Shopaholic and Sister

Fifteen

I DON’T CARE. Who needs a sister? Not me.

I never wanted one in the first place. I never asked for one. I’m fine on my own.

And anyway, I’m not on my own. I’ve got a strong and loving marriage. I don’t need some crummy sister!

“Stupid sister,” I say aloud, wrenching the lid off a pot of jam. It’s nearly two weeks since Jess left. Luke’s got a late meeting in town, and Mum and Dad are coming over on their way to the airport, so I’m making breakfast for everyone.

“Sorry?” says Luke, coming into the kitchen. He looks pale and tense, as he has for the last few days. The Arcodas Group are making their decision about the pitch and now all he can do is wait. And Luke’s not that good at waiting. Plus, he’s stressing about this pitch more than usual, because it’s the first mainstream account he’s gone for. I heard him talking to Gary on the phone last night, saying if they didn’t get it, what kind of message would it send out?

The trouble with Luke is, he always has to succeed straightaway. Maybe I should tell him the story about the plucky little spider trying to build its web over and over again.

On second thought, maybe not.

“I was just thinking about Jess,” I say. “You were absolutely right about her. We were never going to get on in a million years! I’ve never met such a misery-guts!”

“Mmm,” says Luke absently, pouring himself some orange juice.

He could be a little more supportive.

“Next time I’ll take your advice,” I say, trying to engage his attention. “I should never even have invited her here. I can’t believe we’re actually supposed to be related!”

“I thought she was all right in the end,” says Luke. “But I can see why you two wouldn’t get on.”

He wasn’t supposed to say “I thought she was all right.” He was supposed to say “What a total bitch, I can’t believe you put up with her for even a minute!”

“Becky… what are you doing?” Luke’s gaze lands on the crumbs and plastic packaging littering the granite work-top.

“Making waffles!”

And that just proves another thing. Jess was totally wrong. I’ve used the waffle-maker practically every day. So there! I almost wish she were here to see it.

The only tiny thing is, I’m not very good at making the mixture. So my method is: buy ready-made waffles, cut them into heart shapes, and put them in the waffle-maker to heat up.

But what’s wrong with that? I’m using it, aren’t I? We’re eating waffles, aren’t we?

“Waffles… again?” says Luke, with the tiniest of grimaces. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh,” I say, discomfited. “Well, how about some toast? Or eggs? Or… muffins?”

“I’m fine on coffee.”

“But you have to have something!” I say, regarding him with sudden alarm. He’s definitely gotten thinner, worrying about this pitch. I need to feed him up.

“I’ll make you some pancakes!” I say eagerly. “Or an omelette!”

“Becky, leave it!” he snaps. “I’m fine.” He strides out of the kitchen, snapping open his mobile phone. “Any news?” I hear him say before the study door closes.

I look down at the broken waffle in my hand, trying to keep my spirits up.

I know Luke’s really tense about work. And that’s probably why he’s being a bit short-tempered with me at the moment. It doesn’t mean there’s any bigger problem or anything.

But deep down inside, I keep remembering what I heard him say to Jess that night. That he finds it difficult to live with me. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the last two weeks, trying to make sense of it.

How can I be difficult to live with? I mean… what do I do wrong?

Abruptly I reach for a pencil and paper. OK. I’ll look deep down inside myself and be really, really honest. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1.

My mind is blank. I cannot think of a single thing.

Come on. Be truthful and unsparing. There must be something. What are the fundamental problems between us? What are the real issues?

Suddenly it hits me. I always mix and match my shampoos in the shower, and Luke complains I leave all the lids off and he steps on them. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1. Leaves shampoo lids off

Yes. And I’m scatty. I’m always forgetting the number for the burglar alarm. There was the time I had to phone the police and ask them, and they sent two squad cars round. Becky Bloomwood: Difficulties of Living With1. Leaves shampoo lids off2. Forgets alarm number

I consider the list uncertainly. There must be more to it. There must be something really significant and profound.

Suddenly I gasp and clap my hand to my mouth.

The CDs. Luke always complains that I take them out and don’t put them back in their cases.

Which I know doesn’t sound that profound — but maybe it was the last straw in the haystack. And besides, I read an article in Marie Claire yesterday which said it’s the little, niggling things which count in a relationship.

I hurry to the sitting room and head straight for the jumbled pile of CDs by the music system. As I sort them out I feel a kind of lightness. A liberation. This will be the turning point in our marriage.

I stack them neatly and wait till Luke walks past the door on his way to the bedroom.

