Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle

by Sophie Kinsella

  Luke and his senior people held a quick celebration/strategy meeting, which I sat in on. At first they were all saying things like “The work starts here” and “We need to recruit” and “There are huge challenges ahead.” But then Luke suddenly exclaimed, “Fuck it. Let’s party. We’ll think about the challenges tomorrow.”

  So he got his assistant on the phone to some caterers, and at five o’clock loads of guys in black aprons appeared in the offices with more champagne, and canapés arranged on cool Perspex boxes. All the employees piled into the biggest conference room, and there was music on the sound system, and Luke made a little speech in which he said it was a great day for Brandon C, and well done, and everyone cheered.

  And now a few of us are going out to dinner for another celebration! I’m in Luke’s office redoing my makeup, and he’s changing into a fresh shirt.

  “Congratulations,” I say for the millionth time. “It’s fantastic.”

  “It’s a good day.” Luke grins at me, doing up his cuffs. “This could pave the way for a lot.”

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Ditto.” Luke’s face suddenly softens. He comes over and wraps his arms round me. “I know I’ve been distracted lately. And I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” I say, looking down. “And I’m . . . I’m sorry I sold the clocks.”

  “That doesn’t matter!” Luke strokes my hair. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. What with coming home . . . your sister . . .”

  “Yes, well,” I say at once. “Let’s not think about her. Let’s think about us. The future.” I pull his head down and kiss him. “It’s all going to be great.”

  For a while we’re both quiet. But in a good way. It’s just us, in each other’s arms, relaxed and content and together, like we used to be on our honeymoon. I feel a great swell of relief. Mum was so right! That First Big Row totally cleared the air! We’re closer than ever!

  “I love you,” I murmur.

  “I love you.” Luke kisses my nose. “We should get going.”

  “OK. I’ll go down and see if the car’s here yet.”

  I head along the corridor, floating on a cloud of joy. Everything’s perfect. Everything! As I pass the caterers’ trays, I pick up a glass of champagne and take a few sips. Maybe we’ll go dancing tonight. After dinner. When everyone else has gone home, Luke and I will go on to a club and celebrate properly, just the two of us.

  I trip happily down the stairs, still holding my glass, and open the door into reception. Then I stop, puzzled. A few yards away, a thin-faced guy in a chalk-striped suit is talking to Janet, the receptionist. He seems kind of familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place him. . . .

  Yes. I can.

  It’s that guy from Milan. The one who carried Nathan Temple’s bags out of the shop. What’s he doing here?

  Cautiously I take a few steps forward so I can hear their conversation.

  “So, Mr. Brandon’s not ill?” he’s saying.

  Oh no.

  I retreat behind a door and slam it shut. What do I do now?

  I take a gulp of champagne to calm my nerves—and then another. A couple of guys from IT saunter past and give me an odd look, and I smile gaily back.

  OK. I can’t cower behind this door forever. I inch my head above the glass panel in the door until I can see into reception—and thank God. Chalk-stripe guy has gone. With a whoosh of relief I push the door open and stride nonchalantly into the reception area.

  “Hi!” I say casually to Janet, who’s typing busily on her computer. “Who was that just now? That man talking to you.”

  “Oh, him! He works for a man called . . . Nathan Temple?”

  “Right. And . . . what did he want?”

  “It was weird!” she says, pulling a face. “He kept asking if Luke was ‘better.’ ”

  “And what did you tell him?” I say, trying to depress the tone of urgency in my voice.

  “Well, I said he’s fine, of course! Never better!” She laughs gaily, then as she sees my face she suddenly stops typing. “Oh my God. He isn’t fine, is he?”

  “What?”

  “That was a doctor, wasn’t it?” She leans forward, looking stricken. “You can tell me, Becky. Did Luke catch some tropical disease while you were away?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “Is it his heart, then? His kidneys?” Her eyes are watering. “You know . . . I lost my dear aunt this year. It really hasn’t been easy for me. . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, flustered. “But honestly, don’t worry! Luke’s fine! Everything’s fine, it’s all fine. . . .”

