Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle

  The heavy front door is ajar and I push it open. Inside, the huge flagstone hall is decorated with the most amazing arrangements of lilies. A pair of waiters are striding through with champagne glasses on a tray. And on the ancient chair by the fireplace is a discarded saddle. Nothing’s changed here, then.

  The waiters disappear down a corridor, and I’m left alone. Walking over the flagstones, I suddenly feel a bit nervous. What if Suze has gone all weird, like my parents?

  And then I spot her through an open door, standing in the drawing room. Her blond hair is up in a chignon and she’s wearing a gorgeous print wrap dress. And in her arms is a tiny baby dressed in a long christening robe. Wow. That must be one of the twins.

  Tarquin is standing nearby holding a second baby, which is also in a christening robe. And although he’s wearing the most ancient suit in the world, he’s actually looking pretty good! Not quite as . . . stoaty. It occurs to me that maybe Tarquin will get better looking the older he gets. When he’s fifty he’ll probably be a sex god!

  A blond-haired toddler is clutching his leg and, as I watch, Tarquin gently prizes his fingers off.

  “Ernie,” he says patiently.

  Ernie? I feel an almighty shock. My godson, Ernest? But last time I saw him he was a tiny little baby.

  “Wilfie looks like a girl!” Suze is saying to Tarquin, her brow crumpled in that familiar way. “And Clementine looks like a boy!”

  “My sweet, they both look exactly like babies in christening robes,” says Tarquin.

  “What if they’re both gay?” Suze is looking anxiously at Tarquin. “What if their hormones got mixed up when they were in the womb?”

  “They’re fine!”

  I feel ridiculously shy, hovering by the door. I don’t want to interrupt. They look like a family. They are a family.

  “What’s the time?” Suze tries to consult her watch, but Ernie is now clinging to her arm, trying to jump up. “Ernie, sweetheart, I need to do my lipstick! Leave Mummy’s arm alone. . . . Can you take him for a sec, Tarkie?”

  “Let me just put Clemmie down somewhere. . . .” Tarquin starts looking around the room as though a cot might magically spring up out of nowhere.

  “I’ll take her if you like,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.

  Suze whips round.

  “Bex?” Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “Bex?”

  “We’re back!” I try to sound cool. “Surprise!”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  Suze thrusts the baby at Tarquin, who manfully does a kind of juggling act with the two of them. She races toward me and throws her arms around my neck.

  “Bex! Mrs. Brandon!”

  “Mrs. Cleath-Stuart!” I return, feeling tears prick at my eyes. I knew Suze wouldn’t have changed. I knew it.

  “I can’t believe you’re back!” Suze’s face is glowing. “Tell me all about your honeymoon! Tell me every single thing you—” She breaks off suddenly, staring at my bag. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Is that a real Angel bag?”

  Ha! You see? People who know, know.

  “Of course it is.” I swing it nonchalantly on my arm. “Just a little souvenir from Milan. Er . . . I wouldn’t mention it in front of Luke, though,” I add, lowering my voice. “He doesn’t exactly know about it.”

  “Bex!” says Suze half reprovingly, half laughing. “He’s your husband!”

  “Exactly.” I meet her eye, and we both start giggling.

  God, it’s like I never left.

  “So, how’s married life?” asks Suze.

  “It’s perfect.” I sigh happily. “Totally blissful. Well, you know. Like couples are on their honeymoon!”

  “I was pregnant on our honeymoon.” Suze looks a bit discomfited. She reaches out and strokes the Angel bag in awe. “I didn’t even know you were going to Milan! Where else did you go?”

  “We went everywhere! All over the world!”

  “Did you go to the ancient shrine of Mahakala?” A booming voice comes from the doorway. I swivel round to see Suze’s mother, Caroline, coming into the room. She’s dressed in the strangest dress I’ve ever seen, made out of what looks like pea green canvas, accessorized with maroon tights and clumpy suede boots.

  I have never seen Caroline in a normal outfit, ever.

  “Yes!” I say in delight. “We did!”

  It was Caroline who got me into the idea of traveling in the first place, when she told me her best friend in the world was a Bolivian peasant.

  “The ancient Incan city of Ollantaytambo?”

