Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (163 page)

Carla’s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny’s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there’s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase:

SHE’S a RED-HAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER

I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny.

“You can’t….” My mouth isn’t working properly. “Danny, you can’t….”

“Isn’t it great?” says Jasmine.

“The magazines will
love
it.” A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve already given
InStyle
a teeny sneak preview and it’s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too…
Everyone
is going to want one.”

“It’s such a brilliant slogan!” says someone else. “‘She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her’!”

The whole room laughs. Except me. I’m still in shock. What’s Venetia going to say? What’s Luke going to say?

“We’re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines….” the PR girl is saying. “Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.”

My head jerks up in horror. He what?

“Great idea, Danny!” I say, shooting daggers at him.

“I thought so.” He beams back innocently. “Hey, you could wear one for the birth!”

“So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?” asks an eager young marketing assistant.

“Who’s the red-haired bitch?” The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. “I hope she won’t mind having a thousand T-shirts printed about her!”

“What do you think, Becky?” Danny wickedly raises his eyebrows at me.

“Does Becky
know
her?” says Brianna in surprise. “Is this a real person?”

Everyone suddenly looks interested.

“No!” I gabble in alarm. “No! Not at all! She isn’t…I mean…I was just…thinking. Why don’t we broaden the design? We could have blond and brunette versions too.”

“Nice idea,” says Brianna. “What do you think, Danny?”

For a heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to say “No, it has to be red-haired because Venetia is red-haired.” But thank God, he nods.

“I like it. Pick your own bitch.” He suddenly gives a huge, catlike yawn. “Is there any more coffee?”

Thank God. Disaster averted. I’ll take a blond version home and Luke will never know about the original.

“We need this!” says Carla, pouring out the coffee. “We were up all night. Danny finalized the design at around two
A
.
M
. Then we found an all-night silk screener in Hoxton, and they made up the prototypes for us.”

“Well, we appreciate your efforts,” says Eric ponderously. “On behalf of The Look, I would like to thank you, Danny, and your team.”

“Gratitude accepted,” says Danny charmingly. “And I would like to thank Becky Bloomwood, whose brainchild this collaboration was.” He starts applauding, and reluctantly I smile back. You can never stay cross with Danny for long. “To Becky, my muse,” Danny adds, lifting the fresh cup of coffee that Carla has poured for him. “And the little musette.”

“Thanks.” I lift my cup back toward him. “To you, Danny.”

“You’re his
muse
?” Jasmine breathes beside me. “That’s so cool!”

“Well…” I shrug nonchalantly. But inside I’m pretty chuffed. I have always wanted to be a fashion designer’s muse!

It just shows. Whenever life seems total rubbish, it always turns around. Today has been approximately a million times better than I expected. Luke isn’t leading a double life after all. Danny’s design is going to be a sell-out. And I’m a muse!

By the end of the day I’ve changed my clothes a few times, because fashion muses do like to experiment with their looks. I finally decide on a pink chiffon empire-line dress which I can just squeeze over my bump, with one of Danny’s prototype T-shirts layered on top, together with a green velvet coat and a black feather hat.

I must start wearing more hats if I’m going to be a muse. And brooches.

At five thirty Danny appears at the entrance to personal shopping and I look up in surprise. “Are you still here? Where’ve you been?”

“Oh…just hanging out in menswear,” he says casually. “That guy Tristan who works there…he’s pretty cute, huh?”

“Tristan’s not gay.” I give Danny a look.

“Yet,”
Danny says, and picks up a pink evening dress from our Cruisewear department. “This is
gross
. Becky, you should not be stocking this dress.”

He’s totally hyper at the moment, the way he always gets when he’s finished a design. I remember this from New York.

“Where are all your ‘people’?” I ask, rolling my eyes. But Danny doesn’t even get the irony.

“Drawing up contracts,” he says vaguely. “And Stan took the car to go sightseeing. He’s never been to London before. Hey, shall we have a drink?”

“I’ve got to go home.” I glance reluctantly at my watch. “I have this reunion thing tonight.”

“Just a quick drink?” Danny wheedles. “I’ve barely
seen
you. Hey, what’s with the hat?”

