Shopping with the Enemy Read online

  ‘When? Right now? While you’re off?’

  ‘Oh honestly, I don’t think it’s going to work. This weekend-ish. Well, in fact, leaving on Friday morning.’

  ‘Friday?!’ Ed sounded incredulous.

  ‘It was a very last minute offer. But she has said she’ll pay and it’s a very famous place. Legendary, in fact.’

  ‘Go,’ came the simple reply.

  ‘Go? But how? But who?’

  ‘Dinah and I will share it out between us,’ Ed replied, ‘but there are two conditions.’

  ‘OK …’ Annie wondered what was coming now.

  ‘One, you have to come back with a spring in your step, the girl we know and love …’

  ‘Well, I can try, babes.’

  ‘Two, you have to promise me that we will go away on our mini-break. We have to go away. I have to get one night, maybe even two of uninterrupted time with you or I am going to … burst!’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  Chapter Eight

  New York

  Fabian posing hard:

  White linen suit (from Dad via Brooks Brothers)

  Pink shirt (same)

  Suede lace-ups (Gap)

  Cream trilby hat (thrift store)

  Green hair dye (drugstore)

  Total est. cost: $470

  ALTHOUGH THE PERFECT Dress office had closed for the day, Lana was striding through all the most interesting streets of Manhattan, camera phone in hand, still hard at work.

  Ever since she’d flounced back from London, ahead of Elena, with her fate and the fate of the dress label unresolved, Lana had spent the hours between work and bedtime roaming the streets, supposedly in search of inspiration.

  She wouldn’t admit to anyone, not even herself, that she was lonely. Since she’d ditched her last guy, Matt, she’d found that she didn’t particularly want to see anyone from the little circle of friends she’d made through him because it was still awkward.

  Gracie was usually busy in the evenings with her friends, her family and her long-standing boyfriend, ‘Beefy’ Bingham. A nice guy, Lana had thought when she met him, but somehow not exactly the cool, fashiony, finger-on-the-pulse kind of man Lana had imagined Gracie would be with.

  So in the evenings, Lana stayed out, away from the apartment phone that never rang now that she and her mother weren’t calling each other. Instead, Lana walked the streets and took pictures all over Manhattan, dreaming up inspiration and ideas for a project that now might never get off the ground.

  She snapped cool girls with funkily styled outfits, edgy shop window displays, unexpected patterns, clashing colours, anything that might inspire a dazzling new collection of clothes.

  ‘East 28th Street,’ Lana whispered, but with determination. She was heading there because that’s where Parker had advised them to look for the very hottest store windows and the very coolest New Yorkers.

  She was also going there because: ‘I like to hang out there myself …’ he’d told them, ‘there’s this one place, Blonde Tobacco, it’s immense: low key, laid back. If I have any free time, that’s where I like to be. Plus it’s real close to the hallway-with-a-camp-bed which I call home.’

  Although it was almost two weeks since she’d first met and last seen Parker, Lana couldn’t get him out of her mind. He was the most attractive and most fascinating person she’d met in a long time. She’d tried to shake the memory of him off, but little details – his scruffy trainers, the clunky watch which slid around his smooth, olive wrist – kept flashing about in her mind.

  So now, like a possessed person, she was walking towards the bar he was sometimes in when he had the time. Even though she knew he was not going to be there and she would be wandering around like some minor, wannabe stalker.

  But still the street and the bar – Blonde Tobacco – were calling to her, luring her on.

  As she turned and began to walk down East 28th Street, she tried to look nonchalant and relaxed but really felt as self-conscious as if she was wearing a T-shirt with the words: Hello Parker, I am sooooo crushing on you.

  He won’t be here, she reminded herself. So she would just walk down the street, take photos of the shop windows and maybe of some of the people sitting around outside in the evening sunshine and then she would go.

  No harm done.

  Parker would never know.

  She raised her camera phone and focused on a small group of Manhattan’s coolest sitting in a knot at a tiny metal table.

  There was a guy in a small cream-coloured porkpie hat with bright green hair sticking out from underneath it. This was good; this had to be the kind of inspirational image Elena and Gracie would want.

