Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

Four

BY EIGHT THIRTY the next morning, I still haven’t got up. I don’t want to move an inch. I want to stay in this lovely comfortable bed, wrapped up in this gorgeous white waffle duvet.

“Are you staying there all day?” says Luke, smiling at me. “Not that I don’t want to join you.” He kisses me on the forehead and I snuggle down in the pillows without replying. I just don’t want to get up. I’m so cozy and warm and happy here.

Plus — just a very small point — I still don’t have any clothes.

I’ve already secretly rung down to reception three times about my Special Express. (Once while Luke was in the shower, once while I was in the shower — from the posh bathroom phone — and once very quickly when I sent Luke into the corridor because I said I heard a cat meowing.)

And it hasn’t arrived. I have nil clothes. Nada.

Which hasn’t mattered up until now, because I’ve just been lounging around in bed. But I can’t possibly eat any more croissants or drink any more coffee, nor can I have another shower, and Luke’s half-dressed already.

I’m just going to have to put on yesterday’s clothes again. Which is really hideous, but what else can I do? I’ll just pretend I’m sentimental about them, or maybe hope I can slip them on and Luke won’t even realize. I mean, do men really notice what you…

Hang on.

Hang on a minute. Where are yesterday’s clothes? I’m sure I dropped them just there on the floor…

“Luke?” I say, as casually as possible. “Have you seen the clothes I was wearing yesterday?”

“Oh yes,” he says, glancing up from his suitcase. “I sent them to the laundry this morning, along with my stuff.”

I stare at him, unable to breathe.

My only clothes in the whole world have gone to the laundry?

“When… when will they be back?” I say at last.

“Tomorrow morning.” Luke turns to look at me. “Sorry, I should have said. But it’s not a problem, is it? I mean, I don’t think you have to worry. They do an excellent job.”

“Oh no!” I say in a high, brittle voice. “No, I’m not worried!”

“Good,” he says, and smiles.

“Good,” I say, and smile back.

What am I going to do?

“Oh, and there’s plenty of room in the wardrobe,” says Luke, “if you want me to hang anything up.” He reaches toward my little case and in a panic, I hear myself crying “Nooo!” before I can stop myself. “It’s all right,” I add, as he looks at me in surprise. “My clothes are mostly… knitwear.”

Oh God. Oh God. Now he’s putting on his shoes. What am I going to do?

OK, come on, Becky, I think frantically. Clothes. Something to wear. Doesn’t matter what.

One of Luke’s suits?

No. He’ll just think it’s too weird, and anyway, his suits all cost about £1,000 so I won’t be able to roll the sleeves up.

My hotel robe? Pretend robes and waffle slippers are the latest fashion? Oh, but I can’t walk around in a dressing gown as if I think I’m in a spa. Everyone will laugh at me.

Come on, there must be clothes in a hotel. What about… the chambermaids’ uniforms! Yes, that’s more like it! They must keep a rack of them somewhere, mustn’t they? Neat little dresses with matching hats. I could tell Luke they’re the latest thing from Prada — and just hope no one asks me to clear out their room…

“By the way,” says Luke, reaching into his case, “you left this behind at my flat.”

And as I look up, startled, he chucks something across the room at me. It’s soft, it’s fabric… as I catch it, I want to weep with relief. It’s clothes! A single oversized Calvin Klein T-shirt, to be precise. I have never been so glad to see a plain washed-out gray T-shirt in my life.

“Thanks!” I say. And I force myself to count to ten before I add casually, “Actually, maybe I’ll wear this today.”

“That?” says Luke, giving me a strange look. “I thought it was a nightshirt.”

“It is! It’s a nightshirt-slash-dress,” I say, popping it over my head — and thank God, it comes to halfway down my thighs. It could easily be a dress. And ha! I’ve got a stretchy black headband in my makeup bag, which just about fits me as a belt.

“Very nice,” says Luke quizzically, watching me wriggle into it. “A little on the short side…”

“It’s a minidress,” I say firmly, and turn to look at my reflection. And… oh God, it is a bit short. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. I step into my clementine sandals and shake back my hair, not allowing myself to think about all the great outfits I had planned for this morning.