  “We stayed there!”

  Caroline’s eyes gleam as though I’ve passed the test, and I feel a glow of pride. I am a genuine traveler! I won’t add that we were in the five-star spa.

  “Now, where’s my hat?” She frowns, looking around. “I’ve mislaid it.”

  “The African headdress one?” says Suze, flushing. “Er . . . I don’t know!”

  I give her a piercing look. She’s hidden her mum’s hat, I know it.

  “Caroline!” Suze’s father’s voice comes resounding through the air, and the next moment he’s coming into the hall, dressed in a paisley silk dressing gown over a pair of pin-striped trousers. His hair is white and bushy, and his nose has become a lot redder in the year since I last saw him. In fact, it’s practically purple.

  “Hello, Sir Gilbert,” I begin politely. “How are you—”

  “Caroline!” he repeats, totally ignoring me. “Fella says we could have a lion in the front paddock. He’ll ship it over, do all the paperwork. What about it?” Sir Gilbert’s bright blue eyes flash with excitement. “That’d add a bit of spice to life, eh?” He gives a sudden lionlike roar, and I jump.

  “A lion?” Suze says in horror. “Daddy, you can’t have a lion here! It’ll eat the babies!”

  “Gilbert, the lion belongs in the wild.” Caroline looks thunderous. “Free to roam its natural world. Anyone who has crossed the Serengeti Plain and seen a pride feeding at dawn . . .”

  “Why does your dad want a lion?” I murmur to Suze as Caroline continues.

  “He wants to start a zoo and open it to the public,” Suze mutters back. “It’s one of his mad schemes. Like the tortoises, remember?”

  About four years ago, when Suze and I were sharing a flat in London, her father decided to become a tortoise breeder, and it was us who had to take a delivery of twenty baby tortoises and look after them all weekend.

  “The noble animal looked at me,” Caroline is declaiming momentously, “and a deep understanding seemed to pass between us. . . .”

  “You can look at my lion if you like,” says Sir Gilbert. “In its cage.” He bellows with laughter. “Eh?”

  He looks so pleased with himself, and Caroline looks so disapproving, I can’t help a giggle. I just love Suze’s family. God, it’s good to be back.

  “Maybe I’ll go over to the church,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I’ll see you later . . .”

  “That reminds me!” Caroline breaks off. “I saw the vicar and he was saying some rubbish about warm water for the baptism. I said absolutely not! A bit of cold water’ll do these infants the power of good.”

  “Mummy!” wails Suze. “I especially asked for warm water! They’re still so tiny!”

  “Nonsense!” booms Caroline. “At their age, you were swimming in the lake! At the age of six months you were trekking with me up the Tsodilo Hills of Botswana. No warm water there!”

  Suze gives me a despairing look, and I grin back sympathetically.

  “I’d better go,” she says. “Bex, I’ll see you afterwards. You will stay a couple of days, won’t you?”

  “We’d love to!” I say happily.

  “Oh, and you must meet Lulu!” she adds, halfway out the door.

  “Who’s Lulu?” I call back, but she doesn’t hear.

  Oh, well. I’ll soon find out. It’s probably her new horse, or something.

  I find Luke outside, where a tented walkway has been se
t up between the house and the church, just like at Suze’s wedding. As we start walking along the matting, I can’t help feeling a tingle of nostalgia. It was here that we first talked about getting married, in a roundabout sort of way. And then Luke proposed.

  And now here we are. Married for nearly a year!

  I hear footsteps coming up behind and look round to see Tarquin hurrying along the matting, holding a baby.

  “Hi, Tarkie!” I say as he joins us. “So . . . which twin is this?”

  “This one is Clementine,” says Tarquin, beaming. “Our little Clemmie.”

  I peer more closely, and try to hide my surprise. Blimey. Suze is right. She does look like a boy.

  “She’s beautiful!” I say quickly. “Absolutely gorgeous!”

  I’m trying to think of something to say which will emphasize her very feminine qualities, when there’s a faint sound from up above. A kind of chopper-chopper-chopper. Now it’s getting louder. I look up, and to my astonishment, a huge black helicopter is approaching. In fact . . . it’s landing, on the field behind the house.

