Celebrity Shopper (14 page)

Svetlana’s was fuchsia pink, one of Svetlana’s favourite colours, with long, elegant sleeves and a flattering ruffle at the neckline and the wrists.

Elena’s was more businesslike: navy with satin collar and cuffs. But the styles, the fit and the fabric looked really good. Perfect, in fact.

‘Stand up, Elena,’ Svetlana urged. ‘Show Annie how cleverly we cut darts at the back, to shape into the waist and then out at the hem.’

Elena made a tiny scowl, but then stood up and came to stand beside Annie so she could appreciate the dress in full.

Annie took hold of Elena’s hem and felt it between her thumb and fingers. ‘Lovely,’ she said, ‘a really nice feel. Silk crêpe?’

‘Ya, with just a little Lycra for fit and shape,’ Elena told her. ’For winter we will do wool mixes as well as the silk.’

‘This is so exciting!’ Annie told them. ‘So how is the show coming on?’

Elena sat back down and told Annie with another little scowl of annoyance: ‘Mother has left it all in the hands of some event organizer. He has booked the venue, the flowers, the models, even the DJ. Our involvement only begins this afternoon when we get there.’ She flicked a glance at her watch.

‘It will be fine, I spoke to him this morning,’ Svetlana told her daughter with a shake of her head. ‘In business, you must learn to delegate. What you think of our hotel, huh?’ She directed the question at Annie.

‘It is absolutely breathtaking,’ Annie assured her. ‘Is your room unbelievable? In fact, can I take a little peek at it after lunch?’

‘Room?’ Svetlana asked, shaking her head again. ‘Suite,
Annah, we have a
suite
, no one stays in just a room. How can you? There is not enough space for all the things.’

Elena was scowling again.

‘She thinks waste of money,’ Svetlana explained, reaching for one of the oysters on the mound and squirting it with a lemon half wrapped in gauze to ensure that no pip fell out and ruined the culinary experience. ‘I have to explain to Elena is all PR, everything we do is PR. When we meet journalists and press at the show tomorrow, we say, “Yes, we’re at the George V,” and everyone understands we are rich, we are successful, dresses are going to be worn by rich and successful women and then it all take off, vooom.’ She imitated take-off with her hand to make sure Annie got the idea.

‘Cash flow, Mother,’ Elena said warningly from the other side of the table. ‘You know nothing about business cash flow. We had a big lump sum of capital and now we’ve spent all of it! The bill for the George V is going to cause a business overdraft and we’ve not even sold one single dress yet!’

‘Yes, but how many buyers are coming to our show?’ Svetlana asked.

‘Forty-five,’ Elena answered and allowed herself a little smile as she teased a piece of lobster claw meat out with a silver pick.

‘They will buy,’ Svetlana assured her and gave Annie a roll of her eyes. ‘I have the big ideas, Annah, Elena does the numbers.’

‘I think you make a really great team,’ Annie said, smiling at both of them, trying to make this as conciliatory as possible. She took a sip of champagne and felt the bubbles melt in her throat and travel with comforting warmth down to her stomach.

Feeling hungry now, she picked off several of the juicy
fruits de mer
for her plate, dolloping mayonnaise on the side, regardless of the fact that neither Svetlana nor Elena were touching the stuff.

‘Now tell us all about the filming, Annah, what does Tamsin want us to do? What is her plan?’ Svetlana asked.

So Annie told them, at length and in depth, and by the time the three had discussed it in full, it was well after 2 p.m. Time for Svetlana to sign for the lunch, despite Annie’s objections, and for the hotel concierge to summon up a taxi to rush them to the Louvre.

As the cab pulled up as closely to the Louvre as it could, Annie was relieved to catch sight of Rich. His camera was already up on his shoulder as he captured the bustling fashion scene in full swing.

The long white tents stretching from the huge glass pyramid in the centre of the Louvre’s courtyard flapped elegantly in the breeze. Bustling all around were busy and über-fashionable people. Women in sharp jackets and dark glasses were snapping into mobiles; slouchy, scruffy models were smoking by the fountain. Everywhere everyone was beautiful, even the tanned middle-aged men, in cashmere overcoats, velvet scarves and Prada shades.

‘Oh, this is so amazing!’ Annie exclaimed as she climbed out of the taxi. ‘I need to do this every season. I need to be here,’ she gushed, desperate to get inside the tent and find out which other fashion shows she could sneak a look at.

What was going to be on sale next year? She needed to know now! And right here was where she could find out. This was the beating heart of planet fashion.

Even Elena looked impressed. She let the taxi driver unload the two big holdalls of dresses and shoes from the back of the car, but then she took charge of them both herself.

One over each shoulder, she was determined to carry them alone, shaking her head at Annie’s offers of help.

‘Rich!’ Annie called over to the cameraman. ‘We’re over here!’

He turned but carried on filming.

‘Lovely!’ he called out as the three women began to march towards him. ‘The girls are in town.’

After he’d made them turn, walk back, walk towards him one more time, and then again, promising this time he would definitely have it, Elena called a halt.

‘Is enough!’ she instructed. ‘We have to check in, find our girls and get started. There is so much to do before tomorrow.’

Rich didn’t just listen to Elena, he also took a long appraising look at her. Annie saw him do it. He looked and he looked and he very obviously liked. But Elena didn’t even hold eye contact with him for any longer than necessary. She didn’t even seem to notice the other approving glances she attracted from so many men here.

She was very, very focused.

Svetlana, Annie and Rich – still filming – all tailed Elena as she briskly followed the signs posted up to direct visitors to the main entrance.

