Shopaholic Takes Manhattan
Page 116
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“You make such a lovely couple,” I say, grinning at her.
“Don’t say that!” she exclaims in horror. “We’re not a couple.”
“OK,” I say, relenting. “Whatever.” I look at my watch. “You know, we ought to be going.”
“Yes. I suppose so. Oh, Bex—”
I look at Suze — and her eyes are suddenly full of tears.
“I know.” I squeeze her hand tightly and for a moment neither of us says anything. Then I reach for my coat. “Come on.”
We walk along to the King George pub at the end of the road. We make our way through the bar and up a flight of wooden stairs to a large private room furnished with red velvet curtains, a bar, and lots of trestle tables set up on both sides. A makeshift platform has been set up at one end, and there are rows of plastic chairs in the middle.
“Hello!” says Tarquin, spotting us as we enter. “Come and have a drink.” He lifts his glass. “The red’s not at all bad.”
“Is the tab all set up behind the bar?” says Suze.
“Absolutely,” says Tarquin. “All organized.”
“Bex — that’s on us,” says Suze, putting her hand on me as I reach for my purse. “A good-bye present.”
“Suze, you don’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she says firmly. “So did Tarkie.”
“Let me get you some drinks,” says Tarquin — then adds, lowering his voice, “It’s a pretty good turnout, don’t you think?”
As he walks off, Suze and I turn to survey the room. There are tables set out round the room, and people are milling around, looking at neatly folded piles of clothes, shoes, CDs, and assorted bits of bric-a-brac. On one table is a pile of typed, photocopied catalogues, and people are marking them as they wander round.
I can hear a girl in leather jeans saying, “Look at this coat! Ooh, and these Hobbs boots! I’m definitely going to bid for those!” On the other side of the room, two girls are trying pairs of trousers up against themselves while their boyfriends patiently hold their drinks.
“Who are all these people?” I say disbelievingly. “Did you invite them all?”
“Well, I went down my address book,” says Suze. “And Tarquin’s address book. And Fenny’s…”
“Oh well,” I say with a laugh. “That explains it.”
“Hi, Becky!” says a bright voice behind me — and I swivel round to see Fenella’s friend Milla, with a pair of girls I half-recognize. “I’m going to bid for your purple cardigan! And Tory’s going to go for that dress with the fur, and Annabel’s seen about six thousand things she wants! We were just wondering, is there an accessories section?”
“Over there,” says Suze, pointing to the corner of the room.
“Thanks!” says Milla. “See you later!” The three girls trip off into the melee, and I hear one of them saying, “I really need a good belt…”
“Becky!” says Tarquin, suddenly coming up behind me. “Here’s some wine. And let me introduce Caspar, my chum from Christie’s.”
“Oh hello!” I say, turning round to see a guy with floppy blond hair, a blue shirt, and an enormous gold signet ring. “Thank you so much for doing this! I’m really grateful.”
“Not at all, not at all,” says Caspar. “Now, I’ve been through the catalogue and it all seems fairly straightforward. Do you have a list of reserve prices?”
“No,” I say without pausing. “No reserves. Everything must go.”
“Fine.” He smiles at me. “Well, I’ll go and get set up.”
As he walks off I take a sip of my wine. Suze has gone off to look round some of the tables, so I stand alone for a while, watching as the crowd grows. Fenella arrives at the door, and I give her a wave — but she’s immediately swallowed up in a group of shrieking friends.
“Hi, Becky,” comes a hesitant voice behind me. I wheel round in shock, and find myself staring up at Tom Webster.
“Tom!” I exclaim in shock. “What are you doing here? How do you know about this?” He takes a sip from his glass and gives a little grin.
“Suze called your mum, and she told me all about it. She and my mum have put in some orders, actually.” He pulls a list out of his pocket. “Your mum wants your cappuccino maker. If it’s for sale.”
“Oh, it’s for sale,” I say. “I’ll tell the auctioneer to make sure you get it.”
