Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle (99 page)

“That’s right,” I say brightly.

“You know, you look so much more relaxed these days,” says Christina approvingly. “Your break obviously did you the world of good. Seeing your mom . . . catching up with home . . .”

“Yes, it was . . . great!”

“I think it’s admirable the way you’re so laid-back.” Christina takes a sip of coffee. “You’ve barely mentioned the wedding to any of us since you’ve been back! In fact, you’ve almost seemed to be avoiding the subject!”

“I’m not avoiding it!” I say, my smile fixed. “Why would I do that?”

“Some brides seem to make so
much
of a wedding. Almost let it take over their life. But you seem to have it all under control—”

“Absolutely!” I say, even more brightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get ready for my first client—”

“Oh, I had to switch your appointments around,” says Christina as I open the door of my room. “You have a first-timer at ten. Amy Forrester.”

“I don’t like yellow or orange.” Amy Forrester’s voice is still droning on. “And when I say dressy, I mean not
too
dressy. Just kind of formal . . . but sexy. You know what I mean?” She snaps her gum and looks at me expectantly.

“Er . . . yes!” I say, not having a clue what she’s talking about. I can’t even remember what she wants. Come on, Becky. Concentrate.

“So, just to recap, you’re after . . . an evening dress?” I risk, scribbling on my notebook.

“Or a pantsuit. Whatever. I can pretty much wear any shape.” Amy Forrester gazes complacently at herself in the mirror, and I give her a surreptitious Manhattan Onceover, taking in her tight lilac top and turquoise stirrup leggings. She looks like a model in an ad for some dodgy piece of home exercise equipment. Same tacky blond haircut and everything.

“You have a wonderful figure!” I say, realizing a bit late that she’s waiting for a compliment.

“Thank you! I do my best.”

With the help of Rollaflab! Just roll away that flab . . .

“I already bought my vacation wardrobe.” She snaps her gum again. “But then my boyfriend said, why not buy a few more little things? He loves to treat me. He’s a wonderful man. So—do you have any ideas?”

“Yes,” I say, finally forcing myself to concentrate. “Yes, I do. I’ll just go and fetch some pieces that I think might suit you.”

I go out onto the floor and start gathering up dresses. Gradually, as I wander from rail to rail, I begin to relax. It’s a relief to focus on something else; to think about something other than weddings . . .

“Hi, Becky!” says Erin, passing by with Mrs. Zaleskie, one of her regular clients. “Hey, I was just saying to Christina, we have to plan your shower!”

Oh God.

“You know, my daughter works at the Plaza,” puts in Mrs. Zaleskie. “She says
everyone’s
talking about your wedding.”

“Are they?” I say after a pause. “Well, it’s really no big deal—”

“No big deal? Are you kidding? The staff is fighting over who’s going to serve! They all want to see the enchanted woodland!” She peers at me through her spectacles. “Is it true you’re having a string orchestra, a DJ,
and
a ten-piece band?”

“Er . . . yes.”

“My friends are
so
jealous I’m going,” says Erin, her face all lit up. “They’re like, you have to show us the pictures afterward! We are allowed to take pictures, right?”

“I . . . don’t know. I guess so.”

“You must be excited,” says Mrs. Zaleskie. “You’re a lucky girl.”

“I . . . I know.”

I can’t bear this.

“I have to go,” I mutter, and hurry back to the personal shopping department.

I can’t win. Whatever I do. Either way, I’m going to let down a whole load of people.

As Amy wriggles into the first dress, I stand, staring blankly at the floor, my heart thumping hard. I’ve been in trouble before. I’ve been stupid before. But never on this level. Never so large, so expensive, so important . . .

“I like this,” says Amy, staring at herself critically. “But is there enough cleavage?”

“Er . . .” I look at her. It’s a black chiffon dress, slashed practically to the navel. “I
think
so. But we could always have it altered . . .”

“Oh, I don’t have time for that!” says Amy. “I’m only in New York for one more day. We go on vacation tomorrow and then we’re moving to Atlanta. That’s why I came out shopping. They’re packing up the apartment and it’s driving me nuts.”

“I see,” I say absently.

“My boyfriend adores my body,” she says smugly as she clambers out of it. “But then, his wife never bothered with her appearance at all. Ex-wife, I should say. They’re getting a divorce.”

“Right,” I say politely, handing her a white and silver sheath dress.

