Chapter 19 #2
This was not helping with the feeling of So Much To Do building in Annie’s head, throat and chest. ‘He’s a friend of Svetlana’s.
That’s the problem,’ she admitted. ‘I think he’s cheesy and old-school.
He makes tasteless jokes, even dodgy jokes, and he’s not the right person, but for whatever reason, Svetlana likes him and she wants to stick with him. ’
Paula gave an eye roll before suggesting, ‘Could we maybe pair him with someone else? Someone who will take the edge off? Tone him down, act as guardrails, laugh at him if he says something really cringe?’
This, Annie had to admit, was a good idea.
A sort of compère safety net. A way of letting Svetlana have what she wanted while reining in the danger of it all going wrong.
And a way of letting Annie have what she would have wanted, if she’d been allowed to choose.
‘You are good,’ she told Paula. ‘You are very, very good. You need to help me with more of this stuff. Because Connor is in the huff that I didn’t ask him to be the compère, but why don’t we ask him if he’d consider sharing the limelight with Vince? ’
At this, Paula finally broke into a smile, in fact, she even clapped her hands. ‘Connor McCabe? Your gorgeous actor friend?’
‘Of course.’
‘Connor and Vince?! They will be amazing together. Connor will absolutely roast him if he misbehaves. People would come to watch that, never mind the fashion show.’
‘Woah, babes, you’re only allowed to have said that once,’ Annie warned. ‘We are all about the fashion. We are here for the fashion.’
‘Yes, we are, you know we are. So come on, make the calls you need to make, and then come and help me sort through another mountain of little jackets with gold buttons that are all desperate to be taken back out to lunch.’
‘They just need some up-to-the-moment handbags to zhuzh them up,’ Annie replied and couldn’t help thinking about the beautiful The Row handbag that someone had so generously donated. But no, no, she could not justify an astronomical price tag like that.
* * *
Several hours later, and Annie and Paula decided to buy sandwiches and eat them on a bench in the garden of the Gallery of Textiles.
Because there was still warmth to the sunshine and by late September, you had to take every moment of sunny warmth that you could because it would soon be gone.
Away from talk of the fashion show, they had some personal catching up to do.
Annie brought Paula up to speed on the arrival of Lauren along with the announcement that she had quit her job and was apparently never going to work in fashion ever again.
Paula gave another of her impressive eye rolls.
‘I hope you’re not paying too much attention to the drama,’ she said.
‘Because boy do I remember myself at that age. Every day was a fresh drama. I had no idea what I wanted and God knows how my family put up with me.’
‘I’m sure I was the same,’ Annie admitted. ‘I have no idea why everyone idealises being young. It’s mainly complete hell. Especially when you’re leaving the heart of the family that’s been all around you for so long and you’ve not yet built up the new tribe that’s going to take their place.’
‘Yeah… and she went to New York, so far away from you all,’ Paula pointed out. ‘No wonder she got all lonely and sad and dramatic and decided she had to fly home.’
‘She’s in such a bad mood – with the whole world,’ Annie confided because, to be honest, it was difficult dealing with this moody version of Lauren who had now moved into their home.
‘I think I was in a bad mood from sixteen to twenty-six. Each and every day, the whole day. God, how did we put up with ourselves?!’ Paula wondered.
This made Annie laugh. ‘She’ll figure it out.
And she has good people around her. Bring her in here to help,’ was Paula’s suggestion.
‘She can come and hang with Paula, her old BFF.’
‘You’d think she would be desperate to come in and help and, of course, hang out with you,’ Annie began. ‘But she’s committed to giving up fashion because it’s all so meaningless and she wants to do “real things” that “matter”,’ Annie added giving a bit of an impersonation of Lauren’s big speech.
‘You know, that’s nice. Good for her,’ Paula said, scrunching up her sandwich bag. ‘Just tell her there’s not much chance of bumping into much real fashion here. It’s all tweedy jackets and out of style coats and faux-fur that should have been put out of its misery years ago.’
And that was when Annie realised she hadn’t told Paula or Svetlana yet about the Schiaparelli treasures that had landed on her doorstep.
Was it too soon to mention the items? Of course she needed Florence to find out more.
But they had been donated. And they did appear to be genuine.
So, even if no more could be found out about them by Florence, maybe an expert could be called in to assess them?
Maybe Annie could just mention them to Paula, while Florence was doing some more research?