“Do you like it?” I touch it, a little self-conscious. “I just felt like feathers.”

“Feathers.” Danny’s surveying me with an interested frown. “Great idea.”

“Really?” I glow with pride. Maybe he’ll base his whole new collection on feathers, and it’ll be my idea! “Hey, if you want to draw a little sketch of me or anything…” I say casually, but Danny isn’t listening. He’s walking around me, an interested frown on his face.

“You should wear a feather boa,” he says suddenly. “Like, an oversize one. Like…
huge
.”

An oversize feather boa. That’s so brilliant. It could be the next big thing! It could be the new Fendi baguette!

“There are feather boas in accessories!” I say. “Come on!” I grab my bag and zip it up, first making sure the manila folder is safely in there. I’m going to shred it as soon as I get home. When Luke isn’t looking.

We head down the escalators to the ground floor, where the accessories department is located.

“We’re closing….” begins Jane, the accessories manager, but then she sees it’s us.

“Sorry,” I say breathlessly as Danny heads to a stand displaying feather boas and scarves. “We won’t be long. It’s just we’re having a key fashion moment here….”

“There,”
says Danny, garlanding me with colorful feather boas. “Like, the biggest feather boa you ever saw.” He’s tying eight boas together into a massive sausage-shaped one. “This is a great look.”

I feel a frisson as he drapes the boa round me. We’re making fashion history, right here! We’re setting a whole new trend! Next year everyone will be wearing huge Danny Kovitz boas. Celebrities will wear them to the Oscars, high street shops will rip them off….

“The Giant Boa,” Danny says as he ties back a stray feathery strand. “The Giant. It’s fabulous. Take a look!” He swivels me round to face the mirror, and I gasp.

“Er…wow!”

“Great, isn’t it?” He beams at me.

To be absolutely truthful, I gasped because I look so stupid. You can hardly see my head for feathers. I look like an enormous, pregnant feather duster.

But I mustn’t be narrow-minded. This is fashion. People probably thought skinny jeans looked ridiculous when they first saw them.

“Amazing,” I breathe, trying to get the feathers out of my mouth. “You’re a
genius,
Danny.”

“Let’s go and have that drink.” Danny is flushed with animation. “I’m in the mood for martinis.”

“Can you put these boas on my account?” I say to Jane. “There’s eight of them. Thanks!”

We head out of the shop on a total high, and I lead Danny round the corner into Portman Square. The street lamps are on, and some people in black tie are coming out of the Templeton Hotel. They eye me weirdly as we pass and I hear a couple of giggles, but I just hold my head higher. If you’re going to be at the cutting edge of fashion, you’re going to get a few strange looks.

“Shall we go to the bar here?” I suggest, coming to a halt. “It’s a bit dull, but it’s right here.”

“As long as they can mix a drink…” Danny pushes open the heavy glass doors and ushers me in. The Templeton Bar is a very
beige
bar: beige carpet, plushy chairs and waiters in beige uniforms. It’s crowded with business types, but I can see some space by the piano.

“Let’s nab that table over there,” I say to Danny—and then I stop dead.

It’s Venetia. Sitting in the corner a few yards away, her hair glowing under the lights, with a suited guy and another smart woman. I don’t recognize either of them.

“What?” Danny peers at me. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s…” I swallow and jerk my head discreetly toward her. Danny follows my gaze and gasps theatrically in delight.

“Is that Cruella de Venetia?”

“Shut up!” I squeak.

But it’s too late: Venetia’s turned. She’s seen us. She’s getting up and coming across, an impossibly elegant figure in a black trouser suit and heels, her hair as immaculate as ever, a wineglass in her hand.

It’s fine, I tell myself. Calm down. I don’t know why my heart is pounding and my fingers are sweaty.

Oh. Well…maybe because in my bag is a folder containing ten long-lens pictures of Venetia. But she doesn’t
know
that, does she?

“Becky!” She smiles and kisses me on both cheeks. “My favorite client. How are you? Only four weeks to go now, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. So…um…how are you, Venetia?” My voice is jerky and my face has turned red—but other than that I think I’m acting quite naturally. “This is my friend, Danny Kovitz.”

