Shopping with the Enemy Page 11

  Inge brought her beige jacket out from her bag and laid the bright pink ric rac over the lapel.

  ‘I sew this round the collar and maybe on the bottom of the sleeves,’ she explained. ‘I also put some on the front of the dress and around the bottom too.’

  ‘Can I see the dress?’

  Inge then brought out a beige sundress with an Empire line bodice and wide shoulder straps. It was as plain as a dress could be and Annie understood just how it would be brought to life with the ribbon trim.

  The dress was laid down on a table and Inge placed the ric rac ribbon over the top of the bodice. It wasn’t just that it looked good, it was giving Annie the thrilling feeling of a brand new idea: a great idea, an idea she wanted to rush back to London.

  Make do and mend, improve don’t move – refurbishing your existing clothes so chimed with the times.

  ‘Inge, I have a television programme in Britain.’

  Before Inge could register her surprise, Annie went on: ‘It’s all about making women look better, buying them new clothes. But these days, everyone’s saving and paying off their credit card. So making your old clothes new again is brilliant! Getting your nice old comfortable things out of the cupboard and renewing them … putting a lovely ribbon bias edge onto a blazer, making a crocheted corsage … plaiting ribbon together for a quirky belt. We could have craft people on, they’ll show us how to knit a snood for autumn – how to decorate a hat. Inge! You’re a genius!’

  The surprised chambermaid was treated to a hug.

  ‘You just can’t believe what an amazing favour you’ve done me. Look at these gorgeous pink velvet roses. Don’t you want just one of these stitched onto the jacket? Ric rac and a rose – that will be enough. It wouldn’t be good to do too much.’

  ‘No, too much would be … too much.’

  Annie’s phone began to ring and she was immediately transported from the happy bubble of ribbon-based creativity right back to her current, slightly – well – unusual situation.

  Svetlana’s name flashed at her from the caller display. She could turn the phone off, but wasn’t she just putting off the moment when she would have to deal with this?

  The ringing went on, as she dithered. Even bolstered by lasagne, wine, coffee and profiteroles, she wasn’t ready to have this conversation. She didn’t want to be shouted at by Svetlana. She didn’t want to be told she was feeble and weak and that the toxins were ruling her life. Or that she was a dreadfully ungrateful friend who had run away from an all expenses paid break at the most exclusive spa in Europe.

  But such was the force of Svetlana’s personality that Annie found herself answering the phone. Gingerly, she put it to her ear.

  ‘ANNAH?’ Svetlana asked at full volume.

  ‘Ye-es …’ Annie replied reluctantly.

  ‘ANNAH! Where are you?! Annah, I don’t care where you are and what you are eating, but you must come back to the hotel – with vodka and Sobranie cigarettes.’

  ‘Really?!’

  This was great. Svetlana had obviously cracked too. Sobranie cigarettes?! She didn’t even smoke!

  ‘Have you fallen off the celery and courgette wagon?’ Annie asked.

  ‘No! Be serious for one minute. My boys have gone. Igor has taken Petrov and Michael!’

  Through the happy haze of ribbon shopping and the wonderful meal, not to mention a bottle of Italy’s finest, these words took some time to sink in.

  ‘Annah, are you there? Can you hear me? Igor has taken the boys – to Russia! Annah, are you drunk?’

  Finally, Annie managed to reply.

  ‘I’m so sorry … that’s terrible. I—’

  ‘I need you to help me.’ Svetlana sounded frantic. ‘I’m waiting for more information and I’m going out of my mind because there’s nothing I can do yet. All I know from London is they were supposed to be playing tennis all day, but they have not come back – oh!’

  The gasp was at once pained and furious.

  The pleasant euphoria which had settled around Annie was disappearing rapidly.

  ‘She let them go with the coach for the whole day,’ Svetlana wailed. ‘But this tournament does not exist. And she let them take their passports. Their passports! I will kill her! I will kill her with my own hands.’

  ‘Maria let them go with their passports?’ Annie asked, hardly able to believe it. Maria was always so protective of the two boys.

