The Personal Shopper (21 page)

Annie looked carefully through the clothes that remained and could see that there was going to be enough . . . just.

‘You need a uniform, don’t you? You don’t want to
 
think
about outfits every morning yet -
you’ve got enough going on in your head. You’re not quite ready to come shopping with me to try on swing jackets and tunics and figure out how the new season is going to work for you.’

Tor just shook her head.

‘But you will be soon,
’ Annie told her.

‘So, in the meantime what we need is an easy uniform . .
 
.’ Annie began to lay the remaining clothes out on the bed. ‘I’m looking at your nice white shirts, and this little red cardigan here and the two woollen V-necks and these jeans, which are almost passable, and your nifty black trousers . . . but please, Tor, a skirt at least twice a week, not just for work. Anyway, I’m thinking, here is the beginning of a chic French mama uniform. White shirts,
ironed
,’ she warned, ‘are very morale boosting, so c’mon, into the first outfit.’

Tor seemed taken aback at the request, but Annie insisted: ‘Get on with it! I won’t look, not that there isn’t anything I haven’t seen before, believe me.’ So Tor undressed quickly then put on the white shirt, jeans and red cardigan.

‘Right.’ Annie turned her in the direction of the mirror. ‘Feeling a little bit more together?’

When Tor nodded, Annie moved in and undid the shirt one button lower: ‘You’re not teaching at Sunday school. Now, show me your jewellery box.’

Tor pointed to the corner of the bedroom and Annie
 
asked: ‘May I?’ before rummaging about inside
 
then returning to Tor with several long-forgotten treasures.

She clipped a red and silver necklace round Tor’s neck, instructed her to put on earrings, then Annie took Tor’s hairbrush from the bedside table and brushed out her scrappy bob before securing it with an elaborate silver clip she’d found in the jewellery box. Then she went into her handbag and brought out blusher and rosy lip gloss.

Once this was applied, they both looked at the effect in the mirror.

‘Better?’ Annie asked.

Tor examined herself and nodded slowly. But she didn’t seem convinced.

‘I really do understand why you don’t want to care about how you look, babes,’ Annie began. ‘Sometimes
when everything’s turned horrible
, we want it to show on
 
the outside too. It seems just too frivolous to care about hair and nails and colour co-ordinating. But the problem is . . . the big problem is, it’s not good for morale. If you hide inside a baggy grey fleece every day, believe me, it’s much harder for things to get better again. Great things do not happen to people hidden inside grey fleeces . . . they don’t land exciting new jobs, or meet brilliant new friends or have amazing ideas or
 
get invited out spontaneously. They just don’t. They get greyer and fleecier, you’ve got to believe me here. Maybe the best piece of advice I can give you is to dress for how you want to feel again. Because then it will happen more quickly.’

Annie squeezed Tor’s shoulders because she could see her eyes welling up.

‘You’re going to be fine, Tor,’ she assured her. ‘In a year’s time, this is going to feel like the best thing that ever happened to you. And the more you keep it together, the easier it will be for Angela. Don’t let her think of her dad as the man who kicked the stuffing out of her mum.’

Annie let Tor blow her nose while she turned her eyes in the direction of the wardrobe again: ‘And what is this lovely coat doing hiding in here?’ she asked, taking out a cosy, black fake fur which looked almost brand new. ‘And these boots!’ Her hand reached for the black suede mid-heels, again almost unworn.

‘Well, they’re special occasion . . .’ Tor began.

Annie shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no, no! Not any more, they’re not. You need all your special things around you right now. For support,’ she insisted, handing over the coat and boots.

Tor put them both on. And now Annie could see she
 
was more convinced. The boots gave her an extra inch or so and forced her to straighten up, her hands were sunk into the coat pockets and she was turning just a little, this way and that in front of the mirror, actually admiring herself, if only slightly.

‘Oh yes!’ Annie raved. ‘Now you’re good to go!’

Tor’s smile suddenly appeared and she gave a relieved giggle, which made her seem so much younger than the weighed-down 46 or so that she was.

‘More wine for the lady!’ Annie teased.

‘No, no, I need to concentrate or I’m going to forget everything you’ve told me,’ Tor replied.

Annie made her fetch a notebook and a pen (‘No, in the boots! Don’t take off the boots now!’) and together they wrote down all the outfits Annie had put together for her and lots of Annie’s top tips including: ‘New pants, for God’s sake!’ . . . ‘Lip gloss, tinted moisturizer and blusher, it’s not rocket science’ . . . ‘Smile more – laugh, even’ . . . ‘Cheap but glamorous sunglasses for bad
crying-
eye days’ . . . ‘White shirts, IRONED, to boost morale’ . . . ‘Always,
always
, jewellery to make you sparkle.’

‘Semi-permanent hair dye, Tor, ever heard of it?’ Annie asked. ‘You can buy it at the chemist’s for a fiver, no need for a hairdresser, no need for an inch of grey root.’

‘OK, OK!’ was Tor’s reaction.

‘Clever ways with scarves,’ Annie scribbled down in the notebook. ‘Let your sexy new boyfriends teach you these.’

‘Oh, ha ha,’ Tor responded.

