“It’s all in here.” Dave Sharpness takes the opportunity to press the manila folder into my arms. “Details of the therapist and the treatment, photographs, surveillance notes…”
I want to throw the folder right back in his face and stalk out.
Only…Jasmine does have really good eyebrows.
“I might have a look just at that bit,” I say at last, as stonily as I can.
“You’ll also find a few other pieces of information in there,” Dave Sharpness says, hurrying after me to the door, “that had been collated in regard to your husband’s case. Your friend Susan Cleath-Stuart, for example. Now, she’s a very rich young lady.”
I feel sick. He’s been checking out Suze?
“Apparently, her fortune has been estimated at—”
“Shut up!” I wheel round savagely. “I never want to see or hear from you again! And if any of your firm follows Luke or any of my friends, I’m calling the police.”
“Absolutely,” says Dave Sharpness, nodding as though this is a brilliant idea which he came up with. “Understood.”
I totter to the end of the street and hail a taxi. It chugs off and I sit clinging to the handstrap, unable to relax until we’re well out of West Ruislip. I can hardly bear to look at the manila folder sitting on my lap like a horrible guilty secret. Although now that I think about it, it’s probably better that I brought it away. I’m taking all this information and I’m putting it straight in the shredder. And then I’ll shred the shreds. I never want Luke to know what I did.
I can’t believe I even went down this road. Luke and I are married. We shouldn’t spy on each other. It’s practically in the marriage vows, “To love, to cherish, and never hire a private detective in West Ruislip.”
We should trust each other. We should believe each other. On impulse I take out my mobile and dial Luke’s number. “Hi, darling!” I say as soon as I get through. “It’s me.”
“Hi! Is everything—”
“Everything’s fine. I was just wondering.” I take a deep breath. “That phone call you took the other day, at the pram shop. You seemed a bit upset. Is everything all right?”
“Becky, I’m sorry about that.” He sounds truly remorseful. “I really am. I…lost it for a moment. There’s been a small problem here. But it’ll work itself out, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
“Right.” I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
It’s work. That’s all it is. Luke always has little problems and blips that need sorting out, and sometimes he gets stressed. That’s what happens when you run an enormous company.
“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?”
It’s the college reunion tonight. I’d almost forgotten. “Can’t wait! Bye, Luke.”
I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he’ll never find out.
As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine’s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective?
The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don’t want to see her. Then there’s a couple of Mel, Luke’s assistant, coming out of the office…and then…Oh my God, is that Lulu?
I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that Luke knows. I said that Luke didn’t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, “That’s often the smokescreen.” Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something—
Hang on. I blink, and peer more carefully at the photograph. That can’t be…
She can’t be…
I clap a hand over my mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh. OK, I know hiring a private detective was a stupid thing to do. But this is so going to cheer Suze up.
I’m just stuffing all the prints and papers back into the folder when my mobile rings. “Yes?” I say cautiously.
“Becky, it’s Jasmine!” comes an animated voice. “Are you coming in, or what?”
I sit up in surprise. First of all, I didn’t think anyone would even notice I was late. And second, since when did Jasmine ever raise her voice above a bored, monosyllabic drawl?
“I’m on my way,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s your mate Danny Kovitz.”
I feel a grip of alarm. Please don’t say he’s lost interest. Please don’t say he’s pulled out.
“Is there…a problem?” I can hardly bear to say it.
“No way! He’s finished his design! He’s here with it now. And it’s amazing!”
Finally, finally, something is going well! I arrive at The Look and head straight up to the boardroom on the sixth floor, which is where everybody has assembled to see the design.
Jasmine meets me at the lift, her eyes sparkling.
“It’s so cool!” she says. “Apparently he was working all night to get it right. He says coming to Britain gave him exactly the final inspiration he needed. Everyone’s really excited. It’s going to be a sell-out! I’ve been texting my friends and they all want one.”
“Great!” I say in astonishment.
I don’t know what I’m more surprised by, Danny finishing his design so quickly or Jasmine coming to life.
“In here…” She opens the heavy pale-wood door, and I can hear Danny’s voice as we enter the boardroom. He’s sitting on the long table, holding forth to Eric, Brianna, and all the marketing and PR personnel.
“It was just that final concept I needed to crack,” he’s saying. “But once I got it…”
“It’s so different!” Brianna is saying. “It’s so original.”
“Becky!” Danny suddenly notices me. “Come and see the design! Carla, come over here.”
He beckons her over — and I gasp.
“You what?” My voice shoots out in horror before I can stop it.
Carla’s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny’s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there’s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase:
SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny.
“You can’t….” My mouth isn’t working properly. “Danny, you can’t….”
“Isn’t it great?” says Jasmine.
“The magazines will love it.” A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve already given InStyle a teeny sneak preview and it’s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too…Everyone is going to want one.”
