Six Geese a-Laying

I should phone my own number! Call the mugger! I could ask him to come back, offer him a reward … What do you think? Could I borrow your phone?’
    The doorman almost recoils as I thrust out a hand.
    ‘Madam, I think that would be a very foolhardy action,’ he says severely. ‘And I’m sure the police would agree you should do no such thing. I think you must be in shock. Kindly have a seat and try to relax.’
    Hmm. Maybe he’s right. I’m not wild about setting up some assignation with a criminal in a hoodie. But I can’t sit down and relax; I’m far too hyper. To calm my nerves I start walking round and round the same route, my heels clicking on the marble floor. Past the massive potted ficus tree … past the table with newspapers … past a big shiny litter bin … back to the ficus. It’s a comforting little circuit, and I can keep my eyes fixed on the concierge the whole time, waiting for him to be free.
    The lobby is still bustling with executive types from the conference. Through the glass doors I can see the doorman back on the steps, busy hailing taxis and pocketing tips. A squat Japanese man in a blue suit is standing near me with some European-looking businessmen, exclaiming in what sounds like loud, furious Japanese and gesticulating at everybody with the conference pass strung round his neck on a red cord. He’s so tiny and the other men look so nervous, I almost want to smile.
    The brandy arrives on a salver and I pause briefly to drain it in one, then keep walking, in the same repetitive route.
    Potted ficus … newspaper table … litter bin … potted ficus … newspaper table … litter bin …
    Now I’ve calmed down a bit, I’m starting to churn with murderous thoughts. Does that Hoodie Guy realize he’s wrecked my life? Does he realize how
crucial
a phone is? It’s the worst thing you can steal from a person. The
worst
.
    And it wasn’t even that great a phone. It was pretty ancient. So good luck to Hoodie Guy if he wants to type ‘B’ in a text or go on the internet. I hope he tries and fails.
Then
he’ll be sorry.
    Ficus … newspapers … bin … ficus … newspapers … bin …
    And
he hurt my shoulder. Bastard. Maybe I could sue him for millions. If they ever catch him, which they won’t.
    Ficus … newspapers … bin …
    Bin
.
    Wait.
    What’s that?
    I stop dead in my tracks and stare into the bin, wondering if someone’s playing a trick on me, or I’m hallucinating.
    It’s a phone.
    Right there in the litter bin. A mobile phone.
    You’ll be able to read the complete book
when it is published in February.
    1. His specialism is Cultural Symbolism. I speed-read his book,
The Philosophy of Symbolism
, after our second date and then tried to pretend I’d read it ages ago, coincidentally, for pleasure. (Which, to be fair, he didn’t believe for a minute.) Anyway, the point is, I read it. And what impressed me most was: there were so many footnotes. I’ve totally got into them. Aren’t they handy? You just bung them in whenever you want and instantly look clever.
    Magnus says footnotes are for things which aren’t your main concern but nevertheless hold some interest for you. So. This is my footnote about footnotes.
    2. Which, actually, I never say. Just like Humphrey Bogart never said, ‘Play it again, Sam.’ It’s an urban myth.
    3. Of course, the hotel wasn’t on fire. The system had short-circuited. I found that out afterwards, not that it was any consolation.
    4. Did Poirot ever say ‘Oh my God’? I bet he did. Or ‘Sacrebleu!’ which comes to the same thing. And does this not disprove Antony’s theory since Poirot’s grey cells are clearly stronger than anyone else’s? I might point this out to Antony one day. When I’m feeling brave. (Which, if I’ve lost the ring, will be never, obviously.)
    5. Weak mind.
    6. I’m allowed to give myself at least a
chance
of getting it back safely and him never having to know, aren’t I?

About the Author
    Sophie Kinsella is an international bestselling writer and former financial journalist. She is the author of the number-one bestsellers
Can You Keep A Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?
and
Twenties Girl
as well as the hugely popular Shopaholic novels, the first of which has become the Hollywood movie
Confessions of a Shopaholic
. She lives in London with her husband and children.
    Visit the global Sophie Kinsella website at www.sophiekinsella.co.uk for Sophie’s latest news, videos &