Confessions of a Shopaholic
Page 64
I take a gulp of champagne, approach the man, and smile brightly.
“Hi there,” I say. “Rebecca Bloomwood, Successful Saving.”
“Hello,” he says, turning toward me and extending his hand. “Derek Smeath from Endwich Bank. And this is my assistant, Erica.”
Oh my God.
I can’t speak. I can’t shake his hand. I can’t run. My whole body’s paralyzed.
“Hi!” says Erica, giving me a friendly smile. “I’m Erica Parnell.”
“Yes,” I say, after a huge pause. “Yes, hi.”
Please don’t recognize my name. Please don’t recognize my voice.
“Are you a journalist, then?” she says, looking at my name badge and frowning. “Your name seems quite familiar.”
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes, you. . you might have read some of my articles.”
“I expect I have,” she says, and takes an unconcerned sip of champagne. “We get all the financial mags in the office. Quite good, some of them.”
Slowly the circulation is returning to my body. It’s going to be OK, I tell myself. They don’t have a clue.
“You journalists have to be expert on everything, I suppose,” says Derek, who has given up trying to shake my hand and is swigging his champagne instead.
“Yes, we do really,” I reply, and risk a smile. “We get to know all areas of personal finance — from banking to unit trusts to life insurance.”
“And how do you acquire all this knowledge?”
“Oh, we just pick it up along the way,” I say smoothly.
You know what? This is quite fun, actually, now that I’ve relaxed. And Derek Smeath isn’t at all scary in the flesh. In fact, he’s rather cozy and friendly, like some nice sitcom uncle.
“I’ve often thought,” says Erica Parnell, “that they should do a fly-on-the-wall documentary about a bank.” She gives me an expectant look and I nod vigorously.
“Good idea!” I say. “I think that would be fascinating.”
“You should see some of the characters we get in! People who have absolutely no idea about their finances. Don’t we, Derek?”
“You’d be amazed,” says Derek. “Utterly amazed. The lengths people go to, just to avoid paying off their overdrafts! Or even talking to us!”
“Really?” I say, as though astonished.
“You wouldn’t believe it!” says Erica. “I sometimes wonder—”
“Rebecca!” A voice booms behind me and I turn round in shock to see Philip, clutching a glass of champagne and grinning at me. What’s he doing here?
“Hi,” he says. “Marketing canceled the meeting, so I thought I’d pop along after all. How’s it all going?”
“Oh, great!” I say, and take a gulp of champagne. “This is Derek, and Erica. . this is my editor, Philip Page.”
“Endwich Bank, eh?” says Philip, looking at Derek Smeath’s name badge. “You must know Martin Gollinger, then.”
“We’re not head office, I’m afraid,” says Derek, giving a little laugh. “I’m the manager of our Fulham branch.”
“Fulham!” says Philip. “Trendy Fulham.”
And suddenly a warning bell goes off in my head. Dong-dong-dong! I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to say something; change the subject. But it’s too late. I’m the spectator on the mountain, watching the trains collide in the valley below.
“Rebecca lives in Fulham,” Philip’s saying. “Who do you bank with, Rebecca? You’re probably one of Derek’s customers!” He laughs loudly at his own joke, and Derek laughs politely, too.
But I can’t laugh. I’m frozen to the spot, watching Erica Parnell’s face as it changes. As realization slowly dawns. She meets my eye, and I feel something icy drip down my spine.
“Rebecca Bloomwood,” she says, in quite a different voice. “I thought I knew that name. Do you live in Burney Road, Rebecca?”
“That’s clever!” says Philip. “How did you know that?” And he takes another swig of champagne.
Shut up, Philip, I think frantically. Shut up.
“So you do?” Her voice is sweet but sharp. Oh God, now Philip’s looking at me, waiting for me to answer.
“Yes,” I say in a strangled voice. I’m gripping my champagne glass so hard, I think I might break it.
“Derek, have you realized who this is?” says Erica pleasantly. “This is Rebecca Bloomwood, one of our customers. I think you spoke to her the other day. Remember?” Her voice hardens. “The one with the dead dog?”
