by Carmen Reid
The woman she had adopted, because she looked chic and formidable and just totally fashion, broke the smallest of smiles. The upper corners of her mouth twitched a fraction. It might have been the Botox effect, Annie wasn’t sure.
‘Christian Dior,’ the woman said proudly.
‘Oh, I love the Dior jewels. Love. Love. Love.’
‘And not too madly expensive. My store just got a wonderful new delivery.’ With that the woman handed over her card and tipped Annie a tiny wink.
‘I hope you’re going to love our new dresses.’
‘Yes. Looking forward to your show. Now where is my White Russian, and – ah! Louise …’ she recognized another new arrival and rushed over to do the air kissey, kissey thing.
Annie smiled to herself. It was sooooo fashion.
She did miss TV. Yes, she did, she decided. But would designing, making and selling dresses be even more rewarding? Especially if it was in New York. If enough dresses were sold on this Autumn/Winter run, maybe Elena really could think about having another US partner once again.
Yes, Elena could think about it … and Annie could dream about it … but what about Ed, Lana and the rest of her family? They might not know quite what to make of this new idea.
Whatever smile might have been playing round the corners of Annie’s un-Botoxed mouth was wiped away almost immediately by the sight of Elena’s cool friends arriving in a knot. Right there, out in front, tossing blond hair back with his hand was … Taylor.
Annie gave a little gasp. What was he doing here? Had Elena actually invited him? Did he know Lana was going to be here? Even more importantly, had he not realized that Lana’s rampagingly furious mom was going to be here?
But the room was filling up, there were important people to meet and greet and steer towards select reserved tables. Even when Annie was deep in charming hostess mode, she kept trying to locate Taylor, catch his eye and shoot a withering, evil look which would send him running from the room.
But no such luck. He was installed with the cool friends at a table close to the end of the catwalk. If he’d spotted Annie there, he didn’t seem too worried about it.
What Annie really worried about was Lana spotting him and stumbling or tripping mid-walk at the sight of him. No matter how important Annie’s job here at the front of house was, she owed Lana at least a warning about Taylor being in the audience, especially as he was obviously going to be right there on the edge of the catwalk, drawing full attention to himself.
Past the canapés and the growing fashion crowd she went, edging towards the backstage area.
‘Annah? Have you seen my mother yet?’ Elena was suddenly at her side, tapping at her watch.
‘No …’
‘Why she not here yet? She make late entrance, huh? Just like the celebrity she think she is.’
‘Do you know who her mystery guest is?’ Annie asked, but this was a mistake. Elena’s face immediately clouded over.
‘She is bringing someone? Who is she bringing?’
‘Well, I don’t know … she told me it was someone important, someone who’d land Perfect Dress on the front pages.’
‘Oh no!’ Elena’s hand covered her mouth. ‘Is always about her!’ she hissed, ‘never about the dresses, always about her.’
‘Maybe it will help,’ Annie told her soothingly, ‘maybe it really will help to get us noticed. And let’s face it, right now we need all the help we can get. Emily Wilmington isn’t coming, by the way. She texted her NBF this afternoon to let him know.’
‘Oh!’
Elena looked upset now. Too upset for Annie to tell her that Connor and his little NYC entourage weren’t going to come either.
‘You’ll manage without us, won’t you? We’d just get drunk and be noisy,’ he’d said, also by text, earlier in the day.
Flipping fair-weather friend flake.
‘Where are you going?’ Elena asked.
‘I have to tell Lana something … backstage’
‘No, you can’t,’ Elena hissed. ‘Sye’s mother, Mrs Westhoven is here and she is walking towards us.’
‘Elena, so nice to see you,’ said an icy voice behind Annie’s shoulder.
Mrs Westhoven flicked her eyes over Annie in such a haughtily disapproving way that Annie had to wonder if she’d put her bra on over her blouse, sprouted spinach between her teeth or committed some other unforgivable faux pas.
‘This is Annah Valentine from London,’ said Elena, keeping her cool. ‘She is helping us in the business, we are very lucky to have her, she works in television and she was with The Store for years.’
