Shopaholic to the Rescue

EIGHTEEN

Well, if nothing else, our costumes are awesome. Absolutely awesome.

Danny has dressed Luke, Dad, and Tarquin in amazing suits with broad silk ties and sheeny shirts that they would never normally have picked out, in shades of mauve and beige. When he was all dressed up, Luke looked at his reflection in horror and said, “I look like an off-duty gangster,” like that was a bad thing. Honestly, has he actually seen Ocean’s Eleven?

Suze and Elinor are looking super-glam. Elinor, in particular, is wearing thousands of dollars’ worth of high-end clothes, just to reinforce the point that she’s a Major Player, whereas Suze is in a bouclé dress with pearls, because she’s playing Titled Nobility. (She didn’t want to be Titled Nobility. She wanted to be the Amazing Yen, squish herself up in a food trolley, and do a backflip. But, like I keep telling her, there is no Amazing Yen in Becky’s Eleven.)

Danny himself is in jeans and a ripped T-shirt, but that’s OK, because he’s playing himself. Meanwhile, Mum, Janice, and I are all in different versions of the domestic-staff uniform of the Las Vegas Convention Center, which is where everything’s going to take place.

Danny got us the uniforms; I have no idea how, except it was through a “contact.” I’m in a tailored housekeeper’s dress with a badge reading MARIGOLD SPITZ. Janice is in a black dress and little apron—not sure what she’s supposed to be. Part of the catering team, maybe? And Mum has an important-looking jacket and skirt combo. She must be some kind of manager or concierge or something.

The crucial thing is that we’ve got the meeting rooms exactly as I ordered—interconnecting with double doors. I’ve nicknamed one room “Ben” and the other “Jerry’s,” and the doors are firmly shut between them. For now.

“Right.” For the millionth time I survey the team. “Does everyone know what they’re doing?”

I’ve got the Ocean’s Eleven theme music pulsing through my head, because we watched it last night on DVD, to get us in the mood. We also played cards and drank beers and kept saying, “Are you in or are you out?” to one another.

“You’ve got the cupcakes ready?” says Suze, and I produce the box from a side cupboard. I place ten cupcakes on a plate, and for a silent moment the two of us survey it.

“You think we need one more cupcake?” I ask.

Suze doesn’t move. But I can read that little crinkle in her brow.

“You think we need one more cupcake,” I say.

Still she doesn’t move. I know what’s going on here. She’s being Brad Pitt and I’ve got to be George Clooney.

“OK,” I say, deadpan. “We’ll have one more cupcake.” I place the final cupcake on top of the pile and dust down my hands. “We’re set.”

“Corey’s here,” says Luke, looking at his phone, and my stomach gives a heave of nerves. Oh God. He’s here. It’s starting. And just for a moment I feel engulfed by terror. Are we actually, really doing this?

At least Minnie is safely in our hotel room, being looked after by the lovely Judy. (We brought Judy with us from Sedona as a temporary nanny, which was Luke’s idea, and it was a brilliant move.)

“Cyndi’s ten minutes away,” reports Danny, consulting his phone. “It’s on. Good luck, everyone.”

My hands are damp and my heart is suddenly pounding. I half-want to run away and forget we ever planned this. But everyone’s looking at me for instructions. This is my gig, I tell myself firmly. I need to make it happen. And although I’m terrified, I’m exhilarated too.

“OK,” I say briskly. “Party time. Dad, you need to get out of the way. Luke, you head down to the lobby to collect Corey.” Luke nods and strides out of the room, giving me a brief kiss on the way.

“Attagirl,” he whispers in my ear, and I give his hand an answering squeeze.

“Tarkie and Elinor, into Ben,” I instruct. “Danny, stay in phone contact with Cyndi. Ulla and Suze, into Jerry’s. You all know what to do. Mum and Janice…” I look at them both. “We need to disappear.”

I pick up the plate of cupcakes, give a quick glance round the room, and head out to the corridor. The worst thing about this whole plan is, I have to wait now. And I’ve never been good at waiting. How am I not going to explode with frustration?