  I glance up—and the words wither on my lips.

  Please, no.

  This can’t be happening.

  Nathan Temple himself is walking into the building.

  He’s bigger and more barrel-chested than I remember, and is wearing the same leather-trimmed coat he was wearing in Milan. He exudes power and money and a smell of cigars. And his sharp blue eyes are looking right at me.

  “Well, hello,” he says in his Cockney rasp. “Mrs. Brandon. We meet again.”

  “Hell-Hello!” I say. “Gosh! What a . . . lovely surprise!”

  “Still enjoying the bag?” He smiles briefly.

  “Er . . . yes! It’s fab!”

  I have to get him out of here. I have to get him out of here.

  “I’ve come to talk about my hotel with your husband,” he says pleasantly. “Will that be possible?”

  “Right!” I swallow. “Of course. Great! The only thing is, Luke’s a bit tied up, unfortunately. But would you like a drink? We could go to a bar . . . have a really nice chat. . . . You could tell me all about it. . . .”

  Yes. Genius. I’ll hustle him out . . . buy him a few drinks. . . . Luke will never know. . . .

  “I don’t mind waiting,” he says, easing his huge frame down into a leather chair. “If you’ll let him know I’m here.” There’s a glint in his eyes. “I gather he’s recovered from his illness?”

  “Yes! He’s . . . he’s a lot better! Thanks for the flowers!”

  I glance at Janet, who’s been following this exchange in confusion.

  “Shall I ring up and tell Luke?” she says, reaching for the phone.

  “No! I mean . . . don’t worry! I’ll pop up myself,” I say, my voice shrill.

  I start walking toward the lifts. OK. I can still deal with this. I get Luke out of the building the back way by telling him somebody’s spilled water on the foyer floor and it’s really slippery. Yes. And we get in the car . . . then I pretend I’ve forgotten something, and I go back to Nathan Temple, and I say—

  “Becky?”

  I leap about ten feet and look up. Luke is coming down the stairs, two steps at a time. His face is glowing and he’s putting on his coat.

  “So, is the car here yet?” He peers at my frozen expression in surprise. “Sweetheart . . . are you all right?”

  Or I could tell Luke everything.

  When this is over, I promise myself, I will never tell him a lie again. I will be honest and straight and truthful. Plus I will learn to make waffles.

  “Er . . . Luke?” I manage at last.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s . . . there’s something I have to tell you.” I swallow hard. “I should have told you ages ago, but . . . I didn’t . . . and I was dealing with it, but—”

  Suddenly I realize that Luke isn’t listening to a word. His eyes are darkening as they focus beyond me, on Nathan Temple.

  “Is that—” He shakes his head in disbelief. “What’s he doing here? I thought Gary was getting rid of him.”

  “Luke—”

  “Hold on, Becky. This is important.” He pulls out his phone and taps in a number. “Gary,” he says in low tones. “What’s Nathan Temple doing in our foyer? You were supposed to be dealing with it.”

  “Luke—” I try again.

  “Sweetheart, wait a minute.” He turns back to the phone. “Well, he’s here.
Larger than life.”

  “Luke, please, listen—” I tug his arm urgently.

  “Becky, whatever it is, can’t it wait till later?” Luke says with a touch of impatience. “I have a problem here that I have to sort out—”

  “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” I say in desperation. “It’s about your problem! It’s about Nathan Temple!”

  “How can it be to do with Nathan Temple? Becky, you don’t even know Nathan Temple!”

  “Er . . . well . . . actually . . . yes, I do.” I bite my lip. “Kind of.”

  Slowly Luke closes up his phone. “You ‘kind of’ know Nathan Temple?”

  “Here’s Mr. Brandon!” A voice rings out and we both look up to see that Janet at the reception desk has spotted us. “Luke, you’ve got a visitor!”

  “Just coming, Janet,” Luke calls back with a professional smile. He turns to me, still smiling. “Becky, what the fuck has been going on?”

