by Carmen Reid
‘It probably is.’
‘You never smoke?’
Annie shook her head: ‘I tried. When I was at art school all the cool people smoked. But I could never get the hang of it.’
‘I loved to smoke. I begin when I train to be army nurse.’ Svetlana gave a throaty laugh: ‘all the army nurses smoke because is stressful life. Army drills, living in tents in the cold, nursing very injured people. I leave as soon as I can and become model. In fashion everyone smoke, smoke, smoke, never eat. Want to be as thin as a greyhound …’
‘On a diet,’ Annie added, with a smile.
‘Thin as a greyhound on a diet, yes. I like this. Then I enter the Miss World competition – and then so many bad boyfriends who also smoke. You must worry about your daughter and the bad boyfriends. I wish Elena and Lana never meet even one boyfriend as bad as my many bad boyfriends. Elena’s father – tschaaaa – he was one of worst. I was so young, but determined, Annah, determined not to let him ruin my life.’
‘Is that when you left the Ukraine?’
‘Yes, I have to run away. I hide baby Elena with my aunty, deep in the countryside, and then I run away from this bad man and his bad friends. Ugly old politicians and pretty young girls … it was no good: drugs, abuse. I don’t like to talk about it.’
But then after a moment’s pause, Svetlana added: ‘The most important thing is that I get away. I did not let him ruin my life or my daughter’s life. But I don’t go back to Ukraine for long, long time. This is why I don’t see her until she has grown up and comes to find me.’
‘Where did you run to?’ Annie asked, longing to hear just a little more about Svetlana’s colourful past.
‘I hitch-hike to Paris and get job as model,’ Svetlana replied, matter-of-fact, ‘then comes catwalks and smoking, smoking, modelling and meeting rich men. Always I have my eye on a rich man because I think: I am no one. I have nothing. I know nothing except army nursing. But I have this idea that if I can marry rich man, I can be rich wife and maybe make something of my life.’
‘Your face really was your fortune.’
‘And figure,’ Svetlana reminded her, ‘but you know how hard I work for these things. People always think: is easy for her, she is born beautiful. Pah! I have first nose job, age twenty-four. I still do gymnastics for two hours every day. I will never look old and I will never be fat. This is my promise to myself. These are the things every woman needs to conquer, then she will make a much more interesting life for herself.’
‘Really … do you think …?’ Annie began dubiously.
‘I don’t think. I know. If you exercise and eat well, the energy will come. Then you must make more money to spend on yourself. The better you look, the more money you make. You are on television, Annah, you must know this. People want to look at beautiful women on television.’
‘But viewers like me!’ Annie protested. ‘They relate. They think I’m just like them. I make normal women look and feel better. There are lots of TV people who look normal.’
Svetlana was shaking her head. ‘Looking fat and ugly and learning to love yourself is almost an obsession in Britain. When I am sixty, I am going to look like forty.’
Annie couldn’t help laughing at this: ‘You’re admirable, babes, truly admirable. When I’m sixty, I’m probably going to look like a burst couch.’
‘No, Annah,’ Svetlana shook her head, ‘I will not let this happen. Now, service station in 15 kilometres. We need to stop, go to toilets, buy water, buy petrol and maybe satnav too.’
Annie looked at the Bentley’s fuel gauge. It was registering completely full. It hadn’t moved at all although they were now almost 200 kilometres from Villa Verdina. Either this was the most fuel-efficient limousine ever invented or the gauge was faulty. The Bentley was probably over twenty years old, it was bound to have developed a fault or two. It was probably carefully nursed along by its loving driver, who only ever took it from Villa Verdina to Milan airport and back at a sedate 50 m.p.h.
So she could start worrying right now about how long the Beast would hold out in the mountains, or she could do as she’d told Svetlana: try to trust in luck and good fortune.
Chapter Twenty-One
New York
Elena’s brunch outfit:
White broderie anglaise dress (Perfect Dress free sample)
Natural leather gladiator sandals (Brooklyn Leather)
Orange tote bag (Coach sale)
Tiny gold hoop earrings (gift from Seth)
Total est. cost: $130
AS THE WAITER set Lana’s latte in front of her on the outdoor café table, she looked down the street for any sign of Gracie. It was early on Sunday morning, but Gracie had already texted, desperate to meet up for breakfast and discuss last night.
