“Er…yes,” I say, folding my Alternative Pain Relief Options leaflet into smaller and smaller quarters. “Of course it is.”
“Sweetheart. Darling.” Luke suddenly has a concerned frown. “If you’re feeling at all threatened by my old relationship with Venetia, let me assure you—”
“Threatened?” I cut him off brightly. “Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t feel threatened.”
Maybe I do feel a tad threatened. But how can I say that to Luke?
“Good, you’re still here!” Venetia’s silvery voice travels down the corridor and I look round to see her approaching, a clipboard in hand. “You must collect your welcome pack before you go, Becky! We have all sorts of goodies for you. And there was another thing I wanted to mention—”
“Venetia.” Luke cuts her off midstream. “Let me be frank. We were just discussing the fact of…our previous relationship. And I’m not sure Becky feels comfortable with it.” He takes my hand and I clasp his gratefully.
Venetia exhales and nods.
“Of course,” she says. “Becky, I completely understand. If you feel at all uncomfortable, then you should certainly consider going elsewhere. I won’t be offended!” She gives me a friendly smile. “All I can say is…I’m a professional. If you do decide to remain under my care, I’ll help you achieve the very best birth experience I can. And, just in case you were really anxious”—her eyes twinkle at me—“I do have a boyfriend!”
“Don’t worry! I’m not quite that insecure!” I say, joining in with her merry laughter.
She has a boyfriend! It’s all OK!
I don’t know how I could have thought it was anything else. God, pregnancy is making me paranoid.
“So,” Venetia Carter is saying, “you two go away, have a think about it. You have my number—”
“I don’t need to think about it.” I beam at her. “Just show me where the welcome packs are!”
KENNETH PRENDERGAST
Prendergast de Witt Connell Financial Advisers
Forward House 394 High Holborn
London WC1V 7EX
Mrs R Brandon 37 Maida Vale Mansions Maida Vale
London NW6 0YF
20 August 2003
Dear Mrs. Brandon,
Thank you for your letter. I am aware of the investment “bet” between yourself and your husband. Please be assured I will not reveal any of your asset allocation strategies to him, nor “sell them like a Russian spy.”
In answer to your query, I think an investment in gold would be a most wise choice for your child. Gold has done well over the last few years and in my opinion will continue to do so.
Yours sincerely,
Kenneth Prendergast
Family Investment Specialist
SIX
GOD, WORK’S DEPRESSING.
It’s the next day, and I’m sitting at my desk in the reception area of personal shopping. Jasmine, who works with me, is slumped on the sofa. Our appointment book is empty, the phone is silent, and as I look around, the place is as dead as ever. Not a single customer. The only sign of movement out on the shop floor is Len the security guard doing his usual rounds, and he looks as fed up as the rest of us feel.
When I think what it used to be like at Barneys in New York, all bright and full of chatter and people buying thousand-dollar dresses…And all I’ve sold this week is a pair of fishnets and an out-of-season raincoat. This place is a disaster. And we opened only ten weeks ago.
The Look is backed by this big tycoon, Giorgio Laszlo. It was supposed to be a buzzy, high-concept department store which would take over from Selfridges and Harvey Nichols. But things started going wrong from day one; in fact, the place is a national joke.
First of all, a whole warehouse of stock got burned down and the launch had to be delayed. Then a light fixture fell from the ceiling and concussed one of the beauty assistants, right in the middle of a makeup demonstration. Then there was a suspected outbreak of Legionnaires’ disease and we were all sent home for five days. It turned out to be false — but the damage was done. All the papers ran stories on how The Look was cursed, and printed cartoons showing the customers keeling over and having bits of the building fall on them. (Which were actually quite funny, but we’re not allowed to say that.)
And no one’s come back since we reopened. Everyone seems to think the place is still closed, or infectious, or something. The Daily World, who are total enemies of Giorgio Laszlo, keep sending undercover photographers to take pictures of the shop floors and run them under headings like “Still Empty!” and “How Much Longer Can This Folly Last?” The rumor is that if things don’t pick up soon, the place will fold.