Christmas Shopaholic(24)



I was getting a bit wired, but then I read this brilliant article called “Don’t Try to Solve Ten Problems at Once!” It said the answer to stress-free Christmas shopping was prioritizing and doing one thing at a time. So today I’m focusing again on one simple task: find a present for Luke.

But what?

I feel so uninspired. I’ve already been round all the department stores and, OK, I’ve seen nice things—but nothing that made me think, Yessss! So then I came to Jermyn Street, because that’s menswear central, isn’t it? Only now that I’ve wandered about a bit, I realize that all the suits need to be tailored, which is too complicated….

Ooh. Hang on a minute.

I stop dead and stare upward. I’ve just spotted the most amazing dressing gown in a window. It’s navy blue, decorated all over with cheetahs, and it looks like it’s made of some gorgeous silk. It looks like the kind of thing a movie star would wear. In a movie called The Dressing Gown.

I enter the shop, which is called Fox and Thurston and has lots of waistcoats and boaters and jaunty socks. There’s a section at the back with dressing gowns, and I head there straightaway. And there it is! It looks even more sumptuous up close, and Luke could definitely do with a new dressing gown.

Casually, I examine it, but I can’t see a price tag. So I swiftly move away and get out my phone. My new rule in posh shops is: Don’t ask the price but google it. Then you can gulp in private, instead of under the snooty gaze of an assistant.

I call up the website for Fox and Thurston and click on Unique Dressing Gowns. I scroll down various dressing gowns and suddenly spy the navy one. It’s called Cheetah Cloud, and it’s made from handwoven Chinese silk, and it costs…

What?

I stare at the figure in disbelief—£4,000 for a dressing gown? No way. The belt on its own is £350, I notice, and I clamp my lips tight so I won’t giggle. Who wants a dressing gown belt on its own?

“Hi!” A very thin, pretty girl with swooshy blond hair is approaching me with a smile. “Can I help you?”

For a split second I don’t quite know what to say—but then a brilliant idea hits me.

“Oh, hello there,” I say in a businesslike way. “My name’s Becky Brandon, née Bloomwood.” I extend a hand. “I work in brand representation. Would you be the right person to talk to on a business matter?”

The girl’s eyes widen and she says, “I’d better get Hamish.” A few moments later, a bearded guy dressed in red chinos and a striped waistcoat comes striding up to me.

“Hamish Mackay,” he says. “I’m the manager. How can I help you?”

“Hello,” I say, shaking his hand confidently. “My name’s Becky Brandon, née Bloomwood. I’m a brand ambassador consultant, and I just wondered who your brand ambassadors are currently?”

“Right,” says Hamish, shooting me a curious look. “As far as I’m aware, we don’t have any brand ambassadors.”

“Really?” I feign shock. “You know, all the big brands have them. I think it’s shortsighted not to avail yourself of this wonderful opportunity.” I can see Hamish opening his mouth to protest, so I quickly press on. “Luckily enough, I have a client on my books who’s available and I think would make a very fine ambassador for you. Very good-looking, very dapper, very high profile in the world of finance. He’s exactly who you need right now.”

“I’m sorry, what is this?” says Hamish, looking puzzled.

“It’s an arrangement,” I explain smoothly. “All you would supply is a few items of clothing, maybe a suit and dressing gown, for example, and in return he would wear the clothes in a variety of high-profile situations. It’s a win-win. Works every time.”

There’s a pause as Hamish peers at me. Then he says, “What’s your name again?”

“Becky Brandon, née Bloomwood. I can take an item or two with me now, if that’s easier,” I add casually, reaching for the dressing gown. “Why don’t I do that and send over the paperwork later? I know this particular gentleman has some very high-profile events coming up, and you’ll definitely want him to be wearing these garments.”

“A dressing gown?” says Hamish incredulously, eyeing it in my arms. “How’s he going to wear a dressing gown at a high-profile event?”

Oh. I hadn’t quite thought that through.

“Well…what is a dressing gown these days?” I retort boldly. “Call it a dressing gown, call it a smoking jacket—”

“It’s not a smoking jacket,” Hamish interrupts me. “It’s a dressing gown.”

“All the old rules are over,” I continue, ignoring him. “My client might sling this garment casually over his black tie…he might go for the dress-down look…he might layer it over a coat….”

“Layer a dressing gown over a coat?” says Hamish, looking repulsed.

“Why not?” I say defiantly, trying not to picture the moment where I tell Luke he has to layer a dressing gown over his coat.

“That’s a very expensive garment,” says Hamish, removing the dressing gown from my arms. “Please don’t touch it anymore. What’s this guy’s name?”

“Luke Brandon of Brandon Communications,” I say proudly, and something clicks in Hamish’s eyes.

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