  ‘Elena!’ Svetlana wailed. ‘Elena has handed my children over to Igor.’

  ‘Elena? What? Have you been in touch with Igor?’

  Annie had never sobered up so quickly.

  ‘We cannot contact Igor. Obviously I leave many, many messages and Harry speak to Igor’s lawyers, but Igor make no reply. The boys will be in Russia. It is impossible! Oh, I am going to—’

  Svetlana burst into a high-pitched, uncontrollable sob.

  Annie would not be spending tonight in a hotel room emptying the minibar; she obviously had to go back to Camp Detox and do whatever Svetlana needed her to do.

  She took a deep breath and told Svetlana: ‘I’m on my way.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  New York

  Parker parties on:

  Skinny orange shirt (Gant sale)

  Skinny black jeans (Greenwich Village Denim)

  Skinny black leather tie (Greenwich Vintage)

  Black pork-pie hat (same)

  Total est. cost: $180

  LANA KNEW THIS was the right street, in fact she could already see the retro-neon sign which flashed the words ‘Spider’s Nest’ into the busy street. She was nervous, but trying hard not to act it. So she slowed her breathing down and stepped lightly in her brand new shoes.

  It had only taken her two – well maybe two and a half hours to get ready to go out tonight. Six outfits had been compiled to go with the blue polka-dot shoes and finally she’d made a decision she was almost happy with.

  She’d chosen a blue and white patterned blouse, a blue miniskirt and a grey waistcoat enlivened with a flower corsage. She hoped she was saying: cute but hip. Her hair was flowing long and loose down her back and as she stole a glance at her reflection she couldn’t help thinking that yes, she looked OK and importantly, she looked totally London.

  But would this be a good look for the club? Would Parker be pleased that he’d invited her? There: now her stomach was flipping about, her pulse jumping again. If only she and Gracie were at ease about tonight they’d have been able to meet up and walk into this coolest of parties together.

  But instead of peace, there was a polite hostility: both of them pretending everything was fine, but neither really feeling it.

  What if Gracie and Parker were already in there together? Lana asked herself. Maybe they’d met up for a drink before. Maybe Bingham was toast. Maybe Parker and Gracie were already an item … maybe Parker had invited Lana just so he could get close to Gracie.

  Argh! She was going to have to stop this.

  Lana was at the entrance now. A long queue snaked out along the sidewalk and a quick glance told her that she was with the cool people now: distressed leather jackets, funkiest hair, fascinating dresses and everyone sweeping utterly disdainful looks at everyone else.

  She was supposed to go up to the doorman and tell him she was on the guest list – but she didn’t know if she had the nerve. Still, if she joined the queue she could be stuck there for hours.

  C’mon, Lana, she told herself, if you can get on a plane and cross the Atlantic to work in New York, you can speak to a doorman. C’mon!

  The doorman closest to her looked stressed and busy. He was a heavy-set black guy in a swanky blue suit and purple tie, carrying a clipboard and walkie-talkie. His phone was a silver earpiece with an aerial.

  Lana walked over to him, heart in her mouth.

  ‘Hi, I …’

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘I think … I mean – I was kind of told—’

  ‘Guest list?’ he asked, sounding dubious. ‘Name?’<
br />
  ‘Lana Valentine,’ she mumbled.

  His finger began to travel down the page. Did Parker even know her last name? She didn’t think so. This was nuts. He would never have remembered to add her name. What was she doing here?

  ‘And you’re in,’ the doorman said. Then the rope was lifted and she was directed to the door.

  ‘Enjoy!’ he added as she pointed the polka-dot shoes towards the thumping music.

  In the packed throng of bodies she was desperate to find a familiar face. She would make one full circuit, she told herself, and if he wasn’t here or if she couldn’t find Gracie, she would flee.

  Scanning the crowd for faces, Lana couldn’t help drinking in the details of this amazing place. It was so cool; dark, but with huge Perspex sculptures in orange and turquoise rising up from the ground and changing colour in the lights. There was a glowing pink and orange neon bar. All around, people were dancing, drinking, slouching with their hip bones out, pretending to talk but really just posing.