“I brought a book of sudoku to pass the time,” says Janice helpfully, as we all squeeze into the small back room I located earlier. “And my iPad, with some nice films on it.” She beams at Mum and me. “Shall we have a little watch of The Sound of Music?”

Sometimes I really love Janice.

—

Twenty minutes later, even with The Sound of Music distracting me, I’m almost popping with tension. What is going on in there? What? But at last the agreed time is up, and I sally forth with my bucket of cleaning materials. (We bought them specially at a hardware store.)

I knock on the door of Jerry’s, wait till I hear Danny call, “Come in,” then make my way in, my head bowed right down.

I’m counting on the fact that Cyndi won’t recognize me from the children’s party, because being in a housekeeper’s uniform is such good camouflage. But even so, I keep my gaze down. I just about take in the fact that Cyndi is seated in a low chair by the window, with Suze, Danny, and Ulla grouped around her like acolytes. There are glasses of champagne on the coffee table and a stack of Danny Kovitz boxes on the floor.

Cyndi clearly hasn’t recognized Suze either from their brief previous encounter. Which isn’t surprising, as Suze has been transformed from a desperate-looking girl with lank hair and shadowy face into a society lady with a chignon, full makeup, and a cream bouclé dress with humongous pearl choker. Ulla, meanwhile, is looking exactly as she did when I first met her in Las Vegas and is sketching Cyndi in charcoal.

Cyndi is all rosy in the face, and her eyes are bright, so I guess I’ve missed the bit where Danny told her he’d seen her photo in the society pages of magazines and greatly admired her style.

“Housekeeping?” I mutter, practically in a whisper.

“Oh, hi,” says Danny, sounding irritated. “This really isn’t a good time for us.”

“Sorry, sir,” I mumble. “Shall I come back?”

“Maybe just, like, polish that screen?” He points to the wide-screen TV on the wall. “It’s filthy.”

It’s filthy because we smeared it with oil, earlier on. I hastily head over to it and start spraying on glass cleaner. As I rub away, my ears are almost tingling with desperation to hear the conversation behind me.

“So, as I said, Cyndi,” Danny continues, “I would love to give you this jacket, which I feel encapsulates your style.”

“Oh my!” Cyndi seems overcome. “For me? Really?” She pauses, the jacket half on. “You know, when I got your assistant’s email, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, Danny Kovitz wants to meet me?” She peers over at Ulla’s drawing. “Oh, that’s too flattering.”

“Not at all,” says Danny. “Ulla draws all my muses.”

“Muses?” Cyndi looks even more overcome. “Me, a muse?”

“For sure!” Danny nods. “Now, go ahead, put the jacket on.”

As Cyndi puts on the jacket, Suze makes admiring noises.

“Very nice,” says Danny. “Very nice indeed.”

“So, you’re organizing a fashion show for charity?” says Cyndi, as she admires her reflection in the freestanding mirror we ordered from “Conference Accessories.”

“That’s right,” says Danny. “Fashion by me, Danny Kovitz, and hosted by Lady Cleath-Stuart of the British aristocracy. That’s why we got in touch with you.” He beams at Cyndi. “We felt sure that you, as a top socialite and philanthropist, would want to be involved.”

I can see Cyndi goggling at the name “Lady Cleath-Stuart,” not to mention Danny himself. As well she might! I mean, it’s a pretty starry lineup. But it had to be, to lure her here.

As I’m polishing the TV, I keep sneaking glances at Cyndi. And I can see why Corey’s smitten. She’s so pretty. Her skin is like a peach. She has these plump lips, which she keeps biting, and these wide innocent eyes. If I were a man, I’d probably fall in love with her too. I don’t blame Corey for being besotted.

And this is how we’re going to get him. Not by forcing him or threatening him, but by shaming him, in front of the one person in the world he cares about most.

“My husband knows Lord Cleath-Stuart, you know,” says Cyndi, as she adjusts the sleeves of the jacket.

“Absolutely,” says Danny smoothly. “That’s another reason we thought of you. Does your husband know you’re here today?” he adds casually.

