Shopaholic to the Rescue (36 page)

“Oh, I’ve given up even thinking that way,” replies Mum. “I just go with the flow. Far easier.”

Honestly. What do they mean? I never talk people into doing things.

“But if it works…” Dad suddenly takes my hand and squeezes it. “Becky, you’ve achieved a lot in your life. But this will be your finest hour. I mean that, love.”

“Oh, well,” I say awkwardly. “
If
the plan works.”

“Of course it’ll work!” insists Mum.

Both my parents are looking at me proudly, as if I’m ten years old again and have raised the most money for the new school netball court. (How I did it, by the way: I wrote stories about all of my classmates and illustrated them with little paper dolls and made them cutout outfits, and all the mothers paid
loads
.)

“Don’t jinx it!” I say. “Mum, we need to go.”

As she’s smoothing down her jacket, I turn to Dad. “What are you going to say to Corey?” I ask curiously. “Where will you even start? I mean, he wouldn’t take your call, he wouldn’t speak to you—I’d want to slap him!”

But Dad shakes his head. “This isn’t about Corey and me. This is about Corey and Brent. Off you go now.” He steps away and I knock at the door, and before I know it, Mum and I are in the room.

Corey, Luke, Tarquin, and Elinor are all still sitting round the table; Tarquin is saying something about “equity,” and they look up with quite convincing surprise.

“Yes?” says Elinor.

“I’m so sorry,” says Mum, bustling in, looking exactly like a hotel manager. “I believe you ordered a double conference room.”

Her American accent is absolutely atrocious, but Corey doesn’t seem to notice. Or, if he does, he doesn’t make any comment.

“That’s right, we did,” says Luke with a frown. “I was going to complain about that.”

“My apologies, sir. I’ll open the double doors right now.”

I don’t know why Mum wanted moral support—she’s brilliant! She heads over to the right-hand wall—the wall separating Ben from Jerry’s—and my heart begins to thump in excitement. Here we go.
Here we go
.

All these conference rooms have magic doors. It’s why I chose this particular business center. The doors slide right into the walls, so you can have a big opening between rooms, join rooms up, close them off, do what you like.

Unhurriedly, looking for all the world like a bored hotel manager, Mum approaches the doors that open into Jerry’s and pushes them apart. It takes a moment for anyone to realize what’s happened, then suddenly—

“Corey?” Cyndi’s voice pipes up excitedly from the next room. She jumps up and hurries toward the opening. “Corey, is that
you
? Oh my God, babe! What a
coincidence
!”

I’ve been watching Corey all this time, and he jerked with shock when he heard Cyndi’s voice. But at once he regained control of himself. Now he gets to his feet, his eyes watchful and suspicious.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, his gaze roaming around and fixing on each face in turn, as though to find the answer to this
now
. “What are you doing here? Who are these people?”

“This is Danny Kovitz!” gushes Cyndi. “The famous fashion designer! He’s going to put on a fashion show, and he wants me to model for it. And this is Lady Cleath-Stuart….”

“Your wife.” Corey whips round to Tarquin.

“Ah, yes! So she is,” says Tarkie, in tones of surprise that make me want to giggle. “Hello, dear.”

“Peyton and I are going to open the show!” Cyndi bubbles over. “We’re going to wear matching dresses. Isn’t that fun?”

“Great,” says Corey shortly. His eyes are still darting around as though he’s trying to work out what’s happening. I mean, he’s not stupid. He must realize this can’t be a coincidence.

And all we need now is for Cyndi to play her part. She doesn’t know it, but she’s the star of the show. She’s like a peach hanging from a tree, I think. A big, ripe peach, all heavy and ready to fall…Go on…go
on
…

“Oh, Corey!” Cyndi exclaims. “I’ve just been hearing about Brent and all. You are such a sweet, sweet man.”

Thud.
The peach has landed. Although, from the atmosphere in the room, it could have been a bomb. I risk a tiny glance at Corey, and my stomach lurches. His expression is absolutely livid.

“What, honey?” he says at last, in almost-pleasant tones. “What are you talking about?”

