The Personal Shopper (48 page)

Annie in action:

Pale grey and silver striped trousers (Toast sale)

Crisp white wrap blouse, big collars and cuffs (last year’s MaxMara)

Shiny silver and turquoise neck cuff (Camden market)

Pale caramel shoes (Chanel)

Light red nail varnish (Chanel)

Light red lipstick (Chanel)

Tight ponytail

Est. cost: Don’t even think about it

‘It’s a waste of money to economize on yourself.’

It was close to 1.30 a.m., but Annie was still hunched over her laptop putting the finishing touches to the introductory paragraphs on her Annie V Trading Station web-pages.

This was the largest amount of goods she’d ever tried to sell, but she was hoping to raise money just as quickly as she could. Life with the actor boys could not be tolerated for more than a few more weeks at the most and she wasn’t quite ready to accept a family loan, although it was nice to know it had been offered: ‘Annie, I’m your sister!’ Nic had insisted, when she’d called. ‘I’m also a lawyer, in case you
hadn’t noticed. I can lend you the money for a flat deposit, or to rent somewhere else for a while.’

‘Annie, if you need any help, financially . . .’ Fern had begun.

‘We have more money now, you could borrow some .
 
. .’ was Dinah’s offer.

But no, Annie had to try to get there on her own first.

Now, she just needed to finalize her sales pitch because she had a pile of cracking stuff to shift – she had
 
scoured secondhand shops and sale rails across London, plus approached every client she could think of
 
and offered to sell on their cast-offs for commission.

Hello girls
,
her website note began, as usual.

Do I have some fabulous, fabulous things in store for you today. It’s the on-line equivalent of Opening Day at the Harrods sale. There’s going to be tussling and handbags at dawn. Put your very best bids in, girls, nothing will be left on the shelf.

Today, I’m bringing you the property of:

One Ukrainia
n fashion maven
(Svetlana’s divorce fighting fund)

Several wealthy young ladies
(the Syrup Six’s prized personal possessions, rustled up to plug the hole in the charity account)

A footballer’s moll
(Dannii was ridding her life of bling after another bitching in
heat
)

An unbowed divorcee
(Megan had been talked into selling off some of the clothes from her married years)

A Lady of the Arts
(These were very
special things
: Mrs B-P – recovering nicely and determined to live life to the full – had handed over designer labels, expensive classics, several collectable handbags and wouldn’t hear of taking a penny for them. Not now and not in the future: ‘Annie, I can help, I want to help, so be a good girl and let me help.’)

As well as the treasures unearthed for you this week by me, your very own on-line Personal Shopper.

As I said before, girls . . . do not hang about. Grab yourself a bargain! Remember always that it’s a waste of money to economize on yourself. I think Coco Chanel said that.

Keep it coming . . .

Annie V xxxx

Speech Day was a big event at St Vincent’s. It was held two days before the end of term and even the most stressed and frantically busy London parent pulled out all the stops in order to attend.

This was St Vincent’s on parade. Every pupil was scrubbed and combed, the lawns were freshly mown, every one of the building’s Victorian windows washed; even the gold lettering beaming down from the walls
 
of
 
the impressive assembly hall looked freshly polished.

Annie had persuaded Dinah to come with her
and both
were in knee-length dresses with bold prints and fashionable cuts (Annie: TK Maxx, Dinah: Marc Jacobs full price!
‘I could have got that for you
 
for less.’ ‘I don’t care!’
). They had pastel macs folded
over their arms (Annie: Primark, Dinah: Jigsaw), carried good bags and wore status shoes. It was that kind of event.

‘Think chic summer wedding. But no corsage or hat,’ Annie had instructed.

Settled into the middle of a row, not too far from the front, Annie and her sister watched the prizes being handed out: Athletics, Cricket, Tennis, Badminton, French, German, English, History, Maths, Science, Latin, Greek, Music, House Cup for this, House Cup for that, Chess, Debating, Dominoes, Tiddlywinks. It went on for ever. But finally it was time for Lana and the other members of the Syrup Six to cross the stage and hand over a cheque for £11,000 to Mr Ketteringham-Smith.

Two days ago, Annie had written the girls a cheque for £500: the money raised by the sale of their stuff on her website.

The other £1,500 had come from Suzie’s father, who
 
had now been brought fully up to speed with his daughter’s personal problems.

‘Lana looks adorable,’ Dinah whispered in Annie’s ear and it was true. On Speech Day, senior girls were allowed to wear dresses and Lana had chosen (from Miss Selfridge) a short-sleeved white cotton wrap with cornflowers strewn about it. When in doubt, pick out your eye colouring with your clothes – a classic Annie rule.