  “Do you have a friend with a helicopter?” I say, amazed.

  “Um . . . actually, that’s mine,” says Tarquin bashfully. “Lent it to a friend for a spin.”

  Tarquin has a helicopter?

  “Bought it last year,” he explains. “The Ring was on at Covent Garden, right in the middle of lambing season. Huge dilemma. I didn’t want to miss either.”

  “Er . . . absolutely!” I nod, as if I really can sympathize.

  Which, in a way, I can. If I was given the choice of watching sheep give birth in freezing-cold fields or listening to an endless Wagner opera . . . I’d buy a helicopter too. To escape.

  By now we’ve arrived at the church, which is bustling with guests. Luke and I slip into a pew near the back, and I look around at all Suze’s relations. There’s Tarquin’s dad, wearing an aubergine-colored smoking jacket, and there’s Fenella, Tarquin’s sister. She’s dressed in cream and is shrieking excitedly at some girl with blond hair I don’t recognize.

  “Who’s that, Agnes?” comes a piercing voice behind me. I glance round, and a woman with gray hair and a gigantic ruby brooch is peering at the blond girl too, through a lorgnette.

  “That’s Fenella, dear!” says the woman in blue sitting next to her.

  “I don’t mean Fenella! I mean the other girl, talking to her.”

  “D’you mean Lulu? That’s Lulu Hetherington.”

  I raise my head in surprise. So. Lulu isn’t a horse. She’s a girl.

  Actually, she does look quite like a horse. She’s very thin and rangy, like Suze, and wearing a pink tweed suit. She laughs at something Fenella says—and she’s got one of those smiles which show all her teeth and gums.

  “She’s a godmother,” Agnes is saying. “Super girl. She’s Susan’s best friend!”

  What?

  I look up, taken aback. That’s ridiculous. I’m Suze’s best friend. Everyone knows that.

  “Lulu moved into the village six months ago and they’ve become quite inseparable!” Agnes continues. “We see them out riding together every day. She’s so like dear Susan. Just look at the two of them together!”

  Suze has appeared at the front of the church, holding Wilfrid. I suppose there is a superficial likeness between her and Lulu. They’re both tall and blond. They’ve both got their hair in the same chignon. Suze is talking to Lulu, her face shining with animation, and as I watch, they both burst into peals of laughter.

  “And of course they have so much in common!” Agnes’s voice cuts through the air behind me. “What with the horses and the children . . . they’re wonderful support for each other.”

  “Every girl needs a best friend,” says the other woman wisely.

  She breaks off as the organ starts playing. The congregation stands up and I reach for my service sheet along with everyone else. But I can’t read a word. I’m too jumbled up inside.

  After the service is over, we all head back to the house, where a string quartet is playing in the hall and waiters are circulating with drinks. Luke is immediately accosted by some friend of Tarquin’s who knows him through business, and I stand for a while on my own, brooding on what I heard in the church.

  “Bex!” I wheel round in relief as I hear Suze’s voice behind me.

  “Suze!” I beam at her. “That was great!”

  Just seeing Suze’s friendly face sweeps all my worries away. Of course we’re still best friends!

  I have to remember that I’ve been away for a long time, so Suze had to make friends with people locally or whatever. But the point is, I’m back now!

  “Suze, let’s go shopping tomorrow!” I say impulsively. “We can go up to London . . . I’ll help you with the babies . . .”

  “Bex, I can’t.” Her brow wrinkles. “I promised Lulu I’d go riding tomorrow morning.”

  For a moment I don’t know what to say. Couldn’t she cancel riding? She always rides, and I’ve only just come home.

  “Oh, right.” I try to smile. “Well . . . no problem. We’ll do it another time!”

  The baby in Suze’s arms has started to wail lustily and she pulls a face.

  “I’ve got to go and feed them now. But then I must introduce you to Lulu. You two will love each other!”

  “I’m sure we will!” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “See you later!”

  I watch as Suze disappears into the library.

  “Champagne, madam?” says a waiter behind me.

  “Oh, right. Thanks.”

  I take a glass of champagne off the tray. Then, with a sudden thought, I take another. I head for the library door and am about to reach for the handle, when Lulu comes out, closing the door behind her.

