Sophie Kinsella: Shopaholic ties the knot

Through the door to the back room I see the corner of a lace shawl, and feel a tug of desire. Antique shawls are so in at the moment. And since I’m buying the trunk, it occurs to me, Arthur might give it to me for half price. Or maybe even for free!

Oh, come on. I’ll just have a quick look. But only at very small things, because I’ve promised Luke no more furniture.

“I’ll have a bit of a browse.” I smile back at Arthur. “Thanks.”

I head happily into the back room and reach for the lace shawl, but close up it looks a bit ragged. I put it down again and pick up a cocktail shaker. This is nice. Maybe I should get it for Suze as well.

“This is cool!” I beam at Arthur, who has followed me in.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” he agrees. “It goes with the 1930s cocktail cabinet.”

“Cocktail cabinet?” I echo, feeling prickles of interest. “I didn’t see a—”

“Here.” He walks over to what I thought was a cupboard, unhooks the front flap, and displays the mirrored Art Deco fittings inside. “You see, here’s where your bottles go… here are your highballs…”

I gaze at it, completely smitten. A real, genuine, 1930s cocktail cabinet. I’ve always wanted a cocktail cabinet.

Just think, if we had one of these in the apartment it would change our lives. Every night Luke and I would mix martinis, and dance to old-fashioned songs, and watch the sun go down. It’d be so atmospheric! We’d have to buy one of those old-fashioned record players with the big horns, and start collecting 78s, and I’d start wearing gorgeous vintage tea dresses.

We have to have this. We have to. This isn’t some boring chair, or set of shelves. This is different. Luke will understand.

“How much is that?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. I’m rather good at getting good prices in this shop. The trick is to sound as though you don’t care whether you buy it or not.

“This?” Arthur looks at it thoughtfully, and I hold my breath. “This really should be seven hundred dollars. But since you’re taking the trunk as well… I could let you have the pair for… eight hundred?”

Eight hundred dollars. For a wedding present and a unique cocktail cabinet that we’ll treasure all our lives. I mean, this isn’t like buying some pair of shoes that you’ll forget about. This is a genuine investment for the future.

“I’ll take them!” I beam at Arthur Graham.

“Excellent!” He smiles back. “You have a very good eye.”

Luke and I’ve been living together in New York now for a year, and our apartment is on West 11th Street, in the really nice leafy, atmospheric bit. There are ornate little balconies on all the houses, and stone steps up to all the front doors, and trees all along the pavement. Right opposite us lives someone who plays jazz piano, and on summer evenings we stroll up to the roof terrace that we share with our neighbors, and sit on cushions and drink wine and listen. (At least, we did that one time and I’m sure we will again.)

As I let myself into the house, there’s a pile of post for us in the hall, and I quickly flick through it.

Boring…

Boring…

British Vogue!

Boring…

Oh. My Saks Fifth Avenue store card bill.

I look at the envelope for moment, then remove it and put it in my bag. Not because I’m hiding it. Simply because there’s no particular point in Luke seeing it. I read this really good magazine article recently, entitled “Too Much Information?” in which it said you should filter out the day’s events rather than tell your partner every single tiny thing and overload his or her weary mind. It said your home should be a sanctuary, and that no one needs to know everything. Which, when you think about it, makes a lot of sense.

I put the rest of the post under my arm and start to walk up the stairs. There aren’t any letters from England, but then, I wouldn’t expect there to be today, because tonight we’re flying home for the wedding! I just can’t wait.

Suze is my first friend to take the plunge and get married. She’s marrying Tarquin, who’s a really sweet guy she’s known all her life. (In fact, he’s her cousin. But it’s legal. They checked.) The wedding’s going to be at her parents’ house in Hampshire, and there’s going to be loads of champagne, and a horse and carriage… and best of all, I’m going to be her bridesmaid!

At the thought, I feel a pang of yearning. I’m so looking forward to it. Not just being bridesmaid — but seeing Suze, my parents, and my home. It occurred to me yesterday I haven’t been back to Britain for over six months, which suddenly seems like a really long time. I completely missed Dad getting elected captain of the golf club, which was his life ambition. And I missed the scandal when Siobhan at the church stole the roof money and used it to go to Cyprus. And worst of all, I missed Suze getting engaged — although she came out to New York two weeks later to show me her ring.

It’s not that I mind exactly, because I’m having such a great time out here. My job at Barneys is perfect, and living in the West Village is even more perfect. I love walking through the tiny tucked-away streets, and buying cupcakes at the Magnolia Bakery on Saturday mornings and walking back through the market. Basically, I love everything I have here in New York. Except possibly Luke’s mother.

But still. Your home’s your home.

As I reach the second floor, I hear music coming from our apartment, and I feel a little fizz of anticipation inside. That’ll be Danny, working away. He’ll probably have finished by now! My dress will be ready!

Danny Kovitz lives upstairs from us, in his brother’s apartment, and he’s become one of my best friends since I’ve been in New York. He’s a fabulous designer, really talented — but he’s not that successful yet. Five years after leaving fashion school, he’s still waiting for his big break to come along. But like he always says, making it as a designer is even harder than making it as an actor. If you don’t know the right people or have an ex-Beatle as a father, you might as well forget it. I feel so sorry for him, because he does deserve to succeed. So as soon as Suze asked me to be her bridesmaid, I asked him to make my dress. The great thing is, Suze’s wedding is going to be stuffed full of rich, important guests. So hopefully loads of people will ask me who designed my dress, and then a whole word-of-mouth buzz will start, and Danny will be made!

I just can’t wait to see what he’s done. All the sketches he’s shown me have been amazing — and of course, a handmade dress will have far more workmanship and detail than you’d get off the peg. Like, the bodice is going to be a boned, hand-embroidered corset — and Danny suggested putting in a tiny beaded love-knot using the birthstones of all the bridal party, which is just so original.

My only slight worry — tiny niggle — is that the wedding’s in two days’ time, and I haven’t actually tried the dress on yet. Or even seen it. This morning I rang Danny’s doorbell to remind him I was leaving for England today, and after he’d eventually staggered to the door, he promised me he’d have it by lunchtime. He told me he always lets his ideas ferment until the very last minute — then he gets a surge of adrenaline and inspiration. It’s just the way he works, he assured me, and he’s never missed a deadline yet.

I open the door and call “Hello!” cheerfully. There’s no response, so I push open the door to our all-purpose living room. The radio is blaring Madonna, the television is playing MTV, and Danny’s novelty robot dog is trying to walk up the side of the sofa.

And Danny is slumped over his sewing machine in a cloud of gold silk, fast asleep.