“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. All set for the big night out?”
It’s the college reunion tonight. I’d almost forgotten. “Can’t wait! Bye, Luke.”
I put my phone away and take a few deep breaths. The main thing is, Luke has no idea I even went near a private detective. And he’ll never find out.
As we reach the familiar terrain of West London I open up the folder and start leafing through the photos and surveillance notes. I might as well find out about Jasmine’s eyebrows before I get to shredding. I come across a blurry shot of Suze walking down High Street Kensington, and I close my eyes, feeling another wave of shame. I’ve made some terrible mistakes in my life, but this is the worst by a million zillion miles. How could I have exposed my best friend to some seedy private detective?
The next ten or so pictures are all of Venetia, and I pass over those quickly. I don’t want to see her. Then there’s a couple of Mel, Luke’s assistant, coming out of the office…and then…Oh my God, is that Lulu?
I stare at the print, bewildered. Then I remember mentioning her when I was making the list of women that Luke knows. I said that Luke didn’t get on with her, and Dave Sharpness nodded knowingly and said, “That’s often the smokescreen.” Stupid man. He obviously got the idea that Luke and Lulu were secretly having a torrid affair or something—
Hang on. I blink, and peer more carefully at the photograph. That can’t be…
She can’t be…
I clap a hand over my mouth, half shocked, half trying not to laugh. OK, I know hiring a private detective was a stupid thing to do. But this is so going to cheer Suze up.
I’m just stuffing all the prints and papers back into the folder when my mobile rings. “Yes?” I say cautiously.
“Becky, it’s Jasmine!” comes an animated voice. “Are you coming in, or what?”
I sit up in surprise. First of all, I didn’t think anyone would even notice I was late. And second, since when did Jasmine ever raise her voice above a bored, monosyllabic drawl?
“I’m on my way,” I say. “What’s up?”
“It’s your mate Danny Kovitz.”
I feel a grip of alarm. Please don’t say he’s lost interest. Please don’t say he’s pulled out.
“Is there…a problem?” I can hardly bear to say it.
“No way! He’s finished his design! He’s here with it now. And it’s amazing!”
Finally, finally, something is going well! I arrive at The Look and head straight up to the boardroom on the sixth floor, which is where everybody has assembled to see the design.
Jasmine meets me at the lift, her eyes sparkling.
“It’s so cool!” she says. “Apparently he was working all night to get it right. He says coming to Britain gave him exactly the final inspiration he needed. Everyone’s really excited. It’s going to be a sell-out! I’ve been texting my friends and they all want one.”
“Great!” I say in astonishment.
I don’t know what I’m more surprised by, Danny finishing his design so quickly or Jasmine coming to life.
“In here…” She opens the heavy pale-wood door, and I can hear Danny’s voice as we enter the boardroom. He’s sitting on the long table, holding forth to Eric, Brianna, and all the marketing and PR personnel.
“It was just that final concept I needed to crack,” he’s saying. “But once I got it…”
“It’s so different!” Brianna is saying. “It’s so original.”
“Becky!” Danny suddenly notices me. “Come and see the design! Carla, come over here.”
He beckons her over — and I gasp.
“You what?” My voice shoots out in horror before I can stop it.
Carla’s wearing a T-shirt with gathered seams and Danny’s trademark ragged, pleated sleeves. The background is pale blue, and on the front there’s a little stylized sixties-type drawing of a red-headed doll. Underneath is the single printed phrase:
SHE’S a REDHAiRED BiTCH and I HATE HER
I look at Danny and back at the T-shirt and back at Danny.
“You can’t….” My mouth isn’t working properly. “Danny, you can’t….”
“Isn’t it great?” says Jasmine.
“The magazines will love it.” A girl from PR is nodding enthusiastically. “We’ve already given InStyle a teeny sneak preview and it’s going in their must-have column. And with the signature carrier bag too…Everyone is going to want one.”
“It’s such a brilliant slogan!” says someone else. “‘She’s a redhaired bitch and I hate her’!”
The whole room laughs. Except me. I’m still in shock. What’s Venetia going to say? What’s Luke going to say?
“We’re going to have it on bus stops, on posters, in magazines….” the PR girl is saying. “Danny had a fab idea, which is to run it as a maternity T-shirt too.”
My head jerks up in horror. He what?
“Great idea, Danny!” I say, shooting daggers at him.
“I thought so.” He beams back innocently. “Hey, you could wear one for the birth!”
“So, where did you get your inspiration, Mr. Kovitz?” asks an eager young marketing assistant.
“Who’s the redhaired bitch?” The PR girl chimes in with an easy laugh. “I hope she won’t mind having a thousand Tshirts printed about her!”
“What do you think, Becky?” Danny wickedly raises his eyebrows at me.