‘The Store, yes, I know The Store. Which department did you buy for?’ Mrs Westhoven asked, pushing her enormous sunglasses to the top of her head.
She was wearing Chanel, Annie saw immediately. Funny how all the stringy mean women seemed to be drawn to Chanel. But only the stringy could wear skirts and boxy jackets cut from thick tweed bouclé. Who else needed all that extra bulk from their clothes?
‘I wasn’t a buyer …’ Annie began. She could have pretended just this once, and probably have got away with it, but she didn’t care. ‘I was the personal shopper there.’
Mrs W seemed to physically recoil. She’d been talking to staff from the shop floor! And no one had even warned her.
‘Where am I to sit?’ she asked Elena, turning her shoulder to cut Annie from the conversation completely.
‘I have a lovely front row table just for you,’ Elena said as graciously as she possibly could. ‘Let me take you over.’
Elena settled Mrs Westhoven into her chair, but just as she was about to walk away, she couldn’t resist imparting a little nugget of information in her ear: ‘I’m seeing Sye again. It’s all going very well, very well indeed.’
Mrs Westhoven seemed to snort on the mouthful of champagne she’d just taken. There must have been plenty she would have liked to say to Elena at that moment. In fact, Mrs W might even have walked out of the show. But just then, the lights dimmed and an overhead spotlight snapped on to illuminate the start of the runway.
Annie, as close to the backstage entrance as she’d managed to get in several frantic seconds, whispered frantically to whoever was there, ‘Tell Lana, Taylor’s here … just so she knows in advance.’ But there was no reply and she couldn’t be sure anyone had heard.
Meanwhile the room had fallen silent in interested anticipation – which was exactly why Svetlana chose this moment to make her late, great entry.
Sweeping in through the door, a white ermine fur coat swishing at her ankles, spectacular diamonds blinking in the pale available light, great blonde beehive hair making her appear about six foot five, she announced in her deep, husky voice, ‘Oh darrrrrlink, we are just on time. Look they wait for us and here is our seat, right at the front.’
Heads all around the room craned as Svetlana, coat, diamonds and beehive picked their way through the tables and chairs to the prime seat right at the top of the runway.
Svetlana’s arm was tightly gripped by her old friend and the richest New York male she could lay her hands on at short notice – Donald Trump. His hair, tan and diamond-studded tie clip glittered and shimmered in the spotlight just as much as Svetlana did.
As the pair sat down, they began to sip elegantly at the glasses of champagne which appeared as if by magic in their hands.
‘My mother,’ Elena breathed into Annie’s ear: ‘it’s always all about her.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Svetlana at show-time:
Pink, white and green wrap dress (Missoni)
Pink strappy heels (Manolo Blahnik – personally)
3-carat diamond and emerald ring
(Cartier via 3rd husband)
Diamond drop earrings (Harry Winston
via 2nd husband)
Diamond-studded watch (Chopard, no husband required)
Breathtaking diamond and emerald necklace
(can’t even remember)
Floor-length wh
ite ermine coat (Fendi)
Total est. cost: $270,000
‘From Mayfair, London’
For the next half an hour, Annie couldn’t worry about Svetlana and Elena. She couldn’t even think about Svetlana and Elena. She was totally focused on her daughter. Could Lana handle being the model in a show where the boy who had dumped her so cruelly and callously, was sitting in the audience?
The music began and, one by one, the girls strode out: Lana at the back, but snaking her hips and strutting just as competently as the others.
The dresses were fantastic and Annie thought her daughter looked almost unrecognizably good; the long fringe gone, swept up into a quiff and carefully pinned under the beret so that all her delicate pale features were on display. What startling big blue eyes she had! During the years of fringe, Annie had almost forgotten their impact.
Annie’s eyes flicked to Taylor, and she held her breath as Lana strode down the catwalk. As she turned at the bottom to a volley of camera flashes, Annie thought Lana paused for just a little too long.
But if Lana had seen Taylor, she didn’t let it put her off her stride. When she came back up the blue carpet, her walk was as confident and purposeful as before and her face didn’t give any hint of fluster.
