Shopaholic to the Rescue

NINE

Derek Smeath is so wise. He’s always given me good advice over the years, which I really should have followed a bit more. (Or, you know. At all. Especially that time he told me not to take out any more store cards for the free presents. I never did use that set of heated rollers.)

So as we’re heading out of Vegas, I decide this time I will follow his advice. If I have to bond with Alicia Bitch Long-legs to keep Suze’s friendship, then I will. Somehow. I’ll just have to channel Pollyanna and focus on all of Alicia’s plus points. I’ve even googled ways to bond with co-workers you don’t like and have got some useful tips like find a common hobby and give them an affectionate nickname. (Although how will I ever find a nickname to top “Alicia Bitch Long-legs”?)

By now we’re speeding along the freeway. I edge toward the table and benches where Alicia and Suze are sitting. Mum, Janice, and Danny are perched on the little sofa along with Minnie, and they’re playing bridge. (They work it so Minnie is “dummy” every time, which is quite clever. The only thing is, Minnie has her own set of cards and keeps plonking them down and saying, “My trick,” and trying to scoop up all the other cards.) Meanwhile, Elinor has stayed in Las Vegas to “rest” for a few days, and I really don’t blame her. Your first-ever hangover is always a shocker. I should think hers will last about a week.

Either side of us are wide desert plains, with mountains in the distance, and I feel a thrill every time I glance out of the window. I mean, this is a view. This is scenery. Why can’t England have anything like this? When I was a little girl, Mum and Dad used to say, “Look at the lovely scenery, Becky!” and they were talking about three trees and a cow. No wonder I couldn’t get excited and preferred reading Debbie and Her Magic Sparkle Dress.

As I approach the table, Suze looks up—and for an awful moment I think she’s not going to shift up and make room for me. But after an awkward beat, she does, and I sit down, trying to appear normal. Like we three always hang out together. Like we’re old mates.

“I really like your top, Alicia,” I say awkwardly. I’ve decided the quickest way to ingratiate myself is to compliment her. It’s a totally boring top, but that’s not the point.

“Oh.” Alicia gives me a wary look. “Thanks.”

“And your hair,” I add randomly. “I love your hair. It’s so shiny.”

“Thanks,” she repeats shortly.

“And…er…your perfume.”

“Thanks,” she says yet again. “It’s the Golden Peace blend.”

“Well, it’s really gorgeous on you, um…Ali,” I try self-consciously.

As soon as I’ve said it I realize Alicia is definitely not an Ali. She turns, startled, and I can see Suze gawping at me too.

“Ali?”

“I mean…Lissy,” I amend hastily. “Does anyone ever call you Lissy? It suits you. Lissy. Liss.” I give her a friendly little squeeze of the arm, which really doesn’t work.

“Ow!” She glares at me. “No, they don’t. And please leave my arm alone.”

“Sorry,” I say, and quickly cast around for more compliments. “You’ve got a really pretty nose! It’s so, um…” I swallow, playing for time. What can you say about a nose? “I love the way your…nostrils go,” I hear myself saying feebly.

Argh. I love the way her nostrils go?

Suze is giving me a very strange look, which I pretend I can’t see, while Alicia has turned to survey me with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, I get it,” she says. “I get what you’re doing. You want the number of my plastic surgeon, don’t you? Well, you’re not getting it.”

What? I stare at her in bewilderment. Plastic surgeon? What?

Oh God, this is hopeless. Let’s forget the compliments. And the nicknames.

“So, tai chi!” I say brightly. “Is that good? Should I try it?”

“I wouldn’t have thought it would suit you,” says Alicia. “You need to be able to control your mind and body.” She gives me a patronizing smile and flicks a glance at Suze.

“Oh.” I’m trying not to feel too snubbed. “OK. Well—”

“So, how many bedrooms, did you say?” Alicia cuts across me, resuming the obviously much more fascinating conversation she and Suze were having before.

So much for bonding. Total fail. And what’s so interesting about bedrooms, anyway? Why is it some people will always bring the conversation back to houses and house prices and how they can’t decide whether “feature” wallpaper is over, what do I think? (OK, that last one is just Mum. I keep telling her, I don’t know anything about feature wallpaper.)

“Oh, I’m not sure,” says Suze. “Twenty-eight? Half of them are crumbling away, though. We never even go into them.”

