Shopping With the Enemy (27 page)

‘It’s 5.50 a.m.,’ Lana croaked into the Bentley’s cab, thanks to the hands-free kit.

‘Elena has been up all night worrying about her brothers, I thought you might have been up too,’ Annie said, not exactly in an apologetic mood.

‘Have they been found?’ Lana asked, already sounding more awake.

‘Yes, we’ve got them. They’re safely on a flight back to London with their mum, while I get the honour of driving the Bentley back to Italy. But never mind that, I’ll tell you the whole story when I’m on a much cheaper phone line. Lana, right now I need you to tell me all about the new Perfect Dresses. Just what is going on?’

She delivered this in her best
I’m-your-mother-and-don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me
voice.

‘Oh … do you know? Did Elena—?’

‘Not yet,’ Annie interrupted. ‘I haven’t heard the full story, but I think it would be a good idea for you to start coughing.’

‘We haven’t spent any company money,’ Lana said quickly.

‘Well, that’s a good thing. But what have you done?’

‘We’ve made up a prototype line for NY Perfect Dress and we’ve sent it out to a selection of buyers to see what they think,’ Lana blurted out.

‘To see what they think …
really
? Or are those dresses in fact on sale, with OUR label on them?’

‘They are … ummm … probably … for sale by now,’ Lana admitted.

‘Well that’s just great. And so when were you planning on breaking this news to us, exactly?’

‘When the feedback came in amazingly positive.’

‘And what if it doesn’t, Lana?’ Annie demanded. ‘That is some risk, some unbelievable risk you are taking – and how have you paid for it all?’

‘We borrowed on our credit cards.’

‘Oh Lana!’

‘No one’s in any major debt,’ Lana insisted, ‘we started small. Plus we sold some of our own things and someone gave us a loan.’

‘Oh, but Lana, Svetlana is going to … going to completely …’ Annie didn’t like to think about what Svetlana might do. ‘This will cause
unbelievable
trouble … I mean, it’s her label. And she said: NO.’

‘Mum, look at the dresses first before you say anything else. Will you please just look at them? It’s too early to know if they’re selling yet, but the buyers really like them.’

‘But how will we make this work with Svetlana?’

‘We’re not exactly sure,’ Lana admitted.

‘No. Neither am I. Where can I see the dresses? Have you got anything up online?’

‘We haven’t put them on the company website yet.’

‘No. I suppose it’s a bit early for that since you might be starting your very own company pretty soon.’

‘Mum!’

‘Well, I’m just saying … you might. Svetlana could have a total meltdown and kick you all out!’

‘Mum, we’re relying on you to help us win her over.’

‘You’re relying on me? But you’ve not even told me! You’ve not even phoned once since you left London in a great big huff!’

Silence at the other end of the line.

Annie was now approaching the kind of twisting mountainous road that would require all her concentration.

‘If I felt I could trust your judgement, I would have told you,’ Lana said finally.

There was the heart of the problem and it still hadn’t been solved. All of a sudden, Annie didn’t know what to say. She was still angry with Lana about their row; in fact, this news about unauthorized dresses was making her feel even more annoyed.

The girls hadn’t asked her if they should go ahead, but they were expecting her to somehow put it all right with their very scary boss.

‘I suppose it’s too late to call the dresses back?’ Annie asked. ‘If you could get them back, you could show them to Svetlana and maybe she’d change her mind when she actually saw them.’

‘No. It’s too late.’

‘Good grief!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘So you’ve just gone and put out unauthorized dresses for sale under our label.’

‘It’s NY Perfect Dress, a diffusion range,’ Lana replied.

‘That doesn’t exactly make it all better.’

Annie was trying to restrain herself, trying to stop herself from shouting down the line. Why had the girls done this? They had forced the issue and it was going to cause a very big fuss. Svetlana might sack them all and close the company.

‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ Annie told her daughter.

‘Why not? If we’d stuck with your boring old stuff, the company would have gone down the pan anyway. We had no major orders, we had nothing to lose,’ Lana stormed.

‘I need to concentrate on driving,’ Annie said, wanting to buy herself some time, to avoid saying something furious and regrettable down a long-distance line. ‘I’ll talk to you later. Meanwhile, stay right out of Svetlana’s way. Don’t let her find out about this or she will completely freak out.’

