The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

When I commented on how nice they were being to us, he shrugged, and said he often puts up business contacts here.

Business contacts. So is that what I am? Oh, it doesn't make any sense. I wish I'd gone home after all.

We walk along an opulent corridor in complete silence – then the porter swings open a door and ushers us into a spectacularly beautiful room, furnished with a big double bed and plushy chairs. He places my briefcase and AppleMac on the luggage rail, then Luke gives him a note and he disappears.

There's a pause. I've never felt more awkward in my life.

'Well,' says Luke. 'Here you are.'

'Yes,' I say, in a voice which doesn't sound like mine. 'Thanks… thank you. And for di

We seem to have turned into complete strangers.

'Well,' says Luke again, and glances at his watch. 'It's late. You'll probably be wanting to…' He stops, and there's a sharp, waiting silence.

My heart's thudding in my chest; my hands are twisted in a nervous knot. I don't dare look at him.

'I'll be off, then,' says Luke at last. 'I hope you have a…'

'Don't go,' I hear myself say, and blush furiously. 'Don't go yet. We could just…' I swallow. 'Talk, or something.'

I look up and meet his eyes, and something fearful starts to pound within me. Slowly he walks towards me, until he's standing just in front of me. I can just smell the scent of his aftershave, and hear the crisp cotton rustle of his shirt as he moves. My whole body's prickling with anticipation. Oh God, I want to touch him. But I daren't. I daren't move anything.

'We could just talk, or something,' he echoes, and slowlylifts his hands until they cup my face. 'We could just talk. Or something.'

And then he kisses me.

His mouth is on mine, gently parting my lips, and I feel a white-hot dart of excitement. His hands are ru

And it's pretty obvious we're not going to do much talking at all.

Twenty Four

Bliss.

Lying in the most comfortable bed in the world, feeling all dreamy and smiley and happy, letting the morning sunlight play on my closed eyelids. Stretching my arms above my head, then collapsing contentedly onto an enormous mound of pillows. Oh, I feel good. I feel… sated. Last night was absolutely…

Well, let's just say it was…

Oh, come on. You don't need to know that. Anyway, can't you use your imagination? Of course you can.

I open my eyes, sit up and reach for my cup of room service coffee. Luke's in the shower, so it's just me alone with my thoughts. And I don't want to sound all pretentious here – but I do feel this is a pretty significant day in my life.

It's not just Luke – although the whole thing was… well, amazing, actually. God, he really knows how to… Anyway. Not the point. The point is, it's not just Luke – and it's not just my new job with Morning Coffee (even though every time I remember it, I feel a leap of disbelieving joy}.

No, it's more than that. It's that I feel like a completely new person. I feel as though I've… I've grown up. I've matured. I'm moving on to a new stage in life – with a different outlook, and different priorities.

When I look back at the frivolous way I used to think well, it makes me want to laugh, really. The new Rebecca is so much more serious and level-headed. So much more responsible. It's as though the tinted glasses have fallen off and suddenly I can see what's really important in the world and what's not.

I've even been thinking this morning that I might go into politics or something. Luke and I discussed politics a bit last night, and I have to say, I came up with lots of interesting views. I could be a young, intellectual MP, and be interviewed about lots of important issues on television. I'd probably specialize in health, or education, or something like that. Maybe foreign affairs.

Casually I reach for the remote control and switch on the television, thinking I might watch the news. I flick a few times, trying to find BBC1, but the TV seems stuck on rubbish cable cha

The truth, I think, taking a sip of coffee, is that I'm quite a serious-minded person. That's probably why Luke and I get on so well.

Mmmm… Luke. Mmmm… that's a nice thought. I wonder where he is. I sit up in bed, and am just considering going into the bathroom to surprise him, when a woman's voice from the television attracts my attention.

'… offering genuine NK Malone sunglasses. In tortoiseshell, black and white, with that distinctive NKM logo in brushed chrome.'

That's interesting I think idly. NK Malone sunglasses. I've always quite wanted a pair of those.

That's interesting I think idly. NK Malone sunglasses. I've always quite wanted a pair of those.

'Buy all three pairs…' the woman pauses '… and pay, not ?400. Not ?300. But ?200! A saving of at least 40 per cent off the recommended retail price.'

I stare at the screen, riveted.

But this is incredible. Incredible. Do you know how much NK Malone sunglasses usually cost? At least a hundred and forty quid. Each! Which means you're saving…

'Send no money now,' the woman is saying. Simply call this number…'

My heart beating fast, I scrabble for the notebook on my bedside table and scribble down the number. This is an absolute dream come true. NK Malone sunglasses. I can't quite believe it. And three pairs! I'll never have to buy sunglasses again. People will call me the Girl in the NK Malone shades. (And those Armani ones I bought last year are all wrong now. Completely out of date.) Oh, this is such an investment.

With shaking hands I dial the number – and get through immediately! I would have thought everyone would be on the line, it's such a good deal. I give my name and address, thank the woman very much indeed, then put down the receiver, a joyful smile plastered across my face. This day is perfect.

Absolutely perfect. And it's only nine o’clock!

Happily I snuggle back down under the covers and close my eyes. Maybe Luke and I will spend all day here, in this lovely room. Maybe we'll have oysters and champagne sent up. (I hope not, actually, because I hate oysters.) Maybe we'll…

Nine o'clock, interrupts a little voice in my mind. I frown for a second, shake my head, then turn over to get rid of it. But it's still there, prodding a

Nine o'clock. Nine…

And I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart thumping in dismay. Oh my God.

Nine-thirty.

Derek Smeath.

I promised to be there. I promised. And here I am, with half an hour to go, all the way over at the Ritz. Oh God. What am I going to do?

I switch off the TV, bury my head in my hands, and try to think calmly and rationally. OK, if I got going straight away, I might make it. If I got dressed as quickly as possible, and ran downstairs and jumped in a taxi – I might just make it. Fulham's not that far away.

And I could be a quarter of an hour late, couldn't I? We could still have the meeting. It could still happen. In theory, it could still happen.

'Hi,' says Luke, putting his head round the bathroom door. He's got a white towel wrapped round his body, and a few drops of water are glistening on his shoulders. I never even noticed his shoulders last night, I think, staring at them. God, they're bloody sexy. In fact, all in all, he's pretty damn…

'Rebecca? Is everything OK?'

'Oh,' I say, starting slightly. 'Yes, everything's great. Lovely! Oh, and guess what? I just bought the most wonderful…'

And then for some reason I stop myself, mid-stream.