“Brent!” she says. “You know. The settlement.”

“Settlement?”
Corey sounds like he can’t quite pronounce the word properly.

“Ah, yes,” says Luke cheerfully. “We were about to get to that. Another of our valued associates is Brent Lewis, who obviously was very instrumental in helping you in the early days of Firelight Innovations, Inc.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Corey tightly.

“Corey!” Luke gives an easy laugh. “Don’t be so modest!” He turns to Cyndi. “The wonderful news is, your generous husband is going to provide a settlement for Brent in recognition of his input to the success of Firelight Innovations. Isn’t that kind? The lawyers are waiting downstairs with the documents, so we can get this all wrapped up super-quick.”

“Oh, Corey, you’re an angel,” says Cyndi, blinking earnestly at him. “Haven’t I always said, what goes around comes around?”

“It certainly does,” says Luke.

“Karma,” puts in Danny wisely.

“Of course, Corey doesn’t
legally
owe Brent anything,” Luke continues. “But he would never leave an old friend to starve on the streets.” Luke slaps Corey on the back. “Would you, Corey, old chap?”

“Of course he wouldn’t!” says Cyndi, seeming shocked at the idea. “Corey’s always looking out for others, aren’t you, babe?”

“And a settlement of this modest size…” Luke gives Corey a significant look. “You’ll barely notice it.”

Luke and the lawyers have pitched the settlement at just the right amount. Enough to make a huge, life-changing difference to Brent, but not so much that Corey will feel any hardship. In fact, as Luke says, he’ll barely notice it.

(I was all for trying to get squillions out of Corey, but Luke said no, we need to be pragmatic, and I suppose he’s right.)

Corey’s eyes are sparking with fury. His nostrils are white round the edges. He’s opened his mouth and closed it again quite a few times during this conversation—but no words have made it out yet. And I can see his problem. He’s kind of in a trap, what with Cyndi gazing lovingly at him.

“Sweetheart, we should have this Brent over for dinner,” says Cyndi earnestly. “You never even mentioned him before.”

“Dinner?” Corey’s voice sounds strangled.

“In fact, you guys should
all
come to dinner!” Cyndi looks around, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s do it tonight. We’ll set up the grill by the pool, play some music….”

“I don’t think—” Corey begins.

“
Please,
Corey!” She cuts him off. “We never have anyone over!” She looks around, counting up people. “You guys got kids? Bring ’em along! Is there anyone else we should ask?”

But no one answers, because the door behind her has opened—and in walks Dad. He stops a few paces in and surveys Corey with a wry expression in his kind eyes. And I want to freeze-frame this moment. Finally,
finally,
after all these years, Dad and Corey are face-to-face.

As I watch them, all I can think of is that old photo of them. Four young guys on their road trip, not knowing where life would lead them.

Corey may be the richest. But my dad wins in
every way,
I think fiercely.
Every way
.

“Corey,” he says simply. “Good to see you again.”

“Who are you?” asks Cyndi in bewilderment.

“Oh, I’m with the lawyers,” answers Dad, giving her a charming smile. “I just wanted to say to Corey: I’m so glad you’ve decided not to abandon your old friend.”

I’m studying Corey in fascination, to see if any flicker of remorse passes across his face. Or regret? Sorrow? Shame?
Anything?
But his face is impassive. Which could be because of his facelift, I suppose.

“So,” says Dad pleasantly. “Shall we get this document signed?”

He smiles at Corey and gestures to the door. But Corey doesn’t move.

“Corey?” prompts Dad again. “It’ll take five minutes of your time. No more.”

Still, Corey is motionless. But I can see his brain working. His eyes are busy. He’s thinking…he’s thinking….

“Lord Cleath-Stuart,” he exclaims suddenly, and pointedly sits back down at the table next to Tarkie. “I was interested to hear about your charitable foundation. It supports local entrepreneurs, you say?”

“Ahm…yes.” Tarquin looks confused. “Did I mention that?”

“I would love to pledge half a million dollars,” says Corey in loud, clear tones. “Half a million dollars, today. Give me the details and I’ll arrange a bank transfer.”

