with a whoosh. Back to that dim, expensive lobby. Back to that New York dreamworld.
“I…” I take a deep breath. “I’m fine. You know… back to normal life… busy, busy!”
I’m not going to admit I’ve lost my job. I’m not going to have everyone feeling sorry for me.
“I’m just on my way to the studio,” I say, crossing my fingers. “But I wanted a quick word. I think I know why there’s a rumor going around that Luke’s going to lose Bank of London.”
I tell him exactly what I overheard in the office, how I went to King Street, and what I’ve discovered.
“I see,” says Michael at intervals, sounding grim. “I see. You know, there’s a clause in their contracts forbidding employees to do this? If they poach a client, Luke could sue them.”
“They talked about that. They seem to think he won’t sue because he’d lose too much face.”
There’s silence — and I can almost hear Michael thinking down the line.
“They have a point,” he says at last. “Becky, I have to talk to Luke. You did a great job finding out what you did…”
“That’s not the only thing.” I take a deep breath. “Michael, someone’s got to talk to Luke. I went into the Brandon Communications office, and it was completely dead. No one’s making any effort, everyone’s going home early… it’s a whole different atmosphere. It’s not good.” I bite my lip. “He needs to come home.”
“Why don’t you tell him this yourself?” says Michael gently. “I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”
He sounds so kind and concerned, I feel a sudden prickle in my nose.
“I can’t. If I ring him up, he’ll just think… he’ll think I’m trying to prove some point, or it’s just some more stupid gossip…” I break off, and swallow hard. “To be honest, Michael, I’d rather you just kept me out of it. Pretend someone else spoke to you. But someone’s got to tell him.”
“I’m seeing him in half an hour,” Michael says. “I’ll talk to him then. And, Becky… well done.”
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
c/o Four Seasons Hotel
57 East 57th Street
New York 10022
October 3, 2000
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
I was delighted to meet you at Nina Heywood’s luncheon the other day. It was a great pleasure to meet such a cultured and well-connected young lady as yourself.
I write because I am coming to England in two weeks’ time and I was very much hoping that you might be able to introduce me to Prince William and, if possible, the queen? I would be honored to take the three of you to dinner, whenever is convenient.
I look forward to hearing from you.
With kind regards,
Marion Jefferson (Mrs.)
P.S. If not the queen, then maybe Prince Philip?
Fifteen
AFTER A WEEK, I give up on hearing anything from Michael. Whatever he’s said to Luke, I’m never going to hear about it. I feel as though that whole part of my life is over. Luke, America, television, everything. Time to start again.
I’m trying to keep positive, and tell myself I’ve lots of avenues open to me. But what is the next career move for an ex— television financial expert? I rang up a television agent, and to my dismay, she sounded exactly like all those TV people in America. She said she was thrilled to hear from me, she’d have absolutely no problem finding me work — if not my own series — and that she’d ring back that day with lots of exciting news. I haven’t heard from her since.
So now I’m reduced to looking through the Media Guardian, looking for jobs I might just have half a chance of getting. So far, I’ve ringed a staff writer job on Investor’s Chronicle, an assistant editorship of Personal Investment Periodical, and editor of Annuities Today. I don’t know much about annuities, but I can always quickly read a book about it.
“How are you doing?” says Suze, coming into the room with a bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes.
“Fine,” I say, trying to raise a smile. “I’ll get there.” Suze takes a mouthful of cereal and eyes me thoughtfully.
“What have you got planned for today?”
“Nothing much,” I say morosely. “You know — just trying to get a job. Sort out my mess of a life. That kind of thing.”
“Oh right.” Suze pulls a sympathetic face. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”
I flick my fingers toward a ringed advertisement.
“I thought I’d go for editor of Annuities Today. The right candidate may also be considered for editorship of the annual Tax Rebate supplement!”
“Really?” She involuntarily pulls a face — then hastily adds, “I mean… that sounds good! Really interesting!”
“Tax rebates? Suze, please.”
“Well — you know. Relatively speaking.”
I rest my head on my knees and stare at the sitting-room carpet. The sound on the television has been turned down, and there’s silence in the room apart from Suze munching. I close my eyes and slump down farther on the floor, until my head’s resting on the sofa seat. I feel as though I could stay here for the rest of my life.
“Bex, I’m worried about you,” says Suze. “You haven’t been out for days. What else are you planning to do today?”
I open my eyes briefly and see her peering anxiously down at me.
“Dunno. Watch Morning Coffee.”
“You are not watching Morning Coffee!” says Suze firmly. “Come on.” She closes the Media Guardian. “I’ve had a really good idea.”
“What?” I say suspiciously as she drags me to my room. She swings open the door, leads me inside, and spreads her arms around, gesturing to the mess everywhere.
“I think you should spend the morning decluttering.”
“What?” I stare at her in horror. “I don’t want to declutter.”
“Yes, you do! Honestly, you’ll feel so great, like I did. It was brilliant! I felt so good afterward.”
“Yes, and you had no clothes! You had to borrow knickers from me for three weeks!”
“Well, OK,” she concedes. “Maybe I went a bit too far. But the point is, it completely transforms your life.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does! It’s feng shui! You have to let things out of your life to allow the new good things in.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true! The moment I decluttered, I got Hadleys phoning me up with an offer. Come on, Bex… Just a little bit of decluttering would do you a world of good.”
She throws open my wardrobe and begins to leaf through my clothes.
“I mean, look at this,” she says, pulling out a blue fringed suede skirt. “When did you last wear that?”
“Erm… quite recently,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. I bought that skirt off a stall in the Portobello Road without trying it on — and when I got it home it was too small. But you never know, I might lose