“Danny Kovitz.” Her eyes light up in recognition. “It’s an honor. I bought one of your pieces in Milan recently. In Corso Como. A beaded jacket?”

“I know the one!” says Danny eagerly. “I’ll bet you look fabulous in it.”

Why’s he being nice to her? He’s supposed to be on
my
side.

“Did you buy the pants?” he’s saying now. “Because we did them in two styles, a capri and a boot cut. You’d look great in the capri pants.”

“No, I just bought the jacket.” She smiles at him, then glances at me. “Becky, you seem hot in all those…feathers. Are you OK?”

“I’m…fine!” I blow a couple of feathers off my lipstick. “This is Danny’s new fashion concept.”

“Right.” Venetia gives my giant feather boa a dubious look. “Only, you know, it’s not healthy for you to overheat during pregnancy.”

Typical. Bossing me about again. Telling me fashion’s unhealthy. But the truth is, I am starting to sweat in all these layers, so reluctantly I unpeel the boa and take off my coat.

There’s a weird silence. For a moment I’m not quite sure why Venetia is staring at my chest. Then my stomach plunges as I realize I’m wearing Danny’s T-shirt. I glance down, and there it is, clear as day.

SHE’S a RED-HAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER

Shit.

“Actually, I’m quite cold!” I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. “Brrrrr! It’s freezing in here. Isn’t it freezing, for the time of year?”

“What does that say?” Venetia says in a peculiar voice. “On your T-shirt.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered. “Nothing! It’s just a…joke! I mean, obviously it’s not
you.
It’s another red-haired bitch. Er…woman. Person.”

This is not going well.

“Good work, Becky,” says Danny in my ear. “Tactful.”

Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it.

“Becky,” she says at last. “Might we have a little talk?”

“Talk?” I echo nervously.

“Yes, talk. The two of us. Speaking to each other alone. If you wouldn’t mind?” She glances at Danny.

“Sure. I’ll get us some drinks.” He disappears off to the bar and I feel a quailing inside as I turn to face Venetia. There’s a frown line between her eyes and she’s tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass. She looks like a young, glamorous headmistress who’s about to tell me I’ve let down the whole school.

“So!” I muster a bright tone. “How are you?”

She can’t read your mind,
I’m telling myself feverishly.
She doesn’t know you had her trailed. She can’t prove the T-shirt is about her. Just act innocent.

“Look, Becky.” Venetia drains her glass in one gulp. “Let’s cut the crap.”

I stare at her in shock. Did she just say “crap”?

“We were trying to spare you any unpleasantness.” Venetia’s frown deepens. “We wanted to be as…I don’t know…as amicable as possible. But if
this
is the attitude you’re going to take…” She gestures at the T-shirt.

I’m missing something here. In fact, I’m missing everything.

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” I say.

Venetia gazes at me as though suspecting a trick. Then, very slowly, her expression changes. She exhales and rubs her brow. “Oh God,” she says, almost as though to herself.

I feel a thud of foreboding deep inside. A kind of hot nausea is slowly rising through me. She can’t mean what I—

She can’t.

The noise and chatter of the bar has dwindled to a rushing in my ears. I swallow several times, trying to keep a grip on myself. I know I thought something might be going on. I know I talked about it with Suze and Jess and Danny.

But all of a sudden, standing here now, I realize I didn’t ever really think it was true. Not really. Not
really.

“What are you saying?” I can’t quite control my voice. “Exactly.”

A waiter is passing with a tray of drinks, and Venetia puts out a hand to stop him.

“Vodka tonic on the rocks, please,” she says. “Straightaway. Anything for you, Becky?”

“Just…tell me.” My eyes burn into hers. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

The waiter moves away and Venetia thrusts a hand through her hair. She looks a little ruffled by my reaction. “Becky…this was always going to be difficult. You should know, Luke feels terrible about what’s been going on. He really cares about you. He’ll be livid that I’ve spoken to you, even.”

For a few moments I can’t reply. I’m just staring at her, my whole body tensed up. I feel like I’ve swung into some parallel universe.