“Babe!” Cyndi’s voice rockets through the room. Her face is glowing, and she looks like she might expire from pride. “You are
amazing
! You are
awesome
!”

“Well, what’s the use of having good fortune if you can’t share it?” says Corey stiffly, as though he’s reciting a memorized line. He glances at Dad and adds casually, “Shall we leave the other matter to another day?”

Another day?

In consternation, I meet Luke’s eyes. No. Nooo.

Corey’s so
snaky
. We had him; we totally had him. And now he’s wriggling out of our trap.

Cyndi is his Achilles’ heel. Cyndi would have got him to sign the settlement; that’s what the whole plan is based on. But now that she’s captivated by this new super-generous donation to Tarkie, she won’t care so much about Brent. Corey will be able to put it off and put it off and never do it….

I feel a sudden loathing for Corey, even stronger than before. What kind of twisted man is this? He’d rather spend half a million dollars on some random charity he’s only just heard about than take the chance to right the terrible injustice he caused. All because of some grudge. All because they fought over a woman. It’s awful. It’s tragic. It’s despicable.

But luckily…

I don’t want to boast,
but
…

I saw this coming. Ha.

OK, that’s not quite true. I didn’t predict
exactly
this happening. But I do have a contingency plan. And it looks like I’m going to have to put it into action right now.

Trying to look unobtrusive, I start to sidle toward the far partition wall in Jerry’s. Because we have a third room booked. (I’ve nicknamed it Häagen-Dazs.) And we have an eleventh member of the team. And she’s waiting patiently in Häagen-Dazs, on standby, just in case she should be needed.

Slowly, almost silently, I push the doors aside and beckon to her.

It took a whole evening of talking to persuade Rebecca to take part in this. She’s no big fan of Brent—she doesn’t care if he starves. And she’s no big fan of Dad either. (My theory is, he broke her heart back in the day. Although I am never ever sharing this thought with either of my parents.) But she’s even
less
of a fan of Corey—and that’s what tipped the balance. Sometimes you really need to appeal to people’s worst instincts. Which is a bit depressing, but there you go.

As Rebecca approaches the double doors that lead from Häagen-Dazs into Jerry’s, I can sense the team behind me swinging into action. Everyone knows about the contingency plan. We’ve practiced it. We’ve choreographed it. I glance round briefly to see Suze moving into place, while Ulla and Danny stand by her side, looking alert. They all know their briefs. In fact, there is only one brief, for everybody:
Don’t let Cyndi turn round. Don’t let her see Rebecca.

“So, Cyndi!” Suze exclaims in animation. “How many children did you say you have?”

“You should choose some drawings to take home,” adds Ulla, holding up her sketchpad. “Have a look.”

“Oh, yes!” encourages Danny. “See this one of you in my jacket? Divine!”

“Goodness!” says Cyndi in delight. “May I really? Oh, I look so
elegant
….I only have one child,” she continues to Suze. “My one precious gift. And you? You have kids?”

Rebecca is standing in the far doorway now. Not moving, not waving, not speaking. Just standing, waiting to be noticed.

My eyes are fixed on Corey. He’s listening to Tarquin…he’s gazing absently up at the ceiling…he’s frowning with slight impatience….And then, as his gaze drifts past Tarkie, past Cyndi, his whole face jerks with horror.

OK. He’s seen her.

If I was hoping for a reaction, I’m not disappointed. His eyes have gone all starey. The color has drained from his cheeks. He looks like he’s in a nightmare. In fact, he looks so ill, I almost feel sorry for him, loathsome as he is. This man has tried
so
hard to airbrush out his past. He’s had a facelift. He’s lied about his age. He’s denied his friends. He doesn’t want the past to exist. But here it is, standing in front of him in a floaty purple dress and kohled eyes.

For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.

(I didn’t get this bit from
Ocean’s Eleven
. It’s from
Love Actually
. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it
Becky Actually
for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)

The first sign just says:

Hi, Corey.

She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:

Long time.

And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:

I’d love to meet your wife.

Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.