“It’s such a brilliant slogan!” says someone else. “‘She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her’!”
The whole room laughs. Except me. I’m still in shock. What’s Venetia going to say? What’s Luke going to say?
“We’re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines….” the PR girl is saying. “Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.”
My head jerks up in horror. He what?
“Great idea, Danny!” I say, shooting daggers at him.
“I thought so.” He beams back innocently. “Hey, you could wear one for the birth!”
“So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?” asks an eager young marketing assistant.
“Who’s the redhaired bitch?” The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. “I hope she won’t mind having a thousand Tshirts printed about her!”
“What do you think, Becky?” Danny wickedly raises
his eyebrows at me.
“Does Becky know her?” says Brianna in surprise. “Is this a real person?”
Everyone suddenly looks interested.
“No!” I gabble in alarm. “No! Not at all! She isn’t…I mean…I was just…thinking. Why don’t we broaden the design? We could have blond and brunette versions too.”
“Nice idea,” says Brianna. “What do you think, Danny?”
For a heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to say “No, it has to be redhaired because Venetia is redhaired.” But thank God, he nods.
“I like it. Pick your own bitch.” He suddenly gives a huge, catlike yawn. “Is there any more coffee?”
Thank God. Disaster averted. I’ll take a blond version home and Luke will never know about the original.
“We need this!” says Carla, pouring out the coffee. “We were up all night. Danny finalized the design at around two A.M. Then we found an all-night silk screener in Hoxton, and they made up the prototypes for us.”
“Well, we appreciate your efforts,” says Eric ponderously. “On behalf of The Look, I would like to thank you, Danny, and your team.”
“Gratitude accepted,” says Danny charmingly. “And I would like to thank Becky Bloomwood, whose brainchild this collaboration was.” He starts applauding, and reluctantly I smile back. You can never stay cross with Danny for long. “To Becky, my muse,” Danny adds, lifting the fresh cup of coffee that Carla has poured for him. “And the little musette.”
“Thanks.” I lift my cup back toward him. “To you, Danny.”
“You’re his muse?” Jasmine breathes beside me. “That’s so cool!”
“Well…” I shrug nonchalantly. But inside I’m pretty chuffed. I have always wanted to be a fashion designer’s muse!
It just shows. Whenever life seems total rubbish, it always turns around. Today has been approximately a million times better than I expected. Luke isn’t leading a double life after all. Danny’s design is going to be a sell-out. And I’m a muse!
By the end of the day I’ve changed my clothes a few times, because fashion muses do like to experiment with their looks. I finally decide on a pink chiffon empire-line dress which I can just squeeze over my bump, with one of Danny’s prototype Tshirts layered on top, together with a green velvet coat and a black feather hat.
I must start wearing more hats if I’m going to be a muse. And brooches.
At five thirty Danny appears at the entrance to personal shopping and I look up in surprise. “Are you still here? Where’ve you been?”
“Oh…just hanging out in menswear,” he says casually. “That guy Tristan who works there…he’s pretty cute, huh?”
“Tristan’s not gay.” I give Danny a look.
“Yet,” Danny says, and picks up a pink evening dress from our Cruisewear department. “This is gross. Becky, you should not be stocking this dress.”
He’s totally hyper at the moment, the way he always gets when he’s finished a design. I remember this from New York.
“Where are all your ‘people’?” I ask, rolling my eyes. But Danny doesn’t even get the irony.
“Drawing up contracts,” he says vaguely. “And Stan took the car to go sightseeing. He’s never been to London before. Hey, shall we have a drink?”
“I’ve got to go home.” I glance reluctantly at my watch. “I have this reunion thing tonight.”
“Just a quick drink?” Danny wheedles. “I’ve barely seen you. Hey, what’s with the hat?”
“Do you like it?” I touch it, a little self-conscious. “I just felt like feathers.”
“Feathers.” Danny’s surveying me with an interested frown. “Great idea.”
“Really?” I glow with pride. Maybe he’ll base his whole new collection on feathers, and it’ll be my idea! “Hey, if you want to draw a little sketch of me or anything…” I say casually, but Danny isn’t listening. He’s walking around me, an interested frown on his face.
“You should wear a feather boa,” he says suddenly. “Like, an oversize one. Like…huge.”
An oversize feather boa. That’s so brilliant. It could be the next big thing! It could be the new Fendi baguette!
“There are feather boas in accessories!” I say. “Come on!” I grab my bag and zip it up, first making sure the manila folder is safely in there. I’m going to shred it as soon as I get home. When Luke isn’t looking.
We head down the escalators to the ground floor, where the accessories department is located.
“We’re closing….” begins Jane, the accessories manager, but then she sees it’s us.
“Sorry,” I say breathlessly as Danny heads to a stand displaying feather boas and scarves. “We won’t be long. It’s just we’re having a key fashion moment here….”
