Confessions of a Shopaholic
Page 88
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“I tried to get the other side of the story!” I exclaim furiously. “I phoned your PR company yesterday and told them I was writing the piece!”
There’s silence.
“Who did you speak to?” says Luke.
“Alicia,” I reply. “I asked her a very clear question about Flagstaff’s policy on switching funds, and she told me she’d get back to me. I told her I had an urgent deadline.”
Luke gives an impatient sigh. “What the fuck were you doing, speaking to Alicia? Flagstaff’s my client, not hers.”
“I know! I said that to her! But she said you were a very busy man and she could deal with me.”
“Did you tell her you were writing for The Daily World?”
“No,” I say, and feel myself flush slightly red. “I didn’t specify who I was writing for. But I would have told her if she’d asked me. She just didn’t bother. She just assumed I couldn’t possibly be doing anything important.” In spite of myself, my voice is rising in emotion. “Well, she was wrong, wasn’t she? You were all wrong. And maybe now you’ll start treating everybody with respect. Not just the people you think are important.”
I break off, panting slightly, and there’s a bemused silence.
“Rebecca,” says Luke at last, “if this is about what happened between us that day — if this is some kind of petty revenge—”
I’m really going to explode now.
“Don’t you bloody insult me!” I yell. “Don’t you bloody try and make this personal! This is about two innocent people being hoodwinked by one of your big-shot clients, nothing else. I told the truth, and if you didn’t have a chance to respond, it’s your own company’s incompetence that’s to blame. I was completely professional, I gave you every opportunity to put out your side of the story. Every opportunity. And if you blew it, that’s not my fault.”
And without giving him the chance to reply, I slam the phone down.
I’m feeling quite shaken as I go back into the kitchen. To think I ever liked Luke Brandon. To think I table-hopped with him. To think I let him lend me twenty quid. He’s just an arrogant, self-centered, chauvinistic—
“Telephone!” says Mum. “Shall I get it?”
It’ll be him again, won’t it? Ringing back to apologize. Well, he needn’t think I’m that easily won round. I stand by every word I said. And I’ll tell him so. In fact, I’ll add that—
“It’s for you, Becky,” says Mum.
“Fine,” I say coolly, and make my way to the telephone. I don’t hurry; I don’t panic. I feel completely in control.
“Hello?” I say.
“Rebecca? Eric Foreman here.”
“Oh!” I say in surprise. “Hi!”
“Bit of news about your piece.”
“Oh yes?” I say, trying to sound calm. But my stomach’s churning. What if Luke Brandon’s spoken to him? Oh shit, I did check all the facts, didn’t I?
“I’ve just had Morning Coffee on the phone,” he says. “You know, the TV program? Rory and Emma. They’re interested in your story.”
“What?” I say stupidly.
“There’s a new series they’re doing on finance, ‘Managing Your Money.’ They get some financial expert in every week, tell the viewers how to keep tabs on their dosh.” Eric Foreman lowers his voice. “Frankly, they’re running out of stuff to talk about. They’ve done mortgages, store cards, pensions, all the usual cobblers. .”
“Right,” I say, trying to sound focused. But as his words slowly sink in, I’m a bit dazed. Rory and Emma read my article? Rory and Emma themselves? I have a sudden vision of them holding the paper together, jostling for a good view.
But of course, that’s silly, isn’t it? They’d have a copy each.
“So, anyway, they want to have you on the show tomorrow morning,” Eric Foreman’s saying. “Talk about this windfall story, warn their viewers to take care. You interested in that kind of thing? If not, I can easily tell them you’re too busy.”
“No!” I say quickly. “No. Tell them I’m. .” I swallow. “I’m interested.”
As I put down the phone, I feel faint. I’m going to be on television.
BANK OF HELSINKI
Helsinki House 124 Lombard Street
London EC2D 9YF
Rebecca Bloomwood c/o William Green Recruitment 39 Farringdon Square London EC4 7TD
27 March 2000
Dere Rebecca Bloomwood: Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish “Daily World” Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish Finnish good-bye,Jan Virtanen
There’s silence.