Lana had agreed and arranged a meeting place just round the corner from her apartment, but her stomach was clenched at the thought of the news Gracie might bring. Surely the only reason to meet up so urgently was that Gracie wanted to talk about how amazingly her night had gone with Parker?
Lana looked down at her coffee cup and admired the way the beige and white foam swirled together. For a moment, she was distracted enough to take a quick photo, ping it to the Perfect Dress ideas blog and write underneath: ‘A silky beige dress with cream coloured swirls? A beige dress printed with white and brown coffee cups?’ That would be cute: she smiled at the thought. She was happy to do anything to take her mind off Gracie and Parker and the death of hope on the dance floor.
‘Hi! You’re already here! But I’m not late, am I?’
And there was Gracie, practically skipping towards her table in a bright green and pink dress with her hair curled jauntily out, rosy pink blusher and lip gloss already in place.
‘Hi Gracie, no it’s fine, I just got here.’
Gracie pulled up the chair beside Lana’s and gushed: ‘Wasn’t it awesome?! Wasn’t it the best night out ever?! Immense! Did you see all those cool people? And famous people too: Blake Lively was there! I didn’t even see her until like way late on. I stayed till four in the morning, but I’m so wired, I woke up early and just had to see you.’
‘It was a great night,’ Lana agreed, but she felt a growing sense of dread at Gracie’s happiness, ‘it was so nice of Parker to invite us … and you guys were … well … really getting to know each other, weren’t you?’
Lana didn’t want to know. But yet she totally did. It was like pulling off a plaster or waiting for the injection at the dentist: it would be best to get the pain over with quickly.
Gracie set her basket, yes straw basket, complete with appliqué flowers, down on the table, then folded her hands under her chin and gazed off into the distance, in the style of the truly smitten.
‘He is great, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘I mean, he’s funny, he’s smart and he’s into fabric design! We talked for the longest time about our favourite vintage stores. I mean, how many guys would do that? He likes vintage leather jackets; ones so beat up you know they’ve lived. He says leather only starts to get interesting when it’s five years old. You know his leather bag? It’s a proper English satchel and he’s been carrying it since Grade School, since he was nine! How many guys are like him? I’m just thrilled to have him as my brand new best friend.’
Lana smiled, agreed, did everything she could to make out she was delighted for her friend. But inside, she sagged with unhappiness. This was not good. Gracie would ditch Bingham, then she would go out with Parker. And for how long?! Would Lana have to watch from the sidelines for months?
Maybe Gracie and Parker would be together for ever and Lana’s life would be ruined. She’d have to move out of New York with her broken heart to get away from them.
And he had asked her out first, she reminded herself, with a rush of injustice.
‘So when are you going to see him again?’ Lana asked, trying to fill the question with encouragement, ‘Have you guys already got plans?’
‘Ummm … well …’ Gracie turned to he
r basket, searched about, brought out her phone and checked the screen.
Lana sort of didn’t like herself for feeling a little burst of hope at this hesitation.
‘He said there was an art show opening next weekend,’ Gracie went on, ‘and maybe I’d like to come along. So he said he would let me know: send me a message.’
‘Sounds really interesting. So new best friends?’
Gracie looked at Lana, with a sweet little frown between her two pale, perfectly tweezed eyebrows.
‘Friends, yeah, just friends,’ she said airily, with a little shrug.
‘OK …’
Lana hoped this hadn’t come out wrong. But Gracie saying ‘friends’ … and not mentioning any other plans, despite the weekend art show, gave her a flicker of hope. Gracie already had a boyfriend, she reminded herself, and hadn’t she and Parker almost kissed? Hadn’t he asked her to be his girl tonight? Cheesy, but he’d made it very sexy too.
Not that she wanted to hurt Gracie. Not in any way at all. But she felt a little comforted by ‘friends’.
