Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (152 page)

“Now, let’s have a listen….” She smears some gel on my stomach and gets out the Doppler, and I relax a little. This is my favorite bit of every appointment. Lying back, listening to the baby’s heartbeat going
wow, wow, wow
over the fuzzy background noise. Remembering that there’s a little person in there.

“That all sounds fine….” Venetia moves away to the desk and scribbles something on her notes. “Oh, Luke, that reminds me—I spoke to Matthew the other day and he’d love to meet up. And I found that article by Jeremy we were talking about….” She rifles in her desk drawer and holds out an old copy of the
New Yorker.
“He’s come such a long way since Cambridge. Have you read his book on Mao?”

“Not yet,” says Luke, heading toward the desk and taking it from her. “I’ll read this when I have time. Thanks.”

“You must be busy,” Venetia says sympathetically. She pours a glass of water from the cooler and offers one to Luke. “How are all the new offices working out?”

“Good.” Luke nods. “The odd hiccup, of course…”

“But it’s fabulous that you’ve got Arcodas as a client.” She leans on the desk, frowning intelligently. “It
must
be the way forward, to diversify out of finance. And Arcodas’s rate of expansion is phenomenal—I was reading a piece about it in the
FT
. Iain Wheeler sounds very impressive.”

Er…hello?

They’ve completely abandoned me on my back, like an upturned beetle. I clear my throat loudly and Luke turns round.

“Sorry, sweetheart! Are you all right?” He hurries over and offers me a hand.

“Sorry, Becky!” says Venetia. “Just getting you some water. You seem a little dehydrated. It’s vital to keep your fluids up. You should really be drinking at least eight glasses of water a day. Here you are.”

“Thanks!” I smile at her as I take the glass, but as I sit down, suspicions are circulating darkly round my mind. Venetia’s very chatty with Luke.
Too
chatty. And trying to make out I had a stretch mark. And the way she keeps flicking her hair about like a hair model in a TV ad. It’s not exactly doctorly, is it?

“So!” Venetia is behind her desk again, writing on my notes. “Did you have any questions? Issues you’d like to raise?”

I glance at Luke, but he’s pulled his phone out of his pocket. I can just hear the faint
bzzz
as it vibrates.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I’ll pop outside. Carry on without me.” He gets up and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

So it’s just the two of us. Woman-to-woman. I can feel the room prickling with tension.

At least…it’s prickling on my side.

“Becky?” Venetia shows her perfect white teeth in a smile. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Not really,” I reply pleasantly. “As I said, everything’s fine. I’m fine…. Luke’s fine…. Our relationship couldn’t be better…. You know this is a honeymoon baby?” I can’t resist adding.

“Yes, I heard all about your wonderful honeymoon!” Venetia exclaims. “Luke said you went to Ferrara while you were in Italy?”

“That’s right.” I give a reminiscent smile. “It was so romantic. We’ll always share it as a wonderful memory.”

“When Luke and I visited Ferrara, we couldn’t tear ourselves away from those
fabulous
frescoes. I’m sure he told you?” Her eyes are all wide and innocent.

Luke and I never went to any frescoes in Ferrara. We sat at the same outdoor restaurant all afternoon, drinking Prosecco and eating the yummiest food I’ve ever had. And he never mentioned he’d been there before with Venetia. But
no way
am I admitting that to her.

“Actually, we didn’t go to the frescoes,” I say at last, examining my nails. “Luke told me all about them, of course. But he said he thought they were overrated.”

“Overrated?” Venetia seems taken aback.

“Uh-huh.” I fix my gaze dead on hers. “Overrated.”

“But…he took masses of pictures of them.” She gives an incredulous laugh. “We talked about them for hours!”

“Yes, well, we talked about them all night!” I shoot back. “About how overrated they are.”

I casually fiddle with my wedding ring, making sure my engagement diamond glints under the lights.

I’m his wife. I know what he thinks about frescoes.

Venetia opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking flummoxed.

“Sorry about that!” Luke enters the room, putting his phone away, and Venetia immediately turns to him.

“Luke, d’you remember those frescoes in—”

“Ow!” I clutch my stomach. “Ouch.”

“Becky! Darling!” Luke hurries to my side in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little twinge.” I give him a brave smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” I glance in triumph at Venetia, who is frowning as though she can’t quite work me out.

“Have you had these pains before?” she says. “Can you describe them?”

“They’ve gone now,” I say blithely. “I think it was just a stitch.”

