Confessions of a Shopaholic
Page 84
An anniversary card from their son stands proudly on the well-polished mantelpiece. But there will be no celebration this year for Martin and Janice Webster.
“I must phone Phyllis!” says Janice. “She won’t believe it!”
“You weren’t ever a soldier, or anything?” I say thoughtfully to Martin. “Or a. . a fireman? Anything like that. Before you became a travel agent.”
“Not really, love,” says Martin, wrinkling his brow. “Just the Cadets at school.”
“Oh, right,” I say, brightening. “That might do.”
Martin Webster fingers the Cadet badge he was so proud to wear as a youth. His life has been one of hard work and service for others. Now, in his retirement years, he should be enjoying the rewards he deserves.
But the fat cats have conned him out of his nest egg. The Daily World asks. .
“I’ve photocopied all the documents for you,” says Martin. “All the paperwork. I don’t know if it’ll be any use. .”
“Oh thanks,” I say, taking the pile of pages from him. “I’ll have a good read through these.”
When honest Martin Webster received a letter from Flagstaff Life, inviting him to switch investment funds, he trusted the money men to know what was best for him.
Two weeks later he discovered they had tricked him out of a £20,000 windfall.
“My wife is ill as a result of all this,” he said. “I’m so worried.”
Hmm.
“Janice?” I say, looking up casually. “Do you feel all right? Not. . unwell, or anything?”
“A bit nervous, to be honest, dear,” she says, looking round from the mirror. “I’m never very good at having my picture taken.”
“My nerves are shot to pieces,” said Mrs. Webster in a ragged voice. “I’ve never felt so betrayed in all my life.”
“Well, I think I’ve got enough now,” I say, getting up and switching off my Dictaphone. “I might have to slightly digress from what’s on the tape — just to make the story work. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not!” says Janice. “You write what you like, Becky! We trust you.”
I look at her soft, friendly face and feel a sudden shot of determination. This time I’ll get it right.
“So what happens now?” says Martin.
“I’ll have to go and talk to Flagstaff Life,” I say. “Get them to give their defense.”
“What defense?” says Martin. “There is no defense for what they did to us!”
I grin at him. “Exactly.”
I’m full of happy adrenaline. All I need to do is get a quote from Flagstaff Life, and I can start writing the piece. I haven’t got long: it needs to be finished by two o’clock if it’s going to make tomorrow’s edition. Why has work never seemed so exciting before?
Briskly I reach for the phone and dial Flagstaff’s number — only to be told by the switchboard operator that all press inquiries are dealt with out of house. She gives me a number, which seems rather familiar, and I frown at it for a moment, then punch it in.
“Hello,” says a smooth voice. “Brandon Communications.”
Of course. Suddenly I feel a bit shaky. The word Brandon has hit me right in the stomach like a punch. I’d forgotten all about Luke Brandon. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about the rest of my life. And frankly, I don’t want to be reminded of it.
But it’s OK — I don’t have to speak to him personally, do I?
“Hi!” I say. “It’s Rebecca Bloomwood here. Ermm. . I just wanted to talk to somebody about Flagstaff Life.”
“Let me check. .” says the voice. “Yes, that’s Luke Brandon’s client. I’ll just put you through to his assistant. .” And the voice disappears before I can say anything.
Oh God.
I can’t do this. I can’t speak to Luke Brandon. My questions are jotted down on a piece of paper in front of me, but as I stare at them, I’m not reading them. I’m remembering the humiliation I felt that day in Harvey Nichols. That horrible plunge in my stomach, as I heard the patronizing note in his voice and suddenly realized what he thought of me. A nothing. A joke.
OK, I can do this, I tell myself firmly. I’ll just be very stern and businesslike and ask my questions, and. .
“Rebecca!” comes a voice in my ear. “How are you! It’s Alicia here.”
“Oh,” I say in surprise. “I thought I was going to speak to Luke. It’s about Flagstaff Life.”