“Twenty-eight,” echoes Alicia. “Imagine that. Twenty-eight bedrooms.”

They must be talking about Letherby Hall. Poor Suze. She gets so bored when people start pestering her for details about Letherby Hall. Especially historical experts, who start saying things like, I believe you mean seventeen fifteen, in a supercilious way. I was once in the local greengrocer’s with Suze when some old man accosted her. He started quizzing her on some important fireplace in the Great Hall and putting her right on every detail. He was actually quite aggressive about which of Tarkie’s ancestors had commissioned it (I mean, who cares?), and in the end I had to deliberately knock over a stack of tangerines and cause a distraction so Suze could run away.

“And is it one of those houses that has a title attached?”

“I think so,” says Suze, sounding uninterested. “ ‘Lord of the Manor.’ ”

“Right.” Alicia delicately wrinkles her brow. “So anyone who owns the house is entitled to call himself ‘Lord.’ ”

“I suppose.” Suze looks vague. “I mean, in our case it doesn’t arise, because Tarkie has this other title anyway.”

The truth is, Tarkie has about six other titles, although Suze is far too modest to bring that up. In fact, she hates talking about this stuff altogether. I, on the other hand, once looked it all up on a website, because I quite fancy being “Lady Brandon of Somewhere.” The titles don’t even cost that much. They’re, like, a few hundred pounds, for something that lasts your whole life. I mean, in a way, why not be Lady Brandon?

(Only then Luke caught me and teased me about it for a week.)

As Suze pops to the loo, I glance at Alicia. Her eyes are distant and thoughtful. And, OK, I know I’m supposed to be channeling Pollyanna, but my brain won’t do it. Instead of thinking, Golly-gosh! I bet Alicia’s a sweetheart, really; maybe we could have milkshakes together, I’m thinking, Huh. What’s she up to now?

Maybe I’m just naturally a negative, suspicious person, I think morosely. Maybe I need therapy before I can get on with Alicia. I have a sudden image of us in couples counseling, being forced to hold each other’s hands, and I let out a strange little snort. Meanwhile, as soon as Suze returns, Alicia resumes quizzing her on Letherby Hall.

“My husband would love to see the place,” she says. “He’s such an Anglophile.”

“He’s welcome to!” Suze rolls her eyes ruefully. “It costs a fortune to run. We’re always trying to think of new ways to make money out of it. You’ll see when you come to stay.”

“Is Alicia coming to stay with you?” I ask, trying to sound as though this is a super-fab idea. “When’s that?”

“We don’t know yet, obviously,” says Suze, her brow darkening as though I’m insensitive even to ask. “We’ll have to wait until everything with Tarkie is cleared up.”

“Great,” I manage. “That sounds perfect.”

I sit for a bit, saying nothing, watching the landscape, thoughts bombing miserably round my brain. I’m getting so tired of my own suspicious mind. I’m supposed to be Pollyanna, I remind myself. Pollyanna. And there’s no reason to be suspicious of Alicia. None.

But, oh God. Alicia has always been up to something, ever since I’ve known her, and I just can’t help wondering what might be in this for her. Suze is so unsuspicious and her guard is down and Alicia knows it….

And then I sit up. Wait a minute. Wilton Merrelle is an Anglophile. A predatory, aggressive Anglophile who decides he wants something and gets it. And here’s Alicia, interrogating Suze about Letherby Hall….What if Wilton Merrelle has decided the next thing he wants is a stately home and a title? What if he wants to be Lord Merrelle of Letherby Hall?

For about the next twenty miles, I’m silent, considering this theory. It’s a ridiculous idea. Suze and Tarkie would never sell their ancestral home, even if they were put under pressure. Surely they wouldn’t.

Surely?

I glance sidelong at Suze. Her hair is always scrunched in a knot these days, like she doesn’t care about anything. Her lips are chapped and her face is strained. The truth is, I don’t know what I think anymore. Suze and Tarkie aren’t in a good place; Tarkie finds Letherby Hall hard to run; Suze isn’t thinking straight right now….

But they can’t sell. That house has been in their family for a zillion years. Just the thought gives me a horrible pang. And to Alicia Bitch Long-legs, of all people? I can just see Alicia wearing a tiara and making all the villagers curtsy while some little girl gives her a posy and whispers, You’re so beautiful, Princess Alicia. Ugh. It can’t happen. It can’t.