And lastly to the people who’ve been there all the way through: Henry, Freddy, and Hugo, and the purple posse. You know who you are.
Coming in 2004
an all-new
Sophie Kinsella
adventure
introducing her latest hilarious heroine
EMMA CORRIGAN
who has a few secrets . . .
Of course I have secrets.
Everyone has a few secrets. I’m not talking about big, earth-shattering secrets. Not the-president-is-planning-to-bomb-Japan-and-only-Will-Smith-can-save-the-world type secrets.
Just normal, everyday little ones. Like, for example, here are a few random secrets of mine, off the top of my head:
1. My Kate Spade bag is a fake.
2. I love sweet sherry, the least cool drink in the universe.
3. I have no idea what NATO stands for. Or even what it is.
EMMA CORRIGAN HAS SECRETS
FROM HER BOYFRIEND . . .
4. I weigh one hundred and twenty-eight pounds. Not one eighteen, like Connor thinks.
5. I’ve always thought Connor looks a bit like Ken. As in Barbie and Ken.
6. Sometimes, when we’re right in the middle of passionate sex, I suddenly want to laugh.
EMMA CORRIGAN HAS SECRETS
FROM HER COLLEAGUES . . .
7. When Artemis really annoys me, I feed her plant orange juice. (Which is pretty much every day.)
8. It was me who jammed the copier that time. In fact, all the times.
9. Just sometimes, when I’m reading Marketing Week at my desk, I really have Entertainment Weekly inside.
EMMA CORRIGAN HAS SECRETS
FROM HER PARENTS . . .
10. I lost my virginity in the spare bedroom with Danny Nussbaum, while Mum and Dad were downstairs watching Ben-Hur.
11. I’ve already drunk the wine that Dad toldme to lay down for twenty years.
12. The goldfish in the kitchen isn’t the same one Mum and Dad gave me to look after when they went to Egypt.
EMMA CORRIGAN HAS SECRETS SHE WOULD NEVER SHARE WITH ANYBODY . . .
13. My G-string is hurting me.
14. I’ve always had this deep-down conviction that I’m not like everybody else, and there’s an amazingly exciting new life waiting for me just around the corner.
15. I often have no idea what people are talking about. None whatsoever . . .
UNTIL SHE SPILLS THEM ALL TO A STRANGER ON A PLANE . . .
The plane suddenly drops down again, and I give an involuntary shriek. “We’re going to die!” I stare into his face. This could be the last person I ever see alive. I take in the lines etched around his dark eyes, his strong jaw, shaded with stubble.
“I don’t think we’re going to die,” he says. But he’s gripping hard onto his seat arms, too. “They said it was just turbulence—”
“Of course they did!” I can hear the hysteria in my voice. “They wouldn’t exactly say, ‘OK, folks, that’s it, you’re all goners!’” The plane gives another terrifying swoop and I find myself clutching the man’s hand in panic. “We’re not going to make it. I know we’re not. This is it. I’m twenty-five years old, for God’s sake, I’m not ready to die. I haven’t achieved anything. I’ve never had children, I’ve never saved a life . . .” My eyes fall randomly on the “30 Things to Do Before You’re 30” magazine article in front of me. “I haven’t ever climbed a mountain; I haven’t got a tattoo; I don’t even know if I’ve got a G spot . . .”
“I’m sorry?” says the man, sounding taken aback, but I barely hear him.
“I’m not a top businesswoman!” I gesture half tearfully to my suit. “I’m just a crappy assistant and I just had my first-ever big meeting and it was a total disaster. I don’t know what logistical means, and I’ve never read a Dickens novel, and my underwear’s too small, and I owe my dad four thousand quid, and I’ve never really been in love . . .”
AT LEAST, SHE THOUGHT HE WAS A STRANGER . . .
So this is the new big boss. The guy in the baseball cap turns, and as I see his face I feel an almighty thud, as though a bowling ball’s landed hard in my chest. Oh my God. It’s him. The same dark eyes. The same lines etched around them. The stubble’s gone, but it’s definitely him. It’s the man from the plane—the man I told all my secrets to. What’s he doing here at the office? And . . . and why has he got everyone’s attention? He’s speaking now, and everyone is lapping up every word he says. He turns again, and I instinctively duck back out of sight, trying to keep calm. What’s he doing here? He can’t— That can’t be— That can’t possibly be. If this is the new mega-boss, I’m in big, big trouble . . .
CAN YOU KEEP
A SECRET?
THE NEW NOVEL COMING FROM
Sophie Kinsella
The trouble with telling
secrets is . . . you can’t get
them back
And don’t miss the novel that introduced the fabulous Becky Bloomwood!
