The Personal Shopper (23 page)

With small talk, lots of smiling, sizing up and eye contact, Annie held the arm he’d offered her as they crossed Tower Bridge and made their way down to Butler’s Wharf where she’d booked a table for two at the Chop House.

Gray kept up a pleasantly steady flow of chat and with the anxious butterflies in her stomach settling, she began to enjoy herself.

When he asked if she’d been on many dates ‘since your husband . . . erm . . .’ she quickly cut in with: ‘Oh, loads. I like to get out in the evenings. Keep busy. It’s easy to get a date, you know, Gray.’

‘For you, I’m sure it is,’ he offered gallantly.

‘But it’s not so easy to get a
good
one,’ she told him, eyebrow arching.

Their table came with the riverside view she’d requested.

‘I love it down here on the river,’ she said once the menus had been studied, the food and drinks ordered. ‘It doesn’t feel like London, it feels European but this is one of the oldest parts of the city, you know. This is where the first kings and queens lived, where they kept the prisoners, hanged the pirates. This is where ships set sail hoping to return laden down with goodies from all over the world. I like to think that this’ – she gestured to the stretch of river – ‘is where shopping began.’

It made him laugh.

When the wine was poured, they clinked glasses and he asked her to tell him more about her work: ‘It sounds very intriguing. Basically, you help people to shop?’ He sounded a little incredulous, as if he couldn’t quite believe this counted as a job. Annie had weathered this reaction plenty of times before.

‘It’s an American concept,’ she told him. ‘America is the home of good service, after all . . . Think of me as a
 
super-enhanced sales assistant. Customers book an appointment with me, we discuss what clothes they’re looking for, what lifestyle, what budget they have, then I take them through the relevant sections and departments, making suggestions until we find all the outfits they want. In short, I’m there to give my clients a happy shopping experience. I help people make great wardrobe investments, not expensive mistakes.’

‘And you’re on commission?’

‘On top of my wages, yes.’

‘And you do this on a freelance basis as well?’

‘The thing you’ll get to know about me, Gray,’ Annie teased, ‘is that I have fingers in many pies. I do home consultations, because they pay well and because they’re such great fun. Who wouldn’t love to have a good old rummage through other people’s wardrobes?! I also buy and sell used designer clothes and accessories on the internet and I’m a trained stylist, believe it or not.’

‘Oh yes! You told me when we met that you’d worked on films.’

‘Aha . . . the film days . . .’ She smiled, carefully picking a large cooked prawn out of its shell. ‘My globetrotting twenties. Roddy, me and our surprise baby Lana. We
 
were always happy to go wherever the work was: France, Romania, Poland, Morocco . . . wherever.’

‘Sounds incredibly glamorous,’ Gray said.

‘It was,’ she agreed. ‘I think I probably took it for granted, thought life would always be as simple and as much fun as it was then. But babies grow up, they get baby brothers, everyone has to go to nursery and then to school, suddenly you need a bigger home and a regular income. Roddy landed a string of good theatre jobs based in London, so we stopped travelling so much. Finally he got his soap role, I had my nice job at The Store and we got grounded, just like everyone else I suppose . . .’ But this came with a cheerful smile. ‘I don’t regret it,’ she told him truthfully, ‘I’ve done my wandering and it’s nice to be home again. And I’ll tell you one thing, it’s much more fun making the not-so-beautiful look wonderful than dealing with leading ladies all the time. Everything you’ve ever heard about actresses is true,’ she exaggerated, but only slightly. ‘They are only so talented and so supernaturally beautiful because they’ve sold their souls to the devil!’

‘So how would you make
me
over?’ he challenged her, propping his chin up with his hand and giving her a look that made her suspect the intensely green eyes leaping from his tanned face were created by tinted contact lenses.

‘I don’t think
you
need a stylist,’ she told him, hearing the flirty little purr in her voice.

‘Oh, well . . . that’s very nice, but we could all improve, couldn’t we? Take tips from the masters.’

‘You’ve got very good taste, Gray.’

‘Hmmm,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘And not just in clothes.’ He kept his gaze trained directly at Annie, until she couldn’t help giggling.

‘So,’ he unfolded his hands, ‘you should venture out, start your own big business. How about a shop? A makeover boutique? A chain of personal dressing stores where customers can go to get much more than the usual shop assistant input? Or what about your own clothing collection? The perfect black trousers, smart jacket or white shirt? Annie’s Essentials?’

‘A shop?’ she teased. ‘So very last century. You should look up my virtual store some time, Annie V’s Trading Station. Who wants to pay staff and rates and overheads when you can create your own cyber shop-front?’

‘You’re very good,’ he told her with a smile. ‘Maybe I should get you to look over my business, see if you can think of any improvements.’

‘I’d be delighted. So are you into cosmetic dentistry as well as fillings, extractions and root canals?’

‘Oh yes,’ he assured her, as their plates were cleared away by an attentive waiter. ‘Teeth straightening, veneers, dental implants, all the high-end stuff. I’m hoping to add Botox
®
to our range of treatments very soon.’

‘Really? But my ladies tell me Botox
®
is over and everyone’s doing Restylane
®
now,’ she informed him.