  Lana held up her phone then hit zoom because she didn’t really want the cool dude in the hat to know she was taking his picture. She looked at the screen and saw a pattern which made her eyes widen: black with a pink and orange stripe?

  She looked up and saw Parker – right at the table with the man in the hat – looking straight at her. It was such a heady surprise she fumbled her phone in fright, letting it fall with a clatter. She dropped down to pick it up. When she glimpsed up through her hair, hoping Parker hadn’t noticed, he was waving in her direction.

  Lana put the phone into her bag and took a calming breath. He was a cool guy so she would have to play it cool too. She would just go over and say hello. No big deal.

  As she approached his table, she set a smile on her face and tried to give off the natural born confidence of a New York girl.

  ‘Hey,’ Parker called out.

  ‘Hey,’ she replied.

  ‘You meeting someone here?’

  She shrugged and said: ‘Maybe later’ … proud that her voice sounded incredibly close to casual even if her heart was beginning to race. ‘Right now I’m just walking about, getting inspired. Can I take a picture of your friend? I’m crazy about his hat.’

  She gave the guy with the green hair her charm offensive smile.

  ‘Fabian, you have to meet—’ Parker began.

  ‘Lana,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  ‘I know, you don’t have to tell me,’ Parker said with a lazy grin, ‘So do you have a blog where we can see your photos?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet … but I might set one up.’

  ‘You should. I’d love to see them. “Lana from London’s blog.” Think about it. Fabian, Lana really is from London, how cool is that?’ Parker asked.

  ‘Honoured to meet you,’ Fabian said in a deep, drawling voice as he extended his hand.

  ‘Fabian is from the South and he’s working a whole Truman Capote but with green hair kind of thing,’ Parker added. ‘Would you like to sit down and have a drink with us? We’re only drinking lemon tea, because we both have to work later.’

  ‘Lemon tea would be lovely,’ Lana said, pulling up the chair between them and trying to keep the grin across her face under some semblance of control.

  ‘Lovely? Now, isn’t that so English and so pretty?’ Fabian asked. ‘You’re probably related to Kate Middleton, right?’

  Lana laughed: ‘I don’t think so!’

  ‘OK, so let’s call the waitress over and order you a tall lemon tea, then you can tell us all about London,’ Parker said, ‘which we love by the way and want to move to like tomorrow …’

  ‘Really? But New York is better, so way better,’ Lana promised.

  ‘But this is how it is,’ Parker said, turning his lively eyes on her: ‘you’ve lived in London, you know London, so you love New York. We know New York, so we want something new and we can’t wait to move to London.’

  ‘In London, right now, it may be May but it is cold and rainy,’ Lana warned. ‘No one is sitting outside sipping at lemon teas, believe me.’

  ‘Right, but in New York we have the coldest winter you can imagine for six months of the year,’ Fabian countered.

  ‘Who cares about weather?!’ Parker exclaimed. ‘Forget weather! You have the East End. Every artist, every photographer I’ve
ever heard of lives or exhibits or creates art in the East End.’

  ‘But you have Brooklyn and Willamsburg and NoHo,’ Lana reminded them, ‘and trust me, New York is way cooler.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll stay in New York or move back to London?’ Parker asked.

  ‘No contest, I’m staying in New York,’ Lana declared, ‘even though my mum’s trying to get me to go back and even live at home again. As if!’

  ‘Uh-oh … know all about that,’ Fabian sympathized: ‘my hair was the final straw. I still don’t know if it’s because she didn’t dig the grassy green or because I ruined not just one but three white towels in the process.’

  The lemon tea arrived and the playful New York versus London argument went on. As Lana kept up with it, she felt her heart skipping about in her chest. Now and then her eyes met Parker’s and their legs underneath the tiny table were definitely touching.

  She could hardly believe how well this was going. He was interested, she was completely sure he was interested. Any moment now and he would ask when they could meet up again.

  Finally, the tea glasses were drained. Parker checked his watch then looked slightly panicked.

