‘Oh, hi there!’ I say brightly. ‘Minnie and I were just … out.’
‘That would make sense.’ Luke gives me a quizzical glance. ‘How’s my girl?’ He reaches the bottom of the stairs and swings Minnie up into his arms.
‘Lady,’ says Minnie seriously.
‘Lady?’ Luke tickles her chin. ‘Which lady, poppet?’
‘Lady.’ Her eyes are huge and reverent. ‘Puzz-le.’
Aargh! Since when did Minnie know how to say ‘puzzle’? Why does she have to expand her vocabulary now? What other words will she suddenly come out with? ‘Elinor’? ‘Ritz Hotel’? ‘Guess what, Daddy, I went to see my other grandmother today’?
‘Puzz-le.’ She suddenly plucks the puzzle pieces out of her pocket and presents them to Luke. ‘Lady.’
‘How funny!’ I laugh quickly. ‘We were looking at puzzles in a toy shop and there was one of the Mona Lisa. That must be why she’s saying “puzzle” and “lady”.’
‘Tea,’ adds Minnie.
‘And we had tea,’ I chime in desperately. ‘Just us. Just the two of us.’
Don’t say ‘Grand-muff’, for God’s sake don’t say ‘Grand-muff’ …
‘Sounds good.’ Luke drops Minnie to the floor. ‘By the way, I just had a phone message from Michael’s assistant.’
‘Michael!’ I say absently. ‘That’s great. How is he?’
Michael is one of our oldest friends and lives in the States. He was Luke’s business partner for ages, but now he’s more or less retired.
‘I don’t know. It was a bit strange.’ Luke takes out a Post-it and gives it a puzzled glance. ‘It was a bad line, but I think the assistant said something about 7 April? About not being able to make a party?’
Party?
Party?
The world seems to freeze. I’m pinioned, staring at Luke in horror. My heart seems to be thumping loudly inside my head.
What was Michael’s assistant doing phoning? She was supposed to email. It’s supposed to be a secret. Did I not write that big enough? Did I not make it clear?
‘Has he invited us to something?’ Luke looks perplexed. ‘I don’t remember getting an invitation.’
‘Me neither,’ I manage, after what seems like six hours. ‘Sounds like the message got garbled.’
‘We couldn’t make it out to the States anyway.’ Luke is frowning at the message. ‘It’s just not feasible. And I think I’ve got something on that day. A training conference or something.’
‘Right.’ I’m nodding frantically. ‘Right. Well, why don’t I get back to Michael about it?’ I take the Post-it from Luke, trying very hard not to snatch it. ‘Just leave it to me. I want to ask after his daughter, anyway. She sometimes comes to The Look, when she’s in town.’
‘Of course she does. Where else would she go?’ Luke gives me a disarming smile, but I can’t return it.
‘So … would you mind giving Minnie her bath?’ I try to speak calmly. ‘I’ve just got a quick call I need to make.’
‘Sure.’ Luke heads for the stairs. ‘C’mon, Min, bath time.’
I wait until they’ve reached the landing, then leg it outside to the drive, speed-dialling Bonnie’s number.
‘Disaster! Catastrophe!’ I barely even wait for her to say hello. ‘One of the guests’ assistants rang up about the party! She left a message with Luke! I mean, I managed to save the situation … but what if I hadn’t?’
‘Oh, goodness.’ Bonnie sounds shocked. ‘How unfortunate.’
‘I wrote on the invitation, “Don’t call”!’ I’m gabbling almost hysterically. ‘How much clearer could I have been? What if other people start calling? What do I do?’
‘Becky, don’t panic,’ says Bonnie. ‘I’ll have a think about this. How about we have breakfast tomorrow to formulate a plan? I’ll tell Luke I’m coming in late.’
‘OK. Thanks so much, Bonnie. See you tomorrow.’
Slowly my pulse-rate starts subsiding. Honestly, organizing a surprise party is like doing sudden hundred-metre sprints with no warning the whole time. They should offer it instead of personal training.
Ooh, maybe I’ll end up super-fit with no effort. That would be cool.
I put my phone away and am heading back into the house when I become aware of the grinding sound of an engine. A big white van is pulling into the drive, which is weird.
‘Hi.’ I approach hesitantly. ‘Can I help you?’
A guy in a T-shirt leans out of the cab of the van. He’s in his late forties, with dark stubble and a massive tattooed forearm.
‘You the bartering girl? Becky?’
‘What?’ I peer at him in surprise. What’s going on? I haven’t even put any ads in recently. Unless he’s got those latest Prada shades and wants to swap them for a blue Missoni scarf.
Which somehow I doubt.
‘My daughter promised you a marquee? Nicole Taylor? Sixteen-year-old?’
This is Nicole’s dad? I suddenly notice a nasty frown between his eyes. Shit. He looks quite scary. Is he going to tell me off for bartering with someone under-age?
‘Well yes, but—’
‘Whole story came out last night. My wife wanted to know where she got them bags you gave her. Nicole should never have done it.’
‘I didn’t realize she was so young,’ I say hastily. ‘I’m sorry—’