“Hi there,” I say. “Rebecca Bloomwood, Successful Saving.”
“Hello,” he says, turning toward me and extending his hand. “Derek Smeath from Endwich Bank. And this is my assistant, Erica.”
Oh my God.
I can’t speak. I can’t shake his hand. I can’t run. My whole body’s paralyzed.
“Hi!” says Erica, giving me a friendly smile. “I’m Erica Parnell.”
“Yes,” I say, after a huge pause. “Yes, hi.”
Please don’t recognize my name. Please don’t recognize my voice.
“Are you a journalist, then?” she says, looking at my name badge and frowning. “Your name seems quite familiar.”
“Yes,” I manage. “Yes, you. . you might have read some of my articles.”
“I expect I have,” she says, and takes an unconcerned sip of champagne. “We get all the financial mags in the office. Quite good, some of them.”
Slowly the circulation is returning to my body. It’s going to be OK, I tell myself. They don’t have a clue.
“You journalists have to be expert on everything, I suppose,” says Derek, who has given up trying to shake my hand and is swigging his champagne instead.
“Yes, we do really,” I reply, and risk a smile. “We get to know all areas of personal finance — from banking to unit trusts to life insurance.”
“And how do you acquire all this knowledge?”
“Oh, we just pick it up along the way,” I say smoothly.
You know what? This is quite fun, actually, now that I’ve relaxed. And Derek Smeath isn’t at all scary in the flesh. In fact, he’s rather cozy and friendly, like some nice sitcom uncle.
“I’ve often thought,” says Erica Parnell, “that they should do a fly-on-the-wall documentary about a bank.” She gives me an expectant look and I nod vigorously.
“Good idea!” I say. “I think that would be fascinating.”
“You should see some of the characters we get in! People who have absolutely no idea about their finances. Don’t we, Derek?”
“You’d be amazed,” says Derek. “Utterly amazed. The lengths people go to, just to avoid paying off their overdrafts! Or even talking to us!”
“Really?” I say, as though astonished.
“You wouldn’t believe it!” says Erica. “I sometimes wonder—”
“Rebecca!” A voice booms behind me and I turn round in shock to see Philip, clutching a glass of champagne and grinning at me. What’s he doing here?
“Hi,” he says. “Marketing canceled the meeting, so I thought I’d pop along after all. How’s it all going?”
“Oh, great!” I say, and take a gulp of champagne. “This is Derek, and Erica. . this is my editor, Philip Page.”
“Endwich Bank, eh?” says Philip, looking at Derek Smeath’s name badge. “You must know Martin Gollinger, then.”
“We’re not head office, I’m afraid,” says Derek, giving a little laugh. “I’m the manager of our Fulham branch.”
“Fulham!” says Philip. “Trendy Fulham.”
And suddenly a warning bell goes off in my head. Dong-dong-dong! I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to say something; change the subject. But it’s too late. I’m the spectator on the mountain, watching the trains collide in the valley below.
“Rebecca lives in Fulham,” Philip’s saying. “Who do you bank with, Rebecca? You’re probably one of Derek’s customers!” He laughs loudly at his own joke, and Derek laughs politely, too.
But I can’t laugh. I’m frozen to the spot, watching Erica Parnell’s face as it changes. As realization slowly dawns. She meets my eye, and I feel something icy drip down my spine.
“Rebecca Bloomwood,” she says, in quite a different voice. “I thought I knew that name. Do you live in Burney Road, Rebecca?”
“That’s clever!” says Philip. “How did you know that?” And he takes another swig of champagne.
Shut up, Philip, I think frantically. Shut up.
“So you do?” Her voice is sweet but sharp. Oh God, now Philip’s looking at me, waiting for me to answer.
“Yes,” I say in a strangled voice. I’m gripping my champagne glass so hard, I think I might break it.
“Derek, have you realized who this is?” says Erica pleasantly. “This is Rebecca Bloomwood, one of our customers. I think you spoke to her the other day. Remember?” Her voice hardens. “The one with the dead dog?”
