came to see you in New York and sat outside your building and you refused to acknowledge him? Remember that, Elinor?”

I know I’m being harsh. But I don’t care.

“That was him,” she says at last.

“Of course it was him! Don’t pretend you didn’t know it was him. Elinor, why do you think he pushes himself so hard? Why do you think he came to New York in the first place? To impress you, of course! He’s been obsessed for years! No wonder he’s gone over the edge now. To be honest, given the childhood he had, I’m amazed he’s lasted this long without cracking!”

As I break off for breath, it occurs to me that maybe Luke wouldn’t want me discussing all his secret neuroses with his mother.

Oh well, too late now. Anyway, someone’s got to let Elinor have it.

“He had a happy childhood,” she says, staring rigidly out of the window. We’ve stopped at a crossing and I can see the reflection of people walking past the car in her sunglasses.

“But he loved you. He wanted
you
. His mother. But you just didn’t want to see him—”

“He’s angry with me.”

“Of course he’s angry! You leave him behind and go off to America, not even caring about him, as happy as a clam.”

“Happy.” Elinor turns her head. “Do you think I’m happy, Rebecca?”

I’m halted. With a very slight twinge of shame I realize it’s never occurred to me to think about whether Elinor is happy or not. I’ve only ever thought about what a cow she is.

“I . . . don’t know,” I say at last.

“I made my decision. I stuck to it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t regret it.”

She takes off her sunglasses and I try not to give away my shock at the way she looks. Her skin is stretched even more tightly than ever and there’s slight bruising around her eyes. Although she’s just had a face-lift, to my eye she looks older than she did before. And kind of more vulnerable.

“I did recognize Luke that day,” she says in a quiet voice.

“So why didn’t you go over to him?”

There’s silence in the car—and then, her lips barely moving, she says, “I was apprehensive.”

“Apprehensive?” I echo disbelievingly.

“Giving up a child is a tremendous step. Taking a child back into one’s life is . . . equally momentous. Particularly after such a long time. I wasn’t prepared for such a step. I wasn’t prepared for seeing him.”

“Didn’t you want to talk to him, though? Didn’t you want to . . . to get to know him?”

“Maybe. Maybe I did.”

I can see a slight quivering, just below her left eye. Is that an expression of emotion?

“Some people find it easy to embrace new experiences. Others shrink away. It may be difficult for you to understand that, Rebecca. I know you are an impulsive, warm person. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

“Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Elinor,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Let’s not play games. You don’t like me. You never have.”

“What makes you think I don’t like you?”

She cannot be serious.

“Your doorpeople don’t let me into my own party . . . you try to make me sign a prenup . . . you’re never
ever
nice to me . . .”

“I regret the incident at the party. That was an error on the part of the party planners.” She frowns slightly. “But I have never understood your objection to a prenuptial contract. No one should get married without one.” She looks out of the window. “We’re here.”

The car stops and the driver comes round to open the passenger door. Elinor looks at me.

“I do like you, Rebecca. Very much.” She gets out of the car and her eye rests on my foot. “Your shoe is scuffed. It looks shoddy.”

“You see?” I say in exasperation. “You see what I mean?”

“What?” She gives me a blank stare.

Oh, I give up.

Elinor’s apartment is bright with shafts of morning sun, and completely silent. At first I think she must be wrong and Luke isn’t here—but as we enter the living room, I see him. He’s standing at the picture window, staring out with a deep frown.

“Luke, are you OK?” I say cautiously, and he wheels round in shock.

“Becky. What are you doing here?”

“I just . . . ran into your mother at Tiffany. Where have you been all morning?”

“Around and about,” says Luke. “Thinking.”

I glance at Elinor. She’s staring at Luke, her face unreadable.

“Anyway, I’ll leave, shall I?” I say awkwardly. “If you two are going to talk . . .”

“No,” says Luke. “Stay. This won’t take long.”

I sit down awkwardly on the arm of a chair, wishing I could shrink into it. I’ve never liked the atmosphere in this apartment—but right now it’s like the temperature’s dropped ten degrees.

“I received your messages,” says Elinor. “And your letter, which made very little sense.” She takes off her gloves with jerky movements and places them on a side table. “I have no idea what you’re trying to accuse me of.”

“I’m not here to accuse you of anything,” says Luke, making a visible attempt to stay calm. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve had a few realizations. One of which has been that I’ve been somewhat . . . deluded over the years. You never really wanted me to live with you, did you? Yet you’ve allowed me to believe that you did.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Luke,” says Elinor after a pause. “The situation was far more complicated than you might imagine.”

“You’ve played on my . . . my weakness. You’ve used me. And my company. You’ve treated me like a . . .” He breaks off, breathing heavily, and takes a couple of moments to calm himself. “What’s a little sad is that one of the reasons I came to New York was to spend time with you. Perhaps get to know you as well as Becky knows her mother.”

He gestures toward me and I look up in alarm. Don’t bring me into this!

“What a waste of time.” His voice harshens. “I’m not sure you’re even capable of that kind of relationship.”

“That’s enough!” says Elinor. “Luke, I can’t talk to you when you’re in this state.”

As he and Elinor face each other, I see that they’re more alike than I’ve ever realized. They both get that blank, scary expression when things are going badly. They both set themselves impossibly high standards. And they’re both more vulnerable than they want the outside world to know.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” says Luke. “I’m leaving now. You won’t see me or Becky again.”

My head jerks up in shock. Is he serious?

“You’re talking nonsense,” says Elinor.

“I’ve sent a letter of resignation to the trustees of the Elinor Sherman Foundation. There should be no other reason for our paths to cross.”

“You have forgotten the wedding,” says Elinor crisply.

“No, we haven’t. I haven’t forgotten it at all.” Luke takes a deep breath and glances at me. “As of now, Becky and I will be making alternative arrangements for our marriage. Naturally, I’ll pay whatever expenses you’ve incurred.”

Wh—

What did he say? I stare at Luke, gobsmacked.

Did he really just say what I—

Did he really just . . .

Am I hallucinating?

“Luke,” I say, trying to keep calm, trying to keep steady. “Let me just get this . . . Are you saying you want to pull out of the Plaza wedding?”

“Becky, I know I haven’t discussed this with you yet.” Luke comes over and takes my hands. “I know you’ve been planning this wedding for months. It’s a lot to ask you to pull out. But under the circumstances, I just don’t feel I can go through it.”

“You want to pull out of the wedding.” I swallow. “You do know there’s a financial penalty?”

“I don’t care.”

“You . . . you don’t care?”

He doesn’t care.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“That’s not what I meant!” says Luke, seeing my expression. “I do care! Of course I care about us. But to stand up in public, and pretend to be a loving son to . . .” He glances at Elinor. “It would be farcical. It would debase the whole thing. Can you understand that?”

“Luke . . . of course I understand,” I say, trying to keep the exhilaration out of my voice. “If you want to pull out, then I’m happy to go along.”

I can’t believe it. I’m saved. I’m saved!

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” He stares at me incredulously.

“Of course I’m serious! If you want to cancel the wedding, then I’m not going to put up a fight. In fact . . . let’s call it off straight away!”

“You are a girl in a million, Becky Bloomwood.” Luke’s voice is suddenly thick. “To agree without even hesitating . . .”

“It’s what you want, Luke,” I say simply. “That’s all that matters to me.”

It’s a miracle!

There’s no other explanation.

For once in my life, God was actually listening. Either him or Ganesh.

“You cannot do this.” For the first time there’s a tremor of emotion in Elinor’s voice. “You cannot simply abandon the wedding I have organized for you. Funded for you.”