“Look!” I call out with a note of pride in my voice. “I’ve organized the CDs! They’re all back in their proper boxes!”

Luke glances into the room.

“Great,” he says with an absent nod, and carries on walking.

Is that all he can say?

Here I am, mending our troubled marriage, and he hasn’t even noticed.

Suddenly the buzzer goes in the hall, and I leap to my feet. This must be Mum and Dad. I’ll have to get back to our marriage later.

I knew that Mum and Dad had really got into their counseling, but somehow I wasn’t expecting them to turn up with slogans on their sweatshirts. Mum’s reads I AM WOMAN, I AM GODDESS and Dad’s says DON’T LET THE PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN.

“Wow!” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “Those are great!”

“We got them at the center,” says Mum, beaming. “Aren’t they fun?”

“So you must be really enjoying your therapy.”

“It’s marvelous!” exclaims Mum. “So much more interesting than bridge. And so sociable! We did a group session the other day and who do you think should have turned up? Marjorie Davis, who used to live across the road!”

“Really?” I say in surprise. “Did she get married, then?”

“Oh no!” Mum lowers her voice tactfully. “She has boundary issues, poor thing.”

I can’t quite get my head round all this. What on earth are boundary issues?

“So… er… do you have issues?” I say as we go into the kitchen. “Has it all been really hard going?”

“Oh, we’ve been to the abyss and back,” says Mum, nodding. “Haven’t we, Graham?”

“Right to the edge,” says Dad agreeably.

“But the rage and guilt are behind us now. We’re both empowered to live and love.” She beams at me and roots around in her holdall. “I brought a nice Swiss roll. Shall we put the kettle on?”

“Mum’s found her inner goddess,” says Dad proudly. “She walked on hot coals, you know!”

I gape at her.

“You walked on hot coals? Oh my God! I did that in Sri Lanka! Did it hurt?”

“Not at all! It was painless!” says Mum. “I kept my gardening shoes on, of course,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Wow!” I say. “That’s brilliant.” I watch as Mum briskly slices the Swiss roll. “So what kind of things do you talk about?”

“Everything!” She starts arranging the slices on a plate. “I had resentment issues, of course…”

“You were in denial,” Dad chimes in.

“Oh, I found it hard at first.” Mum nods. “The fact that Daddy had another woman in his life. And a daughter, no less. But then… it was all before he met me. And the truth is, a man as handsome as your father was bound to have a few escapades.” Mum looks at Dad with a coquettish smile. “I could never resist him… so why should other women?”

Is Mum fluttering her eyelashes?

“I could never resist you,” Dad replies with a flirty lift to his voice.

They’re gazing at each other adoringly over the plate of Swiss roll slices. I might as well not be in the room.

“Ahem.” I clear my throat and they both come to.

“Yes! Well. We still have a lot to learn,” says Mum, offering me the plate. “That’s why we’re going on this cruise.”

“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes. The… therapy cruise.” The first time Mum told me about this I thought she had to be joking. “So the idea is you sail round the Mediterranean and everyone has therapy sessions.”

“It’s not just therapy!” says Mum. “There are sightseeing expeditions too.”

“And entertainment,” puts in Dad. “Apparently they have some very good shows. And a black-tie dinner dance.”

“All our chums from the center are going,” adds Mum. “We’ve already organized a little cocktail party for the first night! Plus…” She hesitates. “One of the guest speakers specializes in reunions with long-lost family members. Which should be particularly interesting for us.”

I feel an uncomfortable twinge. I don’t want to think about long-lost family members. Mum and Dad are exchanging looks.

“So… you didn’t really hit it off with Jess,” ventures Dad at last.

Oh God. I can tell he’s disappointed.

“Not really,” I say, looking away. “We’re just… not very similar people.”

“And why should you be?” says Mum, putting a supportive hand on my arm. “You’ve grown up totally apart. Why should you have anything more in common with Jess than with… say…” She thinks for a moment. “Kylie Minogue.”

“Becky’s got far more in common with Jess than with Kylie Minogue!” exclaims Dad at once. “Kylie Minogue’s Australian, for a start.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” says Mum. “We’re all in the Commonwealth, aren’t we? Becky would probably get on very well with Kylie Minogue. Wouldn’t you, darling?”

“Er…”

“They’d have nothing to say to each other,” says Dad, shaking his head. “I’m telling you.”

“Of course they would!” retorts Mum. “They’d have a lovely conversation! I expect they’d become great friends!”

“Now, Cher,” says Dad. “That’s an interesting woman.”

