Shopaholic Ties the Knot

Synopsis

Rebecca Bloomwood has the dream job. She's a personal shopper, so is able to spend other people’s money all day instead of her own. And she gets paid for doing it. The perfect job, the perfect man — gorgeous Luke Brandon — and now... the perfect wedding. Yes, Luke has proposed and wedding bells are in sight. No excuses are needed to start the shopping trip of all time. And Becky’s parents are just assuming that the wedding will be at home — a marquee in the garden and Becky in her mum’s wedding dress, which she’s been saving specially for the occasion. But Luke’s mother has very different ideas — a huge affair in New York in a forest glade setting — or perhaps a Venetian Ball, or a fin de siecle extravagance? Now Becky’s getting confused. She doesn't want to say ‘no’ to anyone. The plans are going ahead, and soon it will be too late to turn back — from either wedding...

For Abigail,
who would have found
the brilliant solution in a flash

November 7, 2001

Miss Rebecca Bloomwood

Apt. B

251 W. 11th Street

New York, NY 10014

Dear Miss Bloomwood:

New Joint Account No.: 5039 2566 2319

We are pleased to confirm your new joint bank account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon, and enclose explanatory documentation. A debit card will be sent to you under separate cover.

We at Second Union Bank continually pride ourselves on our highly individual approach to clients. Please contact me personally at any time if you have a query, and I will help in any way I can. No matter is too small for my attention.

With kind regards.

Yours sincerely,

Walt Pitman

Director of Customer Relations

December 12, 2001

Miss Rebecca Bloomwood

Apt. B

251 W. 11th Street

New York, NY 10014

Dear Miss Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of December 9 regarding your joint account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon. I agree the relationship between bank and client should be one of friendship and cooperation, and in answer to your question, my favorite color is red.

I regret, however, I am unable to reword entries on your forthcoming statement as you request. The particular debit item you refer to will appear on your next statement as “Prada, New York.” It cannot be changed to “Gas bill.”

Yours sincerely,

Walt Pitman

Director of Customer Relations

January 7, 2002

Miss Rebecca Bloomwood

Apt. B

251 W. 11th Street

New York, NY 10014

Dear Miss Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of January 4 regarding your joint account with Mr. Luke J. Brandon, and for the chocolates, which I must return. I agree it is difficult to keep tabs on every tiny purchase, and was sorry to hear that “the odd little misunderstanding” had arisen between you.

Unfortunately, it is impossible to split the statement into half as you suggest, sending half to yourself and half to Mr. Brandon and “keeping it our little secret.” All income and outgoings are itemized jointly.

That is why it is called a joint account.

Yours sincerely,

Walt Pitman

Director of Customer Relations

OK. DON’T PANIC. The answer will come to me any minute. I just have to think hard about what marriage is all about. It’s about love, obviously. And companionship, and mutual support. And . . . soup?

My eye rests on a huge antique silver tureen, complete with ladle. Now, that would make a perfect wedding gift. I can just see it: Suze and Tarquin sitting by the fire, ladling soup into each other’s bowls. It’ll be all lovely and domestic and heartwarming, and every time they drink soup they’ll think of me.

Perhaps I could even have it engraved. “To my best friends Suze and Tarquin on their wedding day with love and affection from Becky.” And a little poem, maybe.

Mind you, engraving is quite expensive. I’d better check how much it would all come to.

“Excuse me, how much is this soup tureen?” I say, turning to Arthur Graham, who is the owner of Graham’s Antiques. This shop has to be one of my favorites in the West Village. It’s small and intimate like someone’s home, and everywhere you turn, there’s something you might want. Like that fantastic carved chair, and a hand-painted velvet throw, and that amazing grandfather clock over in the corner . . .

“The tureen?” Arthur comes over, dapper in his jacket and tie. “This is very special. Eighteenth-century silver. Exquisite craftsmanship. You see this detail on the rim?”

“Beautiful!” I look obediently.

“And it’s priced at . . .” He consults a little book. “Four thousand dollars.”

“Oh, right.” My smile falters, and I carefully put the ladle back. “Thanks. I’ll . . . keep looking.”

So maybe marriage isn’t about soup. Maybe it’s about . . . chess? I run my hand over a beautiful old chess set, all set up as though a game’s in progress. But I’m not sure Suze knows how to play chess.

A clock? No.

A . . . an antique barometer?

Oh God, I’m really clutching at straws here. I can’t believe it’s Suze’s wedding in two days and I still haven’t got her and Tarquin a present. Or at least, not one I can actually give them. Months ago I bought them this gorgeous picnic hamper, filled with picnicware, a champagne cooler, really cool knives and forks, and even a rug. It took me ages to choose all the stuff, and I was so pleased with it. But Suze phoned last night to check what time we’d be arriving, and told me her aunt had just given her a fantastic present—a picnic hamper filled with Conran tableware!

Well, no way am I giving Suze the same present as someone else. So here I am in the only place I can think of where I’ll find something unique. Except . . . what? She hasn’t registered for gifts, because she says she hates the idea of asking people for things. And anyway, I’d never just get her some boring set of plates off a list. Suze is my best friend, and I’m going to be her bridesmaid, and my present has to be something really special.

I can feel myself starting to get anxious. OK, just think laterally. What do Suze and Tarquin enjoy doing?

“Do you have any horse saddles?” I ask in sudden inspiration. “Or . . . bridles?”

“Not at the moment.”

Oh well. Anyway, I’d have to get two, wouldn’t I? And they probably wouldn’t even fit the horses properly . . .