“Here,” says Luke. He reaches for my Denny and George scarf and winds it slowly round my neck. “Denny and George scarf, no knickers. Just the way I like it.”

“I’m going to wear knickers!” I say indignantly.

Which is true. I’ll wait till Luke’s gone, then pinch a pair of his boxer shorts.

“So — what’s your deal about?” I ask hurriedly, to change the subject. “Something exciting?”

“It’s… pretty big,” says Luke after a pause. He holds up a pair of silk ties. “Which one will bring me luck?”

“The red one,” I say after a little consideration. “It matches your eyes.”

“It matches my eyes?” Luke starts to laugh. “Do I look that rough?”

“It goes with your eyes. You know what I mean.”

“No, you were right first time,” says Luke, peering into the mirror. “It matches my eyes perfectly.” He glances at me. “You’d almost think I’d had no sleep last night.”

“No sleep?” I raise my eyebrows. “Before an important meeting? Surely that’s not the way Luke Brandon behaves.”

“Very irresponsible,” agrees Luke, putting the tie round his neck. “Must be thinking of someone else.”

I watch as he knots the tie with brisk, efficient movements. “So come on — tell me about this deal. Is it a big new client?”

But Luke smiles and shakes his head.

“Is it Nat West? I know, Lloyds Bank!”

“Let’s just say… it’s something I want very much,” Luke says eventually. “Something I’ve always wanted. But this is all very boring,” he adds in a different tone.

“No, it’s not!”

“Very dull indeed. Now — what are you going to do today? Will you be all right?” And now he sounds like he’s changing the subject.

Actually, I think Luke’s a bit sensitive about boring me with his work. Don’t get me wrong, I think his business is really fascinating. But there was this one occasion when it was really late at night, and he was telling me about a new range of technical products he was going to represent and I kind of… fell asleep.

I think he took it to heart, because recently he’s hardly talked about work at all.

“Have you heard the pool is closed this morning?” he says.

“I know,” I say, reaching for my blusher. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ll easily amuse myself.”

There’s silence and I look up to see Luke surveying me doubtfully.

“Would you like me to order you a taxi to take you to the shops? Bath is quite near here—”

“No,” I say indignantly. “I don’t want to go shopping!”

Which is true. When Suze found out how much those clementine sandals were, she got all worried that she hadn’t been strict enough with me, so I promised not to do any shopping this weekend. She made me cross my heart and swear on — well, on my clementine sandals, actually. And I’m going to make a real effort to keep to it.

I mean, I should be able to last forty-eight hours.

“I’m going to do all lovely rural things,” I say, snapping my blusher closed.

“Like…”

“Like look at the scenery… and maybe go to a farm and watch them milking the cows, or something…”

“I see.”

“What?” I say suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just going to pitch up at a farm, are you, and ask if you can milk the cows?”

“I didn’t say I was going to milk the cows,” I say with dignity. “I said I was going to watch the cows. And anyway, I might not go to a farm, I might go and look at some local attractions.” I reach for a pile of leaflets on the dressing table. “Like… this tractor exhibition. Or… St. Winifred’s Convent with its famous Bevington Triptych.”

“A convent,” echoes Luke after a pause.

“Yes, a convent!” I give him an indignant look. “Why shouldn’t I visit a convent? I’m actually a very spiritual person.”

“I’m sure you are, my darling,” says Luke, giving me a quizzical look. “You might want to put on more than a T-shirt before you go…”

“It’s a dress!” I say indignantly, pulling the T-shirt down over my bum. “And anyway, spirituality has nothing to do with clothes. ‘Consider the lilies of the field.’ ” I shoot him a satisfied glance.

“Fair enough.” Luke grins. “Well, enjoy yourself.” He gives me a kiss. “And Becky, I really am sorry about all this. This wasn’t the way I wanted our first weekend away to be.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, and give him a little poke in the chest. “You just make sure this mysterious deal is worth it.”

And I’m expecting Luke to laugh, or at least smile — but he just gives me a tiny nod, picks up his briefcase, and heads for the door.

