Shopaholic & Baby
Page 77
“Soon!” I put my arms round him and hug him tight in relief. Luke loves me. It’s all happy again. I knew it would be.
TO: Dave Sharpness
FROM: Rebecca Brandon
SUBJECT: Luke Brandon
Dear Mr. Sharpness,
Just to repeat the message I left on your answering machine, I would like you to CALL OFF the investigation on my husband. Repeat: CALL IT OFF. He is not having an affair after all.
I will contact you in due course about the deposit I paid you.
With best wishes,
Rebecca Brandon
FACULTY OF CLASSICS
OXFORD UNIVERSITY
OXFORD OX1 6TH
Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale
London NW6 0YF
11 November 2003
Dear Mrs. Brandon,
I am delighted to enclose translations of the Latin text messages you sent me, and hope they put your mind at rest. They are all entirely innocuous: for instance, sum suci plena means “I’m full of life” rather than the more graphic meaning you ascribed to it.
I also think you may have been unduly concerned by the phrases licitum dic, fac me, and sex, which in Latin means “six.”
If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to let me know. Perhaps some Latin lessons?
With very best wishes.
Yours sincerely,
Edmund Fortescue
Professor of Classics
THIRTEEN
THE WHOLE WORLD looks different when your husband isn’t having an affair.
Suddenly a phone call is just a phone call. A text is just a text. A late night out isn’t a reason to have a row. It even turns out fac me doesn’t mean…what I thought it did.
Thank God I canceled the private detective, is all I can say. I even burned all his paperwork and receipts, so there was no chance of Luke finding out. (And then quickly invented a story about defective hair tongs when the smoke alarm went off.)
Luke is so much more relaxed these days, and he hasn’t even mentioned her for two weeks. Except when an invitation came to a Cambridge reunion party and he said casually, “Oh yes, Ven told me about this.” It’s a black-tie dance at the Guildhall in London, and I’m determined to look as fab and glam as I can, like Catherine Zeta-Jones at the Oscars. Yesterday I bought the best dress, all clingy and sexy in midnight-blue silk, and now I need some matching heels.(And Venetia can just choke on her chicken.)
So everything’s going brilliantly. We’re exchanging contracts on the house next week, and last night we talked about throwing a massive housewarming-christening party, which would be so cool. And the really big news is that Danny arrives today! He flies in this morning and is coming straight to the store to meet everyone and announce his collaboration with The Look. Then he and I are having lunch, just the two of us. I’m so looking forward to it.
As I arrive at The Look at nine thirty, the place is already bustling with excitement. A reception area has been set up on the ground floor, with a table of champagne glasses and a big screen showing footage from Danny’s latest catwalk show. A few journalists have arrived for the press conference, and all the PR department is milling around bright-eyed, handing out media packs.
“Rebecca.” Eric advances on me before I’ve even taken my coat off. “A word, please. Any news on the design?”
This is the only teeny little hitch. Danny said he’d submit a provisional design to us by last week. And he still hasn’t. I spoke to him a couple of days ago, and he said it was pretty much there, he just needed the final inspiration. Which could mean anything. It probably means he hasn’t even started. Not that I’ll let Eric know this.
“It’s in the final stages,” I say as convincingly as I can.
“Have you seen anything?”
“Absolutely!” I cross my fingers behind my back.
“So, what’s it like?” His brows narrow. “Is it a top? A dress? What?”
“It’s…groundbreaking.” I wave my hands vaguely. “It’s a kind of…You’ll have to see it. When it’s ready.”
Eric doesn’t look convinced.
“Your friend Mr. Kovitz has just made yet another request,” he says. “Two tickets for Euro Disney.” He gives me a baleful stare. “Why is he going to Euro Disney?”
I can’t help cursing Danny inside. Why can’t he buy his own bloody tickets to Euro Disney?
“Inspiration!” I say at last. “He’s probably going to make some satirical comment on…modern culture.”
Eric doesn’t look impressed.
