“I’m living in New York myself,” she says airily. “So I expect we’ll see each other again. Maybe you’ll sell me a pair of shoes.” She gives me a final patronizing smile, hoists her Chanel bag on her shoulder, and walks out of the department.
When she’s left, there’s silence all around.
“Who was that?” says Laurel at last, who has come out of the fitting room only half dressed, without me noticing.
“That was… Alicia Bitch Longlegs,” I say, half dazed.
“Alicia Bitch Fatass more like,” says Laurel. “I always say, there’s no bitch like an English bitch.” She gives me a hug. “Don’t worry about it. Whoever she is, she’s just jealous.”
“Thanks,” I say, and rub my head, trying to clear my thoughts. But I’m still a bit shell-shocked, to be honest. I never thought I’d have to set eyes on Alicia again.
“Becky, I’m so sorry!” says Erin, as Laurel goes back into the fitting room. “I had no idea you and Alicia knew each other!”
“I had no idea she was a client of yours!”
“She doesn’t show up very often.” Erin pulls a face. “I never met anyone so fussy. So what’s the story between you two?”
Oh, nothing! I want to say. She just trashed me to the tabloids and nearly ruined Luke’s career, and has been a complete bitch to me from the very first moment I met her. Nothing to speak of.
“We just have a bit of a history,” I say at last.
“You know she’s engaged too? To Peter Blake. Very old money.”
“I don’t understand.” My brow wrinkles. “I thought she got married last year. To a British guy. Ed… somebody?”
“She did! Except she didn’t. Oh my God, didn’t you hear the story?” A pair of customers are wandering past the personal shopping area, and Erin lowers her voice. “They had the wedding and they were at the reception — when in walks Peter Blake as someone’s date. Alicia hadn’t known he was coming, but apparently the minute she found out who he was, she totally zeroed in on him. So they started chatting and were really getting on — like, really getting on… but what can Alicia do, she’s married!” Erin’s face is shiny with glee. “So she went up to the priest and said she wanted an annulment.”
“She did what?”
“She asked for an annulment! At her own wedding reception! She said they hadn’t consummated it so it didn’t count.” Erin gives a little gurgle of laughter. “Can you believe it?”
I can’t help giving a halfhearted laugh in response. “I can believe anything of Alicia.”
“She said she always gets what she wants. Apparently the wedding is going to be to die for. But she’s a complete bridezilla. Like, she’s practically forced one of the ushers to have a nose job, and she’s sacked every florist in New York… the wedding planner’s going nuts! Who’s your wedding planner?”
“My mum,” I reply, and Erin’s eyes widen.
“Your mom’s a wedding planner? I never knew that!”
“No, you moron!” I giggle, starting to cheer up. “My mum’s organizing the wedding. She’s got it all under control already.”
“Oh right.” Erin nods. “Well — that probably makes things easier. So you can keep your distance.”
“Yes. It should be really simple. Cross fingers!” I add, and we both laugh.
Five
I ARRIVE AT LA Goulue at one o’clock on the dot, but Elinor isn’t there yet. I’m shown to a table and sip my mineral water while I wait for her. The place is busy, as it always is at this time, mostly with smartly dressed women. All around me is chatter and the gleam of expensive teeth and jewels, and I take the opportunity to eavesdrop shamelessly. At the table next to mine, a woman wearing heavy eyeliner and an enormous brooch is saying emphatically, “You simply cannot furnish an apartment these days under one hundred thousand dollars.”
“So I said to Edgar, ‘I am a human being,’ ” says a red-haired girl on my other side.
Her friend chews on a celery stick and looks at her with bright, avid eyes. “So what did he say?”
“One room, you’re talking thirty thousand.”
“He said, ‘Hilary—’ ”
“Rebecca?”
I look up, a bit annoyed to miss what Edgar said, to see Elinor approaching the table, wearing a cream jacket with large black buttons and carrying a matching clutch bag. To my surprise she’s not alone. A woman with a shiny chestnut bob, wearing a navy blue suit and holding a large Coach bag, is with her.
“Rebecca, may I present Robyn de Bendern,” says Elinor. “One of New York’s finest wedding planners.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well… Hello!”
“Rebecca,” says Robyn, taking both my hands and gazing intently into my eyes. “We meet at last. I’m so delighted to meet you. So delighted!”
“Me too!” I say, trying to match her vivacity while simultaneously racking my brain. Did Elinor mention meeting a wedding planner? Am I supposed to know about this?
“Such a pretty face!” says Robyn, without letting go of my hands. She’s taking in every inch of me, and I find myself reciprocating. She looks in her forties, immaculately made up with bright hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a wide smile exposing a row of immaculate teeth. Her air of enthusiasm is infectious, but her eyes are appraising as she takes a step back and sweeps over the rest of me.