“Who did you speak to?” says Luke.
“Alicia,” I reply. “I asked her a very clear question about Flagstaff’s policy on switching funds, and she told me she’d get back to me. I told her I had an urgent deadline.”
Luke gives an impatient sigh. “What the fuck were you doing, speaking to Alicia? Flagstaff’s my client, not hers.”
“I know! I said that to her! But she said you were a very busy man and she could deal with me.”
“Did you tell her you were writing for The Daily World?”
“No,” I say, and feel myself flush slightly red. “I didn’t specify who I was writing for. But I would have told her if she’d asked me. She just didn’t bother. She just assumed I couldn’t possibly be doing anything important.” In spite of myself, my voice is rising in emotion. “Well, she was wrong, wasn’t she? You were all wrong. And maybe now you’ll start treating everybody with respect. Not just the people you think are important.”
I break off, panting slightly, and there’s a bemused silence.
“Rebecca,” says Luke at last, “if this is about what happened between us that day — if this is some kind of petty revenge—”
I’m really going to explode now.
“Don’t you bloody insult me!” I yell. “Don’t you bloody try and make this personal! This is about two innocent people being hoodwinked by one of your big-shot clients, nothing else. I told the truth, and if you didn’t have a chance to respond, it’s your own company’s incompetence that’s to blame. I was completely professional, I gave you every opportunity to put out your side of the story. Every opportunity. And if you blew it, that’s not my fault.”
And without giving him the chance to reply, I slam the phone down.
I’m feeling quite shaken as I go back into the kitchen. To think I ever liked Luke Brandon. To think I table-hopped with him. To think I let him lend me twenty quid. He’s just an arrogant, self-centered, chauvinistic—
“Telephone!” says Mum. “Shall I get it?”
It’ll be him again, won’t it? Ringing back to apologize. Well, he needn’t think I’m that easily won round. I stand by every word I said. And I’ll tell him so. In fact, I’ll add that—
“It’s for you, Becky,” says Mum.
“Fine,” I say coolly, and make my way to the telephone. I don’t hurry; I don’t panic. I feel completely in control.
“Hello?” I say.
“Rebecca? Eric Foreman here.”
“Oh!” I say in surprise. “Hi!”
“Bit of news about your piece.”
“Oh yes?” I say, trying to sound calm. But my stomach’s churning. What if Luke Brandon’s spoken to him? Oh shit, I did check all the facts, didn’t I?
“I’ve just had Morning Coffee on the phone,” he says. “You know, the TV program? Rory and Emma. They’re interested in your story.”
“What?” I say stupidly.
“There’s a new series they’re doing on finance, ‘Managing Your Money.’ They get some financial expert in every week, tell the viewers how to keep tabs on their dosh.” Eric Foreman lowers his voice. “Frankly, they’re running out of stuff to talk about. They’ve done mortgages, store cards, pensions, all the usual cobblers. .”
“Right,” I say, trying to sound focused. But as his words slowly sink in, I’m a bit dazed. Rory and Emma read my article? Rory and Emma themselves? I have a sudden vision of them holding the paper together, jostling for a good view.
But of course, that’s silly, isn’t it? They’d have a copy each.
“So, anyway, they want to have you on the show tomorrow morning,” Eric Foreman’s saying. “Talk about this windfall story, warn their viewers to take care. You interested in that kind of thing? If not, I can easily tell them you’re too busy.”
“No!” I say quickly. “No. Tell them I’m. .” I swallow. “I’m interested.”
As I put down the phone, I feel faint. I’m going to be on television.
BANK OF HELSINKI
Helsinki House 124 Lombard Street
London EC2D 9YF
Rebecca Bloomwood c/o William Green Recruitment 39 Farringdon Square London EC4 7TD
27 March 2000
Dere Rebecca Bloomwood: Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish “Daily World” Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish More Finnish Finnish good-bye,Jan Virtanen