“Yes, well,” says Alicia. “Luke Brandon is a very busy man. I’m sure I can answer any questions you have.”
“I must phone Phyllis!” says Janice. “She won’t believe it!”
“You weren’t ever a soldier, or anything?” I say thoughtfully to Martin. “Or a. . a fireman? Anything like that. Before you became a travel agent.”
“Not really, love,” says Martin, wrinkling his brow. “Just the Cadets at school.”
“Oh, right,” I say, brightening. “That might do.”
Martin Webster fingers the Cadet badge he was so proud to wear as a youth. His life has been one of hard work and service for others. Now, in his retirement years, he should be enjoying the rewards he deserves.
But the fat cats have conned him out of his nest egg. The Daily World asks. .
“I’ve photocopied all the documents for you,” says Martin. “All the paperwork. I don’t know if it’ll be any use. .”
“Oh thanks,” I say, taking the pile of pages from him. “I’ll have a good read through these.”
When honest Martin Webster received a letter from Flagstaff Life, inviting him to switch investment funds, he trusted the money men to know what was best for him.
Two weeks later he discovered they had tricked him out of a £20,000 windfall.
“My wife is ill as a result of all this,” he said. “I’m so worried.”
Hmm.
“Janice?” I say, looking up casually. “Do you feel all right? Not. . unwell, or anything?”
“A bit nervous, to be honest, dear,” she says, looking round from the mirror. “I’m never very good at having my picture taken.”
“My nerves are shot to pieces,” said Mrs. Webster in a ragged voice. “I’ve never felt so betrayed in all my life.”
“Well, I think I’ve got enough now,” I say, getting up and switching off my Dictaphone. “I might have to slightly digress from what’s on the tape — just to make the story work. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not!” says Janice. “You write what you like, Becky! We trust you.”
I look at her soft, friendly face and feel a sudden shot of determination. This time I’ll get it right.
“So what happens now?” says Martin.
“I’ll have to go and talk to Flagstaff Life,” I say. “Get them to give their defense.”
“What defense?” says Martin. “There is no defense for what they did to us!”
I grin at him. “Exactly.”
I’m full of happy adrenaline. All I need to do is get a quote from Flagstaff Life, and I can start writing the piece. I haven’t got long: it needs to be finished by two o’clock if it’s going to make tomorrow’s edition. Why has work never seemed so exciting before?
Briskly I reach for the phone and dial Flagstaff’s number — only to be told by the switchboard operator that all press inquiries are dealt with out of house. She gives me a number, which seems rather familiar, and I frown at it for a moment, then punch it in.
“Hello,” says a smooth voice. “Brandon Communications.”
Of course. Suddenly I feel a bit shaky. The word Brandon has hit me right in the stomach like a punch. I’d forgotten all about Luke Brandon. To be honest, I’d forgotten all about the rest of my life. And frankly, I don’t want to be reminded of it.
But it’s OK — I don’t have to speak to him personally, do I?
“Hi!” I say. “It’s Rebecca Bloomwood here. Ermm. . I just wanted to talk to somebody about Flagstaff Life.”
“Let me check. .” says the voice. “Yes, that’s Luke Brandon’s client. I’ll just put you through to his assistant. .” And the voice disappears before I can say anything.
Oh God.
I can’t do this. I can’t speak to Luke Brandon. My questions are jotted down on a piece of paper in front of me, but as I stare at them, I’m not reading them. I’m remembering the humiliation I felt that day in Harvey Nichols. That horrible plunge in my stomach, as I heard the patronizing note in his voice and suddenly realized what he thought of me. A nothing. A joke.
OK, I can do this, I tell myself firmly. I’ll just be very stern and businesslike and ask my questions, and. .
“Rebecca!” comes a voice in my ear. “How are you! It’s Alicia here.”
“Oh,” I say in surprise. “I thought I was going to speak to Luke. It’s about Flagstaff Life.”
“Yes, well,” says Alicia. “Luke Brandon is a very busy man. I’m sure I can answer any questions you have.”