  “Oh, hello!” she says in a posh, clipped voice. “Suze is feeding in there, actually.”

  “I know.” I smile. “I’m her friend Becky. I’ve brought her some champagne.”

  Lulu smiles back—but her hand doesn’t move off the door handle.

  “I think she’d probably like some privacy,” she says pleasantly.

  For a moment I’m too astounded to reply.

  Privacy? From me?

  I was with Suze when she gave birth to Ernie! I feel like retorting. I’ve seen more of her than you ever will!

  But no. I’m not going to get into scoring points with this person. Come on. Make an effort.

  “So you must be Lulu,” I say as warmly as I can, and hold out my hand. “I’m Becky.”

  “You’re Becky. Yes, I’ve heard about you.”

  Why does she look amused? What has Suze said?

  “And you’re Clementine’s godmother!” I say heartily. “That’s . . . lovely!”

  I’m trying as hard as I can to make a connection. But there’s just something about her that makes me shrink away. Her lips are a bit too thin. Her eyes are a bit too cold.

  “Cosmo!” she suddenly barks. I follow her gaze and see a toddler blundering into the string quartet. “Come away, darling!”

  “Cosmo! Great name,” I say, trying to be friendly. “Like, after the magazine?”

  “The magazine?” She stares at me as though I’m a total imbecile. “Actually, it comes from the ancient Greek word kosmos. Meaning ‘perfect order.’ ”

  I feel prickles of embarrassment and resentment. How was I supposed to know that?

  Anyway, she’s the stupid one, because how many people have heard of Cosmo magazine? About a million. And how many have heard of some old Greek word? About three. Exactly.

  “Do you have children?” she says with polite interest.

  “Er . . . no.”

  “Do you keep horses?”

  “Er . . . no.”

  There’s silence. Lulu seems to have run out of questions. I guess it’s my turn.

  “So . . . how many children do you have?”

  “Four,” she replies. “Cosmo, Ludo, Ivo, and Clarissa. Two, three, five, and eight.”

  “Wow. Th
at must keep you busy.”

  “Oh, it’s a different world when you have children,” she says smugly. “Everything changes. You can’t imagine.”

  “I probably can,” I say with a laugh. “I helped out Suze when Ernie was newborn. So I know what it’s like—”

  “No.” She gives me a patronizing smile. “Until you’ve actually been a mother you have no idea. None at all.”

  “Right,” I say, feeling squashed.

  How can Suze be friendly with this woman? How?

  Suddenly there’s a rattling at the library door and Suze appears. She’s holding a baby in one arm and her mobile in the other and is a picture of consternation.

  “Hi, Suze!” I say quickly. “I was just bringing you a glass of champagne!” I hold it out to her, but Suze doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Lulu, Wilfie’s got a rash!” she says anxiously. “Have yours ever had this?”

  “Let’s have a look,” says Lulu, expertly taking the baby out of Suze’s grasp. She examines him for a moment. “I think it’s heat rash.”

  “Really?”

  “It looks like nettle rash to me,” I say, trying to join in. “Has he been near any nettles recently?”

  No one seems interested in what I think.

  “You want Sudocrem,” says Lulu. “I’ll get some for you, if you like. I’m popping to the chemist’s later on.”

  “Thanks, Lulu. You’re an angel!” Suze takes Wilfie back gratefully, just as her mobile rings.

  “Hi!” she says into it. “At last! Where are you?” As she listens, her whole face crumples in dismay. “You’re joking!”

  “What’s wrong?” Lulu and I say simultaneously.

  “It’s Mr. Happy!” wails Suze, turning to Lulu. “He’s got a flat tire! He’s by Tiddlington Marsh.”

  “Who’s Mr. Happy?” I say in bewilderment.

  “The entertainer!” says Suze desperately. “There’s a whole roomful of children in there, just waiting for him!” She gestures to a pair of double doors, beyond which I can see lots of children in party dresses and smart little shirts, racing about and throwing cushions at each other.

  “I’ll zip along and pick him up,” Lulu says, putting down her glass. “At least we know where he is. I’ll only be ten minutes. Tell him to stay put and look out for the Range Rover.”