I don’t actually mind having this morning to myself, because I’ve always secretly wanted to see what it’s like inside a convent. I mean, I know I don’t exactly make it to church every week, but I do have a very spiritual side to me. It seems obvious to me that there’s a greater force out there at work than us mere mortals — which is why I always read my horoscope in The Daily World. Plus I love that plainchant they play in yoga classes, and all the lovely candles and incense. And Audrey Hepburn in The Nun’s Story.

In fact, to tell you the truth, a part of me has always been attracted to the simplicity of a nun’s life. No worries, no decisions, no having to work. Just lovely singing and walking around all day. I mean, wouldn’t that be great?

So when I’ve done my makeup and watched a bit of telly, I go down to reception — and after asking fruitlessly again about my package (honestly, I’m going to sue), I order a taxi to St. Winifred’s. As we trundle along the country lanes, I look out at all the lovely scenery, and find myself wondering what Luke’s deal can be about. What on earth is this mysterious “something he’s always wanted”? I mean, I would have thought he’s already got everything he wants. He’s the most successful publicist in the financial field, he’s got a thriving company, he’s won loads of prizes… So what could it be? Big new client? New offices? Expanding the company, maybe?

I screw up my face, trying to remember if I’ve overheard anything recently — then, with a jolt, I remember hearing him on the phone a few weeks ago. He was talking about an advertising agency, and even at the time, I wondered why.

Yes. It’s obvious, now that I think about it. He’s always secretly wanted to be an ad director. That’s what this deal is all about. He’s going to branch out from PR and start making adverts.

And I could be in them! Yes!

I’m so excited at this thought, I almost swallow my chewing gum. I can be in an ad! Oh, this is going to be so cool. Maybe I’ll be in one of those Bacardi ads where they’re all on a boat, laughing and water-skiing and having a great time. I mean, I know it’s usually fashion models, but I could easily be somewhere in the background. Or I could be the one driving the boat. It’ll be so fantastic. We’ll fly out to Barbados or somewhere, and it’ll be all hot and sunny and glamorous, with loads of free Bacardi, and we’ll stay in a really amazing hotel… I’ll have to buy a new bikini, of course… or maybe two… and some new flip-flops…

“St. Winifred’s,” says the taxi driver — and with a start I come to. I’m not in Barbados, am I? I’m in the middle of bloody nowhere, in Somerset.

We’ve stopped outside an old honey-colored building, and I peer through the window curiously. So this is a convent. It doesn’t look that special, actually — just like a school, or a big country house. And I’m wondering whether I should even bother getting out, when I see a nun. Walking past, in black robes, and a wimple, and everything! A real live nun, in her real habitat. And she’s completely natural. She hasn’t even looked at the taxi. This is like being on safari!

I get out and pay the driver — and as I walk toward the heavy front door, I feel prickles of intrigue. There’s an elderly woman going in at the same time who seems to know the way, so I follow her along a corridor toward the chapel. And as we walk in, I feel this amazing, holy, almost euphoric sensation coming over me. Maybe it’s the lovely smell in the air or the organ music, but I’m definitely getting something.

“Thank you, Sister,” says the elderly woman to the nun. And she starts walking off to the front of the chapel — but I stand still, slightly transfixed.

Sister. Wow.

Sister Rebecca.

And one of those lovely flowing black habits, and a fantastic clear nun complexion all the time.

Sister Rebecca of the Holy…

“You look a little lost, my dear,” a nun says behind me, and I jump. “Were you interested in seeing the Bevington Triptych?”

“Oh,” I say. “Erm… yes. Absolutely.”

“Up there,” she points, and I walk tentatively toward the front of the chapel, hoping it will become obvious what the Bevington Triptych is. A statue, maybe? Or a… a piece of tapestry?

But as I reach the elderly lady, I see that she’s staring up at a whole wall of stained-glass windows. And I have to admit, they’re pretty amazing. I mean, look at that huge blue one in the middle. It’s fantastic!

“The Bevington Triptych,” says the elderly woman. “It simply has no parallel, does it?”

“Wow,” I breathe reverentially, staring up with her. “It’s beautiful.”

And it really is stunning. It just shows, there’s no mistaking a real work of art, is there? Real genius just leaps out at you. And I’m not even an expert.

“Wonderful colors,” I murmur.

