Shopping with the Enemy Page 7

  ‘They need to be like him,’ Svetlana interrupted. ‘This will never happen. Michael could be like him, if he went to Russian military school, so I will not let him go. Petrov is a totally different child: quiet and sensitive. Petrov will never, ever go to military school. If Igor tries to do this – I will kill him.’

  For most people this was simply an expression, but when Svetlana said it, it sounded like a terrifying threat.

  ‘How long will it take Igor to accept this?’ Annie asked.

  ‘I don’t know. He has never given up on anything ever before. Tschaaaaa!’

  The Bentley had purred smoothly from the airport autostrada, past the motorways encircling Milan and out into the glorious Italian countryside. As they drove by terracotta tiled houses and dark cypress trees set against a bright and blue sky, Annie wished Micky hadn’t yanked both arms off her only pair of sunglasses three minutes before her taxi had arrived.

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed out of the window until Svetlana noticed the problem, clicked open her clutch and offered up a spare pair of vast black Chanel shades.

  Another half an hour or so into the countryside and the Bentley slowed, indicated, then waited in the road to make a right turn. Two black metal gates set between carved stone gateposts began to part. The Bentley swung through the gates and began to move up the driveway, gravel crunching under its tyres.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ Annie told Svetlana, ‘being driven about in my Bentley, through my electronic gates, up my driveway. Do you have other houses?’ she wondered. Maybe Svetlana had a castle or two like this tucked up in a tax haven.

  ‘Ah … so many other houses when I was Mrs Wisneski, I lose count, but now just a farmhouse in Portugal,’ Svetlana replied. ‘I’ve not been there since 1984 when it was fashionable to play golf.’ She gave a little snort: ‘Golf?! Can you imagine?’

  ‘You’ve not even been there since 1984?’ Annie could hardly take this in. ‘But why don’t you sell it?’

  ‘It’s rented out; it makes some money. Anyway, from Igor I learn if you keep property for long enough, you always win.’

  ‘But how long is long enough?’

  ‘For ever. The best length of time to keep real estate is for ever.’

  The Bentley purred up the driveway, through jewel green lawns studded with bright flower beds, towards a beautiful old building. This Italian-style stately home came complete with pale stone columns, ornately carved balustrades and balconies overflowing with flower displays.

  The towering front entrance with studded wooden doors was wide open and a smartly uniformed doorman was waiting for them.

  ‘Look at this place!’ Annie exclaimed, pushing the sunglasses onto her head to take a better look. ‘Just look at it! Isn’t it breathtaking?!’

  Svetlana gave a little smile in agreement.

  As the car pulled to a halt, Annie jumped out, almost gaping at the views. Over there was a huge, vibrantly blue swimming pool surrounded by a stone terrace with a view right out over the most beautiful lake she’d ever seen.

  The water sparkled in the sunlight; she gazed at the hills in the distance and bright, bright blue sky above. This was heaven. Sun loungers were set out around the pool and as the guests basked in the sunshine, a waiter hovered at their elbow serving tall drinks. She couldn’t wait to be lying there, Svetlana’s sunnies in place as she sipped at a cooling, brain-numbing cocktail or three.

  But the rumble in her stomach warned her that hours had passed since the First Class breakfast – surely it was time for a gorgeous cappuccino with thick creamy froth and a dusting of grated chocolate? Or was it too early for lunch … something beautiful, Italian, fresh and salad-like but nicely substantial? She definitely needed something before she stripped off and dived into the pool.

  As the doorman took charge of their luggage, Annie followed Svetlana into the hotel’s hall; except ‘hall’ wasn’t quite the word. ‘Reception room’, ‘stately welcoming space’, ‘marvellous room of gorgeousness’ would come closer.

  From the marble mosaic floor to the sublime frescoes, from the ornate marble fireplace to the stuccoed plaster ceiling, it was a magnificent, unbelievable hall.

  A handsome, dark-haired man in a black suit moved forward to greet them.

  ‘Our long-time friend, Mrs Wisneski, an honour as always,’ he said, taking Svetlana’s hand with a little bow. ‘And Ms Valentine, it is a pleasure to meet you for the first time. I am Carlo Moretti, the hotel manager.’