“I didn’t say exactly what I was doing.” Cyndi colors slightly. “I said I was meeting friends. But he’ll be so excited to hear about it!”

“Good!” Suze beams at her. “Danny, why not show Cyndi the next outfit?”

I’ve heard enough. I give a final wipe at the screen, then dump my cloth back in my bucket and retreat into the corridor. I head next door to Ben, knock, and shuffle in.

“Housekeeping,” I murmur, but no one even responds, so I start randomly wiping the TV screen. Luke, Tarquin, Corey, and Elinor are all sitting around a conference table, and Corey is in the middle of some story involving a rifle and a bear. As he finishes, Luke and Tarquin burst into polite laughter, and Elinor inclines her head.

“But, Lord Cleath-Stuart, you must be quite a shot yourself!” says Corey, looking flushed in the face. “What with your grouse moors and so forth.”

“Absolutely,” says Tarquin. “Perhaps you’ll see for yourself one day.”

“Well!” Corey reddens still further. “Now, that would be an honor, your lordship.”

“And your wife?” inquires Tarquin mildly. “Would she like to visit England?”

“She would go nuts,” says Corey. “And, Mrs. Sherman, I must say…” He turns to Elinor. “Your invitation to the Hamptons is very kind.”

“Perhaps your wife would like an invitation to the Met Ball?” Elinor gives him a chilly smile. “I’m always happy to introduce my investment partners into society.”

“Now that…” Corey seems momentarily speechless. “That would make Cyndi’s year.”

I catch Luke’s eye and he gives me a tiny wink. OK. So far, so good.

I retreat from the room and pause for a moment, breathing hard. Right. Next stage. I must say, it would be a lot easier if we had video cameras, like in the real Ocean’s Eleven. But we don’t.

I hurry back to the little room, knock five times, which is our signal, and let myself in.

“It’s all going fine,” I say breathlessly. “Janice, you’re up.”

I pick up the vase of flowers that we ordered earlier and place it on a room-service trolley. (Luke found it on another corridor, and we just turned the tablecloth over.) My job was to establish that the conversation was going in the correct direction in each room. Which it is. Now Janice’s job is to give the signal: Move to the next level.

As she takes hold of the trolley, I see that her hands are shaking, and I turn to her in surprise.

“Janice, are you OK?”

“Oh, Becky,” she says desperately. “I wasn’t cut out for this.”

“For what?”

“For this!” Her voice rises in agitation. “High-level criminal hijinks!”

My heart sinks. We should never have shown Ocean’s Eleven to Janice. I think in her head she honestly believes she’s robbing the casino vault.

“Janice, this isn’t high-level criminal hijinks!” I say.

“It’s only a little heist, love,” says Mum soothingly.

“It’s not a heist.” I knock a fist to my head. Honestly. Does Mum even know what a heist is? “Janice, you’ll be fine.” I try to sound reassuring. “Just take the flowers into the room, put them down, and leave. OK?” I clasp her hand, but she flinches. “Look, I’ll come with you. It’s fine. It’s all good.”

I open the door for her, and she pushes the room-service trolley out. We start slowly progressing along the corridor, Janice trembling all the while. I had no idea she’d be so nervous. I should never have put her in the eleven. But I can’t change the plan now.

“Look, you see?” I say as we turn the corner. “Easy-peasy, we’re nearly there….”

“Where’s that going?” A nasal voice hits the back of my head.

What?

I wheel round to see a woman in the same braid-trimmed jacket as Mum. She has badly dyed black hair and is coming out of a room on the other side of the corridor. As she nears, she eyes the vase narrowly. “Which flower arrangement is that?” she demands. “I don’t recognize it.”

Oh for God’s sake.

“Er…not sure,” I say, as Janice seems incapable of speech.

“Who are you?” The woman squints at my badge.

“I’m Marigold,” I say confidently.

“Marigold?” Her eyes narrow further. “I thought she left.”

Honestly, what’s wrong with this woman? Why does she have to be so suspicious the whole time? I’m sure it’s not good for her health.

“Well.” I give a shrug, and the woman whips round to Janice.

“What’s your name?”

