Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3)

Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3) Page 115

As long as I stay here I’ll be safe.

“Becky? Is that you?” My heart gives a little flicker and I turn round, to see Eileen Morgan beaming at me. Eileen is the lady who showed me around the floor when I registered my list here. She’s an elderly lady with her hair in a bun, and reminds me of the ballet teacher I used to have when I was little.

“Hi, Eileen,” I say. “How are you?”

“I’m well. And I have good news for you!”

“Good news?” I say stupidly.

I can’t remember the last time I heard a piece of good news.

“Your list has been going very well.”

“Really?” In spite of myself I feel the same twinge of pride I used to when Miss Phipps said my pliés were going well.

“Very well, indeed. In fact, I was planning to call you. I think the time has come…” Eileen pauses momentously, “… to go for some larger items. A silver bowl. A platter. Some antique hollowware.”

I stare at her in slight disbelief. In wedding list terms, this is as though she’s said I should try for the Royal Ballet.

“You honestly think I’m in that… league?”

“Becky, the performance of your list has been very impressive. You’re right up there with our top brides.”

“I… I don’t know what to say. I never thought…”

“Never underestimate yourself!” says Eileen with a warm smile, and gestures around the floor. “Browse for as long as you like and let me know what you’d like to add. If you need any help, you know where I am.” She squeezes my arm. “Well done, Becky.”

As she walks away, I feel my eyes pricking with grateful tears. Someone doesn’t think I’m a disaster. Someone doesn’t think I’ve ruined everything. In one area, at least, I’m a success.

I head toward the antiques cabinet and gaze up at a silver tray, filled with emotion. I won’t let Eileen down. I’ll register the best damn antique hollowware I possibly can. I’ll put down a teapot, and a sugar bowl…

“Rebecca.”

“Yes?” I say, turning round. “I haven’t quite decided—”

And then I stop, my words shriveling on my lips. It’s not Eileen.

It’s Alicia Bitch Longlegs.

Out of the blue, like a bad fairy. She’s wearing a pink suit and holding a Tiffany carrier bag and hostility is crackling all around her.

Of all the times.

“So,” she says. “So, Becky. I suppose you’re feeling pretty pleased with yourself, are you?”

“Er… no. Not really.”

“Miss Bride of the Year. Miss Enchanted Bloody Forest.”

I gaze at her puzzledly. I know Alicia and I aren’t exactly best buddies — but isn’t this a bit extreme?

“Alicia,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice rises shrilly. “What could be wrong? Maybe the fact that my wedding planner has dumped me with no warning. Maybe that’s irking me a little!”

“What?”

“And why has she dumped me? So she can concentrate on her big, important, Plaza-wedding client. Her extra-special, spare-no-expense client Miss Becky Bloomwood.”

I stare at her in horror. “Alicia, I had no idea—”

“My whole wedding’s in pieces. I couldn’t get another wedding planner. She’s bad-mouthed me all over town. Apparently the rumor is I’m ‘difficult.’ Fucking ‘difficult’! The caterers aren’t returning my calls, my dress is too short, the florist is an idiot…”

“I’m so sorry,” I say helplessly. “I honestly didn’t know about this—”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure you weren’t sniggering in Robyn’s office while she made the call.”

“I wasn’t! I wouldn’t! Look… I’m sure it’ll all turn out OK.” I take a deep breath. “To be honest, my wedding isn’t going that smoothly either…”

“Give me a break. I’ve heard all about your wedding. The whole bloody world has.” She turns on her heel and stalks away, and I gaze after her, shaken.

I haven’t just ruined my own wedding, I’ve ruined Alicia’s too.

I try to turn my attention back to the antiques cabinet but I feel upset and jittery. OK, come on. Let’s pick a few things. That might cheer me up. A nineteenth-century tea strainer. And a sugar bowl with inlaid mother-of-pearl. I mean, that’ll always come in handy, won’t it?

And look at this silver teapot. Only $5,000. I scribble it down on my list and then look up to see if there’s a matching cream jug. A young couple in jeans and Tshirts have wandered over to the same cabinet, and suddenly I notice they’re staring up at the same teapot.