  “It’s . . . It’s a bit of a long story,” I say, my face hot.

  “Were you planning to share this story with me at any stage?” Luke’s smile is fixed in place, but there’s a definite edge to his voice.

  “Yes! Of course! I was just . . . waiting for the right moment.”

  “Do you think this might possibly be a good moment? Bearing in mind he’s a few fucking yards away?”

  “Er . . . yes! Absolutely.” I cough nervously. “Well. It all began . . . er . . . in a shop, as it happens—”

  “Too late,” interrupts Luke in an undertone. “He’s coming.”

  I follow Luke’s gaze to see that Nathan Temple has got out of his chair and is advancing toward us.

  “So, here he is.” His hoarse voice greets us. “The elusive Luke Brandon. You’ve been keeping your husband from me, young lady, haven’t you?” He wags a mock-accusing finger at me.

  “Of course not!” I laugh shrilly. “Er . . . Luke, do you know Nathan Temple? We met in Milan, um . . . remember, darling?” I give a bright, fake smile as if I’m a dinner party hostess and this is all perfectly normal.

  “Good evening, Mr. Temple,” says Luke calmly. “How nice to meet you properly.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Nathan Temple claps Luke on the back. “So, you’re feeling better, I hope.”

  Luke’s eyes flicker toward me, then immediately back to Nathan Temple.

  “I’m feeling quite well,” he replies. “May I ask what this . . . unexpected visit is regarding?”

  “Well,” says Nathan Temple, reaching in his coat pocket for a monogrammed silver cigar case. “Seems you won’t take calls from my office.”

  “I’ve been very busy this week,” Luke replies without flinching. “I do apologize if my secretaries have failed to pass on your messages. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

  “My hotel project,” says Nathan, offering Luke a cigar. “Our hotel project, I should say.”

  Luke starts to reply, but Nathan Temple lifts a hand to stop him. He carefully lights his cigar and puffs on it a few times. “Forgive me for turning up here out of the blue,” he says at last. “But when I want something . . . I don’t hang around. I go and get it. Much like your good wife here.” His eyes twinkle. “I’m sure she told you the story.”

  “I think she was probably saving up the best part,” Luke says with a tight smile.

  “I like your wife,” Nathan Temple says affably. He blows out a cloud of smoke and runs appraising eyes over me. “You want to come to work for me anytime, sweetheart, you just give me a ring.”

  “Gosh!” I say, a bit thrown. “Er . . . thanks!”

  I glance apprehensively at Luke. A vein is throbbing in his forehead.

  “Becky,” he says in polite, measured tones. “Might we have a little word? Do excuse us for a moment,” he adds.

  “No problem.” Nathan Temple nods at his cigar. “I’ll finish this up. Then we can talk.”

  Luke marches me into a little meeting room and closes the door. Then he turns to me, his face all tight and businesslike.

  Suddenly I’m scared.

  “OK, Becky, start from the beginning. No—” He interrupts himself. “Cut to the middle. How do you know Nathan Temple?”

  “I met him when we were in Milan. I was in this shop and he . . . he did me this favor.”

  “He did you a favor?” Luke looks taken aback. “What kind of favor? Were you taken ill? Did you get lost?”

  My mind is scurrying around, trying to think of the best way to put it. I’m not sure there is one.

  “There was this . . . handbag,” I say at last.

  “A handbag?” Luke looks taken aback. “He bought you a handbag?”

  “No! I bought it. But he got me to the top of the list. He was really sweet! And I was really grateful. . . .” I’m twisting my hands into knots. “So then when we were back in England he phoned up and said he wanted you to be involved with his hotel. . . .”

  “And what did you say?” says Luke, his voice dangerously quiet.

  “The thing is”—I swallow—“I thought you’d love to do a hotel launch.”

  The door suddenly bursts open and Gary comes into the room.

  “What’s going on?” he says, wide-eyed. “What’s Nathan Temple doing here?”

  “Ask Becky.” Luke gestures toward me. “It seems she’s been having quite the correspondence with him.”