Oh no. Poor Janice. I turn to give her some moral support—and blink in shock. Janice is transfixed. I’ve never seen such terror on a face. Before I can even open my mouth, she’s collapsed on the floor.

Oh my God.

“Janice!” I cry in horror, and kneel down beside her. “What happened? Are you OK?”

She’s not even moving. This is bad.

“Janice!” I tug at her clothes and try to listen to her heartbeat.

“Is she breathing?” demands the black-haired woman.

“I don’t know!” I say furiously. “Let me listen!”

I put my ear to her chest, but I can’t tell if I’m hearing her heartbeat or my own pulse, so I rest my face against her mouth. I’ll be able to feel her breath, surely?

And the next moment I hear a watery whisper in my ear: “I’m acting, love. Like in the film.”

She’s…

What?

I don’t believe it.

This was not in the plan. I am so going to tell Janice off. But for now I’ll have to go with it.

“She’s unconscious!” I say dramatically, sitting back on my heels. “I think you should call a doctor. So, um…you stay with her and I’ll just quickly deliver this.”

I get up and grab the trolley. I need to get into the room with these wretched flowers. Danny and Suze need the signal. They’ll be wondering and not knowing what to do—

“Wait,” says the black-haired woman.

“Call the doctor!” I repeat urgently, and the woman glares back but gets out her phone and dials. “Juliana?” she says. “It’s Lori. Can you put me through to the health center?”

“Hey, Becky!” A cheery male voice hails me. “Becky, is that you? Over here!”

Argh. What now? My head turns instinctively before I can stop it—and it’s Mike, the guy from the roulette table at the Venetian. The one who didn’t want me to leave. He’s waiting for the lift about twenty yards down the corridor, wearing a blue suit and waving with a huge beam on his face. “How’s the winning streak?” he calls. “Hey, you really work here?”

I feel prickly all over. Please shut up, I think silently. Please shut up.

“Becky?” Lori gives me an evil look. Thankfully the lift doors close before she can question Mike.

“Isn’t that weird?” I give a shrill laugh. “Who was that man? He must have me confused with…I have no idea….Oh my God! Is she still breathing?”

As Lori glances down again at Janice, I practically gallop away with the trolley. I knock on the door of Jerry’s and enter without waiting for a reply. By now, Cyndi is wearing a full-length coat and turning this way and that in front of the mirror.

“He’s just naturally generous,” she’s saying earnestly. “You know? Generous. Like, he took my whole family on vacation last year, no expense spared. My mom, dad, my sister Sherilee…”

“He sounds amazing,” Suze murmurs.

“Flowers,” I say unnecessarily, and put them onto a side table. As I do so, I catch Suze’s eye and give her a tiny wink. She winks back, then addresses Cyndi.

“You know, Cyndi, I once heard about your husband’s generosity from someone else,” she says casually. “Have you ever heard of a man called…Brent Lewis?”

There’s silence in the room. I’m completely still, waiting for her answer.

“Brent Lewis?” Cyndi says at last, her brow wrinkling. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“Oh, it’s a great story,” enthuses Suze. “A wonderful story. And the best thing is, Corey comes so well out of it. I can’t believe he hasn’t told you what happened!”

“Too modest, I’m sure,” puts in Danny.

“He is too modest!” Cyndi nods fervently. “I always tell him that. I say, ‘Corey, hon, shine your light!’ So what’s the story?”

“Well.” Suze beams. “It starts with the spring. You know the famous balloon spring that launched Corey’s business all those years ago?”

“Well, I’ve heard of it….” says Cyndi doubtfully.

They’re off. It’s all under control.

I back out of the room, close the door quietly, and draw breath. OK. So far, so good. Mum’s up next.

But what’s happened to Janice? I look in slight bewilderment at the empty floor. She was lying here a moment ago. And what about Lori? Has the doctor been already? Have they taken Janice away? What on earth—

Oh my God, there they are.

Lori is about ten yards down the corridor, walking slowly along with Janice leaning heavily on her arm. As though she can sense me watching her, Lori turns round and scowls.

