Shopping with the Enemy Read online

  ‘Where is my handbag by the way?’

  ‘Oh … I have locked it into the car’s glove compartment. Here is the key, and this will be enough for petrol and any other problems,’ Svetlana said, handing over a thick wad of euros.

  ‘Svetlana, you can’t pay me to do this,’ Annie protested. ‘I’m not accepting payment. Everything not used for expenses is coming straight back to you.’

  ‘Fine,’ Svetlana said, pushing the money and the Bentley keys into Annie’s hand.

  ‘But you will owe me one very big favour,’ Annie said.

  ‘Of course, just say what it is.’ Svetlana looked at her expectantly.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ Annie replied, ‘but I’m going to think about it and when I ask for this favour, you will grant it. No questions asked.’

  Svetlana’s eyes met hers and Annie saw the look of concern on her face. But still Svetlana said ‘OK’, so seriously that Annie knew she had a deal.

  ‘The car is in the car park on level four. Here is the ticket,’ Svetlana added and the ticket materialized in Annie’s hand, just as if Svetlana had planned for her to show up at exactly this moment to take over all the troublesome details.

  ‘Maybe you should wash your face first,’ was Svetlana’s next suggestion.

  ‘Yeah …’

  The alligator clutch began to ring so Svetlana turned away from Annie to answer the call.

  ‘The glass bottle burst under the men’s car tyre and blew it up?’ Michael asked Annie.

  ‘And the glass bits went into your face?’

  Annie nodded. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.’

  ‘But that was very brave,’ Michael told her.

  ‘Or stupid,’ Annie admitted. ‘I always think brave is very close to stupid.’

  This made Petrov laugh.

  ‘What is happening with Perfect Dress?’ Svetlana turned to ask Annie, once her call was over.

  ‘Well, I’ve not exactly heard much,’ Annie said, which was putting it mildly. ‘They’re just getting the designs together for the new season, I think.’

  Svetlana shook her head vigorously.

  ‘No. Something is going on. I just speak to Elena, I leave her message about the boys and she just call me back.’

  ‘I hope you were very nice to her, I hope you said sorry properly.’

  ‘Yes. I said sorry.’

  ‘Really? Properly?’

  ‘Yes! I say sorry to her and she say: “not bad, Mother, I know this is the hardest word for you”.’

  ‘She’s right.’

  ‘But I just get a feeling from her when we speak about the business that she is not telling me everything,’ Svetlana added.

  ‘Oh no …’ Annie was getting the first inkling of an idea, ‘you don’t think those silly, stubborn girls have just gone ahead and made up the new dresses on their own, do you?’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Austria

  The perfume counter girl:

  White blouse (Aldi)

  Bright silk scarf (once grandmother’s)

  Pencil skirt (Peek & Cloppenburg)

  Wearable shoes (Ecco)

  Too much make-up (Estée Lauder Christmas Gift Set)

  Total est. cost: €160

  ONCE ANNIE HAD waved Svetlana and her boys through the departure gate, she decided that first of all – before she did anything else – some of Svetlana’s expenses money would have to be spent on several key rescue products.

  The horrifying sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror galvanized her into action: panda eyes, those small but bloodied cuts, dirt, grease, even a dark smudge or two. It was desperate. She rushed from the mirror to the airport pharmacy where she grabbed toothpaste and a toothbrush to deal with her actually furry teeth.

  At the cosmetics counter she bought the make-up fundamentals: eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, and persuaded the startled sales assistant to hand over tester sizes of face wash, moisturizer and foundation.

  ‘This is an emergency,’ Annie assured her, ‘I really honestly do not look like this usually.’

  After a ten-minute stint in the Ladies applying her haul, and a pass of the Chanel counter where she doused herself liberally in No. 19, Annie began to feel less like a bag lady and much closer to her usual self.

  Her next purchase was a phone charger for the car and a hands-free kit. Just as soon as she’d revived the phone battery, she had a lot of calls to make and explaining to do.

