Chapter 3
Maria on duty:
Pink linen blouse, starched and ironed
Stretchy black trousers
Black lace-up, rubber-soled shoes
White cotton apron, starched and ironed
Annie stood on the steps outside Svetlana’s highly polished Mayfair front door and waited for her bell ring to be answered.
She took a moment to turn and look at the beautiful residents’ garden which, in less than a month now, would be hosting what they both wanted to think of as the fashion event of the season.
All summer long, Svetlana had been working with the residents’ committee and the gardeners to improve the space and it was much greener, lusher and more flower-studded than ever before.
On the night of the show, there were plans for lanterns in the trees, a lit-up walkway to the marquee and industrial quantities of fairy lights all around the sombre black railings.
It was an additional expense, but everything was going to be set up the day before, for a full dress rehearsal, to make sure that the plans were going to come to life just as Svetlana and Annie had imagined.
Annie glanced back at the door, at the luscious pot plants on either side of it and at the blooming window boxes at each one of the antique windows on this four-storeyed townhouse.
Svetlana, who was quite insanely wealthy now – having made a series of spectacularly good marriages, divorces and investments – had grown up in a tiny Ukrainian village and some essence of being a countrywoman, of enjoying growing things, of needing plants, flowers, even vegetables to grow, remained.
The door opened and Svetlana’s long-standing maid and housekeeper, Maria, opened it, crisp dress, white apron and broad smile in place.
‘Welcome, Ms Valentina,’ Maria said, stepping back and extending an arm to show Annie into the house. ‘Madame would like you to come upstairs to the smaller sitting room.’
‘Thank you, Maria. And how are you?’ Annie asked as she followed Maria through the hall and up the staircase, taking in the beautiful lights, paintings, family portraits, gorgeous wallpaper, and all the elegant touches that made Svetlana’s house feel somewhere between a palace, a luxury hotel and a real home.
‘I am very well, thank you, Ms Valentina. The boys will be here next weekend, so I am excited to see them again.’
‘Of course, I bet they can’t wait to be home to be spoiled by you.
’ The boys were Svetlana’s sons, Petrov and Michael, at boarding school in Scotland now, which was a little heartache for Maria, who had cared for them ever since they were babies.
Maria tapped on the sitting room door and a cheerful ‘Come in,’ rang out from the other side.
She held the door open and Annie walked into the beautiful room, all gleaming cream and gold with properly impressive art on the walls.
There at an antique table at the window was Svetlana – the woman who had once been Annie’s favourite customer in the personal shopping suite but who now was both a business partner and a real friend.
‘Hello, my darling Annah,’ Svetlana gushed, as she stood up and they approached one another for an affectionate hug.
‘Let me just admire the “Svetlana does casual” look,’ Annie said with a smile, taking in the pale beige cashmere jogging bottoms and hoody, accessorised with ropes of gold jewellery, huge diamond and pearl earrings and the tousled blonde bob that Svetlana was currently sporting.
‘Maria will bring us some coffee and we will sit down at my table here and talk about the show and everything we still need to do,’ Svetlana instructed.
‘Perfect.’ Annie took herself over to the table and, still with half a mind on the sumptuous room, the paintings, the flowers, the delicious scents in the air from candles, from Svetlana herself, then she pulled her laptop from her bag, opened it up and focused on the business of today.
‘First, we go through the checklist, yes? Then we talk about what still needs to be organised,’ was Svetlana’s suggestion.
‘Checklist coming right up,’ Annie told her, clicking through to the relevant file.
She read through their long list. The marquee was booked, the lighting, too, the catering, the flowers, the tables and chairs.
There was a DJ and a draft playlist. Three models, two semi-professional and one professional – an old friend of Annie’s – were confirmed, ideally three more still needed to be ‘sourced’.
‘I’ll look after that,’ Annie told Svetlana.
‘I have some ideas.’ She was thinking about Ed’s school and wondering if she could maybe entice some of the athletic team’s girls to enjoy a night of fashion-glamour.
‘The other special guests… including our compère?’ Annie read out from her list. ‘You were going to find us a starry presence to be the main host… it’s three weeks and six days, my love. Is there any word?’
‘Oh yes.’ Svetlana fixed Annie with the megawatt smile created by probably the finest dentists in the world and framed by soft, pillowy, perfectly lipsticked lips. She waggled a manicured finger. ‘I am not going to tell you yet. No, I leave as big surprise for you.’
‘Excellent,’ was Annie’s response, but in all honesty, she would rather have known because then it would be official.
She could put it on the invites and make it public and there would be much less danger of the ‘mystery guest’ backing out.
So that would be one less thing to worry about.
Plus, sometimes Svetlana’s surprises were too surprising – and not in a good way.