“Let me know if you have any other pains,” she says. “And remember to take things easy. That blood pressure shouldn’t be a problem, but we don’t want it to edge any higher. Did your previous doctor explain to you about preeclampsia?”

“Absolutely,” Luke says, glancing at me, and I nod.

“Good. Well, you take care. You can call me anytime. And before you go…” Venetia opens her desk diary. “We
must
arrange an evening for us all to meet up. The twenty-fourth…or the twenty-sixth? Assuming I’m not delivering a baby, of course!”

“The twenty-sixth?” Luke nods, consulting his BlackBerry. “OK with you, Becky?”

“Fine!” I say sweetly. “We’ll be there.”

“Marvelous. I’ll call some of the others. It’s so great to have made contact again, after so many years.” Venetia sighs and puts her pen down. “To be honest, it’s been pretty hard, starting again in London. My old friends have their lives; they’ve moved on. Besides which, I don’t always keep sociable hours, and Justin travels abroad a lot, of course.” Her bright smile slips a little.

“Justin is Venetia’s boyfriend,” Luke explains to me.

The boyfriend. I’d almost forgotten he existed.

“Oh, right,” I say politely. “What does he do?”

“He’s a financier.” Venetia reaches for a framed picture of a dull-looking man in a suit, and as she surveys it her whole face lights up. “He’s incredibly driven and motivated, a bit like Luke. I sometimes feel left behind when he’s pursuing a deal. But what can I do? I love him.”

“Really?”
I say in surprise. Then I realize how that sounded. “I mean…er…great!”

“He’s the reason I came to London.” Her eyes are still fixed on the picture. “I met him at a party in L.A. and just fell hook, line, and sinker.”

“You moved all this way?” I say, incredulous. “Just for him?”

“That’s what love’s about, surely? You do crazy things for no rhyme or reason.” Venetia looks up, her green eyes shining. “If my job has taught me one thing, Becky, it’s that love is the only thing. Human love. I see it every time I deliver a baby right into its mother’s arms…every time I see a fresh, eight-week-old heart beating on the screen and watch the faces of its parents…every time my patients come back, second or third time around. It’s love that makes the babies. And you know what? Nothing else matters.”

Wow. I am totally blown away.

She’s not after Luke, after all. She’s in love with the boring guy! And to be honest, that little speech has practically got me in tears.

“You’re so right,” I say huskily, clutching Luke’s arm. “Love is all that counts in this crazy, mixed-up world we call…the world.”

I’m not sure that came out right, but who cares? I have completely misjudged Venetia. She’s not a man-eater; she’s a warm, beautiful, loving human being.

“I really hope Justin will be able to make the twenty-sixth.” She finally puts the picture back in its place with a fond pat. “I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Me too!” I say with genuine enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“See you soon, Ven.” Luke kisses Venetia. “Thanks very much.”

“Bye, Becky.” Venetia gives me a warm, friendly smile. “Oh, and I nearly forgot. I don’t know if you’d be at all interested, but a journalist from
Vogue
called me up yesterday. They’re doing a big feature on London’s yummiest mummies-to-be and wanted me to put forward some names. I thought of you.”

“Vogue?”
I stare at her, frozen.

“You may not be interested, of course. It would involve a photo shoot of you in the baby’s nursery, an interview, hair and makeup…. They’ll provide designer maternity clothes….” She gives a vague shrug. “I don’t know—is that your kind of thing?”

I’m practically hyperventilating. Is it my kind of thing? Is having my makeup done and wearing designer clothes and being in
Vogue
…my kind of thing?

“I think that’s a yes,” says Luke, looking at me in amusement.

“Great!” Venetia touches him on the hand. “Leave it to me. I’ll fix it up.”

Rebecca Brandon

37 Maida Vale Mansions

Maida Vale

London NW6 0YF

18 August 2003

Dear Fabia,

I just wanted to say how much we love your gorgeous, beautiful house. It’s the Kate Moss of houses!!
^*
In fact, it’s so stunning, I think it deserves to appear in
Vogue,
don’t you?

That reminds me of a teeny favor I wanted to ask. Coincidentally, I am being interviewed by
Vogue
—and I wondered if I could use the house for the photo shoot?

I also wondered if I could put up some personal props and say that Luke and I live there already? After all, we will by the time the magazine comes out…so it makes sense, really!

In return, if there is anything I can do for you or any fashion item you would like me to track down, I will be only too glad!