A carved music stand? Except how would I get it home on the plane? And anyway, neither of them plays an instrument. A marble bust of Abraham Lincoln? A picture of . . .

Hang on a minute. I push the bust of Lincoln aside and look carefully at the old trunk he’s been resting on. Now that’s rather nice. In fact it’s very nice. I undo the straps and gently lift the lid, inhaling the smell of old leather.

Wow. This is stunning. All pale silk and leather straps, and a mirror, and little compartments to put your cuff links in. Suze will adore this, I know she will. She can use it to keep jumpers in and when she and Tarquin go on a cruise a porter can wheel it up the ramp for her and she’ll look all glamorous and film-star-like.

And the point is, even if someone else gives them a suitcase or something, one of my great maxims of life is: you can never have too much luggage.

“How much is this trunk?” I ask Arthur Graham a little nervously. Please don’t let it be $10,000—

“We’ve had that awhile.” He frowns at it. “I could let you have it for . . . three hundred.”

“Perfect.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ll take it.”

Mission accomplished! I’ve got Suze’s wedding present! Thank goodness for that. Now all I need is my bridesmaid’s dress, and I’m there.

“It’s Miss Bloomwood, isn’t it?” says Arthur, opening a large leather-bound notebook. “I’m sure we have your address . . . And yes. Here it is.” He smiles at me. “Is that all for today?”

I don’t need anything else. I don’t even need to look around the rest of the shop.

“Um . . . Well.” Idly I glance around again. It’s always a good idea to have your eyes open when you’re in antique shops, because there are some really good bargains out there. And it’s all a good investment. I mean, this is how some people make their money.

Through the door to the back room I see the corner of a lace shawl, and feel a tug of desire. Antique shawls are
so
in at the moment. And since I’m buying the trunk, it occurs to me, Arthur might give it to me for half price. Or maybe even for free!

Oh, come on. I’ll just have a quick look. But only at very small things, because I’ve promised Luke no more furniture.

“I’ll have a bit of a browse.” I smile back at Arthur. “Thanks.”

I head happily into the back room and reach for the lace shawl, but close up it looks a bit ragged. I put it down again and pick up a cocktail shaker. This is nice. Maybe I should get it for Suze as well.

“This is cool!” I beam at Arthur, who has followed me in.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” he agrees. “It goes with the 1930s cocktail cabinet.”

“Cocktail cabinet?” I echo, feeling prickles of interest. “I didn’t see a—”

“Here.” He walks over to what I thought was a cupboard, unhooks the front flap, and displays the mirrored Art Deco fittings inside. “You see, here’s where your bottles go . . . here are your highballs . . .”

I gaze at it, completely smitten. A real, genuine, 1930s cocktail cabinet. I’ve
always
wanted a cocktail cabinet.

Just think, if we had one of these in the apartment it would change our lives. Every night Luke and I would mix martinis, and dance to old-fashioned songs, and watch the sun go down. It’d be so atmospheric! We’d have to buy one of those old-fashioned record players with the big horns, and start collecting 78s, and I’d start wearing gorgeous vintage tea dresses.

We have to have this. We
have
to. This isn’t some boring chair, or set of shelves. This is different. Luke will understand.

“How much is that?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. I’m rather good at getting good prices in this shop. The trick is to sound as though you don’t care whether you buy it or not.

“This?” Arthur looks at it thoughtfully, and I hold my breath. “This really should be seven hundred dollars. But since you’re taking the trunk as well . . . I could let you have the pair for . . . eight hundred?”

Eight hundred dollars. For a wedding present
and
a unique cocktail cabinet that we’ll treasure all our lives. I mean, this isn’t like buying some pair of shoes that you’ll forget about. This is a genuine investment for the future.

“I’ll take them!” I beam at Arthur Graham.

“Excellent!” He smiles back. “You have a very good eye.”

Luke and I’ve been living together in New York now for a year, and our apartment is on West 11th Street, in the really nice leafy, atmospheric bit. There are ornate little balconies on all the houses, and stone steps up to all the front doors, and trees all along the pavement. Right opposite us lives someone who plays jazz piano, and on summer evenings we stroll up to the roof terrace that we share with our neighbors, and sit on cushions and drink wine and listen. (At least, we did that one time and I’m sure we will again.)

As I let myself into the house, there’s a pile of post for us in the hall, and I quickly flick through it.

Boring . . .

Boring . . .

British
Vogue
!

Boring . . .

Oh. My Saks Fifth Avenue store card bill.

I look at the envelope for moment, then remove it and put it in my bag. Not because I’m hiding it. Simply because there’s no particular point in Luke seeing it. I read this really good magazine article recently, entitled “Too Much Information?” in which it said you should filter out the day’s events rather than tell your partner every single tiny thing and overload his or her weary mind. It said your home should be a sanctuary, and that no one needs to know
everything
. Which, when you think about it, makes a lot of sense.

I put the rest of the post under my arm and start to walk up the stairs. There aren’t any letters from England, but then, I wouldn’t expect there to be today, because tonight we’re flying home for the wedding! I just can’t wait.

Suze is my first friend to take the plunge and get married. She’s marrying Tarquin, who’s a really sweet guy she’s known all her life. (In fact, he’s her cousin. But it’s legal. They checked.) The wedding’s going to be at her parents’ house in Hampshire, and there’s going to be loads of champagne, and a horse and carriage . . . and best of all, I’m going to be her bridesmaid!