  Annie shook hands with him too.

  ‘We hope you will be comfortable and will feel at home. You must let us know what you want or need and we will provide this for you.’

  Annie felt her shoulders drop away from her ears. She was smiling, she was relaxing; finally, she was getting into the holiday spirit.

  ‘Mrs Wisneski, you will follow me to the Junior Suite … Ms Valentine, Lucca will take you to your room. Relax and make yourself at home then we will bring you to Dr Decatoso so you can have your consultation and begin your programme as soon as possible.’

  From a window, Annie cast a sideways glance at the pool and thought for just another tiny moment about cocktails. She would be there, she would be sipping cocktails on the sun lounger very soon; she obviously just had to get through the Doctory bit first.

  This was, after all, a spa and these places always needed your medical details: health and safety, insurance policies, all those pesky things. But then again, if 10 kilos were supposed to evaporate in five days … not many cocktails could be involved, could they? Maybe they made an extra light, or even slimming cocktail. Some sort of herbal, but slightly alcoholic tonic?

  Lucca, smartly dressed in his doorman’s uniform, let Annie step into the lift first. As soon as the doors closed, her stomach rumbled loudly.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m hungry. I woke up very early to travel here today.’

  Lucca just smiled.

  ‘When is lunch served? Or could I order something up to my room?’

  Lucca smiled again and shook his head: ‘You need to consult with Dr De Catoso before we can give you any food.’

  ‘Really? I can’t just munch a little sandwich first – or a salad? Something very small, maybe a croissant?’

  Lucca shook his head once again.

  The lift opened, she followed him along the corridor and with a gasp of admiration, entered her room.

  The windows were slightly ajar, causing the white muslin curtains to swish in the breeze. Outside there was nothing but blue, lake meeting sky and the burst of vibrant pink from a blaze of flowers on the balcony.

  ‘Stunning!’ Annie breathed.

  She was going to love it here. In fact, she already loved it here.

  Only when she’d fully soaked in the view did she turn to examine the room: pink floral wallpaper, a white and gold bed, a huge bouquet of roses, lilies, stocks and gardenias on the dressing table. It was heaven: a girlie, princess heaven. She was going to be all alone here at night. For a moment, she felt a little pang … no Ed to snuggle with, no babies crawling in pre-dawn, no dog trying to nuzzle under the blankets.

  Then an uplifting feeling spread through her chest, as she thought that through properly. She would be all alone in here at night … no Ed, no babies, no dog … she was going to sleep for ever, like an angel. It was going to be wonderful.

  Once Lucca had gone, Annie threw herself onto the bed, a huge smile in place. This was the life. This was the five star, first class, full-on luxury, Svetlanatastic life!

  Annie had been weighed: urgh! She’d been measured round all her saggy, flabby bits: arms, thighs, boobs, stomach – more uuuuurgh.

  Then the drop-dead gorgeous doctor – surely some younger Italian relation of George Clooney’s? – had asked about a typical day in the life of her diet. She’d looked past his thick eyelashes, into his deep brown eyes and tried to be as honest as possible, but as his eyebrows had shot up higher and higher, she’d edited down the coffee count and
decided to change ‘best part of a bottle of wine’ to ‘just two or three glasses’.

  Dr Decatoso – or as Annie was now thinking of him, Dr Delicioso – had written notes in Italian, so she couldn’t read them, then he’d taken her blood pressure and delved into her medical history.

  Finally, he’d leaned back in his chair to make his pronouncement.

  ‘You are overweight,’ he began.

  Annie felt her shoulders sag. Well, it was sort of obvious. Even though she was good, OK make that best, friends with the elasticated tummy tuck knicker and she went to the gym and she had good posture, the scales and the tape measure could not lie.

  Still, it felt like rather a punch in her by now ravenous stomach to hear a doctor come out with it so bluntly.

  ‘You drink too much alcohol and coffee,’ he added, once again stating the entirely obvious, but it still stung.

  ‘And you eat very little nutritious food.’

  Ouch.

  ‘Your body is crying out for detoxification.’

  Yikes.