With very best wishes,

Becky Brandon

FABIA PASCHALI

DATE: 19/8/03

TO: Rebecca Brandon

Becky,

1. Chloe Silverado bag, tan

2. Matthew Williamson purple beaded kaftan top, size 6

3. Olly Bricknell Princess shoes, green, size 39.

Fabia

33 Delamain Road, Maida Vale, London NW6 1TY

Oxshott School for Girls

Marlin Road

Oxshott

Surrey

KT22 0JG

From the School Librarian

Mrs. L Hargreaves

23 August 2003

Dear Becky,

How nice to hear from you after all these years, and I do indeed remember you as a pupil here. Who could forget the girl who started the “friendship handbags” craze of 1989?

I am delighted you are to appear in
Vogue
—and it is, as you say, a surprise. Though I must assure you, the teachers did not sit in the staff room, saying “I bet Becky Bloomwood never makes it into
Vogue
.”

I will be sure to buy an issue, although I think it unlikely the headmistress will sanction buying an official commemorative copy for each pupil, as you suggest.

With very best wishes,

Lorna Hargreaves

Librarian

P.S. Do you still have a copy of
In the Fifth at Malory Towers
? There is a rather large fine on it.

NINE

I’M GOING to be in
Vogue
! Last week Martha, who is the girl writing the Yummiest Mummies-to-Be feature, rang up and we had the most brilliant long chat.

Maybe I did make up a few teeny things. Like my daily exercise regime. And having freshly crushed raspberries for breakfast every morning, and how I write poetry to my unborn child. (I can always get some out of a book.) Plus I’ve said we already live in the house on Delamain Road, because it sounds better than living in a flat.

But the point is, we
will
be living in it very soon. It’s practically ours already. And the girl was really interested to hear about the his and hers nurseries. She said she thought they’d be a highlight of the shoot. A highlight!

“Becky?”

A voice cuts into my thoughts and I look up to see Eric heading across the floor toward me. Quickly I hide my lists under a MaxMara catalog and scan the shop floor to make sure there isn’t some lurking customer I’ve missed. But there’s no one. Trade hasn’t exactly picked up in the last few days.

Truth be told, we’ve had yet another disaster. Someone in marketing decided to start a “word on the street” campaign, hiring students to talk about The Look and hand out leaflets in cafés. Which would have been great if they hadn’t handed them to a gang of shoplifters, who proceeded to come in and pinch the entire range of Benefit cosmetics. They were caught—but even so. The
Daily World
had a total field day, about how “The Look is so desperate, it’s now inviting in convicted criminals.”

The place feels emptier than ever, and to cap it all, five members of the staff resigned this week. No wonder Eric looks so grumpy.

“Where’s Jasmine?” He glances around the personal shopping reception area.

“She’s…in the stock room,” I lie.

Actually, Jasmine is asleep on the floor in one of the dressing rooms. Her new theory is, since there’s nothing to do at work, she might as well use the time to sleep and go clubbing at night. So far, it’s working out pretty well.

“Well, it was you I wanted to see, anyway.” He frowns. “I’ve just had the contract through for the Danny Kovitz deal. Very demanding, this friend of yours. He’s specified first-class travel, a suite at Claridge’s, a limo for his personal use, unlimited San Pellegrino ‘stirred, to take the bubbles out’…”

I stifle a giggle. That is so typical of Danny.

“He’s a big, important designer,” I remind Eric. “Talented people all have their little quirks.”

“‘For the duration of the creative process,’” Eric reads aloud, “‘Mr. Kovitz will require a bowl of at least ten inches in diameter, filled with jelly beans. No green ones.’ I mean, what
is
this nonsense?” He flicks the paper in exasperation. “What’s he expecting, that someone’s just going to sit for hours, removing green jelly beans and disposing of them?”

Ooh. I love green jelly beans.

“I don’t mind taking care of that,” I say casually.

“Fine.” Eric sighs. “Well, all I can say is, I hope all this effort and money is worth it.”

“It will be!” I say, surreptitiously touching the wooden desk for luck. “Danny’s the hottest designer around! He’ll come up with something totally brilliant and directional and now. And everyone will flock to the store. I promise!”

I really,
really
hope I’m right.

As Eric stalks off again I wonder whether to call Danny and see if he’s had any ideas yet. But before I can do so, my cell phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” comes Luke’s voice. “It’s me.”

“Oh, hi!” I lean back in my chair, ready to have a chat. “Hey, I’ve just been hearing about Danny’s contract. You’ll never guess what—”

“Becky, I’m afraid I can’t make this afternoon.”

“What?” My smile slips away.

This afternoon is our first prenatal class. It’s the one that birth partners come to, and we do breathing and make friends for life. And Luke promised to be there. He
promised
.