  Finally, she stocked up on provisions for the trip: a vast mug of coffee, two Viennese pastries, a huge bottle of water, three chocolate bars and – in honour of Dr Delicioso – one small green apple, which she sort of already knew she wouldn’t eat. She was going to be the first person to come back from a spa break five pounds heavier.

  Bag of goodies over her shoulder, she made for the car park. Up on level four, after a short walk about, she found the Bentley, but as she drew closer, she couldn’t help gasping with shock.

  The Bentley was trashed! No other word for it. At the back of the car there was an alarming dent and the metal bumper was hanging askew. Svetlana must have reversed into a bollard, maybe even a lamp-post.

  She walked round to the side of the car and found it peppered with dents, scrapes and a long, ominous white scratch. On the other side, it was a similar sad story. In fact it was slightly worse, as the front wheel arch had obviously been crunched against something hard.

  In her short but frantic drive to the airport, Svetlana must have got into even more trouble than Annie had in her journey all the way over the Alps.

  Carlo was going to freak out. Whatever relief he might feel at the sight of the Bentley rolling back up the drive of the Villa Verdina would be short-lived.

  Annie unlocked the door, dumped her bags on the passenger’s seat and climbed in. She put the phone in to charge and rigged up the hands-free system. She would phone Ed and let him know everything was OK, just as soon as she had some power. Then she fired up the engine.

  It sounded throaty, but fine. Hands on the steering wheel, she prepared to seriously haul the car around into reverse and felt almost pleased to be back in the the Beast again.

  ‘Don’t even think about letting me down now, old boy,’ she said out loud, ‘because we’re going home.’

  Annie had been driving for several hours and recrossed the Italian border via a perfectly straightforward motorway, which somehow she and Svetlana had missed on the way in, before she got a reply on Lana’s phone.

  ‘It’s 5.50 a.m.,’ Lana croaked into the Bentley’s cab, thanks to the hands-free kit.

  ‘Elena has been up all night worrying about her brothers, I thought you might have been up too,’ Annie said, not exactly in an apologetic mood.

  ‘Have they been found?’ Lana asked, already sounding more awake.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got them. They’re safely on a flight back to London with their mum, while I get the honour of driving the Bentley back to Italy. But never mind that, I’ll tell you the whole story when I’m on a much cheaper phone line. Lana, right now I need you to tell me all about the new Perfect Dresses. Just what is going on?’

  She delivered this in her best I’m-your-mother-and-don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me voice.

  ‘Oh … do you know? Did Elena—?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Annie interrupted. ‘I haven’t heard the full story, but I think it would be a good idea for you to start coughing.’

  ‘We haven’t spent any company money,’ Lana said quickly.

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing. But what have you done?’

  ‘We’ve made up a prototype line for NY Perfect Dress and we’ve sent it out to a selection of buyers to see what they think,’ Lana blurted out.

  ‘To see what they think … really? Or are those dresses in fact on sale, with OUR label on them?’

  ‘They are … ummm … probably … for sale by now,’ Lana admitted.

  ‘Well that’s just great. And so when were you planning on breakin
g this news to us, exactly?’

  ‘When the feedback came in amazingly positive.’

  ‘And what if it doesn’t, Lana?’ Annie demanded. ‘That is some risk, some unbelievable risk you are taking – and how have you paid for it all?’

  ‘We borrowed on our credit cards.’

  ‘Oh Lana!’

  ‘No one’s in any major debt,’ Lana insisted, ‘we started small. Plus we sold some of our own things and someone gave us a loan.’

  ‘Oh, but Lana, Svetlana is going to … going to completely …’ Annie didn’t like to think about what Svetlana might do. ‘This will cause unbelievable trouble … I mean, it’s her label. And she said: NO.’

  ‘Mum, look at the dresses first before you say anything else. Will you please just look at them? It’s too early to know if they’re selling yet, but the buyers really like them.’

  ‘But how will we make this work with Svetlana?’

  ‘We’re not exactly sure,’ Lana admitted.