“I can’t believe he put up with her for so long. She’s this completely jealous harridan. I’m having to take legal action!” Amy steps into the sheath dress. “You know, she mailed me this really offensive letter. It was like a list of completely insulting stuff about me! Our lawyer says we have an excellent case.”

That sounds familiar. I look up, my brain starting to tweak. “You’re sure it was her who sent it?”

“Oh yes! I mean, she signed it and everything. Plus it was definitely her writing. William recognized it.”

I stare at her, my skin prickling. “What . . . what did you say your boyfriend’s name was?”

“William.” Her lip curls scornfully. “
She
called him Bill.”

Oh my God.

It is. It’s the blond intern. Right here in front of me.

OK. Just . . . keep smiling. Don’t let her know you suspect anything.

Inside I’m hot with outrage.
This
is the woman Laurel was cast aside for? This stupid, tacky airhead?

“That’s why we’re moving to Atlanta,” Amy says, examining her reflection complacently. “We want to start a new life together, so William asked the firm for a transfer. You know, discreetly. We don’t want the old witch following us.” She frowns. “Now, I like this one better.”

She bends down farther and I freeze. Hang on. She’s wearing a pendant. A pendant with a . . . is that green stone an
emerald
?

“Amy, I just have to make a call,” I say casually. “Keep trying on the dresses!” And I slide out of the room.

When I eventually get through to Laurel’s office, her assistant, Gina, tells me she’s in a meeting with American Airlines and can’t be disturbed.

“Please,” I say. “Get her out. It’s important.”

“So is American Airlines,” says Gina. “You’ll have to wait.”

“But you don’t understand! It really is crucial!”

“Becky, a new skirt length from Prada is not crucial,” says Gina a little wearily. “Not in the world of airplane leasing.”

“It’s not clothes!” I say indignantly—then hesitate for a second, wondering how much Laurel confides in Gina. “It’s Amy Forrester,” I say at last in a lowered voice. “You know who I mean?”

“Yes, I know,” says Gina in a voice that makes me thinks she knows even more than I do. “What about her?”

“I have her.”

“You
have
her? What do you—”

“She’s in my fitting room right now!” I glance behind me to make sure no one can hear. “Gina, she’s wearing this pendant with an emerald in it! I’m sure it’s Laurel’s grandmother’s! The one the police couldn’t find.”

There’s a long pause.

“OK,” says Gina at last. “I’ll get Laurel out of the meeting. She’ll probably come right over. Just don’t let . . .
her
leave.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Gina.”

I put down the phone and stand still for a moment, thinking. Then I head back to my fitting room, trying to look as natural as possible.

“So!” I say breezily as I go in. “Let’s get back to trying on dresses! And remember, Amy, just take your time over each one. As long as you like. We can take all day, if we need to—”

“I don’t need to try on any more,” says Amy, turning round in a tight red sequined dress. “I’ll take this one.”

“What?” I say blankly.

“It’s great! Look, it fits me perfectly.” She does a little twirl, admiring herself in the mirror.

“But we haven’t even started yet!”

“So what? I’ve made my decision. I want this one.” She looks at her watch. “Besides, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you unzip me, please?”

“Amy . . .” I force a smile. “I really think you should try on some others before you make a decision.”

“I don’t need to try any others! You have a very good eye.”

“No, I don’t! It looks terrible!” I say without thinking, and she gives me a strange look. “I mean . . . there was a wonderful pink dress I wanted to see on you . . .” I grab for the hanger. “Just imagine that on you! Or . . . or this halter neck . . .”

Amy Forrester gives me an impatient look. “I’m taking this one. Please, will you help me out of it?”

What can I do? I can’t
force
her to stay.

I glance surreptitiously at my watch. Laurel’s office is only a block or two away. She should be here any minute.

“Please, will you help me out of it?” she repeats, her voice hardening.

“Yes!” I say flusteredly. “All right!”

I reach for the zip of the sequined red dress and start to pull it down. Then I have a sudden thought.

“Actually,” I say. “Actually, it’ll be easier to get it off if I pull it over your head—”

“OK,” says Amy Forrester impatiently. “Whatever.”

I undo the zip a tiny bit more, then tug the tight-fitting dress up over her hips and right over her head.

