Shopaholic & Sister by Sophie Kinsella Read Free Book Online Page A

into my bag again and pull out a Bobbi Brown Sheer Finish compact.
    “Do you have a hammer?” I say. “Or anything heavy?”
    Silvia is looking at me as though I’ve gone completely crazy.
    “Anything will do. . . .” Suddenly I glimpse a hefty-looking stapler sitting on the counter. I pick it up and start bashing as hard as I can at the compact.
    “Oddìo!” Silvia screams.
    “It’s OK!” I say, panting a little. “I just need to . . . there!”
    The whole thing has splintered. Triumphantly I pull out a MasterCard, which was glued to the backing. My Defcon One, code-red-emergency card. Luke
really
doesn’t know about this one. Not unless he’s got X-ray vision.
    I got the idea of hiding a credit card in a powder compact from this brilliant article I read on money management. Not that I have a big problem with money or anything. But in the past, I have had the odd little . . . crisis.
    So this idea really appealed to me. What you do is, you keep your credit card somewhere really inaccessible, like frozen in ice or sewn into the lining of your bag, so you’ll have time to reconsider before making each purchase. Apparently this simple tactic can cut your unnecessary purchases by 90 percent.
    And I have to say, it really does work! The only, tiny, flaw is, I keep having to buy new powder compacts, which is getting a bit expensive.
    “I’ll pay with this,” I say, and hand it to Silvia, who is peering at me as though I’m a dangerous lunatic. She swipes it gingerly through her machine, and a minute later I’m scrawling my signature on the slip. I thrust it back at her, and she files it away in a drawer.
    There’s a tiny pause. I’m almost exploding with anticipation.
    “So . . . can I have it?” I say.
    “Here you are,” she says sulkily, and hands me the creamy carrier.
    My hands close over the cord handles and I feel a surge of pure, unadulterated joy.
    It’s mine.
     
     
    As I get back to the hotel that evening I’m floating on air. This has been one of the best days of my life. I spent the whole afternoon walking up and down the via Montenapoleone with my new Angel bag prominently displayed on my shoulder . . . and everyone admired it. In fact, they didn’t just admire it . . . they gawped at it. It was like I was a sudden celebrity!
    About twenty people came up to me and asked where I got it, and a woman in dark glasses who
had
to be an Italian movie star got her driver to come and offer me three thousand euros for it. And best of all, all I kept hearing was people saying, “
La ragazza con la borsa di Angel”
! Which I worked out means the Girl with the Angel Bag! That’s what they were calling me!
    I drift blissfully through the revolving doors into the foyer of the hotel to see Luke standing by the reception desk.
    “There you are!” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to worry! Our taxi’s here.” He ushers me out into a waiting taxi and slams the door. “Linate Airport,” he says to the driver, who immediately zooms into an oncoming stream of traffic, to a chorus of horns.
    “So, how was your day?” I say, trying not to flinch as we’re nearly hit by another taxi. “How was the meeting?”
    “It went well! If we can get the Arcodas Group as clients it’ll be seriously good news. They’re expanding hugely at the moment. It’s going to be an exciting time.”
    “So . . . do you think you’ll get them?”
    “We’ll have to woo them. When we get back I’m going to start preparing a pitch. But I’m hopeful. I’m definitely hopeful.”
    “Well done!” I beam at him. “And was your hair OK?”
    “My hair was fine.” He gives a wry smile. “In fact . . . it was admired by all.”
    “You see?” I say with delight. “I knew it would be!”
    “And how was your day?” says Luke as we swing round a corner at about a hundred miles an hour.
    “It was fantastic!” I’m glowing all over. “Absolutely perfect. I adore Milan!”
    “Really?” Luke looks