Becky Bloomwood has everything: a fabulous flat in London’s trendiest neighborhood, a troupe of glamorous socialite friends, and a closet brimming with the season’s must-haves. The only problem is that she can’t actually afford it—not any of it. Her job as a financial journalist not only bores her to tears, it doesn’t pay much at all. And lately, Becky’s been chased by dismal letters from Visa and the Endwich Bank—letters with large red sums she can’t bear to read—and they’re getting ever harder to ignore. She tries cutting back; she even tries making more money. But none of her efforts succeeds. Becky’s only consolation is to buy herself something . . . just a little something . . .
Finally a story arises that Becky actually cares about, and her front-page article catalyzes a chain of events that will transform her life—and the lives of those around her—forever.
Sophie Kinsella brilliantly taps into our collective consumer conscience to deliver a novel of our times—and a heroine who grows stronger every time she weakens. Becky Bloomwood’s hysterical schemes to pay back her debts are as endearing as they are desperate. Her “confessions” are the perfect pick-me-up when life is hanging in the (bank) balance.
“Packing Light” takes on a whole new meaning
“This expensive, glossy world is where I’ve been headed all along. Limos and flowers; waxed eyebrows and designer clothes from Barneys. These are my people; this is where I’m meant to be.”
—Becky Bloomwood.
With her shopping excesses (somewhat) in check and her career as a TV financial guru thriving, Becky’s biggest problem seems to be tearing her entrepreneur boyfriend, Luke, away from work for a romantic country weekend. And worse, figuring out how to “pack light.” But packing takes on a whole new meaning when Luke announces he’s moving to New York for business—and asks Becky to go with him! Before you can say “Prada sample sale,” Becky has landed in the Big Apple, home of Park Avenue penthouses and luxury department stores. Surely it’s only a matter of time until she becomes an American TV celebrity, and she and Luke are the toast of Gotham society. Nothing can stand in their way, especially with Becky’s bills miles away in London. But then an unexpected disaster threatens her career prospects, her relationship with Luke, and her available credit line! Shopaholic Takes Manhattan—but will she have to return it?
Also by Sophie Kinsella
CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC
SHOPAHOLIC TAKES MANHATTAN
SHOPAHOLIC & SISTER
SHOPAHOLIC & SISTER
A Dial Press Book / October 2004
Published by The Dial Press
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Sophie Kinsella
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.
The Dial Press is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kinsella, Sophie.
Shopaholic & sister / Sophie Kinsella.
p. cm.
1. Bloomwood, Becky (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Married women—Fiction. 3. Shopping—Fiction. 4. Sisters—Fiction. I. Title:
Shopaholic and sister. II. Title.
PR6073.I246S56 2004
823′.92—dc22
2004050201
Visit our website at www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-440-33514-6
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
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Acknowledgments
Also by Sophie Kinsella
To Gemma and Abigail, in celebration of being sisters.
DICTIONARY OF
INTERNATIONAL TRIBAL DIALECTS
ADDENDUM
(The following terms were mistakenly omitted from
the main dictionary.)
NAMI-NAMI TRIBE OF NEW GUINEA, p. 67
fraa (“frar”): elder tribesman; patriarch
mopi (“mop-i”): a small ladle for serving rice or meal
shup (“shop”): to exchange goods for money or beads. A concept unknown by the tribe until a visit in 2002 by British tourist Rebecca Brandon (formerly Bloomwood)
ROYAL CAIRO INSTITUTE OF ARCHAEOLOGY
31 El Cherifeen Street
Cairo
Mrs. Rebecca Brandon
c/o Nile Hilton Hotel
Tahrir Square
Cairo
January 15, 2003
Dear Mrs. Brandon
I am glad you are enjoying your honeymoon in Cairo. I was pleased to hear that you feel a bond with the Egyptian people and agree it is quite possible that you have Egyptian blood in you.
I also welcome your interest in the museum’s jewelry display. However, further to your inquiry, the “sweet little ring” you refer to is not for sale. It once belonged to Queen Sobeknefu of the 12th Dynasty and, I can assure you, would be missed.
I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.
Yours sincerely,
Khaled Samir
Director
TOWER HOUSE
CANARY WHARF
LONDON E14 5HG
Fax for: Mrs Rebecca Brandon
c/o Four Seasons Hotel
Sydney
Australia
From: Denise O’Connor
Customer Service Coordinator
6 February 2003
Dear Mrs Brandon:
We are sorry to inform you that your Bondi Beach “carved sand mermaid” has disintegrated during shipping.
We would remind you that we made no guarantees as to its safety and advised you against the shipping process.
Yours sincerely,
Denise O’Connor
Customer Service Coordinator
Alaskan Trails and Adventures, Inc.
PO BOX 80034
CHUGIAK, AK 99567
FAX FOR: Mrs. Rebecca Brandon
c/o White Bear Lodge
Chugiak
FROM: Dave Crockerdale
Alaskan Trails and Adventures
February 16, 2003
Dear Rebecca:
Thank you for your inquiry.
I would strongly advise you against attempting to ship to Britain six husky dogs and a sleigh.
