Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic 5-Book Bundle Read Online Free PDF Page A

Everything else is blocked out of your mind. It’s pure, selfish pleasure.
    I walk slowly out of the shop, still in a haze of delight. I’ve got a Denny and George scarf. I’ve got a Denny and George scarf! I’ve got …
    “Rebecca.” A man’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up and my stomach gives a lurch of horror. It’s Luke Brandon.
    Luke Brandon is standing on the street, right in front of me, and he’s staring down at my carrier bag. I feel myself growing flustered. What’s he doing here on the pavement anyway? Don’t people like that have chauffeurs? Shouldn’t he be whisking off to some vital financial reception or something?
    “Did you get it all right?” he says, frowning slightly.
    “What?”
    “Your aunt’s present.”
    “Oh yes,” I say, and swallow. “Yes, I … I got it.”
    “Is that it?” He gestures to the bag and I feel a guilty blush spread over my cheeks.
    “Yes,” I say eventually. “I thought a … a scarf would be nice.”
    “Very generous of you. Denny and George.” He raises his eyebrows. “Your aunt must be a stylish lady.”
    “She is,” I say, and clear my throat. “She’s terribly creative and original.”
    “I’m sure she is,” says Luke, and pauses. “What’s her name?”
    Oh God. I should have run as soon as I saw him, while I hada chance. Now I’m paralyzed. I can’t think of a single female name.
    “Erm … Ermintrude,” I hear myself saying.
    “Aunt Ermintrude,” says Luke thoughtfully. “Well, give her my best wishes.”
    He nods at me, and walks off, and I stand, clutching my bag, trying to work out if he guessed or not.

• E NDWICH B ANK •
FULHAM BRANCH
3 Fulham Road
London  SW6  9JH
    Ms. Rebecca Bloomwood
Flat 2
4 Burney Rd.
London SW6 8FD
    17 November 1999
    Dear Ms. Bloomwood:
    I am sorry to hear that you have glandular fever.
    When you have recovered, perhaps you would be kind enough to ring my assistant, Erica Parnell, and arrange a meeting to discuss your situation.
    Yours sincerely,
    Derek Smeath
Manager
    • ENDWICH — BECAUSE WE CARE •

Three
    I WALK THROUGH THE DOOR of our flat to see Suze, my flatmate, sitting in one of her strange yoga positions, with her eyes closed. Her fair hair is scrunched up in a knot, and she’s wearing black leggings together with the ancient T-shirt she always wears for yoga. It’s the one her dad was wearing when he rowed Oxford to victory, and she says it gives her good vibes.
    For a moment I’m silent. I don’t want to disturb her in case yoga is like sleepwalking and you’re not meant to wake people when they’re doing it. But then Suze opens her eyes and looks up—and the first thing she says is “Denny and George! Becky, you’re not serious.”
    “Yes,” I say, grinning from ear to ear. “I bought myself a scarf.”
    “Show me!” says Suze, unwinding herself from the floor. “Show-me-show-me-show-me!” She comes over and starts tugging at the strings of the carrier, like a kid. “I want to see your new scarf! Show me!”
    This is why I love sharing a flat with Suze. Julia, my old flatmate, would have wrinkled her brow and said, “Denny and who?” or, “That’s a lot of money for a scarf.” But Suze completely and utterly understands. If anything, she’s worse than me.
    But then, she can afford to be. Although she’s twenty-five, like me, her parents still give her pocket money. It’s called an “allowance” and apparently comes from some family trust—but as far as I can see, it’s pocket money. Her parents also bought her a flat in Fulham as a twenty-first birthday present and she’s been living in it ever since, half working and half dossing about.
    She was in PR for a (very) short while, and that’s when I met her, on a press trip to an offshore bank on Guernsey. As a matter of fact, she was working for Brandon Communications. Without being rude—she admits it herself—she was the worst PR girl I’ve ever come across. She completely forgot which