The Personal Shopper (35 page)

Dannii had not yet realized that owning ten Louis Vuitton handbags is not ten times as thrilling as owning one.

This was the third week in a row she’d been in for a personal shopping session and although she spent lashings of money, Annie’s enthusiasm for her was waning. A big part of the problem was that the magazines Dannii had been so keen to appear in had now started to poke fun at her. Snide captions were appearing, along with hideously unflattering photographs:
Dannii shows off another new £3,000 outfit, but don’t be jealous, girls, on her it still looks cheap!

Despite Dannii’s pleas to Annie that she wanted to look ‘a bit classy, right’, she’d so far turned all of Annie’s suggestions down and was drawn like a moth to the gold, the glittering, the fussy, the sequinned and the spangly and on her surgically enhanced E-cups . . . well . . . even in Diane Von Furstenburg, she looked like the wrong kind of working girl.

Dannii had recently taken to squeezing her voluptuous self into tight black in an effort to counteract the ‘cheap’ accusations and, in her words, ‘Black’s so slimming, innit?’ But Annie’s pet hate was clients who dressed in monochrome. It was so draining on the complexion (Dannii had already gone several shades blonder and browner to compensate) and as Annie was trying to explain . . . it was spring!

‘Yeah, but it’s not like it’s actually warm out there,’ Dannii insisted, plump pink lips pouting. ‘I mean if we move to Milan this year, because Jakey is talking to someone about a transfer, that’ll be different. But in London . . .’

Annie wondered for a moment if there was a tabloid newspaper she should ring with the Jakey transfer information . . . but then it was her job to be discreet, even if her customers weren’t.

‘I know spring is unpredictable here,’ Annie replied. ‘One minute it’s blazing hot and everyone’s dying a death in their woollen trousers, boots and coats, the next minute, just as you’ve changed into your frock and flip-flops, it’s chucking it down and there’s a wind from Siberia howling round your ankles. But your spring/ summer wardrobe plan cannot be black. It just can’t!’ she insisted. ‘You’ve got to blossom, Dannii. You’ve got to be in tune with the seasons. I’ve brought a beautiful pale green raincoat down for you, and some gorgeous new handbags in lemon and in pink. Look, I’ve got white jeans, pale blue jeans, pink jeans, violet jeans. I’ve got really sweet, demure little blouses – Missoni, Paul &
 
Joe – which are sexy, but not quite so . . . in your face. I’ve got three-quarter-sleeved Prada cocktail dresses, because believe me, less flesh is sometimes so much more . . . and I think platform-heeled loafer-style shoes for you, my darlin’, for daywear at least. The thing about
 
always having
your pedicure on display is that it’s just not elegant. I know you have a driver to take you everywhere, Dannii love, but you’re always getting photographed
with your boob
s and your toes hanging out.’

‘Come on then, pass me the coat,’ Dannii relented. With her inch-long pink nails, she attempted to tie the belt round her waist.

‘Ooh, that is very pale,’ was her verdict. ‘God! Look at my tan now! I look like a blooming
Efiopian
, wish I was as skinny as one an’ all.’

Annie cringed slightly. Clearly an invitation to fund-raise for Oxfam wasn’t going to be heading Dannii’s way too soon.

‘With all my clients, babes, it’s easy to get people to
 
pile on the layers and dress dark for autumn and winter,’ Annie told her. ‘But nobody wants to lighten and brighten up for spring because we think it’s never going to happen. Then the first hot days are a fashion disaster: sparkly sandals and raincoats, wool trousers with vests, summer skirts with black boots . . . it’s horrible.’

As Annie finished her lecture, she began to wonder if she was just talking about clothes. The words suddenly had another meaning for her. It was beginning to occur to her that she could be caught in the 20 plus degrees of Gray’s sunshine in her emotional equivalent of thick jeans and a black jumper. Was she ready to go to the next stage with Gray? Should she be ready? Was she holding herself back? She’d been on her own for nearly three years . . . no-one could accuse her of not leaving enough time. She hadn’t been with Gray for long, but as he’d said, they were grown-ups – they knew what they wanted, they didn’t need to play games, maybe they should just move on to the next stage.

It took another hour of concerted effort, but Dannii finally headed tillwards with two tasteful dresses, two blouses, three pairs of coloured jeans, new shoes, a new bag and the raincoat. A fortnight’s worth of pocket money, at least.

‘I am so sorry, can you just give me five?’ she asked her next customer, who was already waiting on the sofa. ‘Have a little wander out on the shop floor and I’ll join you there . . . or I can send someone along with tea? Coffee? Mineral water?’

The woman decided to head for the shop floor and Annie made straight for her office, closing the door tightly behind her.

In front of her computer, she made her quick email and website checks. Three great offers were in on Trading Station items. Buoyed by this, she clicked over to Lana’s school charity website to see what her daughter’s fund-raising gang had managed to get hold of this week.

Just as Ed had suspected, Lana and her friends loved running the auction website and had begged, wheedled and hustled all sorts of goodies to flog on it.

Meanwhile, Annie opened her mobile and speed-dialled Gray.

‘Hello there, girlfriend!’ he answered. ‘Having a moment off? Thinking about me?’

‘Yes I was . . . I was thinking about you. Where are
 
you? Have you got a minute or are you about to excavate a root canal?’

‘I always, always have a minute for you,’ he assured her, ‘I’m in the car. You’re on hands-free.’

