“You’re right,” I say at last.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and she sounds quite upset too. “But I am right.”
“I know you are.” I rub my face. “Look… I will face this out. I don’t know how. But I will.” Ernie’s wailing has increased to lusty screaming, and I can barely hear myself over the noise. “You’d better go,” I say. “Give my godson my love. Tell him… his godmother’s sorry she’s such a flake. She’s going to try and do better.”
“He sends all his love back,” says Suze. She hesitates. “And he says remember, even though we might get a bit cross with you, we’re still ready to help. If we can.”
“Thanks, Suze,” I say, my throat thick. “Tell him… I’ll keep you posted.”
I put my phone away and sit still, gathering my thoughts. At last I get to my feet, brush myself down, and walk back out onto the shop floor.
Alicia’s standing five yards away.
My stomach gives a little flip. How long has she been there for? What did she hear?
“Hi,” I say, my voice crackly with nerves.
“Hi,” she says. Very slowly she walks toward me, her eyes running over me appraisingly
“So,” she says pleasantly. “Does Robyn know you’re planning to run off to get married on a beach?”
Fuck.
“I’m…” I clear my throat. “I’m not planning to run off to a beach!”
“Sounded to me like you were.” Alicia examines a nail. “Isn’t there a clause about that in her contract?”
“I was joking! It was… you know, just being funny…”
“I wonder if Robyn would find it funny.” Alicia gives me her most ingratiating smile. “To hear that Becky Bloomwood doesn’t care about having a grand reception. To hear that her favorite, goody-two-shoes Little Miss Perfect client… is going to fly the coop!”
I have to keep calm. “You wouldn’t say anything to Robyn.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“You can’t! You just…” I break off, trying to stay composed. “Alicia, we’ve known each other a long time. And I know we haven’t always… seen eye to eye… but come on. We’re two British girls in New York. Both getting married. In a way, we’re… we’re practically sisters!”
I force myself to place a hand on her pink bouclé sleeve. “Surely we have to show solidarity? Surely we have to… support each other?”
There’s a pause as Alicia runs contemptuous eyes over me. Then she jerks her arm away from my hand and starts to stride away.
“See you, Becky,” she says over her shoulder.
I have to stop her. Quick.
“Becky!” Eileen’s voice is behind me and I turn round in a daze. “Here’s the pewterware I wanted to show you…”
“Thanks,” I say dazedly. “I just have to…”
I turn back — but Alicia’s disappeared.
Where did she go?
I hurry down the stairs to ground level, not bothering to wait for the lift. As I enter the floor I pause and look around desperately, searching for a flash of pink. But the whole place is crowded with an influx of excited, yabbering tourists. There are bright colors everywhere.
I push my way through them, breathing hard, telling myself Alicia wouldn’t really say anything to Robyn; she wouldn’t really be so vindictive. And at the same time, knowing that she would.
I can’t see her anywhere on the whole floor. At last I manage to squeeze past a group of tourists clustered round a case full of watches and reach the revolving doors. I push my way out and stand on the street, looking from left to right. I can barely see anything. It’s a blindingly bright day, with low sunlight glinting off plate-glass windows, turning everything into silhouettes and shadows.
“Rebecca.” I feel a hand suddenly pulling sharply at my shoulder. In confusion, I turn round, blinking in the brightness and look up.
As my gaze focuses, I’m gripped by pure, cold terror.
It’s Elinor.
Eighteen
I SHOULD NEVER HAVE stepped outside Tiffany.
“Rebecca, I need to talk to you,” says Elinor coldly. “At once.”
She’s wearing a long black coat and oversized black sunglasses and looks exactly like a member of the Gestapo. Oh God, she’s found out everything, hasn’t she? She’s spoken to Robyn. She’s spoken to Alicia. She’s come to haul me in front of the commandant and condemn me to hard labor.
“How did you know where I was?” I falter.