  This was Manhattan, Lana thought with excitement! She was here. She was right here in the heart of it. Never mind feeling nervous about Parker, she was in the coolest place in the coolest town.

  The thrill brought a smile to her face and now there was this guy walking up to her.

  ‘Hi, love your shoes, wanna dance?’

  This made her smile even more.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m looking for my friends,’ she told him. ‘Maybe later?’

  ‘Sure.’

  They exchanged another smile and she walked on, confidence well and truly boosted.

  As soon as Lana saw the yellow dress, she knew she was looking at Gracie. Who else would choose sunshine yellow with frills and a green belt for a night with the cool people?

  As Lana approached, a hand slipped around Gracie’s waist. Lana followed the arm up from the hand and of course, it led to Parker.

  The confident smile froze on Lana’s face: she wanted to turn on her heel and head the other way fast but then something made Parker look over his shoulder and he spotted her.

  ‘Hey! Lana!’

  He turned, letting his arm fall from Gracie’s waist.

  Lana, in the same instant that she saw the welcoming smile on Parker’s face, saw the smile disappear from Gracie’s.

  ‘I’m so glad you could come! Isn’t that great?’ He turned to ask Gracie, who was trying to cover up the fact that she wasn’t so pleased.

  ‘Hi!’ she said a little too brightly, ‘you made it!’

  ‘Of course she made it,’ Parker said. ‘This is such a great night – I wanted everyone I know to be here.’

  He waved expansively across the area and Lana took this to mean that Parker’s friends were all around them.

  ‘What would you like to drink? I’m gonna go fight for a place at the bar.’

  Once Parker had left with their orders, Lana and Gracie turned to face each other.

  ‘Wow, what a place,’ Lana began.

  ‘Yeah. There are so many famous faces here tonight.’

  Lana didn’t think she sounded as full of enthusiasm as she usually did.

  ‘So are you getting to know Parker a little better?’

  ‘I guess a little, but he’s friendly to everyone. I mean, don’t you find him really friendly?’

  Gracie was looking straight at her and Lana felt there was a lot in this question. Gracie was really asking how much Parker liked Lana and no doubt wondering if he had made any further moves on her.

  ‘He’s really nice,’ Lana agreed, ‘and he seems to have a lot of friends.’

  She and Gracie were on the edge of the big group of people. Lana recognized Fabian, the guy with the green hair and the hat. She gave him a smile.

  There was one question Lana wanted to ask. She could pad gently around the edges of it, or she could just take a breath and come right out and say it.

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘No,’ Gracie replied and with that word, her lips drew into a line and she folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But there are lots of girls here, so who knows … maybe he’s planning to pick one.’

  ‘Right.’

  Not so consoling. Now that Lana looked at the groups again she saw that Gracie was right: there were a lot of girls. More stylish, groomed, gleaming New York girls than guys. Lana tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

  She read the same despondent look in Gracie’s eyes.

  How had this happened? How had Lana managed to fall for the same guy as her New York best friend? Who, by the way, already had a boyfriend.

  ‘Here he is!’ Gracie whispered.

  Parker came back and handed out the drinks he’d battled through the crowds to buy. ‘Please enjoy,’ he said, meeting Lana’s eyes. ‘I just about had to kill to get this for you.’

  Was it her imagination or did he hold the look longer than he needed to? She searched his eyes looking for a clue. But then he turned and was offering Gracie a drink with what seemed like the same killer smile and lingering look.

  ‘So are you loving my prints? I’ve loaned Elena the $300 she was missing and she’s having three of my patterns made up for new sample dresses.’ Parker addressed the question to them both.

  Gracie and Lana nodded eagerly, then began to talk about how much they loved his fabric ideas and about the NY Perfect Dress line.

  ‘And just before you got here, I was telling Parker that if this first collection goes well, we’ve got so many ideas, we’re going to branch out of dresses into jackets, skirts, maybe even pants and shoes,’ Gracie said. Handing her drink to Lana, she asked, ‘Can you hold this? I have to skip off to the bathroom for a couple of minutes.’