‘It’s true though,’ Annie insisted. ‘There will be new men – and think how exciting that’s going to be. But you do need new scarves, honestly, babes: soft velvety ones, bright cashmere ones, you need the colour and the comfort, something to snuggle up in, a buffer between you and your jackets, you and your coats, you and the world . . . a sprinkle of colour when you’re feeling totally monochrome.’

‘Well then,’ Tor met her eye and smiled broadly, as if she was finally enjoying herself, ‘here’s to new men and new scarves.’ She held up her tumbler of wine.

‘I’ll drink to that.’ Annie clinked glasses with her.

When Tor’s session was over, Annie buttoned herself back into her leather coat. She ran a hairbrush through her locks, applied lipstick, a little spritz of perfume and set her shoulders back. This meant that when she was out of the front door, she was ready to face her mobile phone.

She switched it on and looked for the voicemail symbol. Nothing there. She checked her inbox just in case.

No. Nine days had passed and Gray had not call
ed her. What a total, utter down
er. She couldn’t understand it. He’d seemed so keen. He’d promised! He’d even put her number directly into his mobile.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do now. Going back to Tor’s house to rescue the grey fleece from the bin bag for herself was a tempting idea.

Chapter Thirteen

Annie’s ‘accidental’ date outfit:

Pink cardigan (Whistles sale)

Flowered pink and camel skirt (same)

Camel trenchcoat (the trusty eBay Valentino)

Pink pashmina (so out of fashion, but still so good)

Flower necklace (Topshop)

New high-heeled camel T-bars (Chanel, oops . . . but with a staff discount . . . and consider the Trading Station resale value)

Cloud of Chanel’s Cristalle

Est. cost: £490

‘Gray! What are you doing here?!’

‘So when is your date with Gray?’ Dinah had barely been able to contain her excitement. Dinah hadn’t just seen Gray at the party, she’d been introduced to him, she’d chatted to him, she’d watched carefully how he’d reacted to Annie. Then she’d pulled Annie off to
the ladies
to tell her that Gray was ‘very promising’ and that Annie was to use all her available charms to ‘go, go, go for it, girl!’

‘Well, he’s coming into town this week . . .’ Annie had fudged, ‘and he said he would call to arrange something.’

‘So? What’s arranged?’

The pause that followed told Dinah all she needed to know: ‘He hasn’t called?’ she asked, outraged. ‘Oh Annie! Have you got his number? Aren’t you going to call him? It’s not like you to—’

‘I thought about it,’ Annie cut in, ‘and I decided it wasn’t cool. I mean it’s never cool to be the one phoning to say’ – she put on a whiny voice – ‘“Why haven’t you called me?”’

‘So you’re not going to see him?’ Dinah sounded very disappointed for her.

‘No. I didn’t say that. I have a plan,’ Annie confided.

‘Uh-oh.’ Dinah didn’t sound convinced. But then this was a crucial difference between Dinah and her older sister. Dinah liked to leave things to fate, to chance, to
 
instinct or luck, whereas Annie liked to plan and scheme. Annie always had a plan . . . she always thought it was better if she was in charge.

‘The conference he’s going to, I’ve found out it’s at Claridge’s,’ Annie told her.

‘Claridge’s?’ The name of one of the most luxurious old hotels in London seemed to take Dinah by surprise. ‘Why would dentists book a conference at Claridge’s?’

‘Are you joking?’ Annie countered. ‘Have you been to
 
the dentist’s lately? The prices they charge? The boundaries between cosmetic dentistry and plastic surgery are
apparently
blurring.’

‘Bet Gray told you that,’ Dinah teased.

‘Anyway . . .’ Yes, Gray
had
told her that. ‘I’m going to think up a very good, very glamorous reason for me to
 
be at Claridge’s at the same time. So we’ll meet by accident . . . me looking fabulous. He’ll be really, really sorry he didn’t call me and the rest will be easy!’

‘Hmmm . . . it sounds a bit obvious.’

‘It won’t be obvious. You forget what a brilliant actress I am. Haven’t I learned from the masters, Roddy and Connor?’

‘Annie!’ Dinah warned and then began to list all the reasons why Annie should not get beautifully dressed up and hang out at the Claridge’s bar in the hope of ‘accidentally’ bumping into Gray: it was too desperate, it would look like too much of a coincidence, what if he wasn’t pleased to see her? And so on.

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Annie said once the list was over.

‘And you’re going to ignore it.’

‘Yeah, but I’ll keep you posted.’

‘You’re going to embarrass yourself.’

‘No, no, no,’ Annie insisted. ‘He’ll be delighted to see me. I’m sure of it! We got on so well at the party. He’s just one of those men who doesn’t rush in, he needs a push. Honestly! He needs to be shown the way. Trust me on this. He needs some surprises in his life and some fun. He needs
me
!’

‘Oh boy,’ Dinah sighed.

Annie had never set foot in Claridge’s before. Although she’d left work early in a fresh, painstakingly chosen camel and pink outfit with new (Chanel!) shoes, as soon as she passed the top-hat-and-tails footman and entered the marbled, chandeliered lobby, she felt a little unequal to the occasion.

This was true early twentieth-century splendour. This was a hotel where women should still be wearing veiled cocktail hats and lizard-skin heels, toting alligator handbags and silver cigarette cases.