THIRTEEN
THE WHOLE WORLD looks different when your husband isn’t having an affair.
Suddenly a phone call is just a phone call. A text is just a text. A late night out isn’t a reason to have a row. It even turns out fac me doesn’t mean…what I thought it did.
Thank God I canceled the private detective, is all I can say. I even burned all his paperwork and receipts, so there was no chance of Luke finding out. (And then quickly invented a story about defective hair tongs when the smoke alarm went off.)
Luke is so much more relaxed these days, and he hasn’t even mentioned her for two weeks. Except when an invitation came to a Cambridge reunion party and he said casually, “Oh yes, Ven told me about this.” It’s a black-tie dance at the Guildhall in London, and I’m determined to look as fab and glam as I can, like Catherine Zeta-Jones at the Oscars. Yesterday I bought the best dress, all clingy and sexy in midnight-blue silk, and now I need some matching heels.(And Venetia can just choke on her chicken.)
So everything’s going brilliantly. We’re exchanging contracts on the house next week, and last night we talked about throwing a massive housewarming-christening party, which would be so cool. And the really big news is that Danny arrives today! He flies in this morning and is coming straight to the store to meet everyone and announce his collaboration with The Look. Then he and I are having lunch, just the two of us. I’m so looking forward to it.
As I arrive at The Look at nine thirty, the place is already bustling with excitement. A reception area has been set up on the ground floor, with a table of champagne glasses and a big screen showing footage from Danny’s latest catwalk show. A few journalists have arrived for the press conference, and all the PR department is milling around bright-eyed, handing out media packs.
“Rebecca.” Eric advances on me before I’ve even taken my coat off. “A word, please. Any news on the design?”
This is the only teeny little hitch. Danny said he’d submit a provisional design to us by last week. And he still hasn’t. I spoke to him a couple of days ago, and he said it was pretty much there, he just needed the final inspiration. Which could mean anything. It probably means he hasn’t even started. Not that I’ll let Eric know this.
“It’s in the final stages,” I say as convincingly as I can.
“Have you seen anything?”
“Absolutely!” I cross my fingers behind my back.
“So, what’s it like?” His brows narrow. “Is it a top? A dress? What?”
“It’s…groundbreaking.” I wave my hands vaguely. “It’s a kind of…You’ll have to see it. When it’s ready.”
Eric doesn’t look convinced.
“Your friend Mr. Kovitz has just made yet another request,” he says. “Two tickets for Euro Disney.” He gives me a baleful stare. “Why is he going to Euro Disney?”
I can’t help cursing Danny inside. Why can’t he buy his own bloody tickets to Euro Disney?
“Inspiration!” I say at last. “He’s probably going to make some satirical comment on…modern culture.”
Eric doesn’t look impressed.
“Rebecca, this plan of yours is costing a lot more time and money than I anticipated,” he says heavily. “Money which could have gone into conventional marketing. It had better work.”
“It will! I promise it will!”
“And if it doesn’t?”
I feel a surge of frustration. Why does he have to be so negative? “Then…I resign!” I say with a flourish. “OK? Satisfied?”
“I’ll hold you to that, Rebecca,” Eric says with an ominous look.
“You do that!” I say confidently, and hold his gaze till he walks away.
Shit. I just offered to resign. Why on earth did I do that? I’m just wondering whether to run after Eric and say “Ha-ha, I was only joking!” when my phone starts ringing and I flip it open. “Hello?”
“Hi, Becky? Buffy.”
I stifle a sigh. Buffy is one of Danny’s assistants and she’s been calling every evening, just to check some tiny detail or other.
“Hi, Buffy!” I force a cheerful tone. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to check Mr. Kovitz’s hotel room had been ordered as he wanted it? Eighty degrees, the TV tuned to MTV, three cans of Dr Pepper by the bed?”
“Yes. I ordered it all.” Suddenly something occurs to me. “Buffy, what time is it in New York?”
“It’s four A.M.,” she says brightly, and I stare at the phone, gobsmacked.
“You’ve got up at four A.M. just to check that Danny has Dr Pepper in his hotel room?”
“That’s OK!” She sounds totally breezy. “It’s all part of working in the fashion industry!”
“He’s here!” comes a cry from the door. “Danny Kovitz is here!”
“Buffy, I have to go,” I say hastily, and thrust my phone down. As I head toward the doors I glimpse a limo on the street outside and feel a prickle of excitement. It’s amazing how important Danny has got!
Then the doors swing back, and there he is! He’s as skinny as ever, and dressed in old jeans and the coolest black jacket, with one sleeve made out of mattress ticking. He looks tired and his curly hair is disheveled, but his blue eyes light up as he sees me, and he comes running forward.
“Becky! Oh my God, look at you.” He envelops me in an enormous hug. “You look fabulous!”
“Look at you!” I retort. “Mr. Famous!”
“C’mon. I’m not famous.…” Danny makes a two-second stab at being self-deprecating. “Well…OK. Yes, I am. Isn’t it wild?”
I can’t help giggling. “So, is this your entourage?” I nod at the woman in a headset who has come in alongside a huge, bald secret-service — type guy.
“That’s my assistant, Carla.”
“I thought Buffy was your assistant.”
“My second assistant,” Danny explains. “And that’s Stan, my bodyguard.”
“You need a bodyguard?” I say in amazement. Even I didn’t realize Danny had got quite that famous.
“Well, I don’t really need him,” Danny admits. “But I thought it would be cool. Hey, did you get them to put Dr Pepper in my room?”
“Three cans.” I see Eric approaching and quickly steer Danny away, toward the champagne table. “So… how’s the design coming?” I ask casually. “Only I’m getting some pressure from my boss….”
A familiar defensive look comes over Danny’s face.
“I’m working on it, OK?” he says. “My team had some ideas but I’m not happy with them. I need to soak up the feel of the shop…the vibe of London…maybe take inspiration from some other European cities….”
Other European cities?
“Right. And…how long do you think that will take? About?”
“Let me introduce myself,” cuts in Eric, who has finally caught up with us. “Eric Wilmot. Head of marketing here at The Look. Welcome to Britain.” He shakes Danny’s hand with a grim smile. “We’re delighted to be collaborating with such a talented young designer on such an exciting fashion project.”
That sentence came word-for-word out of the press release. I know, because I wrote it.
“Danny was just telling me how he’s really close to coming up with a final design!” I say to Eric, praying that Danny keeps his mouth closed. “Isn’t that exciting? Although no exact time scale yet…”
“Mr. Kovitz?” A girl of about twenty, wearing green boots and a very strange coat made out of what looks like cellophane, is shyly approaching. “I’m from Fashion Student Gazette. I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan. We all are, in my year at Central Saint Martins. Could I ask you a few questions about your inspiration?”
Ha. You see? I shoot a triumphant look at Eric, who just scowls back.
