Mini Shopaholic

Elinor is still calmly putting jigsaw pieces together as though nothing’s wrong, but after a while she looks up dispassionately and says, ‘Have you heard some bad news?’

‘Kind of.’ I take another sip of apple martini. There’s something about sitting in this room which is mesmerizing. It feels totally detached from the real world, as if we’re in a bubble. No one even knows I’m here. It’s like none of it really exists.

And suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to spill. I mean, if I tell Elinor, who can she blab to? No one.

‘I’ve been organizing this party for Luke for his birthday.’ I stir my apple martini. ‘A big surprise party. It’s in two weeks.’

Elinor doesn’t flicker, even though it can’t be easy to hear that your only son is having a surprise party and you don’t even know about it, let alone have an invitation.

‘I couldn’t invite you,’ I add bluntly. ‘You know I couldn’t.’ Even if I wanted to, I don’t add.

Elinor moves her head about a millimetre without replying, and I press on.

‘There were already loads of glitches.’ I rub my face. ‘I mean, I was already pretty stressed out. But now I’ve just heard that Luke’s arranged a meeting with this guy Christian Scott-Hughes on the same day as the party, in Paris. And we can’t get him to change it. He’s been wanting to meet Christian Scott-Hughes for ages. His assistant doesn’t know what to do and nor do I. Either I pinch his passport and he’s totally livid, or we move the whole party to Paris somehow, or I just give in and tell him the truth …’

I trail off miserably. I so, so, so don’t want to tell Luke. But I have a horrible feeling that’s what it might come to.

‘I’ve kept it a secret all this time.’ I nibble on the slice of martini-infused apple. ‘Luke has no idea what I’m up to. I can’t bear to spoil it. But what else am I going to do?’

There’s a knock at the door and a waiter silently comes in with another apple martini. He takes my empty glass, replaces it with the full one and glides out again.

I gape stupidly. Does that always happen here? Or is it just Elinor?

‘Do you mean Christian Scott-Hughes who works for Sir Bernard Cross?’ enquires Elinor, who has made no comment on the second apple martini.

‘Exactly. Luke’s desperate to make contact with Bernard Cross for some environmental client.’

I take a sip of my new cocktail, which is just as delicious as the first, then glance up to see if I’m going to get any sympathy from Elinor. If this was anyone normal, they’d already be going ‘You poor thing!’ or even giving me a hug. But her face is as rigid and distant as ever.

‘I know Bernard,’ she says eventually. ‘We met at St Tropez on his yacht. A charming man.’

Great. Just typical. Here I am, sharing my problems, and all she can do is boast about her superior social connections. And by the way, does Elinor even know what the word ‘charming’ means? Maybe she’s mixed it up with ‘rich’. That would explain a lot.

‘I’m sure you do know him,’ I say shortly. ‘Well done.’ I know I’m being rude, but I don’t care. Does she think I care whose stupid yacht she’s been on? I fish out the slice of apple from the second martini and stuff it in my mouth, but not before Minnie has spotted it.

‘Apple! Miiiine apple!’ She tries to reach inside my mouth and get it back out.

‘No, Minnie,’ I manage to say, and remove her wriggling fingers from my mouth. ‘Not your apple. It was a grown-up apple and it’s all gone now.’

‘Mine juice!’ Now she focuses on the cocktail. ‘Miiiine juice—’

‘I could speak to Bernard.’ Elinor’s calm voice hits my ears. ‘I could explain the situation and arrange to have the meeting changed. Luke would never know who had been behind it.’

Startled, I meet Elinor’s eyes. She looks so detached I can barely believe I heard her right. Is she actually offering to help me? Could she fix my problem, just like that?

Something is sparking in my stomach. It feels a bit like hope.

But already I know I have to damp it down somehow. I can’t let myself even think about it. Let alone hope, let alone … I mean, this is Elinor. Elinor. Luke would kill me if he even knew Minnie and I were here, let alone giving away information about his business, let alone inviting offers of help …

‘No. You can’t help. I’m sorry, but you just can’t. If Luke ever found out I was even talking to you …’ A familiar anxiety is washing over me and I get to my feet, dumping my cocktail on the table. ‘I’ve already stayed too long. We should go. Minnie, say “Bye-bye, Lady”’