  ‘No. Neither am I. Where can I see the dresses? Have you got anything up online?’

  ‘We haven’t put them on the company website yet.’

  ‘No. I suppose it’s a bit early for that since you might be starting your very own company pretty soon.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Well, I’m just saying … you might. Svetlana could have a total meltdown and kick you all out!’

  ‘Mum, we’re relying on you to help us win her over.’

  ‘You’re relying on me? But you’ve not even told me! You’ve not even phoned once since you left London in a great big huff!’

  Silence at the other end of the line.

  Annie was now approaching the kind of twisting mountainous road that would require all her concentration.

  ‘If I felt I could trust your judgement, I would have told you,’ Lana said finally.

  There was the heart of the problem and it still hadn’t been solved. All of a sudden, Annie didn’t know what to say. She was still angry with Lana about their row; in fact, this news about unauthorized dresses was making her feel even more annoyed.

  The girls hadn’t asked her if they should go ahead, but they were expecting her to somehow put it all right with their very scary boss.

  ‘I suppose it’s too late to call the dresses back?’ Annie asked. ‘If you could get them back, you could show them to Svetlana and maybe she’d change her mind when she actually saw them.’

  ‘No. It’s too late.’

  ‘Good grief!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘So you’ve just gone and put out unauthorized dresses for sale under our label.’

  ‘It’s NY Perfect Dress, a diffusion range,’ Lana replied.

  ‘That doesn’t exactly make it all better.’

  Annie was trying to restrain herself, trying to stop herself from shouting down the line. Why had the girls done this? They had forced the issue and it was going to cause a very big fuss. Svetlana might sack them all and close the company.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ Annie told her daughter.

  ‘Why not? If we’d stuck with your boring old stuff, the company would have gone down the pan anyway. We had no major orders, we had nothing to lose,’ Lana stormed.

  ‘I need to concentrate on driving,’ Annie said, wanting to buy herself some time, to avoid saying something furious and regrettable down a long-distance line. ‘I’ll talk to you later. Meanwhile, stay right out of Svetlana’s way. Don’t let her find out about this or she will completely freak out.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Clunk.

  The line went dead and Annie signed with frustration. Just how was she supposed to solve this?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Italy

  The café owner:

  Red and blue tunic (Topshop)

  Tight bright blue capri trousers (Armani)

  Wooden-soled leather sandals (little shop in Florence)

  Gold necklace (a secret admirer)

  Coffee-coloured nail varnish (Chanel)

  Total est. cost: €180

  ANOTHER HOUR INTO the drive and Annie had passed through the worst of the mountains. The sun was shining in an unbroken bright blue sky and the scenery spread before her was a glorious tapestry of green, gold and brick red with the silvery lakes shimmering ahead in the distance.

  This was stunning. Finally, despite her latest worries, she could feel a sense of relaxation creeping up on her. She was starting to feel like someone on a holiday … not someone enduring a series of stressful events.

  The road was taking her through yet another beautiful hillside village where every house was more charming than the last, with pale blue doors and window boxes bursting with pink geraniums.

  As she drove past a café with pretty white tables and chairs set out on the pavement, she decided that she had to stop; the lure of a caffeinated top-up was too strong.

  She brought the Bentley to a halt on the side of the road, and after a fresh touch of lipstick, Annie walked back to the café, where she chose a sunny seat and ordered an espresso.

  A friendly Italian woman of around Annie’s age, maybe the owner of the café, brought the coffee and exchanged a little chitchat in accented English. As they talked, Annie couldn’t help but notice how perfectly turned out she was, right down to the caramel-coloured tips of her fingers.

  As she sipped her coffee, despite the undoubted strength of the treacly liquid, Annie suddenly felt incredibly tired. All the driving, the tension, all the lack of sleep of that last twenty-four hours had taken everything out of her. So she decided to lean forward on the table, head on her arms and treat herself to just a tiny little catnap.

  ‘Hello? Are you all right?’