“Rebecca, this plan of yours is costing a lot more time and money than I anticipated,” he says heavily. “Money which could have gone into conventional marketing. It had better work.”
TO: Dave Sharpness
FROM: Rebecca Brandon
SUBJECT: Luke Brandon
Dear Mr. Sharpness,
Just to repeat the message I left on your answering machine, I would like you to CALL OFF the investigation on my husband. Repeat: CALL IT OFF. He is not having an affair after all.
I will contact you in due course about the deposit I paid you.
With best wishes,
Rebecca Brandon
FACULTY OF CLASSICS
OXFORD UNIVERSITY
OXFORD OX1 6TH
Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale
London NW6 0YF
11 November 2003
Dear Mrs. Brandon,
I am delighted to enclose translations of the Latin text messages you sent me, and hope they put your mind at rest. They are all entirely innocuous: for instance, sum suci plena means “I’m full of life” rather than the more graphic meaning you ascribed to it.
I also think you may have been unduly concerned by the phrases licitum dic, fac me, and sex, which in Latin means “six.”
If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to let me know. Perhaps some Latin lessons?
With very best wishes.
Yours sincerely,
Edmund Fortescue
Professor of Classics
THIRTEEN
THE WHOLE WORLD looks different when your husband isn’t having an affair.
Suddenly a phone call is just a phone call. A text is just a text. A late night out isn’t a reason to have a row. It even turns out fac me doesn’t mean…what I thought it did.
Thank God I canceled the private detective, is all I can say. I even burned all his paperwork and receipts, so there was no chance of Luke finding out. (And then quickly invented a story about defective hair tongs when the smoke alarm went off.)
Luke is so much more relaxed these days, and he hasn’t even mentioned her for two weeks. Except when an invitation came to a Cambridge reunion party and he said casually, “Oh yes, Ven told me about this.” It’s a black-tie dance at the Guildhall in London, and I’m determined to look as fab and glam as I can, like Catherine Zeta-Jones at the Oscars. Yesterday I bought the best dress, all clingy and sexy in midnight-blue silk, and now I need some matching heels.(And Venetia can just choke on her chicken.)
So everything’s going brilliantly. We’re exchanging contracts on the house next week, and last night we talked about throwing a massive housewarming-christening party, which would be so cool. And the really big news is that Danny arrives today! He flies in this morning and is coming straight to the store to meet everyone and announce his collaboration with The Look. Then he and I are having lunch, just the two of us. I’m so looking forward to it.
As I arrive at The Look at nine thirty, the place is already bustling with excitement. A reception area has been set up on the ground floor, with a table of champagne glasses and a big screen showing footage from Danny’s latest catwalk show. A few journalists have arrived for the press conference, and all the PR department is milling around bright-eyed, handing out media packs.
“Rebecca.” Eric advances on me before I’ve even taken my coat off. “A word, please. Any news on the design?”
This is the only teeny little hitch. Danny said he’d submit a provisional design to us by last week. And he still hasn’t. I spoke to him a couple of days ago, and he said it was pretty much there, he just needed the final inspiration. Which could mean anything. It probably means he hasn’t even started. Not that I’ll let Eric know this.
“It’s in the final stages,” I say as convincingly as I can.
“Have you seen anything?”
“Absolutely!” I cross my fingers behind my back.
“So, what’s it like?” His brows narrow. “Is it a top? A dress? What?”
“It’s…groundbreaking.” I wave my hands vaguely. “It’s a kind of…You’ll have to see it. When it’s ready.”
Eric doesn’t look convinced.
“Your friend Mr. Kovitz has just made yet another request,” he says. “Two tickets for Euro Disney.” He gives me a baleful stare. “Why is he going to Euro Disney?”
I can’t help cursing Danny inside. Why can’t he buy his own bloody tickets to Euro Disney?
“Inspiration!” I say at last. “He’s probably going to make some satirical comment on…modern culture.”
Eric doesn’t look impressed.
“Rebecca, this plan of yours is costing a lot more time and money than I anticipated,” he says heavily. “Money which could have gone into conventional marketing. It had better work.”