“The detail,” says the woman, clasping her hands, “is absolutely incomparable.”

“Incomparable,” I echo.

And I’m just about to point out the rainbow, which I think is a really nice touch — when I suddenly notice that the elderly woman and I aren’t looking at the same window. She’s looking at a much smaller, dingier one which I hadn’t even noticed.

As inconspicuously as possible, I shift my gaze to the right one — and feel a pang of disappointment. Is this the Bevington Triptych? But it isn’t even pretty!

“Whereas this Victorian rubbish,” the woman suddenly adds savagely, “is absolutely criminal! That rainbow! Doesn’t it make you feel sick?” She gestures to my big blue window, and I gulp.

“I know,” I say. “It’s shocking, isn’t it? Absolutely… You know, I think I’ll just go for a little wander…”

Hastily I back away, before she can say any more. And I’m sidling back down the side of the pews, wondering vaguely what to do next, when suddenly I notice a little side chapel in the corner.

Spiritual retreat, reads a notice outside. A place to sit quietly, pray, and discover more about the Catholic faith.

Cautiously I poke my head inside the side chapel — and there’s an old nun, sitting on a chair, doing embroidery. She smiles at me, and nervously I smile back and walk inside.

I sit down on a dark wooden pew, trying not to make any creaking sounds, and for a while I’m too awestruck to say anything. This is just amazing. The atmosphere is fantastic, all quiet and still — and I feel incredibly cleansed and holy just from being here. I smile again at the nun, shyly, and she puts down her embroidery and looks at me as though waiting for me to speak.

“I really like your candles,” I say in a quiet, reverent voice. “Are they from Habitat?”

“No,” says the nun, looking a bit startled. “I don’t believe so.”

“Oh right.”

I give a tiny yawn — because I’m still sleepy from all this country air — and as I do so, I notice that one of my nails has chipped. So very quietly, I unzip my bag, get out my nail file, and start to buff it. The nun looks up, and I give her a rueful smile, and point to my nail (silently, because I don’t want to ruin the spiritual atmosphere). Then, when I’ve finished, the edge is looking a bit ragged, so I take out my Maybelline express dry polish and very quickly touch it up.

All the while, the nun is watching me with a perplexed expression, and as I’m finishing, she says, “My dear, are you a Catholic?”

“No, I’m not, actually,” I say.

“Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”

“Um… not really.” I run my hand fondly over the pew I’m sitting on, and give her a friendly smile. “This carving is really nice, isn’t it. Is all your furniture as nice as this?”

“This is the chapel,” says the nun, giving me a strange look.

“Oh, I know! But you know, loads of people have pews in their houses, too, these days. I saw this article in Harpers—”

“My child…” The nun lifts a hand to interrupt me. “My child, this is a place of spiritual retreat. Of quietness.”

“I know!” I say in surprise. “That’s why I came in. For quietness.”

“Good,” says the nun, and we lapse into silence again.

In the distance, a bell starts tolling, and I notice the nun begins murmuring very quietly under her breath. I wonder what she’s saying? My granny used to knit things, and mutter the pattern to herself. Maybe she’s lost track of her embroidery.

“Your sewing’s going really well,” I say encouragingly. “What’s it going to be?” She gives a tiny start, and puts down her embroidery.

“My dear,” she says, and exhales sharply. Then she gives me a warm smile. “My dear, we have some quite famous lavender fields. Would you like to go and see them?”

“No, it’s all right.” I beam at her. “I’m just happy, sitting here with you.”

The nun’s smile wavers slightly. “What about the crypt?” she says. “Would you be interested in that?”

“Not particularly. But honestly, I’m not bored! It’s just so lovely here. So… tranquil. Just like The Sound of Music.”

She stares at me as though I’m speaking gibberish, and I realize she’s probably been in the convent so long, she doesn’t know what The Sound of Music is.

“There was this film…” I start to explain. Then it occurs to me, maybe she doesn’t know what a film is, even. “It’s like, moving pictures,” I say carefully. “You watch it on a screen. And there was this nun called Maria…”

“We have a shop,” interrupts the nun urgently. “A shop. What about that?”

A shop! For a moment I feel all excited, and want to ask what they sell. But then I remember the promise I made to Suze.

