I stare at her in disbelief. It’s Alicia Billington. Or, as I call her, Alicia Bitch Longlegs. What’s she doing here?
Alicia is one of the account executives in Brandon Communications — which is Luke’s PR company — and we’ve never exactly got along. In fact, between you and me, she’s a bit of a cow and, secretly, I wish Luke would fire her. A few months ago, actually, she nearly did get fired — and it was kind of to do with me. (I was a financial journalist then, and I wrote this piece… oh, it’s a bit of a long story.) But in the end she just got a stiff warning, and since then, she’s really pulled her socks up.
I know all this because I have little chats every now and then with Luke’s assistant, Mel, who’s a real sweetie and keeps me up on all the gossip. She was telling me only the other day that she reckons Alicia’s really changed. She isn’t any nicer, but she certainly works harder. She badgers journalists until they put her clients into their stories, and often stays really late at the office, tapping at her computer. And only the other day she told Mel she wanted a full list of all the company’s clients, with contact names, so she could familiarize herself with them. Plus she wrote some company strategy report which Luke was really impressed by. Mel added gloomily that she reckons Alicia wants a promotion — and I think she could be right.
The trouble with Luke is, he only looks at how hard a person works and what results they get — and not at what a completely horrible cow they are. In fact, just the other day I heard him telling someone how reliable Alicia was in stressful situations and how he’s really starting to depend on her. So the chances are, she probably will get a promotion — and become even more unbearable.
As I watch her come in, I’m slightly transfixed. Half of me wants to run away and half of me wants to know what she’s doing here. But before I can decide, she spots me, and raises her eyebrows slightly. And oh God, suddenly I realize what I must look like — in a grotty old gray T-shirt that, to be honest, looks nothing like a dress, and my hair a mess, and my face all red from lugging carrier bags full of lavender honey. And she’s in an immaculate white suit.
“Rebecca!” she says, and puts her hand over her mouth in mock dismay. “You’re not supposed to know I’m here! Just pretend you haven’t seen me.”
“What… what do you mean?” I say, trying not to sound as disconcerted as I feel. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve just popped in for a quick introductory meeting with the new associates,” says Alicia. “You know my parents only live five miles away? So it made sense.”
“Oh right,” I say. “No, I didn’t.”
“But Luke’s given us all strict instructions,” says Alicia, “we’re not allowed to bother you. After all, this is your holiday!”
And there’s something about the way she says it that makes me feel like a child.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I say robustly. “When something as… as important as this is going on. In fact, Luke and I were talking about it earlier on actually. Over breakfast.”
OK, so I only mentioned breakfast to remind her that Luke and I are going out together. Which I know is really pathetic. But somehow, whenever I’m talking to Alicia, I feel we’re in some secret little competition, and if I don’t fight back, she’ll think she’s won.
“Really?” says Alicia. “How sweet.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “So — what do you think of this whole enterprise? You must have an opinion.”
“I think it’s great,” I say after a pause. “Really great.”
“You don’t mind?” Her eyes are probing my face.
“Well… not really.” I shrug. “I mean, it was supposed to be a holiday, but if it’s that important—”
“I don’t mean the meetings!” says Alicia, laughing a little. “I mean — this whole deal. The whole New York thing.”
I open my mouth to reply — then feebly close it again. What New York thing?
And like a buzzard sensing weakness, she leans forward, a tiny, malicious smile at her lips. “You do know, don’t you, Rebecca, that Luke’s going to move to New York?”
I can’t move for shock. That’s what he’s so excited about. Luke’s moving to New York. But… but why hasn’t he told me?
My face feels rather hot and there’s a horrible thickening in my chest. He’s going to New York and he hasn’t even told me.
“Rebecca?”
My head jerks up, and I quickly force a smile onto my face. I can’t let Alicia realize this is all news to me. I just can’t.
“Of course I know about it,” I say huskily, and clear my throat. “I know all about it. But I… I never discuss business in public. Much better to be discreet, don’t you think?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she answers — and the way she looks at me makes me think she isn’t convinced for a minute. “So… will you be going out there too?”
I stare back, my lips trembling, unable to think of an answer, my face growing pinker and pinker — when suddenly, thank God, a voice behind me says, “Rebecca Bloomwood. Parcel for a Miss Rebecca Bloomwood.”
My head jerks round in astonishment, and, I don’t believe it. A man in uniform is approaching the desk, holding my huge, battered Special Express parcel, which I’d honestly given up for lost. All my things, at last. All my carefully chosen outfits. I can wear anything I like tonight!
But somehow… I don’t really care anymore. I just want to go off somewhere and be on my own and think for a bit.
“That’s me,” I say, managing a smile. “I’m Rebecca Bloomwood.”
“Oh right!” says the man. “That’s nice and easy then. If you could just sign here…”
“Well, I mustn’t keep you!” exclaims Alicia, eyeing my parcel amusedly. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, won’t you?”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I will.” And, feeling slightly numb, I walk away, clutching my clothes tightly to me.
I go up to our room, dump the parcel on the bed, and sit down next to it, trying to keep perspective on this. OK, let’s just go over the facts. Luke’s making plans to move to New York. And he hasn’t told me.
