“That's great!” I say. “I mean . . .” I clear my throat. “Right. I see.” I scribble some nonsense in my notepad. “So—how much time are you going to be spending in New York, exactly?” I add in a businesslike manner. “For my notes, you understand.”
“Absolutely,” says Luke, matching my tone. “Well, I'll be wanting to keep a significant presence in Britain. So I'll be here for two weeks a month. At least, that's the idea at the moment. It may be more, it may be less.” There's a long pause and his dark eyes meet mine. “It all depends.”
“On . . . on what?” I say, scarcely able to breathe.
“On . . . various things.”
There's a still silence between us.
“You seem very settled, Becky,” says Luke quietly. “Very . . . together.”
“I'm enjoying it, yes.”
“You look as though you're flourishing.” He looks around with a little smile. “This environment suits you. Which I suppose comes as no great surprise . . .”
“Do you think I took this job just because I like shopping?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Do you think this is just about . . . shoes and nice clothes? Because if that's really what you think, then I'm afraid you're sadly misguided.”
“That's not what I—”
“It's far more than that. Far more.” I spread my arms in an emphatic gesture. “It's about helping people. It's about being creative. It's about—”
A knock at the door interrupts me, and Erin pops her head in.
“Sorry to bother you, Becky. Just to let you know, I've put aside those Donna Karan mules you wanted. In the taupe and the black, right?”
“Erm . . . yes,” I say hurriedly. “Yes, that's fine.”
“Oh, and Accounts called, to say that takes you up to your discount limit for this month.”
“Right,” I say, avoiding Luke's amused gaze. “Right. Thanks. I'll . . . I'll deal with that later.” And I wait for Erin to leave, but she's gazing with frank curiosity at Luke.
“So, how are you doing?” she says to him brightly. “Have you had a chance to look around the store?”
“I don't need to look,” says Luke in a deadpan voice. “I know what I want.”
My stomach gives a little flip, and I stare straight down at my notebook, pretending to make more notes. Scribbling any old rubbish.
“Oh right!” says Erin. “And what's that?”
There's a long silence, and eventually I can't bear it anymore, I have to look up. As I see Luke's expression, my heart starts to thud.
“I've been reading your literature,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a leaflet entitled The Personal Shopping Service: For busy people who need some help and can't afford to make mistakes.
He pauses, and my hand tightens around my pen.
“I've made mistakes,” he says, frowning slightly. “I want to right those mistakes and not make them again. I want to listen to someone who knows me.”
“Why come to Barneys?” I say in a trembling voice.
“There's only one person whose advice I trust.” His gaze meets mine and I feel a small tremor. “If she doesn't want to give it, I don't know what I'm going to do.”
“We have Frank Walsh over in menswear,” says Erin helpfully. “I'm sure he'd—”
“Shut up, Erin,” I say, without moving my head.
“What do you think, Becky?” he says, moving toward me. “Would you be interested?”
For a few moments I don't answer. I'm trying to gather all the thoughts I've had over the last couple of months. To organize my words into exactly what I want to say.
“I think . . .” I say at last, “I think the relationship between a shopper and a client is a very close one.”
“That's what I was hoping,” says Luke.
“There has to be respect.” I swallow. “There can't be canceled appointments. There can't be sudden business meetings that take priority.”
“I understand,” says Luke. “If you were to take me on, I can assure you that you would always come first.”
“The client has to realize that sometimes the shopper knows best. And . . . and never just dismiss her opinion. Even when he thinks it's just gossip, or . . . or mindless tittle-tattle.”
I catch a glimpse of Erin's confused face, and suddenly want to giggle.
“The client has already realized that,” says Luke. “The client is humbly prepared to listen and be put right. On most matters.”
“All matters,” I retort at once.
“Don't push your luck,” says Luke, his eyes flashing with amusement, and I feel an unwilling grin spread across my face. I catch Erin's eye and with a sudden blush of comprehension, she hurries out, leaving us alone.
As the door closes, Luke and I stare at each other. My throat is suddenly tight with emotion.
“Well, Mr. Brandon . . .” I say at last. I clear my throat and doodle consideringly on my notepad. “I suppose ‘most' would be acceptable. In the circumstances.”
“So.” His eyes are warm and tender. “Is that a yes, Becky? Will you be my . . . personal shopper?”
He takes a step forward, and I'm almost touching him. I can smell his familiar scent. Oh God, I've missed him.
“Yes,” I say happily. “Yes, I will.”
FROM: Gildenstein, Lalla [L. [email protected]]
TO: Bloomwood, Becky [[email protected]]
DATE: Wednesday, January 28, 2001, 8:22 a.m.
SUBJECT: HELP! URGENT!