‘That’s my girl,’ Annie couldn’t help saying under her breath as she watched Lana turn the corner to backstage and no doubt race to have her outfit restyled.
When the next models came out, the dresses were ‘evening’ with chandelier earrings, buttons undone low, lacy slips peeking from underneath and highest heels.
It worked, it really did work. Annie dared to look at the audience now to make sure people were watching and noticing how cleverly these dresses had been made. There had to be orders! Otherwise Elena’s tiny apartment would very soon be filled with way too many dresses with no homes to go to. She, Lana and probably even Elena would have to move out to make room.
After another two outings in an assortment of dresses and colourful accessories, the models returned to take a bow. Then the lights were raised, the music turned down and the girls stepped out to walk amongst the guests. This way everyone could look at and even feel the dresses in detail.
Annie hurried through the crowd, determined to speak to, charm and chat up just as many buyers as she possibly could.
That was when she saw Lana sashay past Taylor quite deliberately. He smiled at her and seemed to say hello, but Lana just swished on straight past him. This was good, Annie thought, though not nearly as much revenge as she wanted to see dished out to the boy. Enforced tattooing, red hot pokers … something like that would be much better.
Now Annie’s attention was caught by the proximity of Svetlana to Mrs Westhoven. If that conversation was going to happen, she felt she should get over there to make sure nothing went too drastically wrong.
By the time Annie had made it to the table, Mrs Westhoven had approached Svetlana.
‘Hello, I’m Sylvia Westhoven, head buyer at Bloomingdale’s. I don’t believe we’ve met before, although Donald, I’m sure you remember me,’ Mrs Westhoven gushed, reaching over to take Donald Trump’s hand. ‘My husband is Sam Westhoven. He’s one of the partners at Brinks, Westhoven and Shipman.’
‘Of course, Mrs Westhoven,’ the world-famous billionaire replied, smiling politely but without much sign of recognition.
‘So what brings you here today, Donald? Is there a personal connection?’ Mrs Westhoven had to ask.
‘I’m here with my friend Svetlana Wisneski. This is her dress label.’
‘Oh …’
Momentarily Mrs Westhoven seemed lost for words, so Annie stepped in.
‘Mrs Westhoven, please meet Svetlana, Elena’s business partner in Perfect Dress who also happens to be Elena’s mother.’
‘I see,’ Mrs Westhoven managed and held out her hand.
Svetlana had a way of presenting her hand, jaw-dropping diamonds first, before she turned it elegantly for the shake.
Mrs Westhoven held out her diamonds and gold watch too and there was almost a clatter of jewels as the two formidable madams made their handshake.
‘You are Elena’s mother?’ Mrs Westhoven seemed torn between conflicting emotions. She’d clearly decided to disapprove of Elena but now, seeing Svetlana’s obvious wealth and status, she seemed to be having second thoughts. ‘From the Ukraine?’ Mrs Westhoven went on, making this sound as sniffy and dismissive as she possibly could.
‘From Mayfair, London,’ Svetlana said with a gracious smile. ‘Ukraine is such a long time ago. Vonderrrrrful childhood memories,’ she gushed, untruthfully.
‘So you’ve started up this little dress business?’ Mrs Westhoven said with just as much of a sneer as she could get away with. She clearly felt she had the upper hand.
‘Yes, is little hobby for me …’ Svetlana gave a tiny shrug of ermine-covered shoulder, as if to imply that she had far too much money to need to worry about making any. ‘I love clothes. But this is important for Elena. She wants to run business and take over the world. She is very smart girl.’
‘I see.’
‘And why have you come to the show, Mrs Westhoven?’
‘I am the head buyer with Bloomingdale’s.’
Annie could see the answer registering with Svetlana, and her sharp mind working it out. She knew about Bloomingdale’s, she knew about Mrs Westhoven and she definitely knew about Sye.
‘Sye Westhoven …’ Svetlana began.
‘Indeed,’ Mrs Westhoven said, drawing herself to her full, Chanel-clad height.