“Becky doesn’t want to be friends with Cher!” Mum says indignantly. “Madonna, maybe…”

“Yes, well, the day I meet Kylie Minogue, Cher, or Madonna, I’ll let you know, OK?” I say, a little more snappily than I meant to.

Mum and Dad turn to survey me. Then Mum glances at Dad.

“Graham, go and give Luke his coffee.” She hands a mug to Dad, and as soon as he’s gone, she gives me a searching look.

“Becky, love!” she says. “Are you all right? You seem a bit tense.”

Mum’s sympathetic face makes my composure crumble. Suddenly all the worries I’ve been trying so hard to bury start rising to the surface.

“Don’t worry about Jess,” she says kindly. “lt doesn’t matter in the least if you two girls don’t get on. Nobody will mind!”

I busy myself with the coffeepot, hoping to stem the tears I can feel right behind my eyes.

“It’s not Jess,” I say. “At least, it’s not just Jess. It’s… Luke.”

“Luke?” says Mum in astonishment.

“Things aren’t going too well at the moment. In fact…” My voice starts to wobble. “In fact… I think our marriage is in trouble.”

Oh God. Now I’ve said it aloud it sounds totally true. Our marriage is in trouble.

“Are you sure, love?” Mum looks perplexed. “You both seem very happy to me!”

“Well, we’re not! We’ve just had this horrible huge row!”

Mum bursts into laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” I say indignantly. “It was awful!”

“Of course it was, love!” she says. “You’re coming up to your first anniversary, aren’t you?”

“Er… yes.”

“Well, then. That’s the time for your First Big Row! You knew that, didn’t you, Becky?”

“What?” I say blankly.

“Your First Big Row!” She tuts at my expression. “Dear me! What do the women’s magazines teach you girls nowadays!”

“Er… how to put on acrylic nails?”

“Well! They should be teaching you about happy marriages! All couples have a First Big Row at around a year. A big argument, then the air is cleared, and everything’s back to normal.”

“I never knew that,” I say slowly. “So… our marriage isn’t in trouble after all?”

This makes a lot of sense. A First Big Row — and then everything’s calm and happy again. Like a thunderstorm. Clear air and renewal. Or one of those forest fires that seem awful but in fact are good because all the little plants can grow again. Exactly. But the real point is… Yes! This means none of it was my fault! We were going to have a row anyway, whatever I did! I’m really starting to cheer up again. Everything’s going to be lovely again. I beam at Mum and take a huge bite of Swiss roll.

“So… Luke and I won’t have any more rows,” I say, just to be on the safe side.

“Oh no!” says Mum reassuringly. “Not until your Second Big Row, which won’t be until—”

She’s interrupted by the kitchen door banging open and Luke appearing in the doorway. He’s holding the phone and his face is elated.

“We got it. We’ve got the Arcodas Group!”

I knew everything was going to be all right! I knew it. It’s all lovely! In fact, it’s been like Christmas all day long!

Luke canceled his meeting and went straight into the office to celebrate — and after seeing Mum and Dad off in a taxi I joined him there. God, I love the Brandon Communications office. It’s all chic, with blond wood and spotlights everywhere, and it’s such a happy place. Everyone just mills around, merrily swigging champagne all day! Or at least, they do when they’ve just won an enormous pitch. All day long, there’s been the sound of laughter and excited voices everywhere, and someone’s programmed all the computers to sing “Congratulations” every ten minutes.

Luke and his senior people held a quick celebration/strategy meeting, which I sat in on. At first they were all saying things like “The work starts here” and “We need to recruit” and “There are huge challenges ahead.” But then Luke suddenly exclaimed, “Fuck it. Let’s party. We’ll think about the challenges tomorrow.”

So he got his assistant on the phone to some caterers, and at five o’clock loads of guys in black aprons appeared in the offices with more champagne, and canapés arranged on cool Perspex boxes. All the employees piled into the biggest conference room, and there was music on the sound system, and Luke made a little speech in which he said it was a great day for Brandon C, and well done, and everyone cheered.

And now a few of us are going out to dinner for another celebration! I’m in Luke’s office redoing my makeup, and he’s changing into a fresh shirt.

“Congratulations,” I say for the millionth time. “It’s fantastic.”