Ha! She’s trapped! The stiff red fabric covers her face completely, but the rest of her is clad only in underwear and high heels. She looks like a Barbie doll crossed with a Christmas cracker.

“Hey. It’s gotten stuck.” She waves one of her arms fruitlessly, but it’s pinned to her head by the dress.

“Really?” I exclaim innocently. “Oh dear. They do that sometimes.”

“Well, get me out!” She takes a couple of steps, and I back away nervously in case she grabs my arm. I feel like I’m six years old and playing blindman’s bluff at a birthday party.

“Where are you?” comes a furious muffled voice. “Get me out!”

“I’m just . . . trying to . . .” Gingerly I give a little tug at the dress. “It’s really stuck,” I say apologetically. “Maybe if you bent over and wriggled . . .”

Come
on
, Laurel. Where are you? I open my fitting room and have a quick glance out, but nothing.

“OK! I’m getting somewhere!”

I look up and feel a plunge of dismay. Amy’s hand has appeared out of nowhere and somehow she’s managed to grasp the zip with two manicured nails. “Can you help me pull the zipper down?”

“Erm . . . I can try . . .”

I take hold of the zip and start pulling it in the opposite direction from the way she’s tugging.

“It’s stuck!” she says in frustration.

“I know! I’m trying to get it undone . . .”

“Wait a minute.” Her voice is suddenly suspicious. “Which way are you pulling?”

“Er . . . the same way as you . . .”

“Hi, Laurel,” I suddenly hear Christina saying in surprise. “Are you all right? Did you have an appointment?”

“No. But I think Becky has something for me—”

“Here!” I say, hurrying to the door and looking out. And there’s Laurel, cheeks flushed with animation, wearing her new Michael Kors skirt with a navy blue blazer, which looks completely wrong.

How many times have I told her? Honestly, I should do more spot-checks on my clients. Who knows what they’re all wearing out there?

“Here she is,” I say, nodding toward the Barbie-doll-Christmas-cracker hybrid, who is still trying to unzip the dress.

“It’s OK,” says Laurel, coming into the fitting room. “You can leave her to me.”

“What? Who’s that?” Amy’s head jerks up disorientedly. “Oh Jesus. No. Is that—”

“Yes,” says Laurel, closing the door. “It’s me.”

I stand in front of the door, trying to ignore the raised voices coming from my room. After a few minutes, Christina comes out of her room and looks at me.

“Becky, what’s going on?”

“Um . . . Laurel bumped into an acquaintance. I thought I’d give them some privacy.” A thumping sound comes from the room and I cough loudly. “I think they’re . . . chatting.”

“Chatting.” Christina gives me a hard look.

“Yes! Chatting!”

The door suddenly opens, and Laurel emerges, a bunch of keys in her hand.

“Becky, I’m going to need to pay a little visit to Amy’s apartment, and she’d like to stay here until I come back. Isn’t that right, Amy?”

I glance past Laurel into the fitting room. Amy is sitting in the corner in her underwear, minus the emerald pendant, looking completely shell-shocked. She nods silently.

As Laurel strides off, Christina gives me an incredulous look. “Becky—”

“So!” I say quickly to Amy, in my best Barneys employee manner. “While we’re waiting, would you care to try some more dresses?”

Forty minutes later, Laurel arrives back, her face alive with animation.

“Did you get the rest of it?” I say eagerly.

“I got it all.”

Christina, on the other side of the department, looks up, then looks away again. She’s said that the only way she can’t fire me for what just happened is not to know about it.

So we’re basically agreed, she doesn’t know about it.

“Here you are.” Laurel tosses the keys to Amy. “You can go now. Give my regards to Bill. He deserves you.”

As Amy totters, almost running, toward the escalator, Laurel puts an arm round me.

“Becky, you’re an angel,” she says warmly. “I can’t even begin to repay you. But whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Don’t be silly!” I say at once. “I just wanted to help.”

“I’m serious!”

“Laurel—”

“I insist. Name it, and it’ll be there in time for your wedding.”

My wedding.

It’s as though someone’s opened a window and the cold air is rushing in.

In all the excitement and urgency, I’d managed briefly to forget about it. But now it all comes piling back into my head.

My two weddings. My two fiascos.

Like two trains traveling toward me. Quicker and quicker, getting nearer even when I’m not looking at them. Gathering momentum with every minute. If I manage to dodge one, I’ll only get hit by the other.