Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6)

Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6) Page 66

I glance nervously down at myself, and brush a speck off Minnie’s little pink tweed coat. We’re walking along Piccadilly, and I’ve never felt so apprehensive in all my life. Two hundred yards away is the Ritz, and in the Ritz is Elinor, waiting in a suite, and that’s where we’re headed.

I still can’t quite believe I’ve done this. I’ve set up a secret meeting. I’ve said absolutely nothing to Luke. It feels like the most massive betrayal. But at the same time … it feels like something I’ve just got to do. I’ve got to give Elinor a chance to know her grandchild. Just one.

And if it’s a disaster or if Elinor says anything appalling, I’ll just whisk Minnie away and pretend it never happened.

The Ritz is as grand and beautiful as ever, and I have a sudden flashback to coming here with Luke for a date, before we were even going out together. Imagine if I’d known then that we’d end up getting married and having a daughter. Imagine if I’d known I’d end up betraying him with a secret meeting with his mother—

No. Stop it. Don’t think about it.

As we walk into the Ritz, a dark-haired bride is standing a few feet away, wearing the most amazing sheath dress with a long sparkly veil and tiara, and I feel a sudden pang of lust. God, I’d love to get married again.

I mean, to Luke, obviously.

‘Pin-cess.’ Minnie is pointing at the bride with her chubby finger, her eyes like saucers. ‘Pin-cess!’

The bride turns and smiles charmingly down at Minnie. She takes a little pink rosebud out of her bouquet, rustles over to us and hands it to Minnie, who beams back, then reaches for the biggest, most succulent rose.

‘No, Minnie!’ I grab her hand just in time. ‘Thanks so much!’ I add to the bride. ‘You look lovely. My daughter thinks you’re a princess.’

‘Pince?’ Minnie is looking all around. ‘Pince?’

The bride meets my eye and laughs. ‘There’s my prince, sweetheart.’ She points to a man in morning dress who’s approaching over the patterned carpet.

Yikes. He’s short, squat, balding and in his fifties. He looks more like a frog. I can tell from Minnie’s puzzled frown that she’s not convinced.

‘Pince?’ she says again to the bride. ‘Where pince?’

‘Congratulations and have a lovely day!’ I say hastily. ‘We’d better go.’ And I hurriedly lead Minnie away, her little voice still piping up, ‘Where pince?’

I’m half-hoping the man at the reception desk might say, ‘Sorry, Elinor Sherman’s gone out for the afternoon,’ and we can forget all about it and go to Hamleys instead. But she’s clearly primed the staff, because he immediately leaps to attention and says, ‘Ah yes, Mrs Sherman’s visitors,’ and escorts me up in the lift himself. And so, before I know it, I’m standing in an elegant carpeted corridor, knocking on the door, my hand suddenly trembling.

Maybe this was a terrible idea. Oh God. It was, wasn’t it? It was a terrible, terrible, bad idea—

‘Rebecca.’ She opens the door so suddenly, I squeak in fright.

‘Hi.’ I clutch Minnie’s hand tighter and for a moment we all just stare at each other. Elinor’s dressed in white bouclé, with giant pearls round her neck. She seems to have got even thinner, and her eyes are weirdly wide as she looks from me to Minnie.

She’s scared, I suddenly realize.

Everything’s turned on its head. I used to be petrified of her.

‘Come in.’ She stands aside and I gently lead Minnie in. The room’s beautiful, with grand furniture and a view over Green Park, and there’s a table laid with a teapot and a posh tiered cake stand full of little éclairs and things. I guide Minnie to a stiff sofa and lift her on to it. Elinor sits down too, and there’s a silent moment so twitchy and uncomfortable I almost feel like screaming.

At last Elinor draws breath. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she says to Minnie.

Minnie just gazes back with huge eyes. She seems a bit cowed by Elinor.

‘It’s Earl Grey,’ Elinor adds to Minnie. ‘I will order a different variety if you would prefer.’

She’s asking a two-year-old what kind of tea she likes? Has she ever had any dealings with a two-year-old before?

Well. Actually, probably not.

‘Elinor …’ I put in gently. ‘She doesn’t drink tea. She doesn’t really know what tea is. Hot!’ I add sharply as Minnie makes a lunge for the teapot. ‘No, Minnie.’

‘Oh.’ Elinor seems put out.

‘She can have a biscuit, though,’ I add quickly.