‘Yes, well, possibly. I’m looking into that. I’m going over to LA in a couple of weeks to find out what’s on offer in the home of cosmetic surgery. But you’ve not had anything done, have you?’ He was scrutinizing her just a little too closely for comfort.

‘No! I’m not ruling it out though. If I wake up one morning and make-up alone can’t save me from looking like a haggard old witch, then I might just come to you to see what you can do about it.’

‘Well . . .’

She’d meant this as a cheeky, flirty comment, but now his scrutiny of her face was too professional for her liking.

‘Not everyone looks as fantastic in their thirties as you do.’ It was his turn to purr now, she noticed with a delicious little shiver: ‘But a tiny hit, just in there between your brows,’ he pointed, ‘would work wonders. But what I’d really love to make over is your mouth.’

No, no, no! This wasn’t sexy. Now she wanted to put her hands over her face and never part her lips again. What was wrong with her teeth, exactly? They weren’t perfect but they weren’t too bad either.

‘The overcrowding on the bottom row could be cured with wisdom tooth extraction and a gentle brace. On the top, I’d put in two or three veneers to smooth out those slightly crooked angles, then whiten everything up two or three shades. You’d be stunning. I’d give you a great rate,’ he offered.

‘Erm, well . . . that’s very kind of you . . . let me think that one over,’ she hesitated. Despite the tempting offer of a discount, lying back in a dental chair with her tonsils and all her fillings on display didn
’t strike her as the best of seduc
ing techniques.

Annie wondered what he’d had done. Well, obviously his teeth were pearly white and perfect, but she guessed that he kept the other little touch-ups a trade secret, so she didn’t ask.

As their coffees arrived – both of them had waved away the suggestion of dessert – he turned the conversation from teeth to ask: ‘So you like it down here on the river?’

She nodded.

‘I’m thinking of buying a flat down here to rent out.’

Aha, a budding property mogul. Her ears perked with interest.

‘I’ve got a viewing at about three p.m. Would you like to come along? You know I’d value your opinion.’

The flat was smart if a little boxy: maple flooring, recessed lighting, two small bedrooms, two high-tech bathrooms of dark greenish slate, one a wet room with a rain-bath shower. The living area had a glitzy open plan kitchen and big floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of . . . well, another development.

It was obvious quite quickly that Gray was not impressed.

‘That’s a very small bedroom,’ he told the estate agent, then, ‘It’s hardly a view, is it? The kitchen’s part of the living room, I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘This is a very prestigious address,’ the estate agent argued. ‘Excellent area for shopping, eating out, you’re so close to the City – only a ten-minute walk over the bridge to the tube . . .’

Clearly wherever Gray lived, he was getting a much better deal than this. But he lived out of town. He was a ’burbs man, probably the proud owner of a driveway, a
 
front lawn and French windows out onto his own back garden. This was city living – more luxury, less square feet – and clearly it was a shock to the system.

‘What did you think?’ he canvassed Annie’s opinion once they were out of the flat and had bid the agent farewell.

‘Complete rip-off,’ she informed him confidently. ‘Don’t touch it with a bargepole.’

‘And what makes you so knowledgeable?’ he asked, casually draping an arm over her shoulders, where it sat comfortably, if a little self-consciously.

‘Well, Gray, if you offer to drive me home, I might tell you all about my successful scramble up the London property ladder,’ she said, imagining the two of them cosied up together on her big white sofa.

‘It’s a deal,’ he agreed. ‘But only if you invite me in.’

Result!

As he opened the passenger’s door, so she could climb aboard his sleek, low-slung, silver Merc convertible, she surveyed the black leather seats, high-tech dashboard, GPS navigation device, not to mention the suave gentleman in the driver’s seat and she thought: I could get used to this.

Chapter Fifteen

Lana at home:

Black vest top (Miss Selfridge)

Black jeans (Evisu via eBay)

Black nail varnish (Topshop)

Black eyeliner (Chanel)

Black mood (model’s own)

Est. cost: £75

‘D’uhhh.’

As Annie pushed open her flat door, she wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear the sound of the television in Lana’s room and the noise of the kettle coming to the boil in the kitchen.

‘Lana?’ she called into the hallway. ‘I thought you were at karate with Owen?’

Lana in head-to-toe clinging black appeared in the kitchen doorway: ‘He didn’t want to go,’ she said grumpily, ‘I couldn’t make him.’

‘No? No . . . well . . . right.’ She tried to keep her annoyance under control. She loved her children dearly and was, on the whole, fiercely proud of them, but the meeting of children with prospective boyfriends was something that had to be carefully managed, not just sprung on her, because of the potentially explosive emotions.

‘Well, now you’ll get a chance to say hello to my friend Gray.’ With these words, Annie ushered Gray in through the door, as Lana’s mouth opened and forgot to shut.

‘Hello there, Lana,’ Gray offered a hand for her to shake, ‘I remember seeing you at your grandmother’s party – but you were a little busy . . .’

Lana blushed, shook Gray’s hand and managed a mumbled hello.

‘Come into the sitting room,’ Annie offered. ‘I’ll just go and dig Owen out of his room, but he’s a little shy,’ she reminded Gray in a quiet voice.