Shopaholic to the Rescue (15 page)

“He bought the apartment next door and pestered and pestered. Poor Anne-Marie was quite beleaguered. She felt she had no choice but to sell to him.”

“Poor woman!” I say in sympathy. “So, what happened to her?”

“She was forced to spend more time on her estate in the Hamptons,” says Elinor, without blinking.

OK, Elinor needs to work on her sob stories a little. But even so, it feels cozy, sharing a common enemy with her.

“Well, Alicia’s just as bad as Wilton,” I say. “Worse.” I’m about to launch into a whole list of Alicia’s dastardly deeds, when I see Elinor picking up a grape on a cocktail stick and looking at it curiously.

“This is a particularly minimalist canapé,” she observes.

“It’s not a canapé, it’s for the chocolate fountain.” I point. “See?”

Elinor peers at the gushing chocolate as though she’s none the wiser. I take the grape from her, dip it in the chocolate, let it cool slightly, and hand it to her.

“Ah.”
Her brow clears. “I am reminded of the fondues one sees in Gstaad.”

“You’ve never dipped anything in a chocolate fountain before?”

“Naturally not,” she confirms with a supercilious air.

I love it. First-ever hangover. First-ever chocolate fountain. What else is there in the list of Elinor Sherman’s firsts?

“Elinor,” I say in sudden inspiration. “Have you ever worn a pair of blue jeans before?”

“Never,” responds Elinor, looking slightly revolted.

That’s it. I have her Christmas present. Dark-blue skinnies by J Brand.

Unless…do I dare give her
ripped
jeans?

The thought of Elinor unwrapping a pair of ripped jeans on Christmas Day cheers me up so much, I’m still smiling as I return to the table. But I hastily stop as I see Suze’s pained expression.

“I have to get Tarkie away from Bryce,” she’s saying fervently. “He’ll be trying to fleece him for millions.”

“If not more,” says Alicia darkly, and jabs at her phone yet again.

“I mean, should we phone the police again?” Suze looks around the table for support. “Now we have this new information?”

“Tarkie told me yesterday that he wasn’t going to give Bryce any money,” I venture. “I think he’ll be strong. He’ll just say no.”

“Bex, you don’t know anything about it! Tarkie’s extremely vulnerable. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted…he was snappy with me in L.A….He’s
not normal
.”

Her blue eyes are blazing and I lean away on my chair. Suze can be quite scary when she’s on fire like this.

“Suze…” I begin cautiously. “I know Tarkie was a bit tense in L.A. I know he said some weird stuff. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he was being brainwashed. He might…well…”

I trail off feebly. I can’t exactly say,
He might not want to talk to you right now.

“What do you know about it?” Suze bites back.

“I was just giving you my point of view.”

“Well, don’t! You’re constantly trying to undermine me. Isn’t she, Alicia?”

Suze’s eyes are glittering, and she looks so hostile, it’s as if something inside me snaps.

“You know what, Suze?” I cry out. “Why did you even ask me to come on this trip? In L.A. you said you needed me, so I dropped everything. I was glad to! But you don’t seem to want my companionship or my opinions or anything I have to offer. All you care about is Alicia. And, by the way, guess what, she’s been
lying
to you!”

I didn’t mean to blurt that out. But now that I have, I feel an almighty satisfaction.

“Lying?” Suze’s eyes darken in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, lying! You told me you both stayed in all evening last night?”

“We did.” Suze glances uncertainly at Alicia.

“Alicia didn’t! Who were you meeting in the lobby of the Four Seasons at midnight, Alicia? And before you deny it, Danny saw you.” I throw this out with relish and sink back, folding my arms. At
last
. Alicia is totally exposed as a liar.

Except she doesn’t look exposed. She doesn’t blush, or seem embarrassed, or drop her glass with a clatter, or do any of the things I would do.

“I was meeting a private detective,” she says coldly.

A
what
?

