Celebrity Shopper Page 8

  ‘So where did you hear of him?’ Harry asked. ‘How did you get in touch with him?’

  ‘You told me, no?’ Svetlana began, looking in Elena’s direction.

  ‘No,’ Elena assured her.

  ‘Not you?’ Svetlana lifted her fork to her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Once she’d swallowed she said: ‘Not you … I not remember who tell me about him then. But no matter.’ She gave a shrug. ‘He is w-onderful. It is all going to be fantastic success.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fern at home:

  Beige knit skirt (John Lewis)

  Cream blouse (Mulberry via Annie)

  Lace-up sensible shoes (Ecco)

  Pearl necklace (60th birthday gift to self)

  Cloud of perfume (Chanel No 19)

  Pink lipstick (Estée Lauder)

  Total est. cost: £390

  ‘We’re going to have to talk …’

  ‘Who was that?’ Ed called down the stairs.

  ‘Al’s guy. Forgotten his tools,’ Annie called back, trying to recover from the Janucek visitation. ‘Order the pizzas and I’ll take Micky and Minnie down to Mum’s. Wonder if her rooms are covered in plaster dust too.’

  Ed, appearing at the top of the stairs, looked mildly surprised, as if this was the first time he’d thought about Annie’s mother all day long.

  ‘Is she OK?’ Annie asked, recognizing the look. ‘Have you not had the chance to see her today?’

  ‘Not since breakfast,’ Ed admitted.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine,’ Annie said to reassure them both. ‘C’mon, give me Micky,’ she said. Then, with a baby on each arm, she headed out of the front door and down to the basement steps to her mother’s flat.

  Ringing the bell, Annie felt just a prickle of nerves. Surely nothing would have happened to Fern while no one was paying attention? The builder had been around in the garden – the bulldozer tracks were obvious enough. If Fern had been in any sort of bother, she’d just have gone to Ed or even the builders for help, wouldn’t she?

  But what if she’d gone out? Ages ago? And no one had noticed? And what if she’d got lost?

  Annie listened hard at the door and for a moment felt panicky. She didn’t think she could hear anything.

  The sound of footsteps came from the other side of the door.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ Annie said with relief, seeing Fern’s silhouette in the small window of the door. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked as soon as the door was open.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ Fern answered, but there was something of an agitated look on her face. ‘Come in, bring my lovely, lovely babies and come in. I’m just trying to find …’ She turned round, headed back into the flat and her words tailed off.

  Annie walked through the tiny hallway and the compact kitchen, following her mum into the small, low-ceilinged sitting room where she sat down on the sofa with the babies. As soon as she took a seat, the twins no longer wanted to be still and immediately tried to crawl off in opposite directions.

  This room looked nice now. Once upon a time, these few rooms – the kitchen, the small bedroom with doors out to the garden and this sitting room – had been Ed’s flat underneath his late mother’s house. Back then they had been dingy, mouldy, faded and damp, crammed full of Ed’s mess and Ed’s belongings. Now that Annie had taken charge of him and his inherited house, it was very different. The rooms were still small but they were neat and cosy. The fungal damp rotting through the walls had all gone. In place was whitewash, new wooden floors, a wood-burning stove and a pale green bedroom with white cupboards and long silky curtains.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Annie asked kindly. ‘You always seem to be looking for something. It’s probably at home, Mum, in your house. You’ve not brought much with you, remember? We could go there at the weekend, find the things you want and bring them back here.’

  With a sigh of deep tiredness, Fern sat down in the armchair opposite Annie: ‘Give me a baby,’ she instructed, watching Annie struggle to keep hold of the two. ‘That way we’ll each have only one to entertain.’

  As Annie handed Minnie over, Fern said: ‘It’s my bracelet. You know the one, the beautiful woven gold bracelet. I know I’d have brought it with me. I just know it. There’s no way I would have left it at home. It’s very special. My mother gave it to me. I really have looked everywhere. In every single place I can think of,’ she added with anxious exasperation.