  As soon as Gracie had gone, Parker turned all his attention full-beam on Lana.

  ‘Wanna dance?’ he asked. Then he took the drinks from her hand, set them down and pulled her gently towards him. ‘Hello Lana from London,’ he said, looking right at her.

  His hands slid round her waist and he began to walk backward towards the crowded dance space taking her willingly with him. Her hands went up to his arms where she rested them … unsure … thrilled. Then they were sort of dancing but she couldn’t concentrate on the music, or her steps, or anything except his hands round her waist and his eyes staring into hers.

  ‘Put your hands round my waist too,’ Parker said in his dreamy voice. ‘Much more friendly. I like you, Lana from London.’

  Lana moved her hands to his lean torso and felt his warmth radiate through her fingers. Now she was looking at his face, at the expressive lips, slightly parted, moving closer to hers.

  ‘Hello,’ he murmured, ‘this is cool.’

  The tingle of nerves, the rush of excitement; there was nothing like it, nothing like it in the world. She couldn’t close her eyes; she wanted to take in every detail of this move towards her face.

  Her lips parted too and now she felt the warmth of his breath on her face.

  Then came a sharp tap on her shoulder.

  ‘Oh there you are,’ Gracie broke in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Milan

  Carlo’s middle-of-the-night wear:

  Pale blue linen shirt (Benetton)

  Dark blue chinos (C&A)

  Black leather slippers (a gift from Mama)

  Cologne (Acqua di Parma)

  Total est. cost: €120

  ‘ANNAH, LOOK AT this!’

  The sound of Svetlana’s voice jerked Annie from the doze she’d fallen into in one of the sumptuous velvet armchairs in Svetlana’s suite.

  ‘Yes?’ She sat up and snapped to attention.

  Svetlana walked towards her, a mobile in one hand, a drained champagne glass and her eighth pink and gold cigarette in the other. The hotel room with its pale green taffeta curtains, white and gilt furniture and ivy trellis print wallpaper was already in a fog. If Svetlana kept this up, Annie would need a gas mask.

  Her friend’s usually i
mmaculate blonde hair was wild because she kept frantically running her hands through it. Her eye make-up was smudged with the tears she had shed this long night. Yet she was still elegantly dressed in high-heeled sandals and a summer dress: she wanted to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

  Just as soon as she knew where to go and what to do, Svetlana would be ready. Her handbag and a small holdall were packed.

  But in the hours Annie had spent trying to help and console Svetlana there had been little news. Harry had been on the phone regularly, but had nothing to report. There was no word from Igor’s camp. Border police could not confirm that the boys’ passports had been used to take them out of the country.

  ‘Maybe they are taken through Dover, in the back of a car,’ Svetlana had wailed. Several times she had issued dire threats about Elena, who had apparently handed the boys over to their tennis coach with their passports. The coach must have been paid by Igor to deliver the boys to him.

  Now Svetlana was standing over Annie, pushing the mobile phone in front of her face: ‘Look at this!’ she repeated.

  Annie gave her dry, weary eyes a rub and peered at the short email on the screen. The words seemed to jump and blur in front of her exhausted eyes.

  ‘It’s very small print,’ she said, turning to Svetlana, who she saw now was wearing a pair of heavy, black-framed glasses which looked comically out of place on her chiselled features.

  ‘You need reading glasses,’ Svetlana snapped.

  ‘No, I’m just tired,’ Annie hissed.

  ‘Denial. Take these. They are Harry’s. I don’t need glasses either.’

  Annie might have laughed at this if the look on Svetlana’s face hadn’t been so serious. The email was obviously urgent.

  She put the clunky glasses on the end of her nose and the words came into focus:

  Dear Mama, we are in a car. We have been on the boat and then we sleeped somewhere. One of the men said we would drive to Vienna and sleep there. I don’t know if I want to go to school in Rushia. Petrov does not want to go. He keeps crying. I remembered I have email on this. The men think I’m playing on a game. Can you get us home? Michael.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Annie exclaimed, ‘Your clever boy has email. He’s been able to tell you where they’re going.’