* * *
Becky:
Help! Help! I lost your list. I have a big formal dinner tonight with some new Japanese clients. My Armani is at the cleaners. What should I wear? Please e-mail back soonest.
Thanks, you are an angel.
Lalla.
P.S.: I heard your news–congratulations!
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Apt. 4D
418 W. 46th Street
New York
January 30, 2001
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
New Account No.: 4567 2346 7689
Welcome to Second Union Bank! We are sure you will be happy with the wide range of banking services we can provide.
We at Second Union Bank pride ourselves on our highly individual approach to clients. May I invite you now to contact me personally at any time if there is anything I can help you with. No matter is too small for my attention.
Thank you for choosing Second Union Bank, and I am sure this is the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.
With kind regards.
Yours sincerely,
Walt Pitman
Head of Customer Services
Acknowledgments
HUGEST THANKS to Susan Kamil and Zoë Rice for their help and encouragement, to Nita Taublib and everyone at The Dial Press, who made me so incredibly welcome in New York, and again to Zoë for a wonderful afternoon of research (shopping and eating chocolate). Special thanks as always to Araminta Whitley, Celia Hayley, Mark Lucas, Kim Witherspoon and David Forrer, and all at Transworld. Also to David Stefanou for the gimlets and Sharyn Soleimani at Barneys who was so kind, and to all the people who have given me ideas, advice, and inspiration along the way, in particular Athena Malpas, Lola Bubbosh, Mark Malley, Ana-Maria Mosley, and all my family. And of course, Henry, who has the best ideas.
Also by Sophie Kinsella
CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC
SHOPAHOLIC TIES THE KNOT
SHOPAHOLIC TIES THE KNOT
A Delta Book/March 2003
Published by
Bantam Dell
A division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
All rights reserved
Copyright ©2003 by Sophie Kinsella
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kinsella, Sophie.
Shopaholic ties the knot / Sophie Kinsella.
p. cm.
1. Bloomwood, Becky (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2.
British—New York (State)—Fiction. 3. Manhattan (New York, N.Y.)—
Fiction. 4. Young women—Fiction. 5. Shopping—Fiction.
6. Weddings—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6061.I54 S57 2003
823'.92—dc21 2002073789
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Delta® is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon
is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Visit out website at www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-440-33442-2
v3.0
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Can You Keep a Secret?
Also by Sophie Kinsella
For Abigail,
who would have found
the brilliant solution in a flash
November 7, 2001
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
Apt. B
251 W. 11th Street
New York, NY 10014
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
New Joint Account No.: 5039 2566 2319
We are pleased to confirm your new joint bank account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon, and enclose explanatory documentation. A debit card will be sent to you under separate cover.
We at Second Union Bank continually pride ourselves on our highly individual approach to clients. Please contact me personally at any time if you have a query, and I will help in any way I can. No matter is too small for my attention.
With kind regards.
Yours sincerely,
Walt Pitman
Director of Customer Relations
December 12, 2001
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
Apt. B
251 W. 11th Street
New York, NY 10014
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
Thank you for your letter of December 9 regarding your joint account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon. I agree the relationship between bank and client should be one of friendship and cooperation, and in answer to your question, my favorite color is red.
I regret, however, I am unable to reword entries on your forthcoming statement as you request. The particular debit item you refer to will appear on your next statement as “Prada, New York.” It cannot be changed to “Gas bill.”
Yours sincerely,
Walt Pitman
Director of Customer Relations
January 7, 2002
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
Apt. B
251 W. 11th Street
New York, NY 10014
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
Thank you for your letter of January 4 regarding your joint account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon, and for the chocolates, which I must return. I agree it is difficult to keep tabs on every tiny purchase, and was sorry to hear that “the odd little misunderstanding” had arisen between you.
Unfortunately, it is impossible to split the statement into half as you suggest, sending half to yourself and half to Mr. Brandon and “keeping it our little secret.” All income and outgoings are itemized jointly.
That is why it is called a joint account.
Yours sincerely,
Walt Pitman
Director of Customer Relations
One
OK. DON’T PANIC. The answer will come to me any minute. I just have to think hard about what marriage is all about. It’s about love, obviously. And companionship, and mutual support. And . . . soup?
My eye rests on a huge antique silver tureen, complete with ladle. Now, that would make a perfect wedding gift. I can just see it: Suze and Tarquin sitting by the fire, ladling soup into each other’s bowls. It’ll be all lovely and domestic and heartwarming, and every time they drink soup they’ll think of me.
Perhaps I could even have it engraved. “To my best friends Suze and Tarquin on their wedding day with love and affection from Becky.” And a little poem, maybe.
Mind you, engraving is quite expensive. I’d better check how much it would all come to.
