“Danny!” says Suze sharply.

“Just being honest,” says Danny innocently. “So, Alicia, if Bryce opens up a rival center, will your empire collapse, do you think?” He blinks at her. “Will you have to get a job?”

“Danny, shut up!” says Suze furiously.

“Wilton and I will not let some employee undermine us,” snaps Alicia. “Who does this Bryce Perry think he is?”

He is very good-looking, I want to point out. And everyone does worship him. But I don’t say this, because I think she’d probably attack me with a fork.

“Come on, Alicia.” Suze glares at Danny again. “Let’s sit down.”

As I’m wondering whether to follow them or just hide out by the muffins, I see Elinor approaching. She seems a lot better, which is either down to the fruit salad she’s been nibbling or because of her impending custom-made Danny Kovitz Classic wardrobe (I still can’t wait to see her in that coat).

“Would you like a muffin?” I venture politely, and she shoots a disdainful look at them.

“I hardly think so.” She glances over at Suze and Alicia. “What was Luke saying about Wilton Merrelle?”

“One of his employees is planning to open a rival center and steal all his customers. Why? Do you know him?”

“He’s an atrocious man,” says Elinor crisply, and I try not to beam in delight. A bit of bitching about Wilton Merrelle is just what I’m in the mood for.

“Why?” I repeat encouragingly. “You can tell me. I’m really discreet.”

“He practically forced a friend of mine out of her Park Avenue condominium.”

“How did he do that?” I ask, agog.

“He bought the apartment next door and pestered and pestered. Poor Anne-Marie was quite beleaguered. She felt she had no choice but to sell to him.”

“Poor woman!” I say in sympathy. “So, what happened to her?”

“She was forced to spend more time on her estate in the Hamptons,” says Elinor, without blinking.

OK, Elinor needs to work on her sob stories a little. But even so, it feels cozy, sharing a common enemy with her.

“Well, Alicia’s just as bad as Wilton,” I say. “Worse.” I’m about to launch into a whole list of Alicia’s dastardly deeds, when I see Elinor picking up a grape on a cocktail stick and looking at it curiously.

“This is a particularly minimalist canapé,” she observes.

“It’s not a canapé, it’s for the chocolate fountain.” I point. “See?”

Elinor peers at the gushing chocolate as though she’s none the wiser. I take the grape from her, dip it in the chocolate, let it cool slightly, and hand it to her.

“Ah.” Her brow clears. “I am reminded of the fondues one sees in Gstaad.”

“You’ve never dipped anything in a chocolate fountain before?”

“Naturally not,” she confirms with a supercilious air.

I love it. First-ever hangover. First-ever chocolate fountain. What else is there in the list of Elinor Sherman’s firsts?

“Elinor,” I say in sudden inspiration. “Have you ever worn a pair of blue jeans before?”

“Never,” responds Elinor, looking slightly revolted.

That’s it. I have her Christmas present. Dark-blue skinnies by J Brand.

Unless…do I dare give her ripped jeans?

The thought of Elinor unwrapping a pair of ripped jeans on Christmas Day cheers me up so much, I’m still smiling as I return to the table. But I hastily stop as I see Suze’s pained expression.

“I have to get Tarkie away from Bryce,” she’s saying fervently. “He’ll be trying to fleece him for millions.”

“If not more,” says Alicia darkly, and jabs at her phone yet again.

“I mean, should we phone the police again?” Suze looks around the table for support. “Now we have this new information?”

“Tarkie told me yesterday that he wasn’t going to give Bryce any money,” I venture. “I think he’ll be strong. He’ll just say no.”

“Bex, you don’t know anything about it! Tarkie’s extremely vulnerable. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted…he was snappy with me in L.A….He’s not normal.”

Her blue eyes are blazing and I lean away on my chair. Suze can be quite scary when she’s on fire like this.

“Suze…” I begin cautiously. “I know Tarkie was a bit tense in L.A. I know he said some weird stuff. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he was being brainwashed. He might…well…”

I trail off feebly. I can’t exactly say, He might not want to talk to you right now.

“What do you know about it?” Suze bites back.

“I was just giving you my point of view.”

“Well, don’t! You’re constantly trying to undermine me. Isn’t she, Alicia?”

Suze’s eyes are glittering, and she looks so hostile, it’s as if something inside me snaps.

“You know what, Suze?” I cry out. “Why did you even ask me to come on this trip? In L.A. you said you needed me, so I dropped everything. I was glad to! But you don’t seem to want my companionship or my opinions or anything I have to offer. All you care about is Alicia. And, by the way, guess what, she’s been lying to you!”

I didn’t mean to blurt that out. But now that I have, I feel an almighty satisfaction.

“Lying?” Suze’s eyes darken in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, lying! You told me you both stayed in all evening last night?”

“We did.” Suze glances uncertainly at Alicia.

“Alicia didn’t! Who were you meeting in the lobby of the Four Seasons at midnight, Alicia? And before you deny it, Danny saw you.” I throw this out with relish and sink back, folding my arms. At last. Alicia is totally exposed as a liar.

Except she doesn’t look exposed. She doesn’t blush, or seem embarrassed, or drop her glass with a clatter, or do any of the things I would do.

“I was meeting a private detective,” she says coldly.

A what?

“Naturally, I’ve been using my own resources.” She shoots me a withering look. “However, I didn’t want to let Suze know I’d drawn a blank, in case it discouraged her. So thanks, Becky, for ruining all my efforts.”

There’s a long and prickling silence around the table. My head’s all hot and fuzzy. I can’t believe Alicia’s come out on top again. What is she, a witch?

“Do you have anything to say, Becky?” Suze asks, and she sounds exactly like my headmistress did when I started the whole “bring your teacher a clothes item” craze (which I still think was a good idea).

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, staring down, exactly as I did back in Mrs. Brightling’s study.

“Right. Well.” Suze finishes her coffee. “I think we’d better move on.”


From: [email protected]

To: Brandon, Rebecca

Subject: Re: It’s all going wrong

Dear Mrs. Brandon,

Thank you for your email. I am most sorry to hear of all your difficulties.

We have indeed known each other a long time, and you are very welcome to “pour your heart out” to me. I am flattered that you think of me as “a wise old counselor, like Father Christmas” and will do my best to advise you.

Mrs. Brandon, for what it is worth: I suggest perhaps you try to bond a little more with Ms. Bitch Long-legs. Lady Cleath-Stuart has clearly allied herself with this woman. If you set up in the opposite “camp,” you risk losing your friend. Find points of common interest and take it from there. I’m sure that with your ingenuity, you can do so with considerable effect.

I do hope your trip progresses with success and that you find happiness with your friend again.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath


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.)