‘Hey girls, I hope you’re talking about work!’
They both turned in the direction of the familiar voice and saw Elena strolling along the sidewalk hand in hand with her very handsome boyfriend, Seth.
All four said hello to one another.
‘Do you want to stop and have coffee with us?’ Lana asked.
Seth ran a hand through his dark blond hair and gave them a big grin. ‘I would, but she won’t let me,’ he joked: ‘work, work, work. We’re walking to this little park I know because I thought it might make a good place to shoot the new dresses.’ He pointed to the camera bag slung over his shoulder.
‘But you always carry that,’ Lana said. ‘Didn’t you tell me a photographer has to be prepared?’
‘Yup. A dress designer always has to be prepared too; inspiration could strike at any time.’
‘Yeah, I already saw your blog post with the coffee cup dress idea, Lana, and I liked it,’ Elena added.
‘Thanks.’
‘We’ve all got so many fantastic ideas—’
‘That you’re going to be a huge success,’ Seth finished Elena’s sentence and landed a proud kiss on her cheek.
‘OK, enjoy some time off, because I am going to be working you so hard tomorrow and for the rest of the week, month – year!’ Elena joked.
As the two strode off down the pavement, Gracie and Lana couldn’t help watching with a touch of jealousy.
‘He is so nice and so good-looking,’ Gracie said.
‘I know … and he is so in love with her,’ Lana added. ‘You can just tell; he’s always so nice about her.’
‘Oh sigh for a lovely boyfriend just like Seth.’
‘Yeah well, but you have a lovely boyfriend.’
‘Yes, but … well,’ Gracie seemed to stumble a little. ‘We’re not Seth and Elena though,’ she said.
‘No? But I thought …’ Lana fished for more information, but Gracie headed her off with a change of subject.
‘Oh, you must see this,’ she said, picking up her phone. ‘Is this not just perfect? Genius, in fact?’
The screen was filled with a print, vibrant swirling pink, green and yellow designs against a dark blue background.
‘Apparently it’s a modern homage to paisley.’
‘Wow,’ was Lana’s reaction. ‘Did Parker do this?’
‘Yeah. It’s going to be on some of the next NY Perfect Dresses to come in. His fabric on our dresses. Isn’t that going to be amazing?’
‘Wow,’ Lana repeated, trying hard not to let Gracie know how annoyed she was that Parker had texted this to her friend and not to her.
An urgent buzz let Lana know that there was a new message on her phone. She picked it up, puzzled. The most frequent texter was her mum, but communication between Lana and her mum had not exactly been regular since she’d stormed back to New York after the row.
Bsssssssst, her mobile buzzed insistently.
Lana reached down to her handbag, slid the phone out and clicked through to the message. She had to read the text several times before she could fully take in its meaning. But finally it made some sort of sense.
‘Still sad u left early. Meet me tmrw? Pls say yes. Parker ’
‘What’s up?’ Gracie asked, ‘You look like you’ve had big news.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Italy
Passenger Svetlana:
Multi-coloured wrap dress (Missoni)
Suede and linen summer shoe boots (Manolo)
Python clutch bag (Lanvin)
‘Low key’ diamonds on fingers and wrists (Cartier)
Total est. cost: £37,000
ANNIE STEERED THE Bentley with concentration through the service station car park. She was looking for an enormous parking space, because ‘easy to manoeuvre’ was obviously not one of the boxes ticked when the Beast had been designed.
The Bentley was a car built for splendour, built for valet parking and peak-capped chauffeurs who pulled up right outside a grand entrance. It was not a car for squeezing into spaces designed for Fiat 500s in an Italian service station car park.
Had the Bentley – or indeed Svetlana – ever had to endure the horrors of a service station before?
Annie finally found a double space, pulled in, cut the engine and turned to her passenger.
‘Here we are then: a refuel, a toilet break, a quick coffee and maybe a croissant to keep us going.’
Svetlana pulled a face. ‘Coffee? A croissant?! But I am not ready to break my juice fast. I haven’t lost my 10 kilos. All those enemas, they will have been for nothing.’