“I can’t,” I say regretfully. “I told my flatmate I wouldn’t go shopping today.”

“Your flatmate?” says the nun. “What does she have to do with it?”

“She just gets really worried about me spending money—”

“Does your flatmate run your life?”

“Well, it’s just I made her this quite serious promise a while ago. You know, a bit like a vow, I suppose…”

“She’ll never know!” says the nun. “Not if you don’t tell her.”

I stare at her, a bit taken aback.

“But I’d feel really bad, breaking my promise! No, I’ll just stay here with you for a bit longer, if that’s OK.” I pick up a little statue of Mary which has caught my eye. “This is nice. Where did you get it?”

The nun stares at me, her eyes narrowing.

“Don’t think of it as shopping,” she says at last. “Think of it as making a donation.” She leans forward. “You donate the money — and we give you a little something in return. You couldn’t really count it as shopping at all. More… an act of charity.”

I’m silent for a few moments, letting this idea sink in. The truth is, I do always mean to do more for charity, and maybe this is my chance.

“So, it’ll be like doing a good deed?” I say, just to be sure.

“Exactly the same. And Jesus and all his angels will bless you for it.” She takes hold of my arm. “Now, you go along and have a browse. Come on, I’ll show you the way…”

As we leave the side chapel, the nun shuts the door and takes down the Spiritual Retreat notice.

“Aren’t you coming back?” I say in surprise.

“Not today, no,” she says, and gives me an odd look. “I think I’ll leave it for today.”

You know, it’s just like they say — virtue is its own reward. As I arrive back at the hotel later that afternoon, I’m glowing with happiness at all the good I’ve done. I must have donated at least £50 in that shop, if not more! In fact, not to show off or anything, but I’m obviously naturally very altruistic. Because once I started donating, I couldn’t stop! Each time I parted with a bit more money, I felt a real high. And although it’s a completely incidental point, I ended up with some really nice stuff in return. Lots of lavender honey, and lavender essential oil, and some lavender tea, which I’m sure will be delicious, and a lavender pillow to help me sleep.

The amazing thing is, I’d never really given lavender much thought before. I just thought of it as a plant in people’s gardens. But that young nun behind the table was quite right — it has such vital, life-enhancing properties that it should be part of everyone’s life. Plus St. Winifred’s lavender is completely organic, she explained, so it’s vastly superior to other varieties, but the prices are much lower than many competing mail-order catalogues. She was the one who persuaded me to buy the lavender pillow, actually, and to put my name on the mailing list. She was really quite persistent, for a nun.

When I get back to Blakeley Hall, the minicab driver offers to help me lug it all in, because the box of lavender honey is quite heavy. And I’m standing at the reception desk, giving him a nice hefty tip and thinking I might go and have a nice bath with my new lavender bath essence… when the front door into reception swings open. Into the hotel strides a girl with blond hair, a Louis Vuitton bag, and long tanned legs.

I stare at her in disbelief. It’s Alicia Billington. Or, as I call her, Alicia Bitch Longlegs. What’s she doing here?

Alicia is one of the account executives in Brandon Communications — which is Luke’s PR company — and we’ve never exactly got along. In fact, between you and me, she’s a bit of a cow and, secretly, I wish Luke would fire her. A few months ago, actually, she nearly did get fired — and it was kind of to do with me. (I was a financial journalist then, and I wrote this piece… oh, it’s a bit of a long story.) But in the end she just got a stiff warning, and since then, she’s really pulled her socks up.

I know all this because I have little chats every now and then with Luke’s assistant, Mel, who’s a real sweetie and keeps me up on all the gossip. She was telling me only the other day that she reckons Alicia’s really changed. She isn’t any nicer, but she certainly works harder. She badgers journalists until they put her clients into their stories, and often stays really late at the office, tapping at her computer. And only the other day she told Mel she wanted a full list of all the company’s clients, with contact names, so she could familiarize herself with them. Plus she wrote some company strategy report which Luke was really impressed by. Mel added gloomily that she reckons Alicia wants a promotion — and I think she could be right.