‘So… shall I print and send the invitations?’ Annie asked.
‘Are we all set, ready to go? Is it time to officially invite people now? I’ll put “mystery guest star compère” or something.
But we’re good to go, Svetlana?’ Annie gave her friend a long, searching look.
‘The permit from the council…’ she added.
‘You took care of that and I’ve ticked it off the list, but the marquee people want a copy of it. ’
‘Oh yes, yes…’ Svetlana flicked her hand dismissively.
‘I will go to my office and find it. It’s in the files.
I have been so busy, crazy busy. We bought a holiday house.
Up in the north of Scotland, near the boys’ school.
So we can see them more often, have their friends to stay and let Harry play plenty of golf. ’
Svetlana looked through the pile of papers on her table and slid a glossy brochure towards Annie.
‘Is beautiful but needs a lot of vuerrrrk!’ Over her many years in London, Svetlana had almost completely mastered the troublesome ‘w’ that peppered the English language, but occasionally one got the better of her, especially where work was concerned.
And she was always doing work, or more accurately having work done – to her houses, to her cars, and to herself.
Annie glanced through the brochure, eyes on stalks.
She had expected something pretty lavish, but this highland ‘lodge’ was something else – chandeliers made of antlers, swathes of wooden panelling, wooden bannisters, acres of tartan carpet.
The grounds were also extensive – a one-acre garden with rolling lawns and an additional twenty-four acres of ‘native woodland’.
‘Is very beautiful,’ Svetlana informed her, ‘but needs new bathrooms, new kitchen, new decoration, new heating, heating, much more heating and then will be very comfortable. You will come and visit.’ Svetlana’s invitations always sounded like commands.
‘Of course,’ Annie said. ‘Remember when we went hill walking in heels in the highlands?’
They both laughed at that crazy memory.
‘It was disaster,’ Svetlana laughed, ‘a fun disaster. But we not do this again. Insurance company would not refund my handbag.’
This made Annie laugh again as she imagined Svetlana terrorising the agent on the other end of the phone about why she had cut up her Hermès handbag to make shoes when they were lost on a hillside at night.
‘OK, so back to the list,’ Annie said. ‘I do the invitations, find three more models, start planning the dress rehearsals… and do some more clothes organising. You get confirmation from our guest compère and keep persuading starry guests to turn up on the night.’
‘And we need more clothes, very special ones,’ Svetlana insisted. ‘More, more. I call all my friends and harass them again. We want clothes on the catwalk, clothes on rails in the marquee and a stall of very special handbags. I vant to make over ￡1,000,000.’
‘Gulp… that’s a lot of money, babes,’ Annie warned her. ‘Even big TV stars don’t make a millions on their charity drives.’
‘Yes, but we will do it,’ was the simple verdict. And Annie could not help but admire the complete conviction coming from Svetlana. If the woman was going to do something, she always went big.
Just then Maria came in with the coffee tray.
So, steaming cups of glossy black coffee were poured out into elegant bone china.
There were also crystal glasses of water and a little silver milk jug for Annie, as well as a delicate plate of freshly baked miniature cookies.
Annie already knew Svetlana wouldn’t touch one, and she would eat at least three, to make Maria happy and to satisfy the intense sugar cravings that her to-do list was inducing.
Once there had been a little lull in the conversation to allow them to sip the coffee, drink some water, and in Annie’s case chomp down a biscuit, she asked about the latest Perfect Dress news.
‘It is all good,’ was Svetlana’s update on the dress company.
‘Many good regular customers, the business is growing steadily, nothing exciting, steady. But we need something more “showstopper” for the next collection. I have asked everyone to think about this. Exciting design, something to talk about, make publicity.’
‘Yes, that’s a good point,’ Annie agreed. ‘I’ll have a think, throw some ideas into the fire.’
‘And what about your girl Lauren?’ Svetlana asked now, leaning forward, an expression resembling troubled crossing the perfect features.
Annie felt herself give almost something of a little start at this question.
What about Lauren? Was there something she didn’t know?
As far as she knew, Lauren was happy in New York, happy at Perfect Dress, ‘dating’ a boy she liked a lot, and all was well.
But she would be the first to admit, with the show and Owen about to set off to uni in two weeks’ time, maybe she’d not given as much thought, or been as regularly in touch with Lauren, as usual.
‘I thought everything was fine with Lauren,’ Annie said, but Svetlana shook her head and fixed Annie was a serious look.
‘No, Annah,’ she began, ‘Elena says Lauren is not happy and Elena does not know why.’
‘Oh no… I didn’t know…’ Annie said, feeling a fresh wave of anxiety. Not that she needed to do it, she would remember, but still, at the top of her to-do list, she now put:
Call Lauren