  “I didn’t know who he was!” I say defensively. “I had no idea! He was just this lovely Cockney man who got me my bag . . .”

  “Bag?” says Gary, his eyes swiveling from me to Luke. “What bag?”

  “Becky appears to have offered my services to Nathan Temple in return for a handbag,” says Luke curtly.

  “A handbag?” Gary looks stunned.

  “It wasn’t just any old handbag!” I exclaim, rattled. “It was a limited edition Angel bag! There’s only a few of them in the whole world! It was on the cover of Vogue! All the movie stars want one and everything!”

  Both men look at me as though I’m speaking Martian.

  “And anyway,” I say, my face burning, “I thought doing a hotel launch would be fab! It’s five-star and everything! You’d get to meet celebrities!”

  “Celebrities?” echoes Luke, suddenly losing it. “Becky, I don’t need to meet those kind of celebrities! I don’t need to be launching some tacky criminal’s hotel! I need to be here, with my team, focusing on my new client’s needs.”

  “I didn’t realize!” I say desperately. “I thought it was a brilliant networking coup!”

  “Calm down, boss,” Gary says to Luke soothingly. “We haven’t promised him anything—”

  “She has.” Luke gestures toward me, and Gary now seems at a total loss.

  “I didn’t . . . promise exactly.” My voice shakes a little. “I just said . . . you’d be delighted.”

  “You realize how much harder this makes it for me?” Luke is holding his head in his hands. “Becky, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me about it in Milan?”

  The room is very still.

  “Because the Angel bag cost two thousand euros,” I say at last in a tiny voice. “I thought you’d be cross.”

  “Jesus Christ . . .” Luke sounds at the end of his tether.

  “And then I didn’t want to bother you! You were so busy with the Arcodas pitch. . . . I thought I’d deal with it myself. And I was dealing with it.”

  “ ‘Dealing with it,’ ” echoes Luke incredulously. “How were you dealing with it?”

  “I told Nathan Temple you were ill,” I gulp.

  Comprehension dawns on Luke’s face.

  “The bunch of flowers,” he says in even tones. “Was that from Nathan Temple?” Oh God.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “He sent you flowers?” says Gary in disbelief.

  “And a fruit basket,” says Luke shortly.

  Gary gives a sudden snort of laughter.

  “It’s not funny,” says Luke, his voice like
whiplash. “We’ve just won the biggest pitch of our lives. We should be out celebrating. Not having to deal with bloody Nathan Temple sitting in our foyer.” He sinks into a chair.

  “We don’t want to make an enemy of him, Luke,” says Gary, pulling a small face. “Not if he’s going to buy the Daily World.”

  Luke’s face is tense and motionless. I don’t dare say a word.

  Then abruptly he stands up. “We can’t sit here all day. I’ll go and see him. If I have to do the job I have to do the job.” He gives me a look. “I just hope the handbag was worth it, Becky. I really hope it was worth it.”

  I feel a sudden stab of pain.

  “Luke, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry. I never meant . . . I never realized—”

  “Yeah, Becky,” he interrupts in weary tones. “Whatever.”

  He leaves the room, followed by Gary. And I just sit there. Suddenly there’s a tear rolling down my cheek. Everything was so perfect. And now it’s all ruined.

  Sixteen

  This has been the worst week of our entire marriage.

  I’ve barely seen Luke, he’s been so tied up with work. He’s had meetings every day with the Arcodas Group, plus there’s been a huge crisis with one of his banking clients, and one of his main account managers was rushed to the hospital with meningitis. It’s all been total mayhem.

  And today, instead of having a chance to relax and regroup, he’s got to fly out to Cyprus to visit Nathan Temple’s hotel and start planning the launch. A launch which he doesn’t want to do, but has to—because if he pulls out with some excuse, Nathan Temple might get offended. According to all the business press, it’s looking likely that Nathan Temple’s going to buy the Daily World newspaper. So as Luke said, he can’t afford to antagonize him.

  “Can I do anything?” I say nervously as I watch him put shirts into a suitcase.