“Hey, you!” she calls. “I want to talk to you!”

“Don’t stop!” moans Janice at once. “I need the ladies’! I feel very ill!” She clutches Lori’s arm harder. “Please don’t leave me! You’re all I have!”

I can feel an almighty giggle rising inside me. Janice is amazing!

“You!” barks Lori again, but I pretend I can’t hear and hurry the other way.

“Mum!” I gasp breathlessly as I reach our little room and fling open the door. (I can’t be bothered with signals anymore.) “It’s all going to plan, except Janice got a bit diverted. You ready?”

“Oh, love.” Mum looks apprehensive. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Not you too!” I say in exasperation.

I gave Mum and Janice the simplest possible jobs. And they’ve both lost their nerve!

“Becky, come in with me,” Mum begs. “I can’t do it on my own.”

“But I’ve already been in once! Corey will notice!”

This was my whole reason for having all of us play different domestic staff—so Corey wouldn’t suspect anything.

“No, he won’t!” says Mum. “Did he even notice you before?”

I consider for a moment. Actually, he probably didn’t. Men like Corey don’t notice the staff.

“All right.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll come in with you. And I’ll text Dad.”

I was so paranoid about Dad being spotted by Corey that I made him wait on a separate floor. But it’s safe now. It’s his time.

Mum and I take up our positions outside Ben, and a few moments later Dad comes striding up the corridor.

“All set?” he says to me.

“All going to plan.” I nod at the door. “He’s in there.”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Dad looks at Mum with a kind of wry, incredulous smile and gestures at the closed door. “Can you believe we’re doing this? Of all the mad things Becky’s talked us into doing over the years…”

“Oh, I’ve given up even thinking that way,” replies Mum. “I just go with the flow. Far easier.”

Honestly. What do they mean? I never talk people into doing things.

“But if it works…” Dad suddenly takes my hand and squeezes it. “Becky, you’ve achieved a lot in your life. But this will be your finest hour. I mean that, love.”

“Oh, well,” I say awkwardly. “If the plan works.”

“Of course it’ll work!” insists Mum.

Both my parents are looking at me proudly, as if I’m ten years old again and have raised the most money for the new school netball court. (How I did it, by the way: I wrote stories about all of my classmates and illustrated them with little paper dolls and made them cutout outfits, and all the mothers paid loads.)

“Don’t jinx it!” I say. “Mum, we need to go.”

As she’s smoothing down her jacket, I turn to Dad. “What are you going to say to Corey?” I ask curiously. “Where will you even start? I mean, he wouldn’t take your call, he wouldn’t speak to you—I’d want to slap him!”

But Dad shakes his head. “This isn’t about Corey and me. This is about Corey and Brent. Off you go now.” He steps away and I knock at the door, and before I know it, Mum and I are in the room.

Corey, Luke, Tarquin, and Elinor are all still sitting round the table; Tarquin is saying something about “equity,” and they look up with quite convincing surprise.

“Yes?” says Elinor.

“I’m so sorry,” says Mum, bustling in, looking exactly like a hotel manager. “I believe you ordered a double conference room.”

Her American accent is absolutely atrocious, but Corey doesn’t seem to notice. Or, if he does, he doesn’t make any comment.

“That’s right, we did,” says Luke with a frown. “I was going to complain about that.”

“My apologies, sir. I’ll open the double doors right now.”

I don’t know why Mum wanted moral support—she’s brilliant! She heads over to the right-hand wall—the wall separating Ben from Jerry’s—and my heart begins to thump in excitement. Here we go. Here we go.

All these conference rooms have magic doors. It’s why I chose this particular business center. The doors slide right into the walls, so you can have a big opening between rooms, join rooms up, close them off, do what you like.

Unhurriedly, looking for all the world like a bored hotel manager, Mum approaches the doors that open into Jerry’s and pushes them apart. It takes a moment for anyone to realize what’s happened, then suddenly—

“Corey?” Cyndi’s voice pipes up excitedly from the next room. She jumps up and hurries toward the opening. “Corey, is that you? Oh my God, babe! What a coincidence!”