The trouble with Luke is, he only looks at how hard a person works and what results they get — and not at what a completely horrible cow they are. In fact, just the other day I heard him telling someone how reliable Alicia was in stressful situations and how he’s really starting to depend on her. So the chances are, she probably will get a promotion — and become even more unbearable.

As I watch her come in, I’m slightly transfixed. Half of me wants to run away and half of me wants to know what she’s doing here. But before I can decide, she spots me, and raises her eyebrows slightly. And oh God, suddenly I realize what I must look like — in a grotty old gray T-shirt that, to be honest, looks nothing like a dress, and my hair a mess, and my face all red from lugging carrier bags full of lavender honey. And she’s in an immaculate white suit.

“Rebecca!” she says, and puts her hand over her mouth in mock dismay. “You’re not supposed to know I’m here! Just pretend you haven’t seen me.”

“What… what do you mean?” I say, trying not to sound as disconcerted as I feel. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve just popped in for a quick introductory meeting with the new associates,” says Alicia. “You know my parents only live five miles away? So it made sense.”

“Oh right,” I say. “No, I didn’t.”

“But Luke’s given us all strict instructions,” says Alicia, “we’re not allowed to bother you. After all, this is your holiday!”

And there’s something about the way she says it that makes me feel like a child.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” I say robustly. “When something as… as important as this is going on. In fact, Luke and I were talking about it earlier on actually. Over breakfast.”

OK, so I only mentioned breakfast to remind her that Luke and I are going out together. Which I know is really pathetic. But somehow, whenever I’m talking to Alicia, I feel we’re in some secret little competition, and if I don’t fight back, she’ll think she’s won.

“Really?” says Alicia. “How sweet.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “So — what do you think of this whole enterprise? You must have an opinion.”

“I think it’s great,” I say after a pause. “Really great.”

“You don’t mind?” Her eyes are probing my face.

“Well… not really.” I shrug. “I mean, it was supposed to be a holiday, but if it’s that important—”

“I don’t mean the meetings!” says Alicia, laughing a little. “I mean — this whole deal. The whole New York thing.”

I open my mouth to reply — then feebly close it again. What New York thing?

And like a buzzard sensing weakness, she leans forward, a tiny, malicious smile at her lips. “You do know, don’t you, Rebecca, that Luke’s going to move to New York?”

I can’t move for shock. That’s what he’s so excited about. Luke’s moving to New York. But… but why hasn’t he told me?

My face feels rather hot and there’s a horrible thickening in my chest. He’s going to New York and he hasn’t even told me.

“Rebecca?”

My head jerks up, and I quickly force a smile onto my face. I can’t let Alicia realize this is all news to me. I just can’t.

“Of course I know about it,” I say huskily, and clear my throat. “I know all about it. But I… I never discuss business in public. Much better to be discreet, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she answers — and the way she looks at me makes me think she isn’t convinced for a minute. “So… will you be going out there too?”

I stare back, my lips trembling, unable to think of an answer, my face growing pinker and pinker — when suddenly, thank God, a voice behind me says, “Rebecca Bloomwood. Parcel for a Miss Rebecca Bloomwood.”

My head jerks round in astonishment, and, I don’t believe it. A man in uniform is approaching the desk, holding my huge, battered Special Express parcel, which I’d honestly given up for lost. All my things, at last. All my carefully chosen outfits. I can wear anything I like tonight!

But somehow… I don’t really care anymore. I just want to go off somewhere and be on my own and think for a bit.

“That’s me,” I say, managing a smile. “I’m Rebecca Bloomwood.”

“Oh right!” says the man. “That’s nice and easy then. If you could just sign here…”

“Well, I mustn’t keep you!” exclaims Alicia, eyeing my parcel amusedly. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, won’t you?”

“Thanks,” I reply. “I will.” And, feeling slightly numb, I walk away, clutching my clothes tightly to me.

I go up to our room, dump the parcel on the bed, and sit down next to it, trying to keep perspective on this. OK, let’s just go over the facts. Luke’s making plans to move to New York. And he hasn’t told me.

Yet. He hasn’t told me yet.

As I think this through, my numbness starts to melt away. Of course. He’s probably planning to tell me everything this evening. Waiting for the right moment. That’s probably why he brought me here in the first place. He couldn’t know that Alicia would stick her oar in, could he?

