Free Shopaholic Takes Manhattan by Sophie Kinsella

side chapel in the corner.
    Spiritual retreat,
reads a notice outside.
A place to sit quietly, pray, and discover more about the Catholic faith.
    Cautiously I poke my head inside the side chapel—and there’s an old nun, sitting on a chair, doing embroidery. She smiles at me, and nervously I smile back and walk inside.
    I sit down on a dark wooden pew, trying not to make any creaking sounds, and for a while I’m too awestruck to say anything. This is just amazing. The atmosphere is fantastic, all quiet and still—and I feel incredibly cleansed and holy just from being here. I smile again at the nun, shyly, and she puts down her embroidery and looks at me as though waiting for me to speak.
    “I really like your candles,” I say in a quiet, reverent voice. “Are they from Habitat?”
    “No,” says the nun, looking a bit startled. “I don’t believe so.”
    “Oh right.”
    I give a tiny yawn—because I’m still sleepy from all this country air—and as I do so, I notice that one of my nails has chipped. So very quietly, I unzip my bag, get out my nail file, and start to buff it. The nun looks up, and I give her a rueful smile, and point to my nail (silently, because I don’t want to ruin the spiritual atmosphere). Then, when I’ve finished, the edge is looking a bit ragged, so I take out my Maybelline express dry polish and very quickly touch it up.
    All the while, the nun is watching me with a perplexed expression, and as I’m finishing, she says, “My dear, are you a Catholic?”
    “No, I’m not, actually,” I say.
    “Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”
    “Um . . . not really.” I run my hand fondly over the pew I’m sitting on, and give her a friendly smile. “This carving is really nice, isn’t it. Is all your furniture as nice as this?”
    “This is the chapel,” says the nun, giving me a strange look.
    “Oh, I know! But you know, loads of people have pews in their houses, too, these days. I saw this article in
Harpers—
”
    “My child . . .” The nun lifts a hand to interrupt me. “My child, this is a place of spiritual retreat. Of quietness.”
    “I know!” I say in surprise. “That’s why I came in. For quietness.”
    “Good,” says the nun, and we lapse into silence again.
    In the distance, a bell starts tolling, and I notice the nun begins murmuring very quietly under her breath. I wonder what she’s saying? My granny used to knit things, and mutter the pattern to herself. Maybe she’s lost track of her embroidery.
    “Your sewing’s going really well,” I say encouragingly. “What’s it going to be?” She gives a tiny start, and puts down her embroidery.
    “My dear,” she says, and exhales sharply. Then she gives me a warm smile. “My dear, we have some quite famous lavender fields. Would you like to go and see them?”
    “No, it’s all right.” I beam at her. “I’m just happy, sitting here with you.”
    The nun’s smile wavers slightly. “What about the crypt?” she says. “Would you be interested in that?”
    “Not particularly. But honestly, I’m not bored! It’s just so lovely here. So . . . tranquil. Just like
The Sound of Music
.”
    She stares at me as though I’m speaking gibberish, and I realize she’s probably been in the convent so long, she doesn’t know what
The Sound of Music
is.
    “There was this film . . .” I start to explain. Then it occurs to me, maybe she doesn’t know what a film is, even. “It’s like, moving pictures,” I say carefully. “You watch it on a screen. And there was this nun called Maria . . .”
    “We have a shop,” interrupts the nun urgently. “A shop. What about that?”
    A shop! For a moment I feel all excited, and want to ask what they sell. But then I remember the promise I made to Suze.
    “I can’t,” I say regretfully. “I told my flatmate I wouldn’t go shopping today.”
    “Your flatmate?” says the nun. “What does she have to do with it?”
    “She just gets really worried