Yet. He hasn’t told me yet.
As I think this through, my numbness starts to melt away. Of course. He’s probably planning to tell me everything this evening. Waiting for the right moment. That’s probably why he brought me here in the first place. He couldn’t know that Alicia would stick her oar in, could he?
Feeling better already, I reach for a complimentary packet of biscuits, tear it open, and begin to munch one. It’s like they say, don’t run before you can walk. Don’t cross bridges before you come to them. Don’t do… that other thing you shouldn’t do.
I’ve just finished my third biscuit and have switched on the television to watch Ready Steady Cook, when the door opens and Luke comes in. His eyes are sparkling and he seems full of a suppressed energy. I stare at him, feeling a little weird.
I’m sure he’s going to tell me. He wouldn’t just move to America without saying anything.
“Did your meetings go well?” I say, my voice feeling false.
“Very well, thanks,” says Luke, taking off his tie and throwing it on the bed. “But let’s not talk about that.” He smiles at me. “Did you have a good day?”
“Fine, thanks!”
“You want to go for a walk? Come on. I haven’t seen you all day.” He reaches for my hand, pulls me up off the bed, and puts his arms round my waist. “I’ve missed you,” he says against my hair, and his arms tighten around my body.
“Have you?” I give a little laugh. “Well, you know… perhaps I should come to your meetings, and hear what they’re all about!”
“You wouldn’t enjoy them,” says Luke, returning my laugh. “Come on, let’s go out.”
We head down the stairs and out of the heavy front door and start walking over the grass toward a group of trees. The sun is still warm, and some people are playing croquet and drinking Pimms. After a while I take off my sandals and walk along barefoot, feeling myself rela
x.
“Are you hungry?” says Luke casually as we get near a large oak tree. And I’m about to reply, “No, I’ve just had three biscuits,” when I see it, waiting for us in the long grass.
A red-and-white checked picnic blanket. A little wicker hamper. And… is that a bottle of champagne? I turn toward Luke in disbelief.
“Is this… did you…”
“This,” says Luke, touching my cheek, “is in some small way to make up. You’ve been so incredibly understanding, Becky.”
“That’s all right,” I say awkwardly. “If it was for something as important as…” I hesitate. “As… well, whatever amazing opportunity this might be…”
I look at Luke expectantly. This is the perfect moment for him to tell me.
“Even so,” says Luke. He moves away and reaches for the champagne bottle and I sit down, trying not to give away my disappointment.
I’m not going to ask him. If he wants to tell me he can. If he doesn’t want to… then he must have his reasons.
But there’s no harm in prompting him, is there?
“I love the countryside!” I exclaim as Luke hands me my champagne. “And I love cities, too.” I gesture vaguely in the air. “London… Paris…”
“Cheers,” says Luke, raising his glass.
“Cheers.” I take a sip of champagne and think quickly. “So… um… you’ve never really told me much about your family.”
Luke looks up, a bit surprised.
“Haven’t I? Well, there’s me and my sister… and Mum and Dad…”
“And your real mother, of course.” Casual, Becky. Casual. “I’ve always thought she sounds really interesting.”
“She’s a truly inspiring person,” says Luke, his face lighting up. “So elegant… you’ve seen the picture of her?”
“She looks beautiful,” I nod encouragingly. “And where is it she lives again?” I wrinkle my brow as though I can’t quite remember.
“New York,” says Luke, and takes a swig of his drink.
There’s a taut silence. Luke stares ahead, frowning slightly, and I watch him, my heart thumping. Then he turns to me, and I feel a spasm of fright. What’s he going to say? Is he going to tell me he’s moving thousands of miles away?
“Becky?”
“Yes?” I say, my voice half-strangled by nerves.
“I really think you and my mother would love each other. Next time she’s in London, I’ll be sure to introduce you.”
“Oh… right,” I say. “That would be really great.” And morosely, I drain my glass.
ENDWICH BANK
Fulham Branch
3 Fulham Road
London SW6 9JH
Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
8 September 2000
Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
Thank you for your letter of 4 September, addressed to Sweetie Smeathie, in which you ask him to rush through an extension of your overdraft “before the new guy arrives.”
I am the new guy.
I am currently reviewing all customer files and will be in touch regarding your request.
Yours sincerely,
John Gavin
Overdraft Facilities Director
Five
WE ARRIVE BACK in London the next day — and Luke still hasn’t mentioned his deal or New York, or anything. And I know I should just ask him outright. I should casually say, “So what’s this I hear about New York, Luke?” and wait and see what he says. But somehow I can’t bring myself to do it.
I mean, for a start, he’s made it plain enough that he doesn’t want to talk about it. If I confront him, he might think I’ve been trying to find out stuff behind his back. And for another start, Alicia might have got it wrong — or even be making it up. (She’s quite capable of it, believe me. When I was a financial journalist she once sent me to the completely wrong room for a press conference — and I’m sure it was deliberate.) So until I’m absolutely certain of my facts, there’s no point saying anything.