‘Fine.’

Clunk.

The line went dead and Annie signed with frustration. Just how was she supposed to solve this?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Italy

The café owner:

Red and blue tunic (Topshop)

Tight bright blue capri trousers (Armani)

Wooden-soled leather sandals (little shop in Florence)

Gold necklace (a secret admirer)

Coffee-coloured nail varnish (Chanel)

Total est. cost:
€
180

ANOTHER HOUR INTO
the drive and Annie had passed through the worst of the mountains. The sun was shining in an unbroken bright blue sky and the scenery spread before her was a glorious tapestry of green, gold and brick red with the silvery lakes shimmering ahead in the distance.

This was stunning. Finally, despite her latest worries, she could feel a sense of relaxation creeping up on her. She was starting to feel like someone on a holiday … not someone enduring a series of stressful events.

The road was taking her through yet another beautiful hillside village where every house was more charming than the last, with pale blue doors and window boxes bursting with pink geraniums.

As she drove past a café with pretty white tables and chairs set out on the pavement, she decided that she had to stop; the lure of a caffeinated top-up was too strong.

She brought the Bentley to a halt on the side of the road, and after a fresh touch of lipstick, Annie walked back to the café, where she chose a sunny seat and ordered an espresso.

A friendly Italian woman of around Annie’s age, maybe the owner of the café, brought the coffee and exchanged a little chitchat in accented English. As they talked, Annie couldn’t help but notice how perfectly turned out she was, right down to the caramel-coloured tips of her fingers.

As she sipped her coffee, despite the undoubted strength of the treacly liquid, Annie suddenly felt incredibly tired. All the driving, the tension, all the lack of sleep of that last twenty-four hours had taken everything out of her. So she decided to lean
forward
on the table, head on her arms and treat herself to just a tiny little catnap.

‘Hello? Are you all right?’

Annie felt as if she was being shaken from the deepest, darkest sleep. She opened her eyes and saw a tiny white coffee cup with a deep chocolaty trickle running down its side. Lovely colours, she couldn’t help noticing. White with chocolate … a white linen suit with chocolate leather accessories … maybe.

‘Are you awake?’ the accented voice asked. ‘Maybe you should have another coffee?’

‘Yes,’ Annie croaked. ‘And some water too, please.’

‘No problem.’

She lifted her head from the table and for a moment or two had no recollection of where she was, how she had got there, or why. Golden sunlight streamed into her eyes, making everything look back-lit and hazy.

The Italian woman set the coffee in front of her, pulled up a chair at the table and, after asking ‘May I?’, sat down beside her.

She was lovely, Annie saw, in a totally elegant, totally together, Italian way. Her dark hair fell in a classic blunt cut to below her shoulders. Her tanned skin was set off by the deep red and blue of her striking graphic top. She wore a tiny golden chain around her neck. She was that perfect combination
of
serious, professional, classy and just the right pinch of sexy which only women who’d grown up in the southern Mediterranean could manage effortlessly.

‘Your top is beautiful,’ Annie croaked, her voice not fully woken up yet.

‘Thank you. A tunic I think you call it. I bought it in London,’ the woman replied with a white-toothed, brown-lipsticked smile.

There was another Italian classic: brown lipstick, a shade which only looked good against beautiful, tanned, olive skin.

‘A tunic?’

Annie had to have a little laugh at herself. Hadn’t she sworn eternal enmity to all tunics and here she was complimenting this stranger on hers.

‘Yes.’

The woman stood up. The top draped gently past her waist and ended just below the hip bone where it met tight blue trousers and …

Now Annie felt compelled to look under the table.

There she saw a pair of wooden-heeled, peep-toe sandals in nude-coloured leather. The toes too were coated with the fudgy brown nail varnish.

Totally chic and: inspiring. No other word for it. For the first time in months, Annie was really looking at an outfit, noticing all the details and feeling the stirrings of enthusiasm.

She looked down at her coffee cup and saw
the
brown swirl gently around the cream, with the toffeeish shades in between. A symphony in taupe, cream and neutrals was going on right in her cup. She couldn’t help staring.

‘I put in milk,’ the woman explained: ‘is not so strong on the stomach.’

‘Thank you.’ Annie took a reviving sip.

‘I’m Isabella.’

‘Hello, I’m Annie, I’m on holiday at the famous Villa Verdina.’