I’ve been watching Corey all this time, and he jerked with shock when he heard Cyndi’s voice. But at once he regained control of himself. Now he gets to his feet, his eyes watchful and suspicious.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, his gaze roaming around and fixing on each face in turn, as though to find the answer to this now. “What are you doing here? Who are these people?”

“This is Danny Kovitz!” gushes Cyndi. “The famous fashion designer! He’s going to put on a fashion show, and he wants me to model for it. And this is Lady Cleath-Stuart….”

“Your wife.” Corey whips round to Tarquin.

“Ah, yes! So she is,” says Tarkie, in tones of surprise that make me want to giggle. “Hello, dear.”

“Peyton and I are going to open the show!” Cyndi bubbles over. “We’re going to wear matching dresses. Isn’t that fun?”

“Great,” says Corey shortly. His eyes are still darting around as though he’s trying to work out what’s happening. I mean, he’s not stupid. He must realize this can’t be a coincidence.

And all we need now is for Cyndi to play her part. She doesn’t know it, but she’s the star of the show. She’s like a peach hanging from a tree, I think. A big, ripe peach, all heavy and ready to fall…Go on…go on…

“Oh, Corey!” Cyndi exclaims. “I’ve just been hearing about Brent and all. You are such a sweet, sweet man.”

Thud. The peach has landed. Although, from the atmosphere in the room, it could have been a bomb. I risk a tiny glance at Corey, and my stomach lurches. His expression is absolutely livid.

“What, honey?” he says at last, in almost-pleasant tones. “What are you talking about?”

“Brent!” she says. “You know. The settlement.”

“Settlement?” Corey sounds like he can’t quite pronounce the word properly.

“Ah, yes,” says Luke cheerfully. “We were about to get to that. Another of our valued associates is Brent Lewis, who obviously was very instrumental in helping you in the early days of Firelight Innovations, Inc.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Corey tightly.

“Corey!” Luke gives an easy laugh. “Don’t be so modest!” He turns to Cyndi. “The wonderful news is, your generous husband is going to provide a settlement for Brent in recognition of his input to the success of Firelight Innovations. Isn’t that kind? The lawyers are waiting downstairs with the documents, so we can get this all wrapped up super-quick.”

“Oh, Corey, you’re an angel,” says Cyndi, blinking earnestly at him. “Haven’t I always said, what goes around comes around?”

“It certainly does,” says Luke.

“Karma,” puts in Danny wisely.

“Of course, Corey doesn’t legally owe Brent anything,” Luke continues. “But he would never leave an old friend to starve on the streets.” Luke slaps Corey on the back. “Would you, Corey, old chap?”

“Of course he wouldn’t!” says Cyndi, seeming shocked at the idea. “Corey’s always looking out for others, aren’t you, babe?”

“And a settlement of this modest size…” Luke gives Corey a significant look. “You’ll barely notice it.”

Luke and the lawyers have pitched the settlement at just the right amount. Enough to make a huge, life-changing difference to Brent, but not so much that Corey will feel any hardship. In fact, as Luke says, he’ll barely notice it.

(I was all for trying to get squillions out of Corey, but Luke said no, we need to be pragmatic, and I suppose he’s right.)

Corey’s eyes are sparking with fury. His nostrils are white round the edges. He’s opened his mouth and closed it again quite a few times during this conversation—but no words have made it out yet. And I can see his problem. He’s kind of in a trap, what with Cyndi gazing lovingly at him.

“Sweetheart, we should have this Brent over for dinner,” says Cyndi earnestly. “You never even mentioned him before.”

“Dinner?” Corey’s voice sounds strangled.

“In fact, you guys should all come to dinner!” Cyndi looks around, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s do it tonight. We’ll set up the grill by the pool, play some music….”

“I don’t think—” Corey begins.

“Please, Corey!” She cuts him off. “We never have anyone over!” She looks around, counting up people. “You guys got kids? Bring ’em along! Is there anyone else we should ask?”

But no one answers, because the door behind her has opened—and in walks Dad. He stops a few paces in and surveys Corey with a wry expression in his kind eyes. And I want to freeze-frame this moment. Finally, finally, after all these years, Dad and Corey are face-to-face.