‘So, how you enjoy your … job?’ Svetlana said, giving an unmistakable little sneer of her own on the word ‘job’.
‘I love it. I can’t imagine being a lady who just … lunches,’ came the icy reply.
Svetlana made a tinkling and obviously false laugh. Then she threw in, with a significant stroke of her glittering necklace: ‘Oh, life is verrrry, verrry interesting when you have enough money.’
‘Indeed.’ Mrs Westhoven’s eyes narrowed. She looked furiously angry.
‘So our children are dating again,’ Svetlana purred, before adding the killer. ‘Of course, I do not approve.’
Now, the kid-skin gloves were off. Annie’s heart hammered. Where would they go from here?
‘If you think I approve …’ Mrs Westhoven hissed: ‘how can I possibly approve of Sye taking up with some unwanted Eastern European love child brought up by relatives, who didn’t meet her own mother until she turned twenty?’
Svetlana froze. This woman knew far too much.
‘This is mine, give it to me,’ Svetlana said and grabbed at the Tiffany’s goodie bag which Mrs Westhoven was holding.
‘I beg your pardon, it’s mine,’ Mrs Westhoven said, snatching the bag back. For a brief moment, both women were involved in an undignified tug of war over the goodie bag, which held up admirably under the pressure.
‘Ladies,’ Donald Trump intervened with a genial smile, ‘why don’t we settle this over another bottle of champagne?’
‘Never!’ Mrs Westhoven declared, and with that she let go of the bag, turned on her heel and began to march to the door.
Elena, who had been watching this disaster from a safe distance, did not dare to approach Mrs W on her way out. But Annie decided maybe she would give it just one desperate try. This was, after all, the woman behind the biggest single dress order.
‘Mrs Westhoven, I’m sorry, Svetlana is a unique and colourful character. She often says things she doesn’t mean …’ Annie began apologetically. ‘I hope the dresses at least spoke for themselves.’
‘Don’t waste your time,’ Mrs Westhoven said, not even turning to look at Annie as she continued her march to the door, but she raised her voice so that as many of the guests as possible could hear her. ‘Your dresses are unoriginal and cheap. The Bloomingdale’s order remains withdrawn.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sye ready to mother-meet:
Thick white shirt (Brooks Brothers)
Hiking boots (same)
Digital camera (Nikon)
Woven wrist bracelets (Bolivia)
Total est. cost: $680
‘There’s another side.’
The post-show party was not intended to be a big event but it was nevertheless one of the most glamorous get-togethers Annie had ever been to, because it was in Svetlana’s room at the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue.
Even Svetlana didn’t splash out on a suite at the Carlyle, so this was an intimate and cosy party based around Svetlana’s king-sized bed and the vast sofa at the foot of it. But it was still perfectly glamorous in every way and with views from eleven floors up right over Manhattan.
Sculptural orchids on every available side table? Check. Impressive white marble fireplace? Check. Bowls of too perfect to eat fruit? Check. Luxurious furnishings and fabrics? Swathes of silk and satin? Check and check.
Still, Svetlana had spread her ermine coat over her king-sized bed, just to make it that touch more luxurious.
Now the little handful of guests – well, in fact, it was just Svetlana, Annie, Connor and Lana – were drinking wine or fizzy water and picking from the silver trays of food brought up by room service.
Annie and Lana were on the sofa, while Svetlana and Connor were draped across the ermine and the bed. Annie wondered why her two friends had only met so briefly in the past. The two divas seemed perfectly suited to one another.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t come to the show. I still can’t believe you didn’t come,’ Annie complained to Connor.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to take the spotlight away from anyone,’ he said with such pomposity that Annie had a fit of the giggles.
‘No, of course not,’ she managed, ‘because you are soooooo famous in New York, I don’t know how you manage to get out the door in the morning without being mobbed by your fans and the paparazzi.’
‘Have some more champagne, darrrling,’ Svetlana said, dangling the bottle over Connor’s glass. ‘This the worst day in my business life so far. We have to celebrate.’