“Oddio!” Silvia screams.
“It’s OK!” I say, panting a little. “I just need to… there!”
The whole thing has splintered. Triumphantly I pull out a MasterCard, which was glued to the backing. My Defcon One, code-red-emergency card. Luke really doesn’t know about this one. Not unless he’s got X-ray vision.
I got the idea of hiding a credit card in a powder compact from this brilliant article I read on money management. Not that I have a big problem with money or anything. But in the past, I have had the odd little… crisis.
So this idea really appealed to me. What you do is, you keep your credit card somewhere really inaccessible, like frozen in ice or sewn into the lining of your bag, so you’ll have time to reconsider before making each purchase. Apparently this simple tactic can cut your unnecessary purchases by 90 percent.
And I have to say, it really does work! The only, tiny, flaw is, I keep having to buy new powder compacts, which is getting a bit expensive.
“I’ll pay with this,” I say, and hand it to Silvia, who is peering at me as though I’m a dangerous lunatic. She swipes it gingerly through her machine, and a minute later I’m scrawling my signature on the slip. I thrust it back at her, and she files it away in a drawer.
There’s a tiny pause. I’m almost exploding with anticipation.
“So… can I have it?” I say.
“Here you are,” she says sulkily, and hands me the creamy carrier.
My hands close over the cord handles and I feel a surge of pure, unadulterated joy.
It’s mine.
As I get back to the hotel that evening I’m floating on air. This has been one of the best days of my life. I spent the whole afternoon walking up and down the via Montenapoleone with my new Angel bag prominently displayed on my shoulder… and everyone admired it. In fact, they didn’t just admire it… they gawped at it. It was like I was a sudden celebrity!
About twenty people came up to me and asked where I got it, and a woman in dark glasses who had to be an Italian movie star got her driver to come and offer me three thousand euros for it. And best of all, all I kept hearing was people saying, “La ragazza con la borsa di Angel”! Which I worked out means the Girl with the Angel Bag! That’s what they were calling me!
I drift blissfully through the revolving doors into the foyer of the hotel to see Luke standing by the reception desk.
“There you are!” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to worry! Our taxi’s here.” He ushers me out into a waiting taxi and slams the door. “Linate Airport,” he says to the driver, who immediately zooms into an oncoming stream of traffic, to a chorus of horns.
“So, how was your day?” I say, trying not to flinch as we’re nearly hit by another taxi. “How was the meeting?”
“It went well! If we can get the Arcodas Group as clients it’ll be seriously good news. They’re expanding hugely at the moment. It’s going to be an exciting time.”
“So… do you think you’ll get them?”
“We’ll have to woo them. When we get back I’m going to start preparing a pitch. But I’m hopeful. I’m definitely hopeful.”
“Well done!” I beam at him. “And was your hair OK?”
“My hair was fine.” He gives a wry smile. “In fact… it was admired by all.”
“You see?” I say with delight. “I knew it would be!”
“And how was your day?” says Luke as we swing round a corner at about a hundred miles an hour.
“It was fantastic!” I’m glowing all over. “Absolutely perfect. I adore Milan!”
“Really?” Luke looks intrigued. “Even without this?” He reaches into his pocket and produces my purse.
God, I’d forgotten all about that.
“Even without my purse!” I say with a little laugh. “Although… I did manage to buy you a little something.”
I hand over the bronze-wrapped package and watch excitedly as Luke pulls out the belt.
“Becky, that’s… wonderful!” he says. “Absolutely…” He trails off, turning it over in his hands.
“It’s to replace the one I ruined,” I explain. “With the hot wax, remember?”
“I remember.” He sounds utterly touched. “And… this is really all you bought in Milan? A present for me?”
“Er…”
I give a kind of noncommittal shrug and clear my throat, playing for time.
Marriages are based on honesty and trust. If I don’t tell him about the Angel bag, then I’m betraying that trust.
But if I do tell him… I’ll have to explain about my Defcon One, code-red-emergency credit card. Which I’m not sure is such a solid idea.
I don’t want to spoil the last precious moments of our honeymoon with some stupid argument.
But we’re married, I think in a rush of emotion. We’re husband and wife! We shouldn’t have secrets! OK, I’m going to tell him. Right now.
“Luke—”
“Wait.” Luke cuts me off, his voice a little gruff. “Becky, I want to apologize.”
Apologize?
“You said you’d changed. You said you’d grown up. And… you have.” He spreads his hands. “To be honest, I was expecting you to come back to the hotel having made some huge, extravagant purchase.”
Oh God.
“Er… Luke…” I venture.
“I’m ashamed of myself,” he says, frowning. “Here you are, your first visit to the fashion capital of the world — and all you’ve bought is a present for me. Becky… I’m really moved.” He exhales sharply. “Chandra was right. You do have a beautiful spirit.”
There’s silence. This is my cue to tell him the truth.
But how can I tell him I don’t have a beautiful spirit, I have a crappy old normal one?
“Well…” I find myself obsessively refolding the bronze wrapping paper. “Er… you know. It’s just a belt!”
“It’s not just a belt to me,” he says quietly. “It’s… a symbol of our marriage.” He clasps my hand for a few moments, then smiles. “I’m sorry… what did you want to say?”
I could still come clean.
I could still do it.
“Um… well… I was just going to tell you… the buckle’s adjustable.” I give him a slightly sickly smile and turn away, pretending to be fascinated by the view out the window.
OK. So I didn’t tell the truth.
But in my defense, if he’d just paid attention when I’d read him Vogue he would have seen for himself. I mean, I’m not hiding it or anything. Here I am with one of the most coveted status symbols in the world on my arm — and he hasn’t even noticed!
And anyway, this is absolutely the last time I lie to him. From now on, no more white lies, no more gray lies, no more fibs. We will have a perfect marriage of honesty and truth. Yes. Everyone will admire our harmonious, loving ways, and people will call us the Couple Who—
“Linate Airport!” The driver’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn and look at Luke with a sudden apprehensive thrill.
“Here we are,” he says, and meets my eyes. “Still want to go home?”
“Absolutely!” I reply firmly, ignoring the nervous flutters in my stomach.
I get out of the taxi and stretch my legs. Passengers are milling about with trolleys, and a plane is taking off with a thunderous roar, almost right above me.
God, we’re really doing it. In a few hours we’ll be in London. After all these months traveling.