When she had reached the impressive mouth of the biggest billowing white tent, they stood in a little group behind her as she went up to one of the men behind the busy reception desk.

‘Svetlana Wisneski and Elena Ljubicic of Perfect Dress. We have space booked in …’ She paused to look through the sheaf of papers Svetlana had handed on from Patrizio, ‘… area thirteen for this afternoon and for our show tomorrow morning.’

There was a young girl standing in the reception area. She was slouching against a pole, apparently trying to blend in and not be too conspicuous. This girl had been waiting here for almost an hour now and had considered many, many times the possibility of going home. But some stubborn instinct had kept her waiting, kept her hoping, long past the point when hope should have faded.

When she heard Elena introduce herself to the reception desk, the girl suddenly stood up straight, pulled back her shoulders and felt a surge of excitement rise up inside her.

‘Perfect Dress?’ she asked as she came forward towards them, shyly.

‘Yes,’ Elena and Svetlana replied together. ‘I’m Anoush, I come to model in your show,’ she said, still shy and hesitant.

Everyone looked at her a little more closely. She was so small and so dainty. She could hardly have been over 5 feet 4 inches and she looked nothing like the glamazon models all three women had expected. But she was undoubtedly pretty with her mocha skin, molten eyes and halo of soft, frizzy hair.

‘Hello.’ Elena was the first to reply; she held out her hand for Anoush to shake. ‘Is this your first show?’

When Anoush nodded in reply, Elena smiled encouragingly and told her: ‘Yes, it’s our first show too.’

The receptionist was tapping at the computer; then he made a phone call; finally, he turned to the three women, their brand-new model and Rich, who was still determinedly filming.

‘Area thirteen is booked for today and for all of tomorrow,’ the receptionist told them in clipped English, ‘but not for you. Is booked for Escada. I have looked up every single other reservation and I do not have one for Perfect Dress, or Wisneski or Ljubicic.’

Elena looked through the sheaf of papers in her hands: ‘But you must,’ she insisted, ‘we have records … we have an invoice … maybe if you look up the name of the man who made the reservation?’

The receptionist took the papers from her and began to look through them with a puzzled expression. After he had carefully examined every page he shook his head at them sadly. ‘I don’t know what this is,’ he began, ‘but this is not from us. This is not our paper, this is not our logo.
Mesdames
, this is a fake.’

Al the builder:

Very low-slung jeans (Lee)
Grey T-shirt (Asda)
Boots (DeWalt)
Hard hat (DeWalt)
Total est. cost: £65

‘The magic touch, mate.’

‘You’re not having a good day, are you, mate?’ was Al’s verdict as he came in through the front door to find Ed holding two crying babies.

‘No, not exactly,’ Ed replied unusually irritably. The fact that Al was about six hours late because of some ‘errands’ he’d had to run and ‘materials’ he’d had to collect wasn’t exactly improving his mood.

‘Here, give us a baby,’ Al offered cheerfully.

Ed looked at Al. His grey T-shirt was completely encrusted with dirt, dust, chunks of plaster and blobs of paint. He really didn’t want to hand Al a baby because it would just give Ed another mess to clean up later. But
it seemed rude to say no now that Al had asked directly.

‘There, there, there,’ Al soothed as Micky was handed over to him, ‘what’s all the fuss about? What’s all this noise for?’

Maybe because he was so surprised to be in the arms of a total stranger, Micky stopped crying immediately.

‘The magic touch, mate,’ Al said, beaming at Ed, ‘haven’t lost it, even though mine are teenagers now. The magic touch.’

Now Ed had an overwhelming urge to punch him. But instead, he carried on scouring the hallway for the twins’ beakers which seemed to have vanished into thin air although they were urgently required.

‘Minnie, please shush,’ he said sharply, which had no effect on the wailing at all.

What was the matter with him? He never used to be like this. He used to have all the time, patience and understanding in the world for children. Wasn’t it just ironic that now Ed finally had his own children, the children he’d so longed for, so twisted Annie’s arm to have, he’d turned into the kind of grumpy, short-tempered harassed parent he’d always disapproved of in the past?

‘So this cupola then,’ Al began. ‘Think we’re going to get started on that today.’

Ed was desperate to stall on the cupola front, but before he even began that debate, there were a few other issues he was going to have to air with Al.

‘Al, where are the kitchen windows?’ he began firmly over the din of Minnie’s wails.

Al shrugged, sucked his teeth and then let out a long sigh.

‘We are really, really missing the kitchen, Al. I’ve got two babies to look after; I need the kitchen back.’

It wasn’t as if Al hadn’t heard the kitchen speech before.
He’d heard it many times. Each time it got increasingly desperate.

‘Well, those windows, mate,’ he said with another deep sigh, ‘what on earth you were doing ordering windows from Sweden, mate? You should have let me sort them out, I’d have had them here weeks ago. Your supplier keeps telling me that there’s this delay and that delay, I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Al stopped there, not offering any solution or further suggestion.

‘Do you want me to phone them?’ Ed asked.

Al shook his head. ‘Don’t think that will help.’

‘Do you want me to cancel the order and let you order new windows?’

‘Well, I’ve made the hole too big now … extra big for your Swedish windows. If I order something in now, we’re going to be rebuilding that wall around ’em.’

‘Well, what are we going to do?’

Another shrug from Al. ‘We’ll just have to wait.’

‘And what about the shower? Any sign of that?’ There was a definite trace of pleading in Ed’s voice now.