“It’s a good day.” Luke grins at me, doing up his cuffs. “This could pave the way for a lot.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Ditto.” Luke’s face suddenly softens. He comes over and wraps his arms round me. “I know I’ve been distracted lately. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I say, looking down. “And I’m… I’m sorry I sold the clocks.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Luke strokes my hair. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. What with coming home… your sister…”

“Yes, well,” I say at once. “Let’s not think about her. Let’s think about us. The future.” I pull his head down and kiss him. “It’s all going to be great.”

For a while we’re both quiet. But in a good way. It’s just us, in each other’s arms, relaxed and content and together, like we used to be on our honeymoon. I feel a great swell of relief. Mum was so right! That First Big Row totally cleared the air! We’re closer than ever!

“I love you,” I murmur.

“I love you.” Luke kisses my nose. “We should get going.”

“OK. I’ll go down and see if the car’s here yet.”

I head along the corridor, floating on a cloud of joy. Everything’s perfect. Everything! As I pass the caterers’ trays, I pick up a glass of champagne and take a few sips. Maybe we’ll go dancing tonight. After dinner. When everyone else has gone home, Luke and I will go on to a club and celebrate properly, just the two of us.

I trip happily down the stairs, still holding my glass, and open the door into reception. Then I stop, puzzled. A few yards away, a thin-faced guy in a chalk-striped suit is talking to Janet, the receptionist. He seems kind of familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place him…

Yes. I can.

It’s that guy from Milan. The one who carried Nathan Temple’s bags out of the shop. What’s he doing here?

Cautiously I take a few steps forward so I can hear their conversation.

“So, Mr. Brandon’s not ill?” he’s saying.

Oh no.

I retreat behind a door and slam it shut. What do I do now?

I take a gulp of champagne to calm my nerves — and then another. A couple of guys from IT saunter past and give me an odd look, and I smile gaily back.

OK. I can’t cower behind this door forever. I inch my head above the glass panel in the door until I can see into reception — and thank God. Chalk-stripe guy has gone. With a whoosh of relief I push the door open and stride nonchalantly into the reception area.

“Hi!” I say casually to Janet, who’s typing busily on her computer. “Who was that just now? That man talking to you.”

“Oh, him! He works for a man called… Nathan Temple?”

“Right. And… what did he want?”

“It was weird!” she says, pulling a face. “He kept asking if Luke was ‘better.’ ”

“And what did you tell him?” I say, trying to depress the tone of urgency in my voice.

“Well, I said he’s fine, of course! Never better!” She laughs gaily, then as she sees my face she suddenly stops typing. “Oh my God. He isn’t fine, is he?”

“What?”

“That was a doctor, wasn’t it?” She leans forward, looking stricken. “You can tell me, Becky. Did Luke catch some tropical disease while you were away?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Is it his heart, then? His kidneys?” Her eyes are watering. “You know… I lost my dear aunt this year. It really hasn’t been easy for me… ”

“I’m sorry,” I say, flustered. “But honestly, don’t worry! Luke’s fine! Everything’s fine, it’s all fine… ”

I glance up — and the words wither on my lips.

Please, no.

This can’t be happening.

Nathan Temple himself is walking into the building.

He’s bigger and more barrel-chested than I remember, and is wearing the same leather-trimmed coat he was wearing in Milan. He exudes power and money and a smell of cigars. And his sharp blue eyes are looking right at me.

“Well, hello,” he says in his Cockney rasp. “Mrs. Brandon. We meet again.”

“Hell-Hello!” I say. “Gosh! What a… lovely surprise!”

“Still enjoying the bag?” He smiles briefly.

“Er… yes! It’s fab!”

I have to get him out of here. I have to get him out of here.

“I’ve come to talk about my hotel with your husband,” he says pleasantly. “Will that be possible?”

“Right!” I swallow. “Of course. Great! The only thing is, Luke’s a bit tied up, unfortunately. But would you like a drink? We could go to a bar… have a really nice chat… You could tell me all about it… ”

Yes. Genius. I’ll hustle him out… buy him a few drinks… Luke will never know…

“I don’t mind waiting,” he says, easing his huge frame down into a leather chair. “If you’ll let him know I’m here.” There’s a glint in his eyes. “I gather he’s recovered from his illness?”

“Yes! He’s… he’s a lot better! Thanks for the flowers!”

I glance at Janet, who’s been following this exchange in confusion.

“Shall I ring up and tell Luke?” she says, reaching for the phone.

“No! I mean… don’t worry! I’ll pop up myself,” I say, my voice shrill.

I start walking toward the lifts. OK. I can still deal with this. I get Luke out of the building the back way by telling him somebody’s spilled water on the foyer floor and it’s really slippery. Yes. And we get in the car… then I pretend I’ve forgotten something, and I go back to Nathan Temple, and I say—

“Becky?”

