Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4)

Shopaholic and Sister (Shopaholic #4) Page 81

“I never knew that,” I say slowly. “So… our marriage isn’t in trouble after all?”

This makes a lot of sense. A First Big Row — and then everything’s calm and happy again. Like a thunderstorm. Clear air and renewal. Or one of those forest fires that seem awful but in fact are good because all the little plants can grow again. Exactly. But the real point is… Yes! This means none of it was my fault! We were going to have a row anyway, whatever I did! I’m really starting to cheer up again. Everything’s going to be lovely again. I beam at Mum and take a huge bite of Swiss roll.

“So… Luke and I won’t have any more rows,” I say, just to be on the safe side.

“Oh no!” says Mum reassuringly. “Not until your Second Big Row, which won’t be until—”

She’s interrupted by the kitchen door banging open and Luke appearing in the doorway. He’s holding the phone and his face is elated.

“We got it. We’ve got the Arcodas Group!”

I knew everything was going to be all right! I knew it. It’s all lovely! In fact, it’s been like Christmas all day long!

Luke canceled his meeting and went straight into the office to celebrate — and after seeing Mum and Dad off in a taxi I joined him there. God, I love the Brandon Communications office. It’s all chic, with blond wood and spotlights everywhere, and it’s such a happy place. Everyone just mills around, merrily swigging champagne all day! Or at least, they do when they’ve just won an enormous pitch. All day long, there’s been the sound of laughter and excited voices everywhere, and someone’s programmed all the computers to sing “Congratulations” every ten minutes.

Luke and his senior people held a quick celebration/strategy meeting, which I sat in on. At first they were all saying things like “The work starts here” and “We need to recruit” and “There are huge challenges ahead.” But then Luke suddenly exclaimed, “Fuck it. Let’s party. We’ll think about the challenges tomorrow.”

So he got his assistant on the phone to some caterers, and at five o’clock loads of guys in black aprons appeared in the offices with more champagne, and canapés arranged on cool Perspex boxes. All the employees piled into the biggest conference room, and there was music on the sound system, and Luke made a little speech in which he said it was a great day for Brandon C, and well done, and everyone cheered.

And now a few of us are going out to dinner for another celebration! I’m in Luke’s office redoing my makeup, and he’s changing into a fresh shirt.

“Congratulations,” I say for the millionth time. “It’s fantastic.”

“It’s a good day.” Luke grins at me, doing up his cuffs. “This could pave the way for a lot.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Ditto.” Luke’s face suddenly softens. He comes over and wraps his arms round me. “I know I’ve been distracted lately. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I say, looking down. “And I’m… I’m sorry I sold the clocks.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Luke strokes my hair. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. What with coming home… your sister…”

“Yes, well,” I say at once. “Let’s not think about her. Let’s think about us. The future.” I pull his head down and kiss him. “It’s all going to be great.”

For a while we’re both quiet. But in a good way. It’s just us, in each other’s arms, relaxed and content and together, like we used to be on our honeymoon. I feel a great swell of relief. Mum was so right! That First Big Row totally cleared the air! We’re closer than ever!

“I love you,” I murmur.

“I love you.” Luke kisses my nose. “We should get going.”

“OK. I’ll go down and see if the car’s here yet.”

I head along the corridor, floating on a cloud of joy. Everything’s perfect. Everything! As I pass the caterers’ trays, I pick up a glass of champagne and take a few sips. Maybe we’ll go dancing tonight. After dinner. When everyone else has gone home, Luke and I will go on to a club and celebrate properly, just the two of us.

I trip happily down the stairs, still holding my glass, and open the door into reception. Then I stop, puzzled. A few yards away, a thin-faced guy in a chalk-striped suit is talking to Janet, the receptionist. He seems kind of familiar, somehow, but I can’t quite place him…

Yes. I can.

It’s that guy from Milan. The one who carried Nathan Temple’s bags out of the shop. What’s he doing here?