Feeling better already, I reach for a complimentary packet of biscuits, tear it open, and begin to munch one. It’s like they say, don’t run before you can walk. Don’t cross bridges before you come to them. Don’t do… that other thing you shouldn’t do.

I’ve just finished my third biscuit and have switched on the television to watch Ready Steady Cook, when the door opens and Luke comes in. His eyes are sparkling and he seems full of a suppressed energy. I stare at him, feeling a little weird.

I’m sure he’s going to tell me. He wouldn’t just move to America without saying anything.

“Did your meetings go well?” I say, my voice feeling false.

“Very well, thanks,” says Luke, taking off his tie and throwing it on the bed. “But let’s not talk about that.” He smiles at me. “Did you have a good day?”

“Fine, thanks!”

“You want to go for a walk? Come on. I haven’t seen you all day.” He reaches for my hand, pulls me up off the bed, and puts his arms round my waist. “I’ve missed you,” he says against my hair, and his arms tighten around my body.

“Have you?” I give a little laugh. “Well, you know… perhaps I should come to your meetings, and hear what they’re all about!”

“You wouldn’t enjoy them,” says Luke, returning my laugh. “Come on, let’s go out.”

We head down the stairs and out of the heavy front door and start walking over the grass toward a group of trees. The sun is still warm, and some people are playing croquet and drinking Pimms. After a while I take off my sandals and walk along barefoot, feeling myself relax.

“Are you hungry?” says Luke casually as we get near a large oak tree. And I’m about to reply, “No, I’ve just had three biscuits,” when I see it, waiting for us in the long grass.

A red-and-white checked picnic blanket. A little wicker hamper. And… is that a bottle of champagne? I turn toward Luke in disbelief.

“Is this… did you…”

“This,” says Luke, touching my cheek, “is in some small way to make up. You’ve been so incredibly understanding, Becky.”

“That’s all right,” I say awkwardly. “If it was for something as important as…” I hesitate. “As… well, whatever amazing opportunity this might be…”

I look at Luke expectantly. This is the perfect moment for him to tell me.

“Even so,” says Luke. He moves away and reaches for the champagne bottle and I sit down, trying not to give away my disappointment.

I’m not going to ask him. If he wants to tell me he can. If he doesn’t want to… then he must have his reasons.

But there’s no harm in prompting him, is there?

“I love the countryside!” I exclaim as Luke hands me my champagne. “And I love cities, too.” I gesture vaguely in the air. “London… Paris…”

“Cheers,” says Luke, raising his glass.

“Cheers.” I take a sip of champagne and think quickly. “So… um… you’ve never really told me much about your family.”

Luke looks up, a bit surprised.

“Haven’t I? Well, there’s me and my sister… and Mum and Dad…”

“And your real mother, of course.” Casual, Becky. Casual. “I’ve always thought she sounds really interesting.”

“She’s a truly inspiring person,” says Luke, his face lighting up. “So elegant… you’ve seen the picture of her?”

“She looks beautiful,” I nod encouragingly. “And where is it she lives again?” I wrinkle my brow as though I can’t quite remember.

“New York,” says Luke, and takes a swig of his drink.

There’s a taut silence. Luke stares ahead, frowning slightly, and I watch him, my heart thumping. Then he turns to me, and I feel a spasm of fright. What’s he going to say? Is he going to tell me he’s moving thousands of miles away?

“Becky?”

“Yes?” I say, my voice half-strangled by nerves.

“I really think you and my mother would love each other. Next time she’s in London, I’ll be sure to introduce you.”

“Oh… right,” I say. “That would be really great.” And morosely, I drain my glass.

ENDWICH BANK

Fulham Branch

3 Fulham Road

London SW6 9JH

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood

Flat 2

4 Burney Rd.

London SW6 8FD

8 September 2000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of 4 September, addressed to Sweetie Smeathie, in which you ask him to rush through an extension of your overdraft “before the new guy arrives.”

I am the new guy.

I am currently reviewing all customer files and will be in touch regarding your request.

Yours sincerely,

John Gavin

Overdraft Facilities Director