  ‘And, Annie,’ she went on, ‘we are going to have to talk about me going home. I know you don’t want to talk about it, I know you keep avoiding me on this, but we’ll have to talk about it.’

  Annie looked at her mother with a mixture of great love and fear.

  As Fern sat in the chair, holding her granddaughter, she looked so normal, nicely dressed and capable. Everything she said made perfect sense and she was expressing herself with total clarity. But here was the problem: this bracelet had gone missing almost thirty years ago.

  Annie knew the story. Her father Mick had taken it, along with various other valuables he’d stolen from the family home. Apparently, he’d planned to pawn them, use the money for some amazing new venture and buy everything back when it all worked out. But that had been the last time Fern or Annie and her sisters had seen him. When she’d discovered the theft, Fern, fed up with all his lying, cheating and scheming, had told him not to come back.

  Annie wasn’t going to mention one word about Dinah’s conversation with the journalist to her mother. She wasn’t even going to think about it. If she blanked all thoughts of her dad out of her mind, they would go away and he would stay away. That’s how it had always worked in the past.

  Annie could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Was this how it was going to be with her mother from now on? It was as if a computer virus had entered her mother’s brain and was slowly corrupting and deleting data files, while the rest of the system carried on working perfectly.

  ‘What is it?’ Fern asked, leaning her head to one side and looking at Annie with concern.

  ‘Oh Mum!’ was all Annie could say at first. ‘Are you feeling OK? Is today a good day?’

  ‘Today is clear as a bell, darlin’,’ was Fern’s answer to this.

  ‘But the bracelet, Mum …’ Annie hesitated; she wasn’t sure whether she should tell Fern the truth or not. Would it upset her? Would she remember? Would she think Annie was talking nonsense?

  ‘Yes?’ Fern asked curiously. ‘Do you know where it is?’

  Annie nodded: ‘Mick took it – years ago. He hasn’t been back since. He’s never brought it back.’

  For a moment Fern said nothing. Then she looked away, kissed the top of Minnie’s head and said quietly: ‘Oh yes. Silly me.’

  Annie wasn’t sure what to say next and this upset her almost as much as anything else, because before, before this horrible … computer virus, she’d always had such a close relationship with her mother, been able to laugh and joke with her, tell her almost everything, confide in her and treat her like a real friend. Now she felt as if she had to tread carefully because she didn’t want to risk causing her mother the slightest hurt or harm.

  ‘I need to go home,’ Fern told her.

  Before Annie could make any objections, Fern held up her hand and went on: ‘I know you’re worried; I know you don’t want me to. But I need to go home. It’s the white mist. It comes down, it surrounds me and then it clears again. When I’m clear I’m trying to make a plan for how I can be at home and be looked after. I’m nearly there.’ She paused to kiss the top of Minnie’s head again. ‘When I’m in the white mist all the time, darlin’, then you have my permission to bring me back here or put me wherever you think best, but right now, while most of my day is clear, I want to be at home, dusting my own mantelpiece, watering my own flowers and waving at my own neighbours. It’s where I belong,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve lived in that little house for fifteen years. It’s all paid off, it’s all mine. That’s where I want to be.

  ‘You can come and
see me every single week,’ she added, ‘and bring all the children; I want to spend as much clear time with you all as I’ve got left. None of us will enjoy being together when I’ve lost the plot.’

  Annie could feel tears sliding from the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away as quickly as she could with the back of her hand. ‘Mum,’ she began in a subdued voice, ‘I don’t know how we’re going to do this. I don’t know how you’ll—’

  ‘I know,’ Fern broke in, ‘I’m working on a plan. I’m going to come up with something, OK? You’re a very, very busy girl. I don’t want you to worry about a thing.’

  But Annie was already worrying plenty.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elena at work:

  Black linen shirt dress (Banana Republic)

  Thin brown alligator belt (Svetlana’s wardrobe)

  Black-heeled tie sandals (Nine West)

  Tiny gold studs (Accessorize)

  Tortoiseshell hair clip (Accessorize)

  Total est. cost: £170

  ‘I do not pay upfront!’