  ‘Whoa, we have to shoot. Like ten minutes ago,’ he said, pulling out a couple of bills from his wallet and putting them down on the table, ‘but Lana, on Saturday there’s this club opening, the Spider’s Nest. Big party, really excellent party and I’d love it if you would be my guest.’

  ‘Sure! Fantastic!’ Lana said, completely forgetting to be cool.

  ‘OK, let me take your number,’ Parker patted his pockets and found his phone, ‘and I’ll message you with the details.’

  For several minutes after Parker and Fabian had gone, Lana had to stay on at the little table smiling to herself. He so liked her! He must like her because he’d asked her to the opening: ‘be my guest,’ he’d said.

  But then the doubt began to set in. Be my guest? How many guests would he have? Did that mean she would be his plus one? Did that make it a date? Or were other people coming?

  If she was one guest of many, then that wasn’t a date. No. Surely she was his plus one? That was what he’d meant.

  She glanced down at her phone, wondering when his message would come in. For the sake of something to do, she clicked to Facebook and scrolled down the posts.

  Owen was writing in German. The nutter. Gracie had changed her profile picture to an image of an adorable pug puppy in a shiny PVC coat. As Lana’s eyes travelled across Gracie’s latest post, her heart sank like a stone.

  ‘Spider’s Nest opening, Sunday night. Going with my new best friend Parker Bain. Woo hoo!’

  Chapter Nine

  Milan

  Svetlana travels:

  Multi-coloured wrap dress (Missoni)

  Pale suede blazer (Gucci)

  High cork wedge sandals (Jimmy Choo)

  Huge sunglasses (Chanel)

  Selection of diamond rings (selection of ex-husbands)

  Huge gold and emerald earrings (Bvlgari Co-ordinating luggage (Hermès)

  Total est. cost: £74,000

  ‘AND HERE IS our car,’ Svetlana purred.

  Annie’s eyes travelled beyond the glass doors of the airport towards a stately, old-fashioned, luxurymobile, gleaming in the bright Italian sunshine.

  ‘You have got to be joking.’

  ‘I never joke,’ Svetlana replied in a dark, Ukrainian-laced deadpan voice.

  Annie was already in a deeply woozy state. She’d woken up very early and made breakfast for her twins before squeezing, kissing, hugging them goodbye and catching her cab to the airport.

  As soon as she’d located Svetlana at Gatwick, standing with her chauffeur in front of the check-in area, Annie had been whisked into the world of first class splendour.

  There had been no queuing, no waiting, no grumpy-faced check-in girls. Just a flick of tickets and passports, then she and Svetlana had been rushed to the First Class lounge, where glasses of Bucks Fizz had been pressed into their hands although it was only 7.20 a.m.

  In the calm and rarefied atmosphere of the first class cabin, Annie had soaked up a little more champagne because it helped with the worries which were racing round her head, even though she was now officially on holiday.

  Would Ed and Dinah cope with Owen and the twins? Would she feel any better when she got back? Would her passion for fashion really return as Svetlana promised? Would Tamsin definitely want her back? And as for Lana … Annie and Lana had still not had a proper phone conversation. When was that row finally going to blow over?

  Svetlana didn’t talk much on the flight, she just issued occasional instructions: ‘If you are nervous, drink more champagne. Champagne is wonderful for nerves.’

  So here they were in Milan airport, where bright sunshine sliced through the windows, promising a beautiful day outside.

  ‘It’s summer!’ Annie declared with surprise. May had been so gloomy in London, she’d almost forgotten.

  She trailed in Svetlana’s Missoni clad, Bvlgari sparkling, Annick Goutal scented wake and even pulled Svetlana’s matching, wheeled luggage alongside hers.

  ‘Hermès?’ Annie had asked appreciatively when the bags appeared first, of course, ahead of the queue, alongside her slightly more practical Samsonite.

  ‘Yah,’ Svetlana had confirmed, ‘Louis Vuitton is vulgar. For footballers and Russians.’

  They began to walk towards the hotel’s car, identifiable by the hotel crest emblazoned on the doors. A smiling, uniformed chauffeur with white gloves and a peaked cap was approaching them, eager to relieve them of their luggage.

  ‘Is this a Rolls-Royce?’ Annie asked.