I leap about ten feet and look up. Luke is coming down the stairs, two steps at a time. His face is glowing and he’s putting on his coat.

“So, is the car here yet?” He peers at my frozen expression in surprise. “Sweetheart… are you all right?”

Or I could tell Luke everything.

When this is over, I promise myself, I will never tell him a lie again. I will be honest and straight and truthful. Plus I will learn to make waffles.

“Er… Luke?” I manage at last.

“Yes?”

“There’s… there’s something I have to tell you.” I swallow hard. “I should have told you ages ago, but… I didn’t… and I was dealing with it, but—”

Suddenly I realize that Luke isn’t listening to a word. His eyes are darkening as they focus beyond me, on Nathan Temple.

“Is that—” He shakes his head in disbelief. “What’s he doing here? I thought Gary was getting rid of him.”

“Luke—”

“Hold on, Becky. This is important.” He pulls out his phone and taps in a number. “Gary,” he says in low tones. “What’s Nathan Temple doing in our foyer? You were supposed to be dealing with it.”

“Luke—” I try again.

“Sweetheart, wait a minute.” He turns back to the phone. “Well, he’s here. Larger than life.”

“Luke, please, listen—” I tug his arm urgently.

“Becky, whatever it is, can’t it wait till later?” Luke says with a touch of impatience. “I have a problem here that I have to sort out—”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” I say in desperation. “It’s about your problem! It’s about Nathan Temple!”

“How can it be to do with Nathan Temple? Becky, you don’t even know Nathan Temple!”

“Er… well… actually… yes, I do.” I bite my lip. “Kind of.”

Slowly Luke closes up his phone. “You ‘kind of’ know Nathan Temple?”

“Here’s Mr. Brandon!” A voice rings out and we both look up to see that Janet at the reception desk has spotted us. “Luke, you’ve got a visitor!”

“Just coming, Janet,” Luke calls back with a professional smile. He turns to me, still smiling. “Becky, what the fuck has been going on?”

“It’s… It’s a bit of a long story,” I say, my face hot.

“Were you planning to share this story with me at any stage?” Luke’s smile is fixed in place, but there’s a definite edge to his voice.

“Yes! Of course! I was just… waiting for the right moment.”

“Do you think this might possibly be a good moment? Bearing in mind he’s a few fucking yards away?”

“Er… yes! Absolutely.” I cough nervously. “Well. It all began… er… in a shop, as it happens—”

“Too late,” interrupts Luke in an undertone. “He’s coming.”

I follow Luke’s gaze to see that Nathan Temple has got out of his chair and is advancing toward us.

“So, here he is.” His hoarse voice greets us. “The elusive Luke Brandon. You’ve been keeping your husband from me, young lady, haven’t you?” He wags a mock-accusing finger at me.

“Of course not!” I laugh shrilly. “Er… Luke, do you know Nathan Temple? We met in Milan, um… remember, darling?” I give a bright, fake smile as if I’m a dinner party hostess and this is all perfectly normal.

“Good evening, Mr. Temple,” says Luke calmly. “How nice to meet you properly.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Nathan Temple claps Luke on the back. “So, you’re feeling better, I hope.”

Luke’s eyes flicker toward me, then immediately back to Nathan Temple.

“I’m feeling quite well,” he replies. “May I ask what this… unexpected visit is regarding?”

“Well,” says Nathan Temple, reaching in his coat pocket for a monogrammed silver cigar case. “Seems you won’t take calls from my office.”

“I’ve been very busy this week,” Luke replies without flinching. “I do apologize if my secretaries have failed to pass on your messages. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

“My hotel project,” says Nathan, offering Luke a cigar. “Our hotel project, I should say.”

Luke starts to reply, but Nathan Temple lifts a hand to stop him. He carefully lights his cigar and puffs on it a few times. “Forgive me for turning up here out of the blue,” he says at last. “But when I want something… I don’t hang around. I go and get it. Much like your good wife here.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m sure she told you the story.”

“I think she was probably saving up the best part,” Luke says with a tight smile.

“I like your wife,” Nathan Temple says affably. He blows out a cloud of smoke and runs appraising eyes over me. “You want to come to work for me anytime, sweetheart, you just give me a ring.”

“Gosh!” I say, a bit thrown. “Er… thanks!”

I glance apprehensively at Luke. A vein is throbbing in his forehead.

“Becky,” he says in polite, measured tones. “Might we have a little word? Do excuse us for a moment,” he adds.