  ‘We will put you on the spa’s cleanse regime and although the first two or three days will be uncomfortable, by day four you will start to feel much better. If only you could be with us for two weeks,’ the doctor mused, ‘we could begin to renew you from the inside out. In five days, we can make big improvements – but in two weeks, we could perform a transformation. Can you perhaps lengthen your stay?’

  For a moment, Annie considered: a transformation! A brand new body?! It was tempting, it was very tempting. She tried to imagine herself 10 kilos lighter … ten years younger. Wasn’t that what Svetlana had promised?

  Ten whole kilos … ten whole years!

  It would be astronomically expensive, she didn’t even want to think about how much it might cost. Probably thousands of pounds per day. Maybe even thousands of pounds per hour. But she had brought a credit card … or two.

  Then she remembered the critical date in her diary next week: the twins’ second birthday. No, she couldn’t miss that: not even for ten years and 10 kilos.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t stay on,’ she told the doctor, ‘but maybe I can come back very soon.’

  ‘This is a good idea. We will give you as much help as we can to keep pure when you return home.’

  ‘So what does the detox programme involve?’

  ‘It is very simple: all day long, water, water, water, beautiful mineral-enriched water from our own spring. It has special cleansing properties. Once a day, a cocktail …’

  Annie’s ears pricked up: and there was the cocktail! No diet could be so bad if cocktails were allowed.

  ‘Of carrot, cucumber, beetroot and celery juice.’

  Oh.

  ‘Once a day, you will eat a bowl of potassium-rich vegetable broth. Once a day, drink fresh coconut milk, full of vitamins and minerals.’

  Water, water, beetroot juice, coconut milk and vegetable broth? This didn’t exactly sound like the kind of five course lunch then dinner her stomach had now decided on. It gave a loud rumble of protest.

  ‘Your stomach has problems with acid, yeast and wind. We will cure all this for you,’ the doctor said, pointing at her bloated middle.

  ‘Once a day, there will be a yoga class, also once a day, a full body massage. Finally, the most important part of the programme: two times a day …’

  Yoga and massage … Annie was listening and considering. It didn’t sound so bad. Maybe she could manage on vegetable juice and broth if she was being massaged for hours in between them. And now, what could the most important part of the programme be? Diet tips from a nutritionist? A lovely seaweed wrap? A thermal mud treatment – mmm, delicious – a detoxing sauna?

  ‘You will have coffee enemas.’

  ‘Enemas?!’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes, the most important part, encouraging the bowel to move, to cleanse.’

  ‘Coffee?! Coffee enemas?’

  She wanted to make sure she’d heard this properly.

  ‘Coffee??’

  Dr Delicioso nodded.

  A finest Colombian colonic? A Java blend up the …?

  ‘You have got to be joking!’

  Chapter Ten

  New York

  Gracie rocks vintage:

  Floral pink, blue and white summer dress (thrift store, but altered)

  Wooden sandals (Dr Scholl’s used but scrubbed)

  Large basketweave handbag (market stall)

  White plastic sunglasses (Claire’s Accessories)

  Sparkly hair clips (same)

  Total est. cost: $35

  ‘OH MY GOSH, I am so, so sorry about London!’

  As soon as Gracie saw Lana come through the door of the Perfect Dress office, she jumped from her seat and rushed over to give her a welcoming hug.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Lana admitted, ‘it was horrible. Terrible! Our mothers … well, you know. I just had to get back as soon as I could.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. All our plans …’

  ‘I know. Bummer. Total, total bummer.’

  They both sank into their desk seats.

  ‘I’ve been sitting here, answering calls and going through the motions, but really, I just feel …’

  ‘I know,’ Lana understood immediately: ‘gutted. Totally gutted.’

  ‘How about you and your mum … OK?’ Gracie ventured.

  ‘No,’ Lana protested. ‘Of course we’re not OK. She was part of it. She and Svetlana sat there, heard the whole thing and just said no. It felt as if they didn’t even consider any of it for longer than a minute. Just said no. I’m not talking to my mum. I don’t think she even cares. She and Svetlana have gone off on holiday.’

  ‘Really!’

  Gracie looked surprised.