As I watch them, all I can think of is that old photo of them. Four young guys on their road trip, not knowing where life would lead them.

Corey may be the richest. But my dad wins in every way, I think fiercely. Every way.

“Corey,” he says simply. “Good to see you again.”

“Who are you?” asks Cyndi in bewilderment.

“Oh, I’m with the lawyers,” answers Dad, giving her a charming smile. “I just wanted to say to Corey: I’m so glad you’ve decided not to abandon your old friend.”

I’m studying Corey in fascination, to see if any flicker of remorse passes across his face. Or regret? Sorrow? Shame? Anything? But his face is impassive. Which could be because of his facelift, I suppose.

“So,” says Dad pleasantly. “Shall we get this document signed?”

He smiles at Corey and gestures to the door. But Corey doesn’t move.

“Corey?” prompts Dad again. “It’ll take five minutes of your time. No more.”

Still, Corey is motionless. But I can see his brain working. His eyes are busy. He’s thinking…he’s thinking….

“Lord Cleath-Stuart,” he exclaims suddenly, and pointedly sits back down at the table next to Tarkie. “I was interested to hear about your charitable foundation. It supports local entrepreneurs, you say?”

“Ahm…yes.” Tarquin looks confused. “Did I mention that?”

“I would love to pledge half a million dollars,” says Corey in loud, clear tones. “Half a million dollars, today. Give me the details and I’ll arrange a bank transfer.”

“Babe!” Cyndi’s voice rockets through the room. Her face is glowing, and she looks like she might expire from pride. “You are amazing! You are awesome!”

“Well, what’s the use of having good fortune if you can’t share it?” says Corey stiffly, as though he’s reciting a memorized line. He glances at Dad and adds casually, “Shall we leave the other matter to another day?”

Another day?

In consternation, I meet Luke’s eyes. No. Nooo.

Corey’s so snaky. We had him; we totally had him. And now he’s wriggling out of our trap.

Cyndi is his Achilles’ heel. Cyndi would have got him to sign the settlement; that’s what the whole plan is based on. But now that she’s captivated by this new super-generous donation to Tarkie, she won’t care so much about Brent. Corey will be able to put it off and put it off and never do it….

I feel a sudden loathing for Corey, even stronger than before. What kind of twisted man is this? He’d rather spend half a million dollars on some random charity he’s only just heard about than take the chance to right the terrible injustice he caused. All because of some grudge. All because they fought over a woman. It’s awful. It’s tragic. It’s despicable.

But luckily…

I don’t want to boast, but…

I saw this coming. Ha.

OK, that’s not quite true. I didn’t predict exactly this happening. But I do have a contingency plan. And it looks like I’m going to have to put it into action right now.

Trying to look unobtrusive, I start to sidle toward the far partition wall in Jerry’s. Because we have a third room booked. (I’ve nicknamed it Häagen-Dazs.) And we have an eleventh member of the team. And she’s waiting patiently in Häagen-Dazs, on standby, just in case she should be needed.

Slowly, almost silently, I push the doors aside and beckon to her.

It took a whole evening of talking to persuade Rebecca to take part in this. She’s no big fan of Brent—she doesn’t care if he starves. And she’s no big fan of Dad either. (My theory is, he broke her heart back in the day. Although I am never ever sharing this thought with either of my parents.) But she’s even less of a fan of Corey—and that’s what tipped the balance. Sometimes you really need to appeal to people’s worst instincts. Which is a bit depressing, but there you go.

As Rebecca approaches the double doors that lead from Häagen-Dazs into Jerry’s, I can sense the team behind me swinging into action. Everyone knows about the contingency plan. We’ve practiced it. We’ve choreographed it. I glance round briefly to see Suze moving into place, while Ulla and Danny stand by her side, looking alert. They all know their briefs. In fact, there is only one brief, for everybody: Don’t let Cyndi turn round. Don’t let her see Rebecca.

“So, Cyndi!” Suze exclaims in animation. “How many children did you say you have?”