“Naturally, I’ve been using my own resources.” She shoots me a withering look. “However, I didn’t want to let Suze know I’d drawn a blank, in case it discouraged her. So thanks, Becky, for ruining all my efforts.”

There’s a long and prickling silence around the table. My head’s all hot and fuzzy. I can’t believe Alicia’s come out on top again. What is she,
a witch
?

“Do you have anything to say, Becky?” Suze asks, and she sounds exactly like my headmistress did when I started the whole “bring your teacher a clothes item” craze (which I
still
think was a good idea).

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring down, exactly as I did back in Mrs. Brightling’s study.

“Right. Well.” Suze finishes her coffee. “I think we’d better move on.”

From: [email protected]

To: Brandon, Rebecca

Subject:
Re: It’s all going wrong

Dear Mrs. Brandon,

Thank you for your email. I am most sorry to hear of all your difficulties.

We have indeed known each other a long time, and you are very welcome to “pour your heart out” to me. I am flattered that you think of me as “a wise old counselor, like Father Christmas” and will do my best to advise you.

Mrs. Brandon, for what it is worth: I suggest perhaps you try to bond a little more with Ms. Bitch Long-legs. Lady Cleath-Stuart has clearly allied herself with this woman. If you set up in the opposite “camp,” you risk losing your friend. Find points of common interest and take it from there. I’m sure that with your ingenuity, you can do so with considerable effect.

I do hope your trip progresses with success and that you find happiness with your friend again.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath

NINE

Derek Smeath is so wise. He’s always given me good advice over the years, which I really should have followed a bit more. (Or, you know. At all. Especially that time he told me not to take out any more store cards for the free presents. I never did use that set of heated rollers.)

So as we’re heading out of Vegas, I decide this time I
will
follow his advice. If I have to bond with Alicia Bitch Long-legs to keep Suze’s friendship, then I will. Somehow. I’ll just have to channel Pollyanna and focus on all of Alicia’s plus points. I’ve even googled
ways to bond with co-workers you don’t like
and have got some useful tips like
find a common hobby
and
give them an affectionate nickname.
(Although how will I ever find a nickname to top “Alicia Bitch Long-legs”?)

By now we’re speeding along the freeway. I edge toward the table and benches where Alicia and Suze are sitting. Mum, Janice, and Danny are perched on the little sofa along with Minnie, and they’re playing bridge. (They work it so Minnie is “dummy” every time, which is quite clever. The only thing is, Minnie has her own set of cards and keeps plonking them down and saying, “
My
trick,” and trying to scoop up all the other cards.) Meanwhile, Elinor has stayed in Las Vegas to “rest” for a few days, and I really don’t blame her. Your first-ever hangover is always a shocker. I should think hers will last about a week.

Either side of us are wide desert plains, with mountains in the distance, and I feel a thrill every time I glance out of the window. I mean,
this
is a view.
This
is scenery. Why can’t England have anything like this? When I was a little girl, Mum and Dad used to say, “Look at the lovely scenery, Becky!” and they were talking about three trees and a cow. No wonder I couldn’t get excited and preferred reading
Debbie and Her Magic Sparkle Dress
.

As I approach the table, Suze looks up—and for an awful moment I think she’s not going to shift up and make room for me. But after an awkward beat, she does, and I sit down, trying to appear normal. Like we three always hang out together. Like we’re old mates.

“I really like your top, Alicia,” I say awkwardly. I’ve decided the quickest way to ingratiate myself is to compliment her. It’s a totally boring top, but that’s not the point.

“Oh.” Alicia gives me a wary look. “Thanks.”

“And your hair,” I add randomly. “I love your hair. It’s so shiny.”

“Thanks,” she repeats shortly.

“And…er…your perfume.”

“Thanks,” she says yet again. “It’s the Golden Peace blend.”

“Well, it’s really gorgeous on you, um…Ali,” I try self-consciously.

As soon as I’ve said it I realize Alicia is definitely
not
an Ali. She turns, startled, and I can see Suze gawping at me too.

“Ali?”

