Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7)

Shopaholic to the Stars (Shopaholic #7) Page 79

I turn round, thinking hard. That’s the obvious option. The easy solution. I could text Elinor back. Tell her not to come; make some excuse. We’ll probably never see her again. But is that really what I want? Is that really for the best for all of us? For Luke? For Minnie?

Suze fixes the last hook in place. “There. Done.” Then she adds, “Or you could always say Minnie was ill,” she adds. “I do that all the time if I want to get out of things. Ernie’s had whooping cough about five times, poor little love—”

“I’m not going to cancel.” I’m feeling resolute. “Elinor and Luke have to sort things out, and I really think I can help them, and the longer I put it off, the harder it’ll be.”

“God help us.” Suze stares at me, incredulous. “You are going to stage an intervention.”

“Why not? I’m sure I can do it. With or without help,” I say pointedly.

“Who needs help?” comes Luke’s voice from the corridor, and I stiffen. I hastily turn off my phone and paste on a casual smile.

“Oh, hi!” I say brightly as he comes in, all smart in black tie. “Just talking about … kettlebells.”

“Marvelous,” says Luke, shooting me an odd look. “What is a kettlebell? I keep hearing about them.”

“It’s an exercise device,” I improvise. “It’s modeled on a kettle. And a bell, obviously. Both. So, what time shall we leave?” I add hurriedly.

“Oh God, is that the time?” Suze suddenly sounds fractious. “Where’s Tarkie?”

“Haven’t seen him.” Luke glances at his watch. “We’ll need to go in about twenty minutes.”

Luke wasn’t originally intending to come to the ASAs, but then Sage announced she wanted to go, and her whole entourage had to come too. Apparently she wanted to bring a monkey as a publicity stunt, and Luke had to talk her out of it. A monkey! Imagine if it made a mess everywhere.

Now Luke’s eye has fallen on a shiny cardboard carrier bag lying on the bed, out of which is poking a diamanté-encrusted clutch.

“Another bag, Becky?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought the bag you bought at the weekend was so perfect you would use it forever and it would be your signature look and people would call you the Girl with the Lara Bohinc Bag?”

I feel a dart of righteous indignation. Husbands should not memorize conversations, word for word. It’s against the whole spirit of marriage. But in this case I don’t mind, because whatever he’s thinking, he’s wrong.

“That clutch isn’t for me. I bought it in my role as stylist. It’s tax-deductible,” I add smartly.

I don’t actually know if that’s true, but it must be, surely?

“Right. Of course. The styling.” Luke looks quizzical. “How’s that going, then?”

“Great!” I say robustly. “Lots of potential. Lots of irons in the fire.”

Luke sighs. “Becky, sweetheart, I wish you’d let me help you. I’m sure I could get you a couple of introductions—”

“I don’t need your help!” I reply, stung. “I’m on the case.”

This is why I don’t want to mention Lois Kellerton yet. I want to show him. The bag’s for Lois, of course. It’s a one-off from a vintage shop and has an Art Deco design that I think she’ll love. Lately, Lois has taken to wearing really subtle, muted shades, which is all very well, but I think she needs to “pop” more, and this bag will be perfect. Especially against all that lovely dark hair. I’m planning to give it to her tonight, as an icebreaker, and hopefully we can take things from there.

“Where is he?” Suze is tapping at her phone. “Honestly, this bloody Golden Peace …” She shoots me an accusing look, which is totally unfair. “I told him to get back in good time,” she mutters as she presses SEND. “He totally loses track of time. What’s he doing?”

I know Suze thinks Tarkie attends Golden Peace far too much. But she’s prejudiced. The truth is, Tarkie is having a brilliant time hanging out with his volleyball gang, being one of the guys. No one pesters him about listed gables or investments in South Africa. Nor do they keep trying to pitch him movie ideas, because that kind of thing is totally banned at Golden Peace. I think it’s the first place he’s ever been where he’s just him. Tarkie. The person.

From outside comes the sound of car doors slamming. A moment later I hear the front door opening and closing, followed by footsteps in the hall. There we go. I knew Tarkie would turn up.