‘Oh yes, resting from a very tiring job I think.’

Isabella smiled. She didn’t seem too ruffled by a stranger exiting a Bentley and promptly falling asleep at one of her tables.

‘Yes …’

‘In which business do you work?’ Isabella wondered.

‘Fashion,’ Annie replied, because that was the straightforward answer.

‘Oh, how lucky, I love fashion. It keeps us young, it keeps us interested in the world and in love with ourselves.’

‘Yes, all of these things … in love with ourselves,’ Annie repeated. ‘They’re very important.’

‘Very important. How can you love anyone else if you don’t love yourself?’

‘I like that,’ Annie said and smiled at her new acquaintance.

‘I think this is called: café
filosofia
.’

‘Café philosophy – perfect. I used to love everything about new clothes and the latest fashion, but I’ve been feeling out of love.’

‘I think you have been feeling too tired,’ Isabella pointed out.

‘Maybe, but I’ve forgotten what I used to love so much.’

‘Perhaps you need to remember your favourite things. Why not tell me about your best dress.’

Annie didn’t have to consider her answer for long: ‘It’s bright pink, the colour of those geraniums over there – silk, with a big flouncy skirt, a tight top and then a halterneck; no shoulders, you understand? And a big bow tied here, behind the neck. I feel like a star in that dress. I feel happy and loved. I love pink and I love red, even together.’

‘Yes, wonderful together, pink and purple too,’ Isabella agreed, ‘so why are you wearing brown?’

‘Oh …’ Annie looked down at the well-worn, rather grubby brown linen sundress, ‘I’ve not been in the mood for pink or red – not for some time.’

‘So you come to Italy to rest?’

‘Yes. Well, that was the idea. What about your best dress? I want to know about that.’

‘Oh, no question, it is made from purple velvet,’ Isabella confided. ‘It is to the knee and a little tight, but not too tight, with bare arms and a low neck.
But
because it is rich velvet, it is very sexy and womanly.’

‘It sounds wonderful. It sounds like Dolce & Gabbana,’ Annie guessed.

‘And you would be correct!’ Isabella smiled. ‘Is wonderful to save up and once in a while spend some money on a real label, a beautiful piece of clothing.’

‘What’s your best bag?’ Annie asked.

‘A Fendi envelope.’

‘You own a Fendi bag?!’

Annie knew Italians took their luxury label purchases seriously but still, it was surprising to be sitting chatting with a Fendi owner in a tiny café in a village in the middle of the countryside.

‘Yes, but it cured me. It was so obvious when I take this bag anywhere, now I never buy anything again which is so clearly expensive.’

This made Annie laugh.

‘Who is your favourite designer?’ Isabella asked.

‘It has to be Viv,’ Annie decided after just a moment’s consideration. ‘If I could only shop at one place for the rest of my life, it would be Vivienne Westwood.’

‘Ah, yes, very English eccentric.’

‘Perfect for the fashion-forward, funky, fat lady.’

Now it was Isabella’s turn to laugh: ‘But you are not fat!’

‘I’m not exactly a model.’

‘How did you manage to stay at the Villa and not turn into a supermodel?’ Isabella wondered. ‘Everyone round here makes jokes about the hotel. They feed you just vegetable juice and put water into your …’ her eyebrows raised and her meaning was plain: ‘No?’

‘Yes! It’s torture. I ran away – but now I have to go back to return their car.’ Annie gestured to the Bentley further along the road.

‘You run away?’ Isabella cackled with laughter. ‘I think before you return to the Villa, you have to eat a delicious meal.’

‘That sounds like the best idea ever. Oh, you have no idea. I’ve had no sleep for two nights in a row. I’ve had nothing but water, coffee and chocolate for the past … I can’t even remember how many hours. I am practically delirious, my love. You could be a figment of my imagination, for all I know. A spirit sent down to guide me back to fashion enlightenment.’

Isabella made a quizzical face, as if she hadn’t understood all of this, but then she said firmly: ‘No, I am here and I will bring you some lunch.’

After a truly magnificent lunch, Annie drove back to the hotel feeling that her faith in human nature had been restored and her eyes had been freshly opened. Suddenly everywhere she looked there was
something
truly inspiring to see: startling, fresh colour combinations or zingy new textures jostling for her attention.