The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

Twenty

By 11.25 I'm sitting on a brown upholstered chair in the green room. I'm dressed in a midnight-blue Jasper Conran suit, sheer tights and a pair of suede high heels.

What with my makeup and blown-dry hair, I've never looked smarter in my life. But I can't relish my appearance. I can't enjoy any of it. All I can think of is the fact that in fifteen minutes, I've got to sit on a sofa and discuss high-powered finance with Luke Brandon on live television.

The very thought of it makes me feel like crying. Or laughing. I mean, it's like some kind of sick joke. Luke Brandon against me. Luke Brandon, with his genius IQ and bloody photographic memory – against me. He'll walk all over me. He'll massacre me.

'Darling, have a croissant,' says Elisabeth Plover, who's sitting opposite me, munching a pain au chocolat. 'They're simply sublime. Every bite like a ray of golden Provencal sun.'

'No thanks,' I say. 'I… I'm not really hungry.'

I don't understand how she can eat. I honestly feel as though I'm about to throw up at any moment. How on earth do people appear on television every day? How does Fiona Phillips do it? No wonder they're all so thin.

'Coming up!' comes Rory's voice from the television monitor in the corner of the room, and both our heads automatically swivel round to see the screen filled with a picture of a beach at sunset. 'What is it like, to live with a gangster and then, risking everything, betray him? Our next guest has written an explosive novel based on her dark and dangerous background…'

'… And we introduce a new series of in-depth discussions,' chimes in Emma. The picture changes to one of pound coins raining onto the floor, and my stomach gives a nasty flip. 'Morning Coffee turns the spotlight on the issue of financial scandal, with two leading industry experts coming head-to-head in debate.'

Is that me? Oh God, I don't want to be a leading industry expert. I want to go home and have a nice cup of tea.

'But first!' says Rory cheerily. 'Scott Robertson's getting all fired up in the kitchen.'

The picture switches abruptly to a man in a chef's hat gri

To distract myself, I unscrew my crappy piece of A4 paper for the thousandth time and read through my paltry notes. Maybe it won't be so bad, I find myself thinking hopefully, as my eyes circle the same few sentences again and again. Maybe I'm worrying about nothing. We'll probably keep the whole thing at the level of a casual chat. Keep it simple and friendly. After all…

'Good morning, Rebecca,' comes a voice from the door. Slowly I look up – and as I do so, I feel my heart sink. Luke Brandon is standing in the doorway. He's wearing an immaculate dark suit, his hair is shining, and his face is bronze with makeup. And there isn't an ounce of friendliness in his face. His jaw is tight; his eyes are hard and businesslike. As they meet mine, they don't even flicker.

For a few moments we gaze at each other without speaking. I can hear my heart beating loudly in my ears; my face feels hot beneath all the makeup. Then, summoning all my i

'Hello, Luke.'

There's an interested silence as he walks into the room. Even Elisabeth Plover seems intrigued by him.

'I know that face,' she says, leaning forward. 'I know it. You're an actor, aren't you? Shakespearian, of course. I believe I saw you in Lear three years ago.'

'I don't think so,' says Luke shortly.

'You're right!' says Elisabeth, slapping the table. 'It was Hamlet. I remember it well. The desperate pain, the guilt, the final tragedy…' She shakes her head solemnly. 'I'll never forget that voice of yours. Every word was like a stab wound.'

'I'm sorry to hear it,' says Luke eventually, and looks at me. 'Rebecca-'

'Luke, here are the final figures,' interrupts Alicia, hurrying into the room and handing him a piece of paper. 'Hello, Rebecca,' she adds, giving me a snide look. 'All prepared?'

'Yes, I am, actually,' I say, crumpling my A4 paper into a ball in my lap. 'Very well prepared.'

'Glad to hear it,' says Alicia, raising her eyebrows. 'It should be an interesting debate.'

'Yes,' I say defiantly. 'Very.'

God she's a cow.

'I've just had John from Flagstaff on the phone,' adds Alicia to Luke in lowered voice. 'He was very keen that you should mention the new Foresight Savings Series. Obviously, I told him-'

'This is a damage limitation exercise,' says Luke curtly. 'Not a bloody plug-fest. He'll be bloody lucky if he…' He glances at me and I look away as though I'm not remotely interested in what he's talking about. Casually I glance at my watch and feel a leap of fright as I see the time. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to go.

'OK,' says Zelda, coming into the room. 'Elisabeth, we're ready for you.'

'Marvellous,' says Elisabeth, taking a last mouthful of pain au chocolat. 'Now, I do look all right, don't I?'

She stands up and a shower of crumbs falls off her skirt.

'You've got a piece of croissant in your hair,' says Zelda, reaching up and removing it. 'Other than that what can I say?' She catches my eye and I have a hysterical desire to giggle.

'Luke!' says the baby-faced guy, rushing in with a mobile phone. 'John Bateson on the line for you. And a couple of packages have arrived…'

'Thanks, Tim,' says Alicia, taking the packages and ripping them open. She pulls out a bunch of papers and begins sca

'Yes, John, I do see your bloody point,' Luke's saying in a low, tight voice. 'But if you would listen to me for just one moment-'

'Tim,' says Alicia, looking up. 'Can you quickly check the return on the Flagstaff Premium Pension over the last three, five and ten?'

'Absolutely,' says Tim, and starts tapping at his computer.’

'Tim,' says Luke, looking up from the phone. 'Can you print out the Flagstaff Foresight draft press release for me ASAP? Thanks.'

I can't quite believe what I'm seeing. They've practically set up an office, here in the Morning Coffee green room. An entire office of Brandon Communications staff complete with computers and modems and phones… pitted against me and my crumpled piece of A4.

As I watch Tim's laptop efficiently spewing out pages, and Alicia handing sheets of paper to Luke, a cold feeling starts to creep over me. I mean, let's face it. I'll never beat this lot, will I? I haven't got a chance. I should just give up now. Tell them I'm ill or something. Run home and hide under my duvet.

'OK, everyone?' says Zelda, poking her head round the door. 'On in seven minutes.'

'Fine,' says Luke.

'Fine,' I echo in a wobbly voice.

'Oh, and Rebecca, there's a package for you,' says Zelda. She comes into the room and hands me a large, square box. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

'Thanks, Zelda,' I say in surprise and, with a sudden lift of spirits, begin to rip the box open. I've no idea what it is or who it's from – but it's got to be something helpful, hasn't it? Special last-minute information from Eric Foreman, maybe. A graph, or a series of figures that I can produce at the crucial moment. Or some secret document that Luke doesn't know about.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see that all the Brandonites have stopped what they're doing, and are watching, too. Well, that'll show them. They're not the only ones to get packages delivered to the green room. They're not the only ones to have resources. Finally I get the sticky tape undone and open the flaps of the box. And as everyone watches, a big red helium balloon, with GOOD LUCK emblazoned across it, floats up to the ceiling. There's a card attached to the string, and, without looking anyone in the eye, I rip it open. Immediately, I wish I hadn't.