Luke knows. I said that Luke didn’t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, “That’s often the smokescreen.” Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something—
Hang on. I blink, and peer more carefully at the photograph. That can’t be…
She can’t be…
I clap a hand over my mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh. OK, I know hiring a private detective was a stupid thing to do. But this is so going to cheer Suze up.
I’m just stuffing all the prints and papers back into the folder when my mobile rings. “Yes?” I say cautiously.
“Becky, it’s Jasmine!” comes an animated voice. “Are you coming in, or what?”
I sit up in surprise. First of all, I didn’t think anyone would even notice I was late. And second, since when did Jasmine ever raise her voice above a bored, monosyllabic drawl?
“I’m on my way,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s your mate Danny Kovitz.”
I feel a grip of alarm. Please don’t say he’s lost interest. Please don’t say he’s pulled out.
“Is there…a problem?” I can hardly bear to say it.
“No way! He’s finished his design! He’s here with it now. And it’s amazing!”
Finally, finally, something is going well! I arrive at The Look and head straight up to the boardroom on the sixth floor, which is where everybody has assembled to see the design.
Jasmine meets me at the lift, her eyes sparkling.
“It’s so cool!” she says. “Apparently he was working all night to get it right. He says coming to Britain gave him exactly the final inspiration he needed. Everyone’s really excited. It’s going to be a sell-out! I’ve been texting my friends and they all want one.”
“Great!” I say in astonishment.
I don’t know what I’m more surprised by, Danny finishing his design so quickly or Jasmine coming to life.
“In here…” She opens the heavy pale-wood door, and I can hear Danny’s voice as we enter the boardroom. He’s sitting on the long table, holding forth to Eric, Brianna, and all the marketing and PR personnel.
“It was just that final concept I needed to crack,” he’s saying. “But once I got it…”
“It’s so different!” Brianna is saying. “It’s so original.”
“Becky!” Danny suddenly notices me. “Come and see the design! Carla, come over here.”
He beckons her over — and I gasp.
“You what?” My voice shoots out in horror before I can stop it.
Carla’s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny’s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there’s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase:
SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny.
“You can’t….” My mouth isn’t working properly. “Danny, you can’t….”
“Isn’t it great?” says Jasmine.
“The magazines will love it.” A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve already given InStyle a teeny sneak preview and it’s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too…Everyone is going to want one.”
“It’s such a brilliant slogan!” says someone else. “‘She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her’!”
The whole room laughs. Except me. I’m still in shock. What’s Venetia going to say? What’s Luke going to say?
“We’re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines….” the PR girl is saying. “Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.”
My head jerks up in horror. He what?
“Great idea, Danny!” I say, shooting daggers at him.
“I thought so.” He beams back innocently. “Hey, you could wear one for the birth!”
“So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?” asks an eager young marketing assistant.
“Who’s the redhaired bitch?” The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. “I hope she won’t mind having a thousand Tshirts printed about her!”
“What do you think, Becky?” Danny wickedly raises his eyebrows at me.
“Does Becky know her?” says Brianna in surprise. “Is this a real person?”
Everyone suddenly looks interested.
“No!” I gabble in alarm. “No! Not at all! She isn’t…I mean…I was just…thinking. Why don’t we broaden the design? We could have blond and brunette versions too.”
“Nice idea,” says Brianna. “What do you think, Danny?”
For a heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to say “No, it has to be redhaired because Venetia is redhaired.” But thank God, he nods.
“I like it. Pick your own bitch.” He suddenly gives a huge, catlike yawn. “Is there any more coffee?”
Thank God. Disaster averted. I’ll take a blond version home and Luke will never know about the original.
“We need this!” says Carla, pouring out the coffee. “We were up all night. Danny finalized the design at around two A.M. Then we found an all-night silk screener in Hoxton, and they made up the prototypes for us.”
“Well, we appreciate your efforts,” says Eric ponderously. “On behalf of The Look, I would like to thank you, Danny, and your team.”
“Gratitude accepted,” says Danny charmingly. “And I would like to thank Becky Bloomwood, whose brainchild this collaboration was.” He starts applauding, and reluctantly I smile back. You can never stay cross with Danny for long. “To Becky, my muse,” Danny adds, lifting the fresh cup of coffee that Carla has poured for him. “And the little musette.”
“Thanks.” I lift my cup back toward him. “To you, Danny.”
“You’re his muse?” Jasmine breathes beside me. “That’s so cool!”
“Well…” I shrug nonchalantly. But inside I’m pretty chuffed. I have always wanted to be a fashion designer’s muse!
It just shows. Whenever life seems total rubbish, it always turns around. Today has been approximately a million times better than I expected. Luke isn’t leading a double life after all. Danny’s design is going to be a sell- out. And I’m a muse!
By the end of the day I’ve changed my clothes a few times, because fashion muses do like to experiment with their looks. I finally decide on a pink chiffon empire-line dress which I can just squeeze over my bump, with one of Danny’s prototype Tshirts layered on top, together with a green velvet coat and a black feather hat.
I must start wearing more hats if I’m going to be a muse. And brooches.
At five thirty Danny appears at the entrance to personal shopping and I look up in surprise. “Are you still here? Where’ve you been?”
“Oh…just hanging out in menswear,” he says casually. “That guy Tristan who works there…he’s pretty cute, huh?”
“Tristan’s not gay.” I give Danny a look.
“Yet,” Danny says, and picks up a pink evening dress from our Cruisewear department. “This is gross. Becky, you should not be stocking this dress.”
He’s totally hyper at the moment, the way he always gets when he’s finished a design. I remember this from New York.
“Where are all your ‘people’?” I ask, rolling my eyes. But Danny doesn’t even get the irony.