Lana’s hair was tied back loosely with strands flying as she walked shyly across the stage to deafening applause. Despite the hiccups with the fund-raising, Annie still felt a rush of pride in her daughter.

Now it was time for the musical performance. Annie could feel her stomach knot with tension. The school orchestra struck up with a collection of jaunty and unusual numbers, all Ed’s choice, no doubt.

He was conducting the young musicians – she was pleased to see – wearing one of the outfits they’d chosen on the interview shopping trip.

With a great clumping of heavy black shoes on wood, the school choir filed on stage, then a much smaller group of musicians in front of them: two violin players, a drummer and finally Owen, clutching his guitar, looking small and skinny way up there on stage.

Annie could see he was pale with a
nxiety. Her stomach knotted
tighter, she could feel her throat drying and clenching, so she gave a concerted swallow. Her hand felt for Dinah’s and she gave it a nervous squeeze. Dinah squeezed back.

The music began: verse one, then the chorus, then the
 
strummed solo guitar intro to verse two and then Owen’s solo . . .

If Annie had thought it would go quickly, she was wrong. Time slowed to a standstill and every one of Owen’s notes hung and wavered in the air for her, every one of his breaths between notes seemed to take an entire minute: it was as if he could only sing if she willed it to happen.

She never breathed once during the entire verse, as his clear voice sailed over the crowd, then his lone guitar chords followed, and finally the choir and other musicians joined in.

Owen was still singing but now there was a delighted flush of pink and a smile trying to run away all over his face.

Annie let out a great sigh of relief and an irrepressible smile of her own broke out.

‘She sought Ed out in the crush of
 
parents and staff jockeying for cream teas afterwards.

‘
Wasn’t Owen amazing,
I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough,’ Annie told him, squeezing his arm.

Ed, balancing teacup, saucer and a tiny plate overloaded with three scones and a mountain of cream, gave one of his blushes, then sneezed, spilling tea all over the floor.

‘Whooops, I didn’t hit you, did I?’

‘No
.
This is my sister Dinah,’ Annie introduced her. ‘Lana and Owen’s music teacher, Ed Leon.’

Ed nodded awkwardly, indicating that hands full made shaking impossible.

‘So when are you heading to Boston?’ Annie asked, adding for Dinah’s benefit, ‘Ed’s very clever, he’s got a term’s placement at Harvard to study American folk music and he’s spending the summer travelling round the States.’

‘Wow!’ Dinah told him. ‘That’s great.’

‘Day after tomorrow,’ he told them, but looked more anxious at the prospect than excited. ‘First day of the school holidays, I’m away.’

He was looking at Annie in a slightly troubled way, as if there was something he wanted to say to her.

‘Well, we should be saying our goodbyes then,’ Annie said with a smile. ‘I hope you have a great time. Really great.’ She met his eyes and held them for a moment: ‘You deserve this, Ed, enjoy it. We’ll look forward to hearing all about it when you get back.’

She was just about to lean over his full hands and give him a little kiss on the cheek when he said, ‘Yeah, well . .
 
. have a good summer . . . all of you,’ then teacup, saucer, scones and all, he turned away from them and headed into the crowd.

‘Huh? That was a little cool, considering how much we’ve seen of him – how friendly he’s been with the children,’ Annie couldn’t help telling her sister.

‘Maybe he’s just stressed out by this whole school show-off event thing going on here. But great talent-spotting venue, Annie?’ Dinah rallied. ‘We should circle the room, picking off all the single dads for you.’

‘Hmmm . . .’ Annie, although she’d dressed and made up with extreme care and attention for the afternoon, wasn’t at all keen.

‘Annie!’

Her thoughts were disrupted by the sight of Tor in front of her. Tor in a summer dress and heels, Tor with pink nail varnish and lip gloss. Tor looking slightly unrecognizable.

‘Good grief!’ was Annie’s first reaction, quickly followed by, ‘Good girl!’

She asked about the new flat, about Angela, and then she couldn’t help asking: ‘New job?’

Tor shook her head.

‘Greatly improved love life?’

Tor shook her head again and confided: ‘Just new scarves, Annie! Like this one?’ She held up the wisp of pale pink chiffon for Annie’s approval. ‘I’m working on the other things . . . I’ll get there.’

‘Good girl!’ Annie repeated with a grin.

Chapter Thirty-three

Martha on Oxford Street:

White and green flowery summer dress (Topshop)

Green leggings (Topshop)

Orange sandals (Miu Miu)

Orange tote bag (Accessorize)

Orange flower hairclip (Accessorize)

Green and silver necklace (Topshop)

Est. cost: £190