  ‘Yeah. They couldn’t care less. Perfect Dress doesn’t matter nearly as much to them as it does to us.’

  ‘Oh boy. But now what?’

  As Lana gave a shrug, the phone on her desk began to ring.

  She picked it up and gave her most professional: ‘Hello, Perfect Dress, how may I help you?’

  ‘Hi, you’re back. Are you OK?’

  Lana recognized Elena’s voice immediately. ‘Hi, Elena. Yeah, I’m OK. Still really angry about everything that happened.’

  ‘I know, me too.’

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Lana wondered.

  ‘I guess we’ll just have to make the Perfect Dress classics as amazing as we can,’ Gracie suggested, trying to sound positive. ‘Maybe some of our ideas can go into the catwalk show … or into the packaging, or – the website?’

  ‘Is Gracie with you?’ Elena asked, ‘Is she saying something?’

  ‘Yes, Gracie’s here,’ Lana replied, ‘she’s trying to be upbeat, she’s saying we’ll have to make the classic dresses beautifully and maybe use our other ideas for the packaging and the website.’

  ‘Pah!’ Elena exclaimed, ‘Packaging?!! We can’t let everything we’ve worked for go to waste on the packaging!’

  ‘Do you want me to try and speak to my mother again?’ Lana offered.

  ‘Let’s face it, Svetlana said no and your mother didn’t do anything to try and persuade her. I don’t think she was very impressed. She didn’t make any positive noises.’

  ‘So what can we do now?’ Lana asked.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it very hard. I mean, we could resign …’ Elena said, but she didn’t sound convinced. They all knew how inexperienced they were and jobs in fashion didn’t exactly come knocking at the door every day.

  ‘We could threaten to resign,’ Lana said.

  ‘Or … we could make up just a small Summer Collection of the new dresses, call them NY Perfect Dress, send them out to our favourite buyers and when we get a wonderful reaction, maybe our problem will be solved,’ Elena said, her voice low, as if there was a chance she might be overheard.

  For a moment Lana said nothing, then she asked: ‘You really think we could make the dresses ourselves?! Would that even be a good
idea? I mean, what kind of budget would we need? And where would we get the money?’

  Lana looked over at Gracie and they raised their eyebrows at each other.

  ‘Well, I have a credit card, you have a credit card, Gracie has a credit card,’ Elena replied, ‘we could buy the material on credit. Then we withdraw some cash on the cards and pay the making-up costs. Obviously we’ll get the money back as soon as the dresses sell.’

  ‘If the dresses sell,’ Lana said warily.

  ‘Of course they will sell. They are going to be fantastic.’

  ‘A summer collection?’ was her next question, ‘But it’s already May.’

  ‘I have people I’ve been talking to who are willing to rush through some orders as long as we provide the fabric and the cash.’

  ‘How many dresses?’

  ‘I want to make fifty dresses. That would be enough to get people looking – and talking. To make up fifty dresses we need about $8,000. But we have to be quick. We need to have buyers loving the new dresses when there’s still time to make a full collection for winter.’

  ‘But, Elena, what about when the Mothers find out? They’ll be furious.’

  ‘We make sure they don’t find out. They only find out when the dresses are a big success with the buyers. Then they’ll be delighted with us.’

  Lana hesitated. It sounded risky. What if the buyers didn’t like the new dresses? Then they’d all have debts, disappointed customers and two seriously cheesed off mothers.

  ‘What does Gracie think?’ Elena asked.

  As Lana outlined the plan to her, Gracie’s cheeks flushed and she gave a clap of excitement.

  ‘I think that’s a yes from Gracie,’ Lana told Elena.

  ‘I’m in, Gracie’s in, Lana you have to be in too. We can’t do NY Perfect Dress without you. Please say yes,’ Elena urged, ‘it’s time to show the Mothers just how much they underestimate us.’

  ‘Is it still going to be NY Perfect Dress?’ Gracie asked, once the call had ended.

  ‘Yeah. I hope it will work, it has got to work!’

  ‘We will make it work,’ Gracie assured her, ‘the three of us, we’re a great team.’

  ‘Elena can borrow $4,000, so she needs us to come up with $2,000 each. I can do that on my card, what about you?’