‘Svet, my lovely, last night you hoovered up an entire box of fags and a bottle of champagne. I think the juice fast is well and truly over.’
There was a pause. Svetlana’s lips tightened and Annie wondered if she was going to be told off. But then Svetlana shrugged and admitted: ‘Coffee sounds good.’
The service station, although Italian, was not one tiny bit more chic, glamorous or stylish than anything to be found off the M6. There was garish lighting, horrible plastic seating, plastic-looking food and toilets which could have done with a good clean.
Nevertheless, in the Ladies Svetlana clicked open her crocodile clutch at the mirror and made repairs to her face. She was tired and she was deeply upset, so today she only looked ten years younger than her real age, rather than the usual incredible twenty.
Annie checked herself over in the mirror too.
She hadn’t thought to bring any make-up with her from the hotel, except for a stub of lipstick; in fact she hadn’t even had time to wash her face after she’d woken up from her doze in Svetlana’s hotel room, so to her horror she saw now that she was all smudged mascara and the very faded remains of creased foundation.
Annie had always believed in the morale-boosting qualities of make-up and now here she was marooned in a bad situation without a smidge of Chanel or Estée Lauder.
Svetlana glanced at her and after a moment or two of obvious hesitation, decided to intervene.
‘Here,’ she said, handing over her Hermès embossed make-up bag.
‘No, no really, I’m fine. I couldn’t use your things,’ Annie insisted.
‘Please,’ Svetlana said, ‘it will make me feel better if you look better too.’
‘Oh.’
Annie looked inside the little bag.
‘First you must cleanse,’ Svetlana suggested.
Annie delved in and brought out a sachet of ultra-high-end ‘jet-set refreshers’. She pulled one from the packet and ran it over her face.
It was creamy, dewy, refreshing and re-moisturizing all at the same time.
‘Very nice,’ she said, looking at her bare features.
‘Now begin again,’ Svetlana suggested.
After several minutes spent applying Svetlana’s luxury cosmetics, Annie looked in the mirror and saw her best self reflected back once more. As a finishing touch, she wound up the
deep red lipstick and dabbed it on her lips with a clean pinkie.
‘We’re all set to face the world again and bring your boys back home,’ she said brightly, but it didn’t have a cheering effect on Svetlana.
Instead, despite the heavy Botox use, Svetlana’s eyes crumpled at the corners. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to cry.
‘I can’t let him take the boys away. I have always, always stopped him from taking the boys away,’ she whispered.
‘And you’ll stop him again,’ Annie insisted.
‘Annah, I have to get my boys back … My mother made a mess of everything, I make a mess of being Elena’s mother … The boys – the only good thing I do in my life is be a good mother to my boys.’
At this, Svetlana put her hands to the corners of her eyes and pressed hard in an effort to stem the tears.
‘We’ll get them,’ Annie insisted, although she far from believed it. ‘We will get the boys, no matter what. And you are a good mother to them all. C’mon –’ she linked her arm through Svetlana’s – ‘let’s grab a coffee and get to the border.’
On the mountain roads, the Bentley was as much hard work as Annie had feared. She had to steer hard at every corner and slow to a pace far too snail-like for the impatient Italian drivers building up behind her. There was horn honking and horribly impatient, risky overtaking.
‘I’m not enjoying this,’ she admitted with gritted teeth, as another tiny red car sped past, the driver turning to glare at her furiously.
‘You will get used to the road and you will be able to drive more quickly soon,’ Svetlana said, trying to be reassuring.
‘Do you think?’ Annie said, hauling the steering wheel round as they went into another terrifying hairpin bend, the mountainside falling away dizzyingly at the side of the road. The tiny metal barrier between them and disaster didn’t stand a chance if the Bentley set a wheel wrong.
The driving was so physical now that Annie was beginning to sweat with effort: ‘Let’s hear it for power steering,’ she panted: ‘your chauffeur must have arms of steel.’
‘I not make him drive in mountains often.’
‘No. Is it … do we have …?’ Annie hesitated. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know how much further she had to twist and turn the Beast up and down these hair-raising roads.