  ‘No. Much better. Is a Bentley, like my car,’ Svetlana assured her, ‘but this one is vintage.’

  ‘The hotel’s Bentley …’ Annie was very impressed as the door was opened and she slid into the deep, leathery comfort of the back seat. In front of them was a fold-down table set with crystal glasses, bottles of champagne and sparkling water.

  ‘But now, no more champagne,’ Svetlana instructed. ‘Is best to begin the spa programme from the moment we enter the car.’

  ‘The spa programme?’

  ‘Five days of very pure, very clean living, Annah.’

  Suddenly Annie felt a twinge of doubt. This was going to be a luxurious, pampering mini-break, wasn’t it? There wasn’t any chance that Svetlana had signed her up for some kind of military fitness boot camp, was there?

  No, she smiled at the thought. Boot camps wouldn’t have crystal glasses and Bentleys.

  But then again, Svetlana’s figure was flawless, Svetlana’s exercise regime was relentless, Svetlana’s beauty drills were not for the faint-hearted. Svetlana looked astonishingly good because she worked at it every waking moment.

  Her idea of ‘pampering’ might be very different from Annie’s.

  ‘This spa’s programme is legendary,’ Svetlana began, settling back in her seat, ‘one of Europe’s best-kept beauty secrets. Every famous, beautiful woman in the world comes here once or twice a year. Here they can take 10 kilos from you in five days and ten years from your face at the same time. It is truly astonishing. One of my secrets.’

  ‘Really? You do know how much I appreciate you taking me with you?’ Annie said, although she had already thanked Svetlana at least one hundred times. ‘Ten kilos in five days? Really?! Do you think they could do that for me?’

  ‘If you stick with the programme,’ Svetlana assured her, ‘the whole programme.’

  Annie might have heard something of a warning in those words if she hadn’t been in such a frenzy of excitement.

  ‘Ten kilos?!’ she repeated. ‘Isn’t that even more than 20 pounds?’

  ‘Twenty-two pounds,’ Svetlana confirmed.

  ‘In five days?!’

  Annie looked down at her baby bulge, or should that now be her toddler tum?

  ‘If they can get rid of this in five days, it will be a blinking miracle. The Pope will have to be
informed. He’ll have to make the programme director a saint or something.’

  Svetlana smiled: ‘They will try everything they can for you.’

  ‘So what does the programme involve?’ Annie asked, pouring out two glasses of water.

  ‘The spa gives you a total detox. They serve a pure, clean diet that will make you thin and make you glow. You will be clean from the inside out. You will love it.’

  ‘Right.’ Annie sank back into her seat. A total detox … well, that didn’t sound so bad. She’d detoxed before. It was all about dairy-free, wheat-free, sugar-free stuff. Eating quinoa, rice and vegetables for a few days, that couldn’t really hurt anyone, could it? Plus, she knew it was what she really needed.

  Although Ed and Dinah lectured her constantly, Annie was perfectly aware that her daily diet still revolved almost completely around buttery toast, chocolate bars, endless cups of milky coffee and large glasses of wine.

  Svetlana took her mobile from her tiny alligator clutch bag and looked at the screen a touch anxiously.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Yes. Yes I think so. Harry and Maria know exactly what the boys are doing over the weekend. There is no chance of anything happening to them. I know this. I know this, but still the worry rises up, now and again, that Igor will try to take them.’

  Svetlana’s sunglasses covered most of her face, so it was difficult to read her expression. Annie felt that if she was in this situation, she’d find it hard to leave her children alone for a moment, but Svetlana always managed to handle the high-powered problems her high-powered life seemed to bring.

  ‘Why is Igor so desperate for the boys to go to his old school, anyway?’ Annie asked.

  ‘In his opinion, this is the best way to train the body and mind for the future,’ Svetlana replied, shaking her head. ‘But I think if you go to military school, you turn out like Igor: always at war. He is at war with me, at war with everyone who does business with him, at war with himself. This is result of military school.’

  ‘But he is a phenomenal success,’ Annie pointed out. ‘Maybe he wants his sons to be a success just like him and he thinks—’