Sophie Kinsella - Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

Contents

For Gemma, who has always known the importance to a girl of a Denny and George scarf

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD

18 July 2000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of 15 July.

It is true that we have known each other a long time, and I am pleased that you consider me more than just a bank manager. I agree that friendship is important and was glad to hear that you would always lend me money should I need it.

However, I cannot reciprocate, as you suggest, by wiping 1,000 off your overdraft accidentally on purpose. I can assure you, the money would be missed.

Instead, I am prepared to extend your overdraft limit by another 500, taking it up to 4,000, and suggest that we meet before too long to discuss your ongoing financial needs.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath
Manager

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD

23 July 2000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

I am glad that my letter of 18 July proved helpful.

I should, however, be grateful if you refrained from referring to me personally on your television show as Sweetie Smeathie and the best bank manager in the world.

Although naturally I am pleased you feel this way, my superiors are a little anxious at the image of Endwich Bank which is being presented, and have asked that I write to you on the matter.

With all best wishes,

Derek Smeath
Manager

Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD

20 August 2000

Dear Ms. Bloomwood:

Thank you for your letter of 18 August.

I was sorry to hear that keeping within your new overdraft limit is proving so difficult. I understand that the Pied a Terre summer sale is a unique opportunity to save money in the long run, and I can certainly increase your limit by 63.50 if, as you say, this would make all the difference.

However, I would also recommend that you come into the branch for a more comprehensive review of your financial situation. My assistant, Erica Parnell, will be pleased to set up an appointment.

Yours sincerely,

Derek Smeath
Manager

One

O K, DON'T PANIC. Don't panic. It's simply a question of being organized and staying calm and deciding what exactly I need to take. And then fitting it all neatly into my suitcase. I mean, just how hard can that be?

I step back from my cluttered bed and close my eyes, half-hoping that if I wish hard enough, my clothes might magically organize themselves into a series of neatly folded piles. Like in those magazine articles on packing, which tell you how to go on holiday with one cheap sarong and cleverly turn it into six different outfits. (Which I always think is a complete con, because, OK, the sarong costs ten quid, but then they add loads of accessories which cost hundreds, and we're not supposed to notice.)

But when I open my eyes again, the clutter is all still there. In fact, there seems to be even more of it, as if while my eyes were shut, my clothes have been secretly jumping out of the drawers and running around on my bed. Everywhere I look, there are huge great tangled piles of... well ... stuff. Shoes, boots, T-shirts, magazines... a Body Shop gift basket that was on sale... a Linguaphone Italian course which I'm definitely going to start soon... a facial sauna thingy... And, sitting proudly on my dressing table, a fencing mask and sword which I bought yesterday. Only forty quid from a charity shop!

I pick up the sword and experimentally give a little lunge toward my reflection in the mirror. It was a real coincidence, because I've been meaning to take up fencing for ages, ever since I read this article about it in The Daily World. Did you know that fencers have better legs than any other athletes? Plus, if you're an expert you can become a stunt double in a film and earn loads of money! So what I'm planning to do is find some fencing lessons nearby, and get really good, which I should think I'll do quite quickly.

And thenthis is my secret little planwhen I've got my gold badge, or whatever it is, I'll write to Catherine Zeta-Jones. Because she must need a stunt double, mustn't she? And why shouldn't it be me? In fact she'd probably prefer someone British. Maybe she'll phone back and say she always watches my television appearances on cable, and she's always wanted to meet me! We'll probably really hit it off, and turn out to have the same sense of humor and everything. And then I'll fly out to her luxury home, and get to meet Michael Douglas and play with the baby. We'll be all relaxed together like old friends, and some magazine will do a feature on celebrity best friends and have us in it, and maybe they'll even ask me to be...

Hi, Bex! With a jolt, the happy pictures of me laughing with Michael and Catherine vanish, and my brain snaps into focus. Suze, my flatmate, is wandering into my room, wearing a pair of ancient paisley pajamas, with her blond hair in plaits. What are you doing? she asks curiously.

Nothing! I say, hastily putting the fencing sword back. Just... you know. Keep fit.

Oh right, she says vaguely. Sohow's the packing going? She wanders over to my mantelpiece, picks up a lipstick, and begins to apply it. Suze always does this in my roomjust wanders about picking things up and looking at them and putting them down again. She says she loves the way you never know what you might find, like in a junk shop. Which I'm fairly sure she means in a nice way.

It's going really well, I say. I'm just deciding which suitcase to take.

Ooh, says Suze, turning round, her mouth half bright pink. What about that little cream one? Or your red holdall?

I thought maybe this one, I say, hauling my new acid-green shell case out from under the bed. I bought it last weekend, and it's absolutely gorgeous.

Wow! says Suze, her eyes widening. Bex! That's fab! Where did you get it?

Fenwicks, I say, grinning broadly. Isn't it amazing?

It's the coolest case I've ever seen! says Suze, running her fingers admiringly over it. So... how many suitcases have you got now? She glances up at my wardrobe, on which are teetering a brown leather case, a lacquered trunk, and three vanity cases.

Oh, you know, I say, shrugging a little defensively. The normal amount.