“There,” says Danny, garlanding me with colorful feather boas. “Like, the biggest feather boa you ever saw.” He’s tying eight boas together into a massive sausage-shaped one. “This is a great look.”
I feel a frisson as he drapes the boa round me. We’re making fashion history, right here! We’re setting a whole new trend! Next year everyone will be wearing huge Danny Kovitz boas. Celebrities will wear them to the Oscars, high street shops will rip them off….
“The Giant Boa,” Danny says as he ties back a stray feathery strand. “The Giant. It’s fabulous. Take a look!” He swivels me round to face the mirror, and I gasp.
“Er…wow!”
“Great, isn’t it?” He beams at me.
To be absolutely truthful, I gasped because I look so stupid. You can hardly see my head for feathers. I look like an enormous, pregnant feather duster.
But I mustn’t be narrow-minded. This is fashion. People probably thought skinny jeans looked ridiculous when they first saw them.
“Amazing,” I breathe, trying to get the feathers out of my mouth. “You’re a genius, Danny.”
“Let’s go and have that drink.” Danny is flushed with animation. “I’m in the mood for martinis.”
“Can you put these boas on my account?” I say to Jane. “There’s eight of them. Thanks!”
We head out of the shop on a total high, and I lead Danny round the corner into Portman Square. The street lamps are on, and some people in black tie are coming out of the Templeton Hotel. They eye me weirdly as we pass and I hear a couple of giggles, but I just hold my head higher. If you’re going to be at the cutting edge of fashion, you’re going to get a few strange looks.
“Shall we go to the bar here?” I suggest, coming to a halt. “It’s a bit dull, but it’s right here.”
“As long as they can mix a drink…” Danny pushes open the heavy glass doors and ushers me in. The Templeton Bar is a very beige bar: beige carpet, plushy chairs and waiters in beige uniforms. It’s crowded with business types, but I can see some space by the piano.
“Let’s nab that table over there,” I say to Danny — and then I stop dead.
It’s Venetia. Sitting in the corner a few yards away, her hair glowing under the lights, with a suited guy and another smart woman. I don’t recognize either of them.
“What?” Danny peers at me. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s…” I swallow and jerk my head discreetly toward her. Danny follows my gaze and gasps theatrically in delight.
“Is that Cruella de Venetia?”
“Shut up!” I squeak.
But it’s too late: Venetia’s turned. She’s seen us. She’s getting up and coming across, an impossibly elegant figure in a black trouser suit and heels, her hair as immaculate as ever, a wineglass in her hand.
It’s fine, I tell myself. Calm down. I don’t know why my heart is pounding and my fingers are sweaty.
Oh. Well…maybe because in my bag is a folder containing ten long-lens pictures of Venetia. But she doesn’t know that, does she?
“Becky!” She smiles and kisses me on both cheeks. “My favorite client. How are you? Only four weeks to go now, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. So…um…how are
you, Venetia?” My voice is jerky and my face has turned red — but other than that I think I’m acting quite naturally. “This is my friend, Danny Kovitz.”
“Danny Kovitz.” Her eyes light up in recognition. “It’s an honor. I bought one of your pieces in Milan recently. In Corso Como. A beaded jacket?”
“I know the one!” says Danny eagerly. “I’ll bet you look fabulous in it.”
Why’s he being nice to her? He’s supposed to be on my side.
“Did you buy the pants?” he’s saying now. “Because we did them in two styles, a capri and a boot cut. You’d look great in the capri pants.”
“No, I just bought the jacket.” She smiles at him, then glances at me. “Becky, you seem hot in all those…feathers. Are you OK?”
“I’m…fine!” I blow a couple of feathers off my lipstick. “This is Danny’s new fashion concept.”
“Right.” Venetia gives my giant feather boa a dubious look. “Only, you know, it’s not healthy for you to overheat during pregnancy.”
Typical. Bossing me about again. Telling me fashion’s unhealthy. But the truth is, I am starting to sweat in all these layers, so reluctantly I unpeel the boa and take off my coat.
There’s a weird silence. For a moment I’m not quite sure why Venetia is staring at my chest. Then my stomach plunges as I realize I’m wearing Danny’s T-shirt. I glance down, and there it is, clear as day.
SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
Shit.
“Actually, I’m quite cold!” I clamp the boa round my neck again, trying desperately to cover up the words. “Brrrrr! It’s freezing in here. Isn’t it freezing, for the time of year?”
“What does that say?” Venetia says in a peculiar voice. “On your T-shirt.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, flustered. “Nothing! It’s just a…joke! I mean, obviously it’s not you. It’s another redhaired bitch. Er…woman. Person.”
This is not going well.
“Good work, Becky,” says Danny in my ear. “Tactful.”
Venetia is inhaling deeply, as though trying to control herself. She looks pretty annoyed, now I come to notice it.
Shopaholic and Baby s-5 Page 23