“I mean…Lissy,” I amend hastily. “Does anyone ever call you Lissy? It suits you. Lissy. Liss.” I give her a friendly little squeeze of the arm, which really doesn’t work.

“Ow!” She glares at me. “No, they don’t. And please leave my arm alone.”

“Sorry,” I say, and quickly cast around for more compliments. “You’ve got a really pretty nose! It’s so, um…” I swallow, playing for time. What can you say about a nose? “I love the way your…nostrils go,” I hear myself saying feebly.

Argh. I love the way her
nostrils go
?

Suze is giving me a very strange look, which I pretend I can’t see, while Alicia has turned to survey me with narrowed eyes.

“Oh,
I
get it,” she says. “
I
get what you’re doing. You want the number of my plastic surgeon, don’t you? Well, you’re not getting it.”

What? I stare at her in bewilderment. Plastic surgeon?
What?

Oh God, this is hopeless. Let’s forget the compliments. And the nicknames.

“So, tai chi!” I say brightly. “Is that good? Should I try it?”

“I wouldn’t have thought it would suit you,” says Alicia. “You need to be able to
control
your mind and body.” She gives me a patronizing smile and flicks a glance at Suze.

“Oh.” I’m trying not to feel too snubbed. “OK. Well—”

“So,
how
many bedrooms, did you say?” Alicia cuts across me, resuming the obviously much more fascinating conversation she and Suze were having before.

So much for bonding. Total fail. And what’s so interesting about bedrooms, anyway? Why is it some people will
always
bring the conversation back to houses and house prices and how they can’t decide whether “feature” wallpaper is over, what do I think? (OK, that last one is just Mum. I keep telling her, I don’t
know
anything about feature wallpaper.)

“Oh, I’m not sure,” says Suze. “Twenty-eight? Half of them are crumbling away, though. We never even go into them.”

“Twenty-eight,” echoes Alicia. “Imagine that. Twenty-eight bedrooms.”

They must be talking about Letherby Hall. Poor Suze. She gets so bored when people start pestering her for details about Letherby Hall. Especially historical experts, who start saying things like,
I believe you mean
seventeen
fifteen, in a supercilious way. I was once in the local greengrocer’s with Suze when some old man accosted her. He started quizzing her on some important fireplace in the Great Hall and putting her right on every detail. He was actually quite aggressive about which of Tarkie’s ancestors had commissioned it (I mean, who cares?), and in the end I had to deliberately knock over a stack of tangerines and cause a distraction so Suze could run away.

“And is it one of those houses that has a title attached?”

“I think so,” says Suze, sounding uninterested. “ ‘Lord of the Manor.’ ”

“Right.” Alicia delicately wrinkles her brow. “So anyone who owns the house is entitled to call himself ‘Lord.’ ”

“I suppose.” Suze looks vague. “I mean, in our case it doesn’t arise, because Tarkie has this other title anyway.”

The truth is, Tarkie has about six other titles, although Suze is far too modest to bring that up. In fact, she hates talking about this stuff altogether. I, on the other hand, once looked it all up on a website, because I quite fancy being “Lady Brandon of Somewhere.” The titles don’t even cost that much. They’re, like, a few hundred pounds, for something that lasts your whole life. I mean, in a way, why
not
be Lady Brandon?

(Only then Luke caught me and teased me about it for a week.)

As Suze pops to the loo, I glance at Alicia. Her eyes are distant and thoughtful. And, OK, I
know
I’m supposed to be channeling Pollyanna, but my brain won’t do it. Instead of thinking,
Golly-gosh! I bet Alicia’s a sweetheart, really; maybe we could have milkshakes together,
I’m thinking,
Huh. What’s she up to now?

Maybe I’m just naturally a negative, suspicious person, I think morosely. Maybe I need therapy before I can get on with Alicia. I have a sudden image of us in couples counseling, being forced to hold each other’s hands, and I let out a strange little snort. Meanwhile, as soon as Suze returns, Alicia resumes quizzing her on Letherby Hall.