“I’m sorry.” He seems distracted. “I know I said I’d be there, but there’s a…crisis at work.”

“A
crisis
?” I sit up, concerned.

“Not a crisis,” he amends at once. “It’s just…something’s happened which isn’t so good. It’ll be fine. Just a hiccup.”

“What’s happened?”

“Just…a minor internal dispute. I won’t go into it. But I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I wanted to be there.” He does sound genuinely torn up. There’s no point getting cross with him.

“It’s OK.” I hide a sigh. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Couldn’t someone else go with you? Suze, perhaps?”

That’s an idea. I was Suze’s birth partner, after all. We’re pretty close friends. And it would be nice to have some company.

“Maybe.” I nod. “So, will you still be all right for this evening?”

Tonight we’re going out with Venetia and her boyfriend and all Luke’s old friends from Cambridge. I’ve been really looking forward to it; in fact, I’m having my hair blow-dried especially.

“Hope so. I’ll keep you posted.”

“OK. See you later.”

I ring off and am about to dial Suze’s number, when I remember she’s taking Ernie to some new playgroup this afternoon. So she won’t be able to make it. I lean back in my chair, thinking hard. I could just go on my own; I mean, I’m not scared of a bunch of pregnant women, am I?

Or else…

I pick up my phone again and speed-dial a number.

“Hey, Mum,” I say as soon as I get through. “Are you doing anything this afternoon?”

The prenatal class is being held in a house in Islington and is called Choices, Empowerment, Open Minds, which I think is a really good title. I
definitely
have an open mind. As I walk along the street toward the house, I see Mum pull up in her Volvo and park—after about eight attempts, a small crash with a dustbin, and the help of a lorry driver who gets out of his cab to guide her in.

“Hi, Mum!” I call as she gets out at last, looking a bit flustered. She’s wearing smart white trousers, a navy blazer, and shiny patent loafers.

“Becky!” Her face lights up. “You look wonderful, darling. Come along, Janice!” She bangs on the car window. “I brought Janice along. You don’t mind, do you, love?”

“Er…no,” I say in surprise. “Of course not.”

“She was at a loose end, and we thought we might go to Liberty’s afterward to look at fabrics for the nursery. Dad’s painted it yellow, but we haven’t decided on curtains….” She glances at my bump. “Any inklings on whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

My mind flicks to the Gender Predictor Kit, still hidden in my underwear drawer three weeks after I bought it. I keep getting it out, then losing my nerve and putting it back. Maybe I need Suze as moral support.

“Not really,” I say. “Not yet.”

The passenger door opens and Janice gets out, trailing a bundle of knitting.

“Becky, love!” she says breathlessly. “Do you need to bleep the door, Jane?”

“Close it,
then
I’ll bleep it,” orders Mum. “Give it a good slam.”

I can see a pregnant girl in a brown dress ringing the bell of a house several doors down. That must be the place!

“I was just listening to a message from Tom,” Janice says, bundling her knitting into a straw bag, together with a mobile phone. “I’m seeing him later. He’ll be full of Jess! It’s Jess this, Jess that—”

“Jess?” I stare at her. “And Tom?”

“Of course!” Her whole face is shining. “They do make a lovely couple. I don’t want to hope, but…”

“Now, remember, Janice,” says Mum firmly. “You can’t chivvy these young things.”

Jess and Tom are going out? And she hasn’t even told me?
Honestly
. I asked her the morning after the party what was going to happen with Tom, and she just looked all embarrassed and changed the subject. So I assumed it hadn’t taken.

I can’t help feeling a bit miffed. The whole point of having a sister is that you phone her up and tell her about your new boyfriend. Not keep her totally out of the loop.

“So…Jess and Tom are in a relationship?” I say, to make sure.

“They’re very close.” Janice nods vigorously. “Very, very close. And I have to say, Jess is a super girl. We get on like a house on fire!”

“Really?” I try not to sound too surprised, but I can’t see Janice and Jess having much in common.

“Oh yes! We all feel like family. In fact, Martin and I have put off our cruise next summer, just in case we have a—” She breaks off. “Wedding,” she whispers.

Wedding?

OK. I need to talk to Jess. Now.

“Here we are,” says Mum as we approach the door, which has a sign on it:
PLEASE ENTER AND REMOVE YOUR SHOES
.

“What exactly happens at a prenatal class?” asks Janice, slipping off her Kurt Geiger sandals.

“Breathing and stuff,” I say vaguely. “Preparing for the birth.”

