Nathan Temple winks again.
“I’ve had my eye on him for a while. Talented man. Couple of years ago, all the banks were launching online services. But the one that got all the publicity was SBG. Your husband’s client.”
“Signor Temple.” Roberto comes bustling over with several carrier bags, which he hands to my new friend. “The rest will be shipped according to your orders… ”
“Good man, Roberto,” says Nathan Temple, clapping him on the back. “See you next year.”
“Please let me buy you a drink,” I say quickly. “Or lunch! Or… anything!”
“Unfortunately, I have to go. Nice offer, though.”
“But I want to thank you for what you did. I’m so incredibly grateful!”
Nathan Temple lifts his hands modestly.
“Who knows? Maybe one day you can do a favor for me.”
“Anything!” I exclaim eagerly, and he smiles.
“Enjoy the bag. All right, Harvey.”
Out of nowhere, a thin blond man in a chalk-striped suit has appeared. He takes the bags from Nathan Temple and the two walk out of the shop.
I lean against the counter, radiant with bliss. I have an Angel bag. I have an Angel bag!
“That will be two thousand euros,” comes a surly voice from behind me.
Oh, right. I’d kind of forgotten about the two thousand euros part.
I automatically reach for my purse — then stop. Of course. I don’t have my purse. And I’ve maxed out my Visa card on Luke’s belt… and I have only seven euros in cash.
Silvia’s eyes narrow at my hesitation.
“If you have trouble paying…” she begins.
“I don’t have trouble paying!” I retort at once. “I just… need a minute.”
Silvia folds her arms skeptically as I reach into my bag again and pull out a Bobbi Brown Sheer Finish compact.
“Do you have a hammer?” I say. “Or anything heavy?”
Silvia is looking at me as though I’ve gone completely crazy.
“Anything will do… ” Suddenly I glimpse a hefty-looking stapler sitting on the counter. I pick it up and start bashing as hard as I can at the compact.
“Oddìo!” Silvia screams.
“It’s OK!” I say, panting a little. “I just need to… there!”
The whole thing has splintered. Triumphantly I pull out a MasterCard, which was glued to the backing. My Defcon One, code-red-emergency card. Luke really doesn’t know about this one. Not unless he’s got X-ray vision.
I got the idea of hiding a credit card in a powder compact from this brilliant article I read on money management. Not that I have a big problem with money or anything. But in the past, I have had the odd little… crisis.
So this idea really appealed to me. What you do is, you keep your credit card somewhere really inaccessible, like frozen in ice or sewn into the lining of your bag, so you’ll have time to reconsider before making each purchase. Apparently this simple tactic can cut your unnecessary purchases by 90 percent.
And I have to say, it really does work! The only, tiny, flaw is, I keep having to buy new powder compacts, which is getting a bit expensive.
“I’ll pay with this,” I say, and hand it to Silvia, who is peering at me as though I’m a dangerous lunatic. She swipes it gingerly through her machine, and a minute later I’m scrawling my signature on the slip. I thrust it back at her, and she files it away in a drawer.
There’s a tiny pause. I’m almost exploding with anticipation.
“So… can I have it?” I say.
“Here you are,” she says sulkily, and hands me the creamy carrier.
My hands close over the cord handles and I feel a surge of pure, unadulterated joy.
It’s mine.
As I get back to the hotel that evening I’m floating on air. This has been one of the best days of my life. I spent the whole afternoon walking up and down the via Montenapoleone with my new Angel bag prominently displayed on my shoulder… and everyone admired it. In fact, they didn’t just admire it… they gawped at it. It was like I was a sudden celebrity!
About twenty people came up to me and asked where I got it, and a woman in dark glasses who had to be an Italian movie star got her driver to come and offer me three thousand euros for it. And best of all, all I kept hearing was people saying, “La ragazza con la borsa di Angel”! Which I worked out means the Girl with the Angel Bag! That’s what they were calling me!
I drift blissfully through the revolving doors into the foyer of the hotel to see Luke standing by the reception desk.
“There you are!” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to worry! Our taxi’s here.” He ushers me out into a waiting taxi and slams the door. “Linate Airport,” he says to the driver, who immediately zooms into an oncoming stream of traffic, to a chorus of horns.