It would give Paula hope, the way it was giving Annie hope, that this show could still, despite its last-minute venue change, be something amazing.
‘Paula, babes, we do have fashion,’ Annie told her now with real excitement. ‘Real fashion. Standout fashion. I haven’t told you or Svetlana yet… because there are a few ends to tie up… But I think we do have the donation to end all donations.’
Paula squeezed her hands together and looked at Annie with an eager expression, then began to guess. ‘We’ve already got Chanel bags and even two actual Hermès Birkins – even if one of them is in bright turquoise crocodile that no one is going to buy – so I’m guessing it’s not a handbag…’
Annie shook her head. But now she couldn’t help herself from thinking about that The Row handbag again.
Every once in a while, she just couldn’t help herself, she got obsessed with a handbag.
She pictured it with all the outfits in her wardrobe; she imagined herself in scenes from her life carrying the handbag; she saw it propped up on café tables, bar stools and sitting beside her in the Tube like some kind of pet.
It was ridiculous and she knew she already had more than enough handbags, but every so often, she could not resist the allure that somehow this bag was the one that was going to change her fashion life forever.
It would go everywhere, it would go with everything, it would mark her out as a woman of immense taste and sophistication.
She tried to shake it out of her head. But like a teenager with a massive crush, it was irrational and she could not stop thinking about it.
And the crush bags, she knew from past experience with a fuchsia-pink YSL and a teal-blue Mulberry, she had worn them until they had almost fallen apart.
So, occasionally, for a love affair like this, it was worth it. But at ￡2,400… no, no, no.
‘We’ve got Chanel suits…’ Paula began with her process of elimination, ‘and God knows how many Chanel-alike suits, so it can’t be Chanel. We’ve got one Yves Saint Laurent le smoking suit… so can’t be that.’
‘No, keep guessing,’ Annie encouraged her. ‘Fashion gold dust… Fashion nirvana…’
‘We’ve got one very crumpled Westwood ballgown, with a stain on the front, but I would be happy to see more…’
Annie shook her head as Paula insisted. ‘No, no, don’t tell me, yet, I’m still guessing! Is it vintage? Like truly vintage, like… one of the greats?’
Annie nodded her head. ‘Oh my God… original Christian Dior New Look?’ was Paula’s next guess as she started to look properly excited.
‘That is a good guess,’ Annie had to admit, ‘but think even older, we’re talking pre-World War II… museum-worthy.’ Annie went on, ‘I can’t believe that someone has handed these things over to us.’
‘Oh my God… Oh My God… pre-World War II, but not vintage Chanel…’
‘Think French,’ Annie hinted. ‘Not Chanel but another woman.’
‘Vionnet?’ Paula gasped. ‘The inventor of the bias cut?!’
‘Even better, my darling,’ Annie decided to put Paula out of her pain. ‘I have been given three items of genuine Schiaparelli… including a lobster dress.’
Paula was now wearing the same look of astonishment that Annie had worn when she had pulled the dress out of the bag and then seen the original label.
‘No!! You can’t be serious! Not Schiaparelli…
’ Paula whispered. It was incredible that so many decades after the death of this designer, two women on a bench in west London, still holding a sandwich each, were going into complete raptures about a white silk dress with several lobsters on the skirt.
It was quite some testament to the power of this designer’s creations.
‘Schiaparelli…’ Paula repeated, completely in awe.
‘You’re right. This is museum-worthy. We can’t let some random millionaire buy that dress or any of the other things.
We have to tell the V&A, the Met in New York, we have to make sure it goes to a fabulous home where fashionistas like us can come and pay homage.
These aren’t just clothes these are pieces of fashion history… fashion art.’
‘Yes, and I completely agree,’ Annie told her, ‘it is beyond amazing that we have these things, but—’
Paula began to look concerned. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said. ‘But…? I do not like the sound of this.’
‘The items, in fact, let’s call them the priceless fashion treasures, were donated by a lady who wants to remain anonymous, and she inherited them from her mother.’
‘And? She doesn’t like fashion? She doesn’t like money? She had no idea what she was giving you? And you now feel guilty?’ Paula asked.
Annie shook her head slowly. ‘No more complicated than that,’ she had to admit.
‘You see, Florence, who donated the clothes. She has no idea how her mother got these clothes. She wasn’t a wealthy woman.
And if there’s going to be a public sale, that will be investigated.
I think Florence is anxious about what might come out. ’