“It’s all changed since our day, Janice,” puts in Mum. “They have childbirth coaches these days!”

“Coaches! Like tennis players!” Janice seems tickled by this idea. Then her smile drops and she clasps my arm. “Poor little Becky. You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

“Right,” I say, a bit spooked. “Well…er…shall we go in?”

The class is being held in what looks like a normal sitting room with beanbags arranged in a circle, on which several pregnant women are already sitting, with their husbands awkwardly perched beside them.

“Hello.” A slim woman with long dark hair and yoga trousers comes over. “I’m Noura, your prenatal teacher,” she says in a quiet voice. “Welcome.”

“Hi, Noura!” I beam at her and shake hands. “I’m Becky Brandon. This is my mum…and this is Janice.”

“Ah.” Noura nods knowingly and takes Janice’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Janice. You’re Becky’s…partner? We have another same-sex couple coming later on, so please don’t feel—”

Oh my God! She thinks—

“We’re not lesbians!” I cut her off hurriedly, trying not to giggle at Janice’s bemused expression. “Janice is just our neighbor. She’s going to Liberty’s with Mum afterward.”

“Oh, I see.” Noura seems a bit let down. “Well, welcome, the three of you. Take a seat.”

“Janice and I will get the coffees,” says Mum, heading toward a table at the side of the room. “You sit down, Becky love.”

“So, Becky,” says Noura as I lower myself gingerly onto a beanbag. “We’re going round the room, introducing ourselves. Laetitia has just explained she’s having a home birth. Where are you having your baby, Becky?”

“With Venetia Carter at the Cavendish,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Wow,” says a girl in a pink dress. “Doesn’t she do all the celebrities?”

“Yes. Actually, she’s a really close friend,” I can’t resist adding. “We’re going out tonight.”

“And have you considered what kind of birth you would like?” continues Noura.

“I’m having the water birth with lotus flowers and Thai massage,” I say proudly.

“Wonderful!” Noura marks something on her list. “So you’d ideally like an active birth?”

“Er…” I picture myself lolling in a nice warm pool, with music playing and lotus flowers floating about, and maybe a cosmopolitan in my hand. “No, I think probably quite inactive, actually.”

“You want an…inactive birth?” Noura appears nonplussed.

“Yes.” I nod. “Ideally.”

“And pain relief?”

“I’ve got a special Maori birthing stone,” I say confidently. “And I’ve done yoga. So I’ll probably be OK.”

“I see.” Noura looks as though she wants to add something else. “Right,” she says at last. “Well. There are birth plan forms in front of you and I’d like everyone to fill one in. We’ll take all the ideas as points of discussion.”

There’s a murmuring as everyone picks up their pencils and begins to chat to their partners.

“I’d also love to hear from Becky’s mother and Janice,” Noura adds, as Mum and Janice rejoin the group. “It’s a privilege to hear from older women who have been through birth and motherhood and can share their wisdom.”

“Of course, dear! We’ll tell you all about it.” Mum gets out a packet of mints. “Polo? Polo, anyone?”

I pick up my pencil, then put it down again. I must just quickly text Jess and find out what’s going on. I take out my phone, find her cell number, and type out a text.

OMG Jess!!! R U going out w Tom????

Then I delete it. Too excited. She’ll get all freaked out and never reply.

Hi Jess. How R U doing? Bex

That’s better. I press Send and turn my attention back to the birth plan. It’s a list of questions, with space to fill in answers.

1. What are your priorities in early labor?

I think hard for a moment, then write: “Look good.”

2. How will you cope with pain in the early stages (e.g., warm bath, rock on all fours
)

I’m about to write “Go shopping,” when my mobile pings. It’s a text back from Jess!

Fine, thanks. Jess

That is
so
Jess. Two words, giving nothing away. I immediately text back.

Are you seeing Tom??

“Sheets in, everybody.” Noura’s clapping her hands. “If you could all stop writing…”

Already? God, this is like a school test. I hand my paper in last, pushing it into the middle so Noura won’t see it. But she’s leafing through all of them, nodding as she reads. Then she stops.

“Becky, under ‘priorities in early labor’ you’ve put ‘Look good.’” She raises her head. “Is that a joke?”

Why is everyone staring at me? Of course it’s not a joke.

“If you look good, you feel good! It’s natural pain-relief. We should all have makeovers or get our hair done….”

I’m getting frowns and titters from around the room, all except a girl in a fab pink top, who’s nodding in agreement.

“See you there!” she says. “I’d rather do that than rock on all fours.”