1. Chloe Silverado bag, tan
2. Matthew Williamson purple beaded kaftan top, size 6
3. Olly Bricknell Princess shoes, green, size 39.
Fabia
33 Delamain Road, Maida Vale, London NW6 1TY
Oxshott School for Girls
Marlin Road
Oxshott
Surrey
KT22 0JG
From the School Librarian
Mrs L Hargreaves
23 August 2003
Dear Becky,
How nice to hear from you after all these years, and I do indeed remember you as a pupil here. Who could forget the girl who started the “friendship handbags” craze of 1989?
I am delighted you are to appear in Vogue — and it is, as you say, a surprise. Though I must assure you, the teachers did not sit in the staff room, saying “I bet Becky Bloomwood never makes it into Vogue.”
I will be sure to buy an issue, although I think it unlikely the headmistress will sanction buying an official commemorative copy for each pupil, as you suggest.
With very best wishes,
Lorna Hargreaves
Librarian
P.S. Do you still have a copy of In the Fifth at Malory Towers? There is a rather large fine on it.
NINE
I’M GOING to be in Vogue! Last week Martha, who is the girl writing the Yummiest Mummies-to-Be feature, rang up and we had the most brilliant long chat.
Maybe I did make up a few teeny things. Like my daily exercise regime. And having freshly crushed raspberries for breakfast every morning, and how I write poetry to my unborn child. (I can always get some out of a book.) Plus I’ve said we already live in the house on Delamain Road, because it sounds better than living in a flat.
But the point is, we will be living in it very soon. It’s practically ours already. And the girl was really interested to hear about the his and hers nurseries. She said she thought they’d be a highlight of the shoot. A highlight!
“Becky?”
A voice cuts into my thoughts and I look up to see Eric heading across the floor toward me. Quickly I hide my lists under a MaxMara catalog and scan the shop floor to make sure there isn’t some lurking customer I’ve missed. But there’s no one. Trade hasn’t exactly picked up in the last few days.
Truth be told, we’ve had yet another disaster. Someone in marketing decided to start a “word on the street” campaign, hiring students to talk about The Look and hand out leaflets in cafes. Which would have been great if they hadn’t handed them to a gang of shoplifters, who proceeded to come in and pinch the entire range of Benefit cosmetics. They were caught — but even so. The Daily World had a total field day, about how “The Look is so desperate, it’s now inviting in convicted criminals.”
The place feels emptier than ever, and to cap it all, five members of the staff resigned this week. No wonder Eric looks so grumpy.
“Where’s Jasmine?” He glances around the personal shopping reception area.
“She’s…in the stock room,” I lie.
Actually, Jasmine is asleep on the floor in one of the dressing rooms. Her new theory is, since there’s nothing to do at work, she might as well use the time to sleep and go clubbing at night. So far, it’s working out pretty well.
“Well, it was you I wanted to see, anyway.” He frowns. “I’ve just had the contract through for the Danny Kovitz deal. Very demanding, this friend of yours. He’s specified first-class travel, a suite at Claridge’s, a limo for his personal use, unlimited San Pellegrino ‘stirred, to take the bubbles out’…”
I stifle a giggle. That is so typical of Danny.
“He’s a big, important designer,” I remind Eric. “Talented people all have their little quirks.”
“‘For the duration of the creative process,’” Eric reads aloud, “‘Mr. Kovitz will require a bowl of at least ten inches in diameter, filled with jelly beans. No green ones.’ I mean, what is this nonsense?” He flicks the paper in exasperation. “What’s he expecting, that someone’s just going to sit for hours, removing green jelly beans and disposing of them?”
Ooh. I love green jelly beans.
“I don’t mind taking care of that,” I say casually.
“Fine.” Eric sighs. “Well, all I can say is, I hope all this effort and money is worth it.”
“It will be!” I say, surreptitiously touching the wooden desk for luck. “Danny’s the hottest designer around! He’ll come up with something totally brilliant and directional and now. And everyone will flock to the store. I promise!”
I really, really hope I’m right.
As Eric stalks off again I wonder whether to call Danny and see if he’s had any ideas yet. But before I can do so, my cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” comes Luke’s voice. “It’s me.”
“Oh, hi!” I lean back in my chair, ready to have a chat. “Hey, I’ve just been hearing about Danny’s contract. You’ll never guess what—”
“Becky, I’m afraid I can’t make this afternoon.”
“What?” My smile slips away.
This afternoon is our first prenatal class. It’s the one that birth partners come to, and we do breathing and make friends for life. And Luke promised to be there. He promised.
“I’m sorry.” He seems distracted. “I know I said I’d be there, but there’s a…crisis at work.”
“A crisis?” I sit up, concerned.
“Not a crisis,” he amends at once. “It’s just…something’s happened which isn’t so good. It’ll be fine. Just a hiccup.”
“What’s happened?”
“Just…a minor internal dispute. I won’t go into it. But I’m really sorry about this afternoon. I wanted to be there.” He does sound genuinely torn up. There’s no point getting cross with him.