‘I’m a bloody hands-full, babes, you should be warned . . .’ She took a deep breath and then began: ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said . . . you know . . . the
big
question . . .’ She paused and so did Gray.

‘Have you talked to Owen and Lana about it?’ he
 
wondered, which was the right thing to ask. Annie
 
felt a surge of affection that he’d thought to ask
 
about her children’s opinion before he heard her own.

‘I’ve not had a big discussion with them, to be honest,’ she told him, ‘I’ve been trying to sort out my own thoughts about it all. But I’ve mentioned it, as a possibility. They’re . . . well . . . I think “curious” is the best word. They’ve not said yes, they’ve not said no. I think we might need to persuade them that we think it’s a good idea – if we do think it’s a good idea,’ she added quickly. ‘They’ll have a long commute to school . . . but they might want to give it a go.’

‘My offer stands, Annie,’ was Gray’s response to this. ‘You and your children are all very, very welcome to come and live with me, even on a trial basis. I think we’d all get along really well.’

With the mobile clamped so tightly to her head that her ear was beginning to throb, Annie took another steadying breath before telling him: ‘OK, Gray, I’ll have to talk to Lana and Owen, but I’m thinking we should give it a whirl.’

When the call was over, Annie put her phone back down on her desk, then her professional eye took over, directing her attention to the item on the screen in front of her: yes, it really was this season’s BNWT Marc Jacobs handbag with serial number for sale on Lana’s charity website. The top bid was £120 and the deal was closing at the end of the day.

She speed-dialled Lana and left a message on her phone: ‘Babes, I’ve just put in two hundred pounds for your handbag, but tell me if I need more to get it, I’ll sell it for you on my site and give your charity the extra money. You should get four hundred and fifty for that bag at the very, very least, if it’s genuine. Call me.’

Then her phone rang and she saw it was Owen, who did have his own mobile but it was for emergency use only.

‘Everything OK, Owen?’ she asked before he’d even said hello.

‘
Yes
! I just wanted to tell you . . .’ He was breathless.

‘My God! What’s the matter? Are you OK?’

‘
Yes
! It’s just I’ve been picked . . . I auditioned . . . it was so scary . . . but I’ve been picked for the school show
 
. . .’

‘To do what?’ Annie was only slightly conscious that she’d kept her client waiting a full ten minutes by now and she never, ever did that, but the client would have to wait just a little longer.

‘A guitar solo . . . and a song!’

He didn’t need to say another thing, the happiness that beamed from those words was so radiant, she could feel the warmth of it down the line.

‘That’s just fantastic,’ she told him. ‘A solo! I can’t believe it!’ This was how far he’d come, her little boy, the boy who’d once only spoken six words at school in an entire term. ‘I am so, so proud of you, that’s amazing! I was proud of you anyway, Owen,’ she added, ‘I think you’re just fab.’

***

Arriving home just after 7.30 p.m., Annie saw a notice warning that the lift was out of order, so with the last burst of physical energy she had left for the day, she took the stairs up to the third floor.

She walked quickly, taking the treads at a steady pace. Just as she approached the top of the last flight of stairs, the stairwell door burst open and Ed Leon was at the top of the steps.

‘Ed, hello. I was hoping to catch you!’ she greeted him.

‘Oh, Mrs . . . erm . . . Annie. I take it the lift’s still out of action?’

‘Yeah, but I try and do the stairs once a day anyway.’ There was a slight breathlessness to her voice by now because she’d taken them at a brisk trot. ‘Keeps my bum at the top of my legs, where I’d like it to stay.’

‘Right, well . . .’ He seemed at a loss to know what to add to that, and clasped his hands tightly together in front of him.

‘Owen!’ they exclaimed together.

‘Fantastic news about Owen,’ Ed said next. ‘I waited to speak to you about that but I thought’ – he looked at his watch – ‘thought you must have been held up.’

‘I know, I’m later than usual. Anyway, he phoned to tell me. Singing with the guitar, solo?’ She wanted to check she’d understood it right.

‘Yes. Not a whole song, he does the first verse, then the group join in, but still . . .’ Ed smiled at her, before adding, ‘I worried it might be too much too soon, but his reaction is so positive that I think he’ll be fine. And he did the audition brilliantly, put himself in for it. Nothing to do with me.’

‘Thank you, Ed.’ Annie had made it up to his level now. ‘Thank you so much. But don’t be so modest: it is all down to you, no question about it. You’ve been the best thing that’s happened to Owen for a long time and I’m thrilled for him!’

She gave Ed a broad smile and wondered how she could show her gratitude. This nerdy but very kind man had taken her shy and wobbly son under his wing for no reason other than he seemed to really like Owen and wanted to help him progress.

Quite spontaneously, Annie opened up her arms and threw Ed a generous hug and a kiss on the cheek.

The effect of this on Ed was unexpected.

He kissed her back, first on the cheek and then, turning his head slightly, he sought her mouth.

His eyes turned down to level with hers and she caught a glimpse of how darkly blue they were in the dim light of the stairwell. She thought she saw something questioning there, but before she could read it properly, their lips had brushed together and they
seemed
to be kissing.

Her lips were pressed against his, his arms were tightly around her back, her mouth was feeling for more and yes, they did definitely seem to be kissing.

She felt the prickle of stubble at the corner of his mouth . . . her hands moved to his warm neck, then underneath his jacket, under his arms and down to the small of his back. Her tongue quite of its own accord ventured past his teeth.