“Excuse me, how much is this soup tureen?” I say, turning to Arthur Graham, who is the owner of Graham’s Antiques. This shop has to be one of my favorites in the West Village. It’s small and intimate like someone’s home, and everywhere you turn, there’s something you might want. Like that fantastic carved chair, and a hand-painted velvet throw, and that amazing grandfather clock over in the corner . . .
“The tureen?” Arthur comes over, dapper in his jacket and tie. “This is very special. Eighteenth-century silver. Exquisite craftsmanship. You see this detail on the rim?”
“Beautiful!” I look obediently.
“And it’s priced at . . .” He consults a little book. “Four thousand dollars.”
“Oh, right.” My smile falters, and I carefully put the ladle back. “Thanks. I’ll . . . keep looking.”
So maybe marriage isn’t about soup. Maybe it’s about . . . chess? I run my hand over a beautiful old chess set, all set up as though a game’s in progress. But I’m not sure Suze knows how to play chess.
A clock? No.
A . . . an antique barometer?
Oh God, I’m really clutching at straws here. I can’t believe it’s Suze’s wedding in two days and I still haven’t got her and Tarquin a present. Or at least, not one I can actually give them. Months ago I bought them this gorgeous picnic hamper, filled with picnicware, a champagne cooler, really cool knives and forks, and even a rug. It took me ages to choose all the stuff, and I was so pleased with it. But Suze phoned last night to check what time we’d be arriving, and told me her aunt had just given her a fantastic present—a picnic hamper filled with Conran tableware!
Well, no way am I giving Suze the same present as someone else. So here I am in the only place I can think of where I’ll find something unique. Except . . . what? She hasn’t registered for gifts, because she says she hates the idea of asking people for things. And anyway, I’d never just get her some boring set of plates off a list. Suze is my best friend, and I’m going to be her bridesmaid, and my present has to be something really special.
I can feel myself starting to get anxious. OK, just think laterally. What do Suze and Tarquin enjoy doing?
“Do you have any horse saddles?” I ask in sudden inspiration. “Or . . . bridles?”
“Not at the moment.”
Oh well. Anyway, I’d have to get two, wouldn’t I? And they probably wouldn’t even fit the horses properly . . .
A carved music stand? Except how would I get it home on the plane? And anyway, neither of them plays an instrument. A marble bust of Abraham Lincoln? A picture of . . .
Hang on a minute. I push the bust of Lincoln aside and look carefully at the old trunk he’s been resting on. Now that’s rather nice. In fact it’s very nice. I undo the straps and gently lift the lid, inhaling the smell of old leather.
Wow. This is stunning. All pale silk and leather straps, and a mirror, and little compartments to put your cuff links in. Suze will adore this, I know she will. She can use it to keep jumpers in and whe
n she and Tarquin go on a cruise a porter can wheel it up the ramp for her and she’ll look all glamorous and film-star-like.
And the point is, even if someone else gives them a suitcase or something, one of my great maxims of life is: you can never have too much luggage.
“How much is this trunk?” I ask Arthur Graham a little nervously. Please don’t let it be $10,000—
“We’ve had that awhile.” He frowns at it. “I could let you have it for . . . three hundred.”
“Perfect.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ll take it.”
Mission accomplished! I’ve got Suze’s wedding present! Thank goodness for that. Now all I need is my bridesmaid’s dress, and I’m there.
“It’s Miss Bloomwood, isn’t it?” says Arthur, opening a large leather-bound notebook. “I’m sure we have your address . . . And yes. Here it is.” He smiles at me. “Is that all for today?”
I don’t need anything else. I don’t even need to look around the rest of the shop.
“Um . . . Well.” Idly I glance around again. It’s always a good idea to have your eyes open when you’re in antique shops, because there are some really good bargains out there. And it’s all a good investment. I mean, this is how some people make their money.
Through the door to the back room I see the corner of a lace shawl, and feel a tug of desire. Antique shawls are so in at the moment. And since I’m buying the trunk, it occurs to me, Arthur might give it to me for half price. Or maybe even for free!
Oh, come on. I’ll just have a quick look. But only at very small things, because I’ve promised Luke no more furniture.
“I’ll have a bit of a browse.” I smile back at Arthur. “Thanks.”
I head happily into the back room and reach for the lace shawl, but close up it looks a bit ragged. I put it down again and pick up a cocktail shaker. This is nice. Maybe I should get it for Suze as well.
“This is cool!” I beam at Arthur, who has followed me in.
“It’s fun, isn’t it?” he agrees. “It goes with the 1930s cocktail cabinet.”
“Cocktail cabinet?” I echo, feeling prickles of interest. “I didn’t see a—”
Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle Page 63