Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 20

We both start giggling. Tarkie probably has no idea who Lois Kellerton is, even.

“But it’s so weird,” Suze adds, her brow creased in thought. “I can’t believe it. Why would a big movie star like that steal socks?”

“I haven’t told you everything yet,” I say, and reach into my pocket. “Look what arrived at the hotel.”

I still can’t believe this happened. It was on the last day of our trip, when I was having a small private word with the front desk about the minibar bill. (I didn’t necessarily want Luke seeing how many Toblerones I’d eaten.) The concierge caught sight of me and said, “Ah, Mrs. Brandon, this has just arrived for you.”

It was a smart white package, and inside was a small silver box engraved with three words: Thank you Becky. There was no note. But I instantly knew who it was from. She must have tracked me down. Or I guess her people did.

Now I hand it to Suze, who turns it over in her fingers wonderingly.

“Wow,” she says at last. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

“So this is, like, a bribe.”

Bribe?

“It’s not a bribe!” I say, stung.

“No,” Suze backtracks at once. “Sorry. I didn’t mean ‘bribe.’ I meant—”

“It’s a thank-you,” I say defensively. “Look. It says, Thank you.”

“Exactly! That’s what I meant. A thank-you.” She nods several times, but now the word “bribe” is circling around my brain.

“Anyway, what was she like?” Suze demands. “What did she look like? What did she say?”

“Just thin, really. Stressed-out-looking. I hardly spoke to her.”

“She’s not in good shape, you know,” Suze says. “Apparently her latest movie is beset with problems. It’s millions over budget and the buzz isn’t good. She’s taken on the role of producer for the first time, but she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” Suze nods knowledgeably. “Insiders on set claim the star’s high-handed approach has made her enemies among the crew. No wonder she’s stressed out.”

I stare at Suze in astonishment. Has she memorized every single gossip magazine?

“Suze, how do you know all this stuff? Have you been watching Camberly on cable again?” I say severely.

Camberly is the hottest show in the States right now. Everyone is saying Camberly is the new Oprah, and her interviews get huge press every week, and they show them on E4 in England. Suze twisted her ankle a couple of weeks ago and she got totally addicted, especially to the gossip segment.

“Well, I’ve got to do something while my best friend is in L.A.!” says Suze, suddenly sounding disconsolate. “If I can’t go there, at least I can watch interviews about it.” She gives a gusty sigh. “Oh, Bex, I can’t believe you’re going to be in Hollywood and meet movie stars all the time and I’m stuck here. I’m so envious!”

“Envious?” I stare at her. “How can you be envious of me? You live in this place! It’s fantastic!”

Suze’s husband, Tarquin, is even grander than Suze, and when his grandfather died, they inherited this monster house, Letherby Hall. It’s seriously vast. They have guided tours and a ha-ha and everything. (To be honest, I’m still not sure which bit is the ha-ha. Maybe one of the twiddly bits on the roof?)

“But it isn’t sunny,” objects Suze. “And there aren’t any movie stars. And all we do is have endless meetings about repairing eighteenth-century moldings. I want to go to Hollywood. You know, I always wanted to be an actress. I played Juliet at drama school.” She sighs again. “I played Blanche DuBois. And now look at me.”

I’m always very tactful about Suze’s “drama school.” I mean, it wasn’t exactly RADA. It was the kind where your father pays huge fees and you spend the spring term at the school skiing chalet in Switzerland and no one actually goes into acting, because they’ve got a family business to inherit or something. But, still, I do feel for her. She is at a bit of a loose end, knocking around this massive house.

“Well, come out!” I say excitedly. “Go on, Suze, come to L.A.! Have a little holiday. We’d have such a laugh.”

“Oh …” Her face is torn a million ways. I can see exactly what she’s thinking. (This is why she’d make a brilliant actress, in fact.)

“Tarkie can come too,” I say, to forestall her objections. “And the children.”

“Maybe,” she says hesitantly. “Except we’re supposed to be focusing on business expansion this year. You know we’re starting weddings? And Tarkie wants to create a maze, and we’re revamping the tea rooms.…”