“No problem.” Nathan Temple nods at his cigar. “I’ll finish this up. Then we can talk.”

Luke marches me into a little meeting room and closes the door. Then he turns to me, his face all tight and businesslike.

Suddenly I’m scared.

“OK, Becky, start from the beginning. No—” He interrupts himself. “Cut to the middle. How do you know Nathan Temple?”

“I met him when we were in Milan. I was in this shop and he… he did me this favor.”

“He did you a favor?” Luke looks taken aback. “What kind of favor? Were you taken ill? Did you get lost?”

My mind is scurrying around, trying to think of the best way to put it. I’m not sure there is one.

“There was this… handbag,” I say at last.

“A handbag?” Luke looks taken aback. “He bought you a handbag?”

“No! I bought it. But he got me to the top of the list. He was really sweet! And I was really grateful… ” I’m twisting my hands into knots. “So then when we were back in England he phoned up and said he wanted you to be involved with his hotel… ”

“And what did you say?” says Luke, his voice dangerously quiet.

“The thing is”—I swallow—“I thought you’d love to do a hotel launch.”

The door suddenly bursts open and Gary comes into the room.

“What’s going on?” he says, wide-eyed. “What’s Nathan Temple doing here?”

“Ask Becky.” Luke gestures toward me. “It seems she’s been having quite the correspondence with him.”

“I didn’t know who he was!” I say defensively. “I had no idea! He was just this lovely Cockney man who got me my bag…”

“Bag?” says Gary, his eyes swiveling from me to Luke. “What bag?”

“Becky appears to have offered my services to Nathan Temple in return for a handbag,” says Luke curtly.

“A handbag?” Gary looks stunned.

“It wasn’t just any old handbag!” I exclaim, rattled. “It was a limited edition Angel bag! There’s only a few of them in the whole world! It was on the cover of Vogue! All the movie stars want one and everything!”

Both men look at me as though I’m speaking Martian.

“And anyway,” I say, my face burning, “I thought doing a hotel launch would be fab! It’s five-star and everything! You’d get to meet celebrities!”

“Celebrities?” echoes Luke, suddenly losing it. “Becky, I don’t need to meet those kind of celebrities! I don’t need to be launching some tacky criminal’s hotel! I need to be here, with my team, focusing on my new client’s needs.”

“I didn’t realize!” I say desperately. “I thought it was a brilliant networking coup!”

“Calm down, boss,” Gary says to Luke soothingly. “We haven’t promised him anything—”

“She has.” Luke gestures toward me, and Gary now seems at a total loss.

“I didn’t… promise exactly.” My voice shakes a little. “I just said… you’d be delighted.”

“You realize how much harder this makes it for me?” Luke is holding his head in his hands. “Becky, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me about it in Milan?”

The room is very still.

“Because the Angel bag cost two thousand euros,” I say at last in a tiny voice. “I thought you’d be cross.”

“Jesus Christ…” Luke sounds at the end of his tether.

“And then I didn’t want to bother you! You were so busy with the Arcodas pitch… I thought I’d deal with it myself. And I was dealing with it.”

“ ‘Dealing with it,’ ” echoes Luke incredulously. “How were you dealing with it?”

“I told Nathan Temple you were ill,” I gulp.

Comprehension dawns on Luke’s face.

“The bunch of flowers,” he says in even tones. “Was that from Nathan Temple?” Oh God.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“He sent you flowers?” says Gary in disbelief.

“And a fruit basket,” says Luke shortly.

Gary gives a sudden snort of laughter.

“It’s not funny,” says Luke, his voice like whiplash. “We’ve just won the biggest pitch of our lives. We should be out celebrating. Not having to deal with bloody Nathan Temple sitting in our foyer.” He sinks into a chair.

“We don’t want to make an enemy of him, Luke,” says Gary, pulling a small face. “Not if he’s going to buy the Daily World.”

Luke’s face is tense and motionless. I don’t dare say a word.

Then abruptly he stands up. “We can’t sit here all day. I’ll go and see him. If I have to do the job I have to do the job.” He gives me a look. “I just hope the handbag was worth it, Becky. I really hope it was worth it.”

I feel a sudden stab of pain.

“Luke, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry. I never meant… I never realized—”

“Yeah, Becky,” he interrupts in weary tones. “Whatever.”

He leaves the room, followed by Gary. And I just sit there. Suddenly there’s a tear rolling down my cheek. Everything was so perfect. And now it’s all ruined.