I agree that husky dogs are wonderful animals and am interested in your idea that they could be the answer to pollution in cities. However, I think it unlikely the authorities would allow them on the streets of London, even if you did “customize the sleigh with wheels and add a numberplate.”
I hope you are still enjoying your honeymoon.
Kind regards,
Dave Crockerdale
Trail Manager
One
OK. I can do this. No problem.
It’s simply a matter of letting my higher self take over, achieving enlightenment, and becoming a radiant being of white light.
Easy-peasy.
Surreptitiously I adjust myself on my yoga mat so I’m facing the sun directly, and push down the spaghetti straps of my top. I don’t see why you can’t reach ultimate-bliss consciousness and get an even tan at the same time.
I’m sitting on a hillside in the middle of Sri Lanka at the Blue Hills Resort and Spiritual Retreat, and the view is spectacular. Hills and tea plantations stretch ahead, then merge into a deep blue sky. I can see the bright colors of tea pickers in the fields, and if I swivel my head a little, I can glimpse a distant elephant padding slowly along between the bushes.
And when I turn my head still further, I can see Luke. My husband. He’s the one on the blue yoga mat, in the cutoff linen trousers and tatty old top, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.
I know. It’s just unbelievable. After ten months of honeymoon, Luke has turned into a totally different person from the man I married. The old corporate Luke has vanished. The suits have disappeared. He’s tanned and lean, his hair is long and sun-bleached, and he’s still got a few of the little plaits he had put in on Bondi Beach. Round his wrist is a beaded bracelet he got in Tanzania, and in his ear is a tiny silver hoop.
Luke Brandon with an earring! Luke Brandon sitting cross-legged!
As though he can feel my gaze, he opens his eyes and smiles, and I beam back happily. Ten months married. And not a single row.
Well. You know. Only the odd little one.
“Siddhasana,” says our yoga teacher, Chandra. He’s a tall, thin man in baggy white yoga trousers, and he always speaks in a soft, patient voice. “Clear your minds of all extraneous thought.”
Around me I’m aware of the eight or nine others in the group moving into position on their mats. Obediently I place my right foot on my left thigh.
OK. Clear my mind. Concentrate.
I don’t want to boast, but I find clearing my mind pretty easy. I don’t quite get why anyone would find it difficult! I mean, not thinking has to be a lot easier than thinking, doesn’t it?
In fact, the truth is, I’m a bit of a natural at yoga. We’ve only been on this retreat for five days but already I can do the Lotus and everything! I was even thinking I might set up as a yoga teacher when we go back home.
Maybe I could set up a partnership with Trudie Styler, I think in sudden excitement. God, yes! And we could launch a range of yoga wear, too, all soft grays and whites, with a little logo—
“Focus on your breathing,” Chandra is saying.
Oh, right. Yes. Breathing.
Breathe in . . . breathe out. Breathe in . . . breathe out. Breathe—
God, my nails look fab. I had them done at the spa—little pink butterflies on a white background. And the antennae are little diamonds. They are so sweet. Except one seems to have fallen off. I must get that fixed�
��
“Becky.” Chandra’s voice makes me jump. He’s standing right there, gazing at me with this look he has. Kind of gentle and all-knowing, like he can see right inside your mind.
“You do very well, Becky,” he says. “You have a beautiful spirit.”
I feel a sparkle of delight all over. I, Rebecca Brandon, née Bloomwood, have a beautiful spirit! I knew it!
“You have an unworldly soul,” he adds in his soft voice, and I stare back, totally mesmerized.
“Material possessions aren’t important to me,” I say breathlessly. “All that matters to me is yoga.”
“You have found your path.” Chandra smiles.
There’s an odd kind of snorting sound coming from Luke’s direction, and I look round to see him looking over at us in amusement.
I knew Luke wasn’t taking this seriously.
“This is a private conversation between me and my guru, thank you very much,” I say crossly.
Although, actually, I shouldn’t be surprised. We were warned about this on the first day of the yoga course. Apparently, when one partner finds higher spiritual enlightenment, the other partner can react with skepticism and even jealousy.
“Soon you will be walking on the hot coals.” Chandra gestures with a smile to the nearby pit of smoldering ashy coals, and a nervous laugh goes round the group. This evening Chandra and some of his top yoga students are going to demonstrate walking on the coals for the rest of us. This is what we’re all supposed to be aiming for. Apparently, you attain a state of bliss so great, you can’t actually feel the coals burning your feet. You’re totally pain free!
What I’m secretly hoping is that it’ll work when I wear six-inch stilettos, too.
Chandra adjusts my arms and moves on, and I close my eyes, letting the sun warm my face. Sitting here on this hillside in the middle of nowhere, I feel so pure and calm. It’s not just Luke who’s changed over the last ten months. I have too. I’ve grown up. My priorities have altered. In fact, I’m a different person. I mean, look at me now, doing yoga at a spiritual retreat. My old friends probably wouldn’t even recognize me!
Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle Page 99