Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6)

Mini Shopaholic (Shopaholic #6) Page 72

Yours sincerely

Edwin Tredwell

Director of Policy Research

TWELVE

This time, we’ve gone for a central London restaurant, well away from Luke’s office. As I arrive I can see Bonnie, already at a corner table, looking immaculate in a coral-coloured suit and the seed-pearl earrings which I made Luke buy her as a birthday present. She looks perfectly comfortable sitting there on her own, her head erect, calmly sipping a cup of tea. Like she’s sat on her own in restaurants a million times before.

‘The earrings look great!’ I say, sliding into the seat opposite.

‘They’re exquisite!’ says Bonnie, touching one. ‘I do hope you got my thank-you message, Becky. How on earth did you do it?’

‘I was really subtle,’ I say proudly. ‘I found them online and told Luke I wanted them for myself. Then I said, “Actually, no! They’d suit someone with different colouring. Someone like your assistant Bonnie, maybe!”’

I won’t mention that I had to say it about five times, louder and louder, before Luke even looked up from his laptop.

‘You’re very adept.’ Bonnie sighs. ‘I haven’t had quite so much luck with your basement gym, I’m afraid. I have tried to mention it—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that any more. The house is off for the moment, anyway.’ I pick up the menu, then put it down distractedly. ‘I’m more bothered about the party. Can you believe what happened last night?’

‘People are so lax when it comes to invitations.’ Bonnie tuts with disapproval. ‘They never read instructions properly.’

‘So what am I going to do?’ I’m hoping Bonnie will have thought of some clever solution already – and sure enough, she nods calmly.

‘I have a suggestion. We contact each invitee personally, reiterate the top-secret nature of the party, and head off any further mishaps.’

‘Yes,’ I say slowly. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll take the list to work tomorrow.’

‘May I suggest, Becky, that I do the telephoning?’ says Bonnie gently. ‘If you do, you will give the impression that you are the point of contact. But you should not be the point of contact. We need to separate you from the guests as much as possible, to prevent any further slip-ups.’

‘But that would be too much work! You can’t do that!’

‘I don’t mind at all. Really, I’d be glad to.’ She hesitates. ‘It’s rather fun!’

‘Well … thanks!’

A waiter is hovering and I order a double-shot cappuccino. I need the caffeine. This party is harder work than I thought. My hand muscles are aching from cutting out plastic bags for pompoms (I’ve done seventy-two) and I’m constantly paranoid Luke’s going to stumble across my folder of notes. Last night I dreamed that he came back home just as I was making his birthday cake in a giant mixing bowl and I had to pretend it was breakfast and he kept saying, ‘But I don’t want cake for breakfast.’

Which is a stupid dream, because there’s no way I’m making a birthday cake for two hundred people.

Oh God. I need to add that to the list. Order birthday cake.

‘Becky, dear, relax,’ says Bonnie as though reading my mind. ‘Minor scares will always happen. But it seems to me you have this party remarkably well contained. You know, Luke has a very loyal staff,’ she adds quietly. ‘They’ll be delighted to have this chance to show their appreciation of him.’

‘Oh!’ I feel a tiny glow. ‘Well … that’s good, anyway.’

‘I’ve never had a boss who stuck up for his staff with such resolve. If ever there’s a difficult client or a complaint, Luke insists on taking the meeting himself. He says it’s his name above the door and he should take the flak. Of course, this can also be a weakness,’ she adds thoughtfully, sipping her tea. ‘I think he should probably delegate more.’

I can’t help looking at Bonnie anew. How much does she observe, sitting quietly in the corner, watching everyone?

‘This new carbon-thingy client sounds cool,’ I say, hoping to prod her into saying more.

‘Oh yes. Luke was thrilled with the result. Of course he’d tried to downplay his hopes … but I always know if a meeting is important to him,’ Bonnie suddenly gives a little smile, ‘because he reties his tie.’

‘Yes!’ I exclaim in delighted recognition. ‘He does that at home, too!’

We smile at each other, and I take a sip of my cappuccino. In some ways it feels weird, talking about Luke behind his back. But in other ways it’s really nice, having someone to share with. No one else knows Luke’s everyday little quirks.