“You should choose some drawings to take home,” adds Ulla, holding up her sketchpad. “Have a look.”

“Oh, yes!” encourages Danny. “See this one of you in my jacket? Divine!”

“Goodness!” says Cyndi in delight. “May I really? Oh, I look so elegant….I only have one child,” she continues to Suze. “My one precious gift. And you? You have kids?”

Rebecca is standing in the far doorway now. Not moving, not waving, not speaking. Just standing, waiting to be noticed.

My eyes are fixed on Corey. He’s listening to Tarquin…he’s gazing absently up at the ceiling…he’s frowning with slight impatience….And then, as his gaze drifts past Tarkie, past Cyndi, his whole face jerks with horror.

OK. He’s seen her.

If I was hoping for a reaction, I’m not disappointed. His eyes have gone all starey. The color has drained from his cheeks. He looks like he’s in a nightmare. In fact, he looks so ill, I almost feel sorry for him, loathsome as he is. This man has tried so hard to airbrush out his past. He’s had a facelift. He’s lied about his age. He’s denied his friends. He doesn’t want the past to exist. But here it is, standing in front of him in a floaty purple dress and kohled eyes.

For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.

(I didn’t get this bit from Ocean’s Eleven. It’s from Love Actually. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it Becky Actually for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)

The first sign just says:

Hi, Corey.

She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:

Long time.

And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:

I’d love to meet your wife.

Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.

Chat with her about old times.

Or maybe that’s not such a good idea?

Corey’s face is rigid. He looks like he’s undergoing torture. Well, in a way, he is. And Rebecca’s loving it.

“And what about nurseries, or do you call them preschools here?” I can hear Suze asking Cyndi brightly. “Because it’s so hard to find places in the UK.”

“Tell me about it!” exclaims Cyndi, completely oblivious to the drama going on around her. “And you know, Peyton is super-talented, so…”

What about Brent’s settlement, Corey?

Rebecca practically brandishes the sign at him, then substitutes the next one.

You owe him.

YOU OWE HIM, COREY.

And now she’s writing an extra sign we didn’t agree on. She holds it up and her eyes glitter wickedly.

I could make your life a misery.

I would LOVE to make your life a misery.

Crikey. Well, that’s honest. I glance at Corey, and the veins are standing out on his forehead. His fists are clenched. He looks like he wants to attack her.

Just sign it and I’ll be out of your life.

Rebecca gives him a long, challenging gaze. Then she starts holding the signs up more and more quickly, almost as if she’s dealing cards.

Just sign it.

Just sign the settlement, Corey.

Do it.

Corey is breathing harder and harder. He looks like a man about to explode.

Just fucking DO IT.

DO IT, Corey.

DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!

“OK!” Corey suddenly erupts like a bull snorting. “OK! Let’s get this goddamn settlement done. Give me a pen. Let’s get it done.”

Oh my God. Did he just say—

I meet Rebecca’s eyes for a breathless moment. Have we done it? Have we won?

I think we’ve won.

Slowly, silently, Rebecca closes the double doors…and it’s as if she was never there.

“Marvelous!” says Luke smoothly. “Very kind of you, Corey. Shall we sort that out straightaway?”

“You OK, babe?” says Cyndi, looking away in surprise from Suze, Danny, and Ulla and surveying Corey. “Sweetheart, is something wrong? You look like you’re burning up!”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Corey gives her a fixed smile. “Just want to get this all wrapped up.”

“Good man,” says Dad, in cheerful tones. “Let’s go and find my legal colleagues.”

Without further delay, Dad ushers Corey toward the door. I catch his eye as he walks past and feel a weird bubble rising up inside me. But I’m not sure…Is it a bubble of relief? Hysteria? Disbelief?

As Cyndi babbles on about Peyton’s amazing ballet potential, I meet Suze’s eyes…then Mum’s…all round the room. Tarquin’s…Danny’s…Ulla’s…Elinor’s…and, last of all, Luke’s. He gives me a little grin and lifts his coffee cup to me as though in a toast. And I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. After all that. We’ve done it.

We’ve actually done it.