“And my mum wants that pink hat you wore to our wedding.”
“Don’t say that!” she exclaims in horror. “We’re not a couple.”
“OK,” I say, relenting. “Whatever.” I look at my watch. “You know, we ought to be going.”
“Yes. I suppose so. Oh, Bex—”
I look at Suze — and her eyes are suddenly full of tears.
“I know.” I squeeze her hand tightly and for a moment neither of us says anything. Then I reach for my coat. “Come on.”
We walk along to the King George pub at the end of the road. We make our way through the bar and up a flight of wooden stairs to a large private room furnished with red velvet curtains, a bar, and lots of trestle tables set up on both sides. A makeshift platform has been set up at one end, and there are rows of plastic chairs in the middle.
“Hello!” says Tarquin, spotting us as we enter. “Come and have a drink.” He lifts his glass. “The red’s not at all bad.”
“Is the tab all set up behind the bar?” says Suze.
“Absolutely,” says Tarquin. “All organized.”
“Bex — that’s on us,” says Suze, putting her hand on me as I reach for my purse. “A good-bye present.”
“Suze, you don’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she says firmly. “So did Tarkie.”
“Let me get you some drinks,” says Tarquin — then adds, lowering his voice, “It’s a pretty good turnout, don’t you think?”
As he walks off, Suze and I turn to survey the room. There are tables set out round the room, and people are milling around, looking at neatly folded piles of clothes, shoes, CDs, and assorted bits of bric-a-brac. On one table is a pile of typed, photocopied catalogues, and people are marking them as they wander round.
I can hear a girl in leather jeans saying, “Look at this coat! Ooh, and these Hobbs boots! I’m definitely going to bid for those!” On the other side of the room, two girls are trying pairs of trousers up against themselves while their boyfriends patiently hold their drinks.
“Who are all these people?” I say disbelievingly. “Did you invite them all?”
“Well, I went down my address book,” says Suze. “And Tarquin’s address book. And Fenny’s…”
“Oh well,” I say with a laugh. “That explains it.”
“Hi, Becky!” says a bright voice behind me — and I swivel round to see Fenella’s friend Milla, with a pair of girls I half-recognize. “I’m going to bid for your purple cardigan! And Tory’s going to go for that dress with the fur, and Annabel’s seen about six thousand things she wants! We were just wondering, is there an accessories section?”
“Over there,” says Suze, pointing to the corner of the room.
“Thanks!” says Milla. “See you later!” The three girls trip off into the melee, and I hear one of them saying, “I really need a good belt…”
“Becky!” says Tarquin, suddenly coming up behind me. “Here’s some wine. And let me introduce Caspar, my chum from Christie’s.”
“Oh hello!” I say, turning round to see a guy with floppy blond hair, a blue shirt, and an enormous gold signet ring. “Thank you so much for doing this! I’m really grateful.”
“Not at all, not at all,” says Caspar. “Now, I’ve been through the catalogue and it all seems fairly straightforward. Do you have a list of reserve prices?”
“No,” I say without pausing. “No reserves. Everything must go.”
“Fine.” He smiles at me. “Well, I’ll go and get set up.”
As he walks off I take a sip of my wine. Suze has gone off to look round some of the tables, so I stand alone for a while, watching as the crowd grows. Fenella arrives at the door, and I give her a wave — but she’s immediately swallowed up in a group of shrieking friends.
“Hi, Becky,” comes a hesitant voice behind me. I wheel round in shock, and find myself staring up at Tom Webster.
“Tom!” I exclaim in shock. “What are you doing here? How do you know about this?” He takes a sip from his glass and gives a little grin.
“Suze called your mum, and she told me all about it. She and my mum have put in some orders, actually.” He pulls a list out of his pocket. “Your mum wants your cappuccino maker. If it’s for sale.”
“Oh, it’s for sale,” I say. “I’ll tell the auctioneer to make sure you get it.”
“And my mum wants that pink hat you wore to our wedding.”