  Annie felt as if she was being shaken from the deepest, darkest sleep. She opened her eyes and saw a tiny white coffee cup with a deep chocolaty trickle running down its side. Lovely colours, she couldn’t help noticing. White with chocolate … a white linen suit with chocolate leather accessories … maybe.

  ‘Are you awake?’ the accented voice asked. ‘Maybe you should have another coffee?’

  ‘Yes,’ Annie croaked. ‘And some water too, please.’

  ‘No problem.’

  She lifted her head from the table and for a moment or two had no recollection of where she was, how she had got there, or why. Golden sunlight streamed into her eyes, making everything look back-lit and hazy.

  The Italian woman set the coffee in front of her, pulled up a chair at the table and, after asking ‘May I?’, sat down beside her.

  She was lovely, Annie saw, in a totally elegant, totally together, Italian way. Her dark hair fell in a classic blunt cut to below her shoulders. Her tanned skin was set off by the deep red and blue of her striking graphic top. She wore a tiny golden chain around her neck. She was that perfect combination of serious, professional, classy and just the right pinch of sexy which only women who’d grown up in the southern Mediterranean could manage effortlessly.

  ‘Your top is beautiful,’ Annie croaked, her voice not fully woken up yet.

  ‘Thank you. A tunic I think you call it. I bought it in London,’ the woman replied with a white-toothed, brown-lipsticked smile.

  There was another Italian classic: brown lipstick, a shade which only looked good against beautiful, tanned, olive skin.

  ‘A tunic?’

  Annie had to have a little laugh at herself. Hadn’t she sworn eternal enmity to all tunics and here she was complimenting this stranger on hers.

  ‘Yes.’

  The woman stood up. The top draped gently past her waist and ended just below the hip bone where it met tight blue trousers and …

  Now Annie felt compelled to look under the table.

  There she saw a pair of wooden-heeled, peep-toe sandals in nude-coloured leather. The toes too were coated with the fudgy brown nail varnish.

  Totally chic and: inspiring. No other word for it. For the first time in months, Annie was really looking at an outfit, noticing all the details and feeling the
stirrings of enthusiasm.

  She looked down at her coffee cup and saw the brown swirl gently around the cream, with the toffeeish shades in between. A symphony in taupe, cream and neutrals was going on right in her cup. She couldn’t help staring.

  ‘I put in milk,’ the woman explained: ‘is not so strong on the stomach.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Annie took a reviving sip.

  ‘I’m Isabella.’

  ‘Hello, I’m Annie, I’m on holiday at the famous Villa Verdina.’

  ‘Oh yes, resting from a very tiring job I think.’

  Isabella smiled. She didn’t seem too ruffled by a stranger exiting a Bentley and promptly falling asleep at one of her tables.

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘In which business do you work?’ Isabella wondered.

  ‘Fashion,’ Annie replied, because that was the straightforward answer.

  ‘Oh, how lucky, I love fashion. It keeps us young, it keeps us interested in the world and in love with ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, all of these things … in love with ourselves,’ Annie repeated. ‘They’re very important.’

  ‘Very important. How can you love anyone else if you don’t love yourself?’

  ‘I like that,’ Annie said and smiled at her new acquaintance.

  ‘I think this is called: café filosofia.’

  ‘Café philosophy – perfect. I used to love everything about new clothes and the latest fashion, but I’ve been feeling out of love.’

  ‘I think you have been feeling too tired,’ Isabella pointed out.

  ‘Maybe, but I’ve forgotten what I used to love so much.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to remember your favourite things. Why not tell me about your best dress.’

  Annie didn’t have to consider her answer for long: ‘It’s bright pink, the colour of those geraniums over there – silk, with a big flouncy skirt, a tight top and then a halterneck; no shoulders, you understand? And a big bow tied here, behind the neck. I feel like a star in that dress. I feel happy and loved. I love pink and I love red, even together.’

  ‘Yes, wonderful together, pink and purple too,’ Isabella agreed, ‘so why are you wearing brown?’