  ‘Now please tell me what you like Maria to bring? Tea? Coffee? Mineral water? Something a little stronger if you like to celebrate early?’ Svetlana gave a throaty chuckle at this.

  She leaned forward and thrust her tightly Missoni-clad cleavage forward, directly into Patrizio’s line of view.

  Patrizio smiled generously.

  He leaned forward in his cream leather-covered chair too. His eyes darted from the sculpted angles of Svetlana’s face to the objects decorating her splendid surroundings.

  He had been shown into the downstairs sitting room of her stunning Mayfair home and he was certain that upstairs there was a drawing room even more luxurious and sumptuous than this one.

  This one was lavish enough, with its marble fireplace, polished parquet floors and … was that … was that really a small Warhol oil on the wall over there? Just behind Svetlana’s shoulder.

  Patrizio would have strained to take a closer look but Svetlana’s soft and fragrant hand was on his knee as she demanded his attention.

  ‘So tell me what you can arrrrrange?’ she asked, rolling her ‘r’s huskily.

  It wasn’t that Svetlana was attracted to Patrizio, it wasn’t that the thought of cheating on her devoted husband had even entered Svetlana’s mind, it was simply that this was the way she behaved with men from whom she wanted something. This is the way she had always behaved with men from whom she’d wanted something. It produced results – usually good – which is why she continued to use the technique.

  ‘Because I have the very best contacts. I can still get you a slot at Le Carrousel du Louvre,’ Patrizio began. ‘This is where all the top, very best shows are held. You will have your own stage, your very own theatre in the Louvre tents—’

  ‘Tents?’ Svetlana interrupted. The Louvre was all very well, but tents? Tents did not sound glamorous.

  ‘Ya, tents,’ Patrizio went on, his own foreign accent not quite as easily recognizable as Svetlana’s. His was softly Mediterranean, perhaps Italian, perhaps … Svetlana wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘It is wonderful what they do at the Louvre at show-time,’ Patrizio went on. ‘All around the glass pyramid are set out the wonderful white tents, billowing in the wind, beautiful girls, models, fashion people in amazing clothes everywhere. You will love it, Svetlana, you will feel so very at home there.’

  ‘I’ve been a guest at Versace’s shows in Milano,’ Svetlana reminded him.

  ‘Yes, of course … The trade shows are a little different from the big designers, of course. But we will still put on a magnificent display. I book five incredible girls for you,’ Patrizio added. He leaned back in his chair and reached into the inside pocket of his supple leather jacket.

  He had a weak chin, Svetlana couldn’t help noticing. He tried to hide it with his short-trimmed beard, but the chin was small. She didn’t like weak chins. They turned double too quickly. She knew. She had seen this happen with three out of four husbands.

  Patrizio brought out an iPhone; he called up some images and showed them to Svetlana one by one. ‘All beautiful, no?’ he said of the girls.

  As Maria came in with a tray set with porcelain cups and saucers, a steaming silver coffee pot, matching silver milk and sugar containers, Patrizio went through the ‘simple, simple’ arrangements he would make for the very first Perfect Dress show.

  It sounded straightforward. Elena and Svetlana would arrive in Paris with all the sample size dresses. They would meet up with the models for a full fitting and rehearsal at the venue from 4 p.m. onwards.

  ‘All shows over by three p.m.,’ Patrizio explained, ‘so you have hours and hours of peace and quiet to make whole venue yours.’

  He would order flowers. A DJ was already booked for the rehearsal and the event.

  ‘You just need to bring the dresses and invite the world.’ He flashed a broad smile at her, his white teeth standing out against his tan.

  ‘So what will all this cost?’ Svetlana asked once her many other questions about the girls, the rehearsal times, the DJ and everything else had been answered to her satisfaction.

  ‘Not as much as you think,’ Patrizio assured her. ‘I know many, many people. I know how to get a good deal for my especial friends.’

  Svetlana smiled; she suspected she was being softened up for the bad news.

