Free Shopaholic & Baby by Sophie Kinsella Page B

hand. “I’m coming to the appointment.”
    “Oh,” I say, mollified. “Well, we’d better go. It’s twenty minutes’ walk.”
    “We’re going by car.” He heads back into the office and I follow him in. “Iain’s on his way down from the hotel group meeting. He can pick us up, we’ll have a very quick meeting in the car, then I’ll join you.”
    “Right,” I say after a pause. “That sounds OK.”
    Actually, it sounds awful. I can’t stand Iain Wheeler; the last thing I want to do is sit in a car with him. But I can’t say that to Luke. There’s already a slight situation over me and Arcodas.
    Which was
not
my fault. It was Jess’s. A few months ago, she got me into leading this big environmental protest against them, when I had no idea they were Luke’s new, important client. Luke turned the whole thing round into a positive PR exercise and the Arcodas people pretended they had a sense of humor about it—but I’m not sure I’ve ever really been forgiven.
    “And I’m not prejudiced,” Luke adds, straightening his tie. “But I’ll just tell you now, Becky. This obstetrician woman will have to be pretty damn good for us to cancel Dr. Braine.”
    “Luke, you’re going to love her,” I say patiently. “I know you are.”
    I reach into my bag to check that my phone’s charged, then halt as I spot something on Luke’s desk. It’s a clipping from the financial pages about some new unit trust, with “Baby fund?” scribbled in the margin.
    Ooh!
    “So, you’re thinking of putting the baby’s money in a tracker fund, are you, Luke?” I say carelessly. “Interesting decision.”
    Luke looks taken aback for a moment, then follows my gaze.
    “Maybe I am,” he says in equally nonchalant tones. “Or maybe it’s a double-bluff to fool the spying opposition.”
    “The opposition doesn’t need to
spy
.” I give him a kind smile. “She has her own brilliant ideas. In fact, if you need any tips, I’d be happy to help. For a small fee.”
    “That’s quite all right,” he says politely. “Going well, is it, then? Your own investment.”
    “Brilliantly, thanks. Couldn’t be better.”
    “Excellent. Glad to hear it.”
    “Yes…that recent Japanese farming investment I made was fantastic….” I clap a hand over my mouth. “Oops! Said too much!”
    “Yup, Becky. You really fool me.” Luke grins. “Shall we go?”
     
     
    We emerge from the building and Luke ushers me into Iain’s black Mercedes limo.
    “Luke.” Iain nods from his seat by the window. “Rebecca.”
    Iain is a thickset guy in his early forties, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He’s quite good-looking, actually, but has terrible skin which he covers up by having a Permatan. And he wears too much aftershave.
Why
do men do that?
    “Thanks for the lift, Iain,” I say in my best charming-corporate-wife manner.
    “No problem.” Iain’s gaze drops to my swelling stomach. “Been eating too many pies, Rebecca?”
    Ha-ha.
    “Something like that,” I say, as pleasantly as I can.
    As the car pulls away, Iain takes a slurp of his take-out coffee. “How long to go before the big day?”
    “Seventeen weeks.”
    “So, how do you fill the time until then? Don’t tell me—yoga classes. My girlfriend’s become a yoga nut,” he adds to Luke, without giving me a chance to answer. “Load of bollocks if you ask me.”
    Honestly. Number one, yoga is
not
bollocks, it’s a way to channel your spirit through the chakras of life, or whatever it is.
    And number two, I don’t need ways to fill my time, thank you.
    “Actually, Iain, I’m head personal shopper at a top London department store,” I inform him. “So I don’t have too much time for yoga.”
    “A department store?” He swivels in his seat to regard me. “I didn’t know that. Which one?”
    I really fell into this one.
    “It’s…new,” I say, examining my nails.
    “Called?”
    “It’s called…The Look.”
    “The Look?” Iain guffaws in