At least, this is what I tell myself. But I suppose if I’m really honest, the reason is that I just can’t bear the idea of Luke turning to me and giving me a kind look and saying, “Rebecca, we’ve had a lot of fun, but…”
So I end up saying nothing and smiling a lot — even though inside, I feel more and more miserable. As we arrive back outside my flat, I want to turn to him and wail, “Are you going to New York? Are you?”
But instead, I give him a kiss, and say lightly, “You will be OK for Saturday, won’t you?”
It turns out Luke’s got to fly off to Zurich tomorrow and have lots of meetings with finance people. Which of course is very important and I completely understand that. But Saturday is Tom and Lucy’s wedding at home, and that’s even more important. He just has to be there.
“I’ll make it,” he says. “I promise.” He squeezes my hand and I get out of the car and he says he has to shoot off. And then he’s gone.
Disconsolately, I open the door to our flat, and a moment later Suze comes out of the door of her room, dragging a full black bin liner along the ground.
“Hi!” she says. “You’re back!”
“Yes!” I reply, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m back!”
Suze disappears out of our door, and I hear her lugging her black bag down the stairs and out of the main front door — then bounding up to our flat again.
“So, how was it?” she says breathlessly, closing the door behind her.
“It was fine,” I say, walking into my bedroom. “It was… nice.”
“Nice?” Suze’s eyes narrow and she follows me in. “Only nice?”
“It was… good.”
“Good? Bex, what’s wrong? Didn’t you have a lovely time?”
I wasn’t really planning to say anything to Suze, because after all, I don’t know the facts yet. Plus I read in a magazine recently that couples should try to sort their problems out alone, without recourse to others. But as I look at her warm, friendly face, I just can’t help it, I hear myself blurting out, “Luke’s moving to New York.”
“Really?” says Suze, missing the point. “Fantastic! God, I love New York. I went there three years ago, and—”
“Suze, he’s moving to New York — but he hasn’t told me.”
“Oh,” says Suze, looking taken aback. “Oh, right.”
“And I don’t want to bring it up, because I’m not supposed to know, but I keep thinking, why hasn’t he told me? Is he just going to… go?” My voice is rising in distress. “Will I just get a postcard from the Empire State Building saying, ‘Hi, I live in New York now, love Luke’?”
“No!” says Suze at once. “Of course not! He wouldn’t do that!”
“Wouldn’t he?”
“No. Definitely not.” Suze folds her arms and thinks for a few moments — then looks up. “Are you absolutely sure he hasn’t told you? Like, maybe when you were half asleep or daydreaming or something?”
She looks at me expectantly and for a few moments I think hard, wondering if she could be right. Maybe he told me in the car and I just wasn’t listening. Or last night, while I was eyeing up that girl’s Lulu Guinness handbag in the bar… But then I shake my head.
“No. I’m sure I’d remember if he’d mentioned New York.” I sink down miserably onto the bed. “He’s just not telling me because he’s going to chuck me.”
“No, he’s not!” retorts Suze. “Honestly, Bex, men never mention things. That’s just what they’re like.” She picks her way over a pile of CDs and sits cross-legged on the bed beside me. “My brother never mentioned when he got done for drugs. We had to find it out from the paper! And my father once bought a whole island without telling my mother.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes! And then he forgot about it, too. And he only remembered when he got this letter out of the blue inviting him to roll the pig in the barrel.”
“To do what?”
“Oh, this ancient ceremony thing,” says Suze vaguely. “My dad gets to roll the first pig, because he owns the island.” Her eyes suddenly brighten. “In fact, he’s always looking for people to do it instead of him. I don’t suppose you fancy doing it this year, do you? You get to wear this funny hat, and you have to learn a poem in Gaelic, but it’s quite easy…”
“Suze—”
“Maybe not,” says Suze hurriedly. “Sorry.” She leans back on my pillow and chews a fingernail thoughtfully. Then suddenly she looks up. “Hang on a minute. Who told you about New York? If it wasn’t Luke?”
“Alicia,” I say gloomily. “She knew all about it.”
“Alicia?” Suze stares at me. “Alicia Bitch Longlegs? Oh, for goodness’ sake. She’s probably making it up. Honestly, Bex, I’m surprised you even listened!”
And she sounds so sure that I feel my heart giving a joyful leap. Of course. That must be the answer. Didn’t I suspect it myself? Didn’t I tell you what Alicia was like?
The only thing — tiny niggle — is I’m not sure Suze is completely 100 percent unbiased here. There’s a bit of history between Suze and Alicia, which is that they both started working at Brandon Communications at the same time — but Suze got the sack after three weeks and Alicia went on to have a high-flying career. Not that Suze really wanted to be a PR girl, but still.
“I don’t know,” I say doubtfully. “Would Alicia really do that?”
“Of course she would!” says Suze. “She’s just trying to wind you up. Come on, Bex, who do you trust more? Alicia or Luke?”
“Luke,” I say after a pause. “Luke, of course.”
“Well, then!”
“You’re right,” I say, suddenly feeling more cheerful. “You’re right! I should just trust him, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t listen to gossip and rumors!”
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