  ‘Twenty-two thousand euros …’ Patrizio began.

  Svetlana gasped in horror: ‘For a rehearsal and one-hour show? Five girls in a tent for half a day!’

  ‘Wait!’ Patrizio urged. ‘This official price, this what it should cost. But for you, my especial friend, only sixteen thousand.’

  This was still a lot of money.

  A huge amount of money.

  Still … Le Carrousel du Louvre.

  Five amazing-looking models. Even in the amateur phone-camera shots the girls had looked stunning.

  Svetlana couldn’t help feeling a jolt of excitement that it could all come together so quickly … so soon.

  ‘I need the money before the show,’ Patrizio went on, ‘this is why I can get the price down so low for you.’

  ‘I understand,’ Svetlana told him as she took a steadying sip from her coffee cup. Weren’t all the best deals made with cash upfront? ‘Will a bank transfer work for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Patrizio told her. ‘If you can move the money straightaway’ – he made a little gesture which indicated she should make the call – ‘I will tell the organizer to book your slot and hire your girls.’

  Svetlana reached for her mobile, but just before she called her bank, she turned to ask Patrizio the important question: ‘You have all the paperwork with you, no? All the invoices, names, addresses, numbers to call?’

  This much she had learned from Elena. There was always paperwork. There must always be paperwork. No paperwork, no businesses.

  It was so boring to Svetlana. Paperwork was definitely not the fun side of business. Having the big ideas, setting ideas in motion: these were the things she loved to do. She thought for a moment about the wonderful show, the spectacle they were going to create in Paris, at the Louvre …

  Svetlana and Elena’s Perfect Dress at the Louvre!

  Patrizio turned to the briefcase at his feet. As she saw him bring out a file stuffed with papers, Svetlana punched in the numbers to call her bank.

  ‘I need to make a money transfer from the business account,’ she told the voice at the other end of the line.

  Just as she was about to ask Patrizio the name of the account she should make the money over to, he handed her a small white business card. On the back he had written out a long, thirteen-digit number.

  ‘No name?’ she asked.

  ‘BCI Bank, Switzerland, and then this account number,’ he assured her.

  In the small basement office, Elena was at her computer as usual. Her hair was tied up neatly and she sat in her chair with elegantly ramrod posture. As usual, she was dealing wi
th a flurry of emails.

  Yesterday she had placed the order for the very first sample dresses and already there were hitches.

  The fabrics she and Svetlana had chosen were no longer available and it was going to take at least a week before samples of the new fabrics could be sent to them.

  ‘Where are they?’ she typed back and sent the message.

  ‘In Hong Kong,’ came the almost instant reply.

  Should she go out there? Would it be quicker and more cost-effective for her to fly to Hong Kong than to wait for the fabrics samples to be sent to her?

  If she could see them in Hong Kong tomorrow … approve them … have them sent on to the dressmakers, that might shave a full ten days or so off the dress delivery times. Elena could feel her palms sweat with the effort of making a decision like this. But according to all the books by business gurus she had read, the decision-making process was the one vital asset which set leaders and achievers ahead of the rest.

  Her in-box flashed with a new message: ‘Have you got a date / venue / time for launch show yet? Fashion ed very keen. Will your mother do profile piece / interview? Best, McKenna’.

  Elena sat up to attention at this.

  McKenna was a Very Important newspaper fashion journalist. If she came to the show and did an interview with Svetlana, Perfect Dress would get the kind of coverage that would cost thousands to buy.

  Just as Elena mentally composed the holding response that this email required, Svetlana herself came in through the office door.

  ‘I book the show, Elena!’ Svetlana beamed. ‘This is going to happen!’

  ‘You’ve booked it?’ Elena asked and frowned, causing a furrow to appear on her forehead. She shouldn’t do that! Svetlana thought automatically, if she didn’t do that now, she wouldn’t have to Botox that muscle into submission later on.

  Pah! Botox! That would probably be so over by the time Elena was threatening to wrinkle. Who knew what would have been invented by then to keep women indefinitely in their prime?