by Nikki Moore
‘See you,’ she whispered, watching his rear lights as he pulled away.
***
‘Here you go, found it! It was buried in a colleague’s in-tray in the office.’ The McLaren salesman’s voice sounded next to Frankie’s ear through the car’s open window.
She let out a little yelp, hand flying to her chest.
‘Apologies,’ he tacked on, helping her open the car door, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘No, it’s okay,’ she waited for the door to finish swooping up over her head and slid out sideways, a lot harder than it looked, as the car was so close to the ground. He offered her a helping hand and she accepted it gratefully, feeling like he was hoisting her up from a horizontal position. ‘It was my fault,’ she excused him, ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’
‘You did look quite deep in thought,’ he agreed, handing her an A4 manila envelope, which looked suspiciously bumpy.
‘Thank you,’ she ran her fingers over the envelope, wondering what was in it.
‘No problem. Sorry for the delay.’ He closed the car door smoothly and walked her over to shop front. He paused, manicured fingers wrapped around the door handle. ‘You know, he was lucky. We're not open all the time, some days we only do private appointments.’
Intrigue fizzled in her belly, ‘He? What did he look like?'
The man smiled politely, 'I don’t think that's for me to say, but to be honest I don't think the young man who delivered the envelope is necessarily the one who arranged whatever this is, for you.’
‘Why do you say that?'
‘Well, by my estimation he looked about twelve.’
‘Oh.' Now she was really confused. Christian didn’t have any relatives or know anyone that age and neither did anyone else she knew. Was this all a part of some elaborate schoolboy prank then? Was she going to come out looking like a prize idiot? But what schoolboys wrote poems / clues like that? There was only one way to find out.
‘Do you mind if I open this in here?’ she asked the salesman, ‘I probably need to go on somewhere else after this and it’s quite dark outside, even with the street lights.’ She checked out the window. It also looked freezing cold out there from the way people were rushing past, huddled in their coats and scarves, heads bowed against the wind.
‘I can give you five minutes while I start locking up.’
‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully, ripping into the envelope as he walked away.
The bumps she’d felt turned out to be a handful of mini Bounty bars, her favourite chocolates. Smiling, she unwrapped one and stuck it in her mouth, savouring the rich milk chocolate alongside the crisp nuttiness of the coconut centre. She doubted anyone would go to all this trouble to poison her, and there were no signs of any serial killers so far.
This note was similar to the first.
You’ve found the next clue, you know what to do,
You don’t have to go far, you won’t need a car.
Footsteps only to this destination,
Opposite main Knightsbridge station.
Their range is extensive, but very expensive.
A flagship store; beauty, designer and more.
? x
P.s Hope the chocolates makes you smile.
P.p.s. Ask for Millie on the second floor.
Frankie hit the redial button on her phone, peering out along the road as the double tone rang in her ear. The clue was vague in one way - everything around here was pretty expensive, she was in Knightsbridge for heaven’s sake - but she was pretty sure from the reference to flagship store where she was going next. One side of her tingled with anticipation at the thought. It was where she’d used to shop all the time, when she was with Christian. But, oh god, the other side of her thought, did that mean it was definitely him?
‘Hi, it’s me.’ She said as Kate finally answered the phone.
‘Hi, Hun.’ Her friend sounded breathless. ‘Sorry, I was out back with the dogs. How’s it going?’
‘Good, I think. I made it to the first place, a McLaren dealership and they had an envelope for me. Apparently it was delivered by some twelve year old kid, which is a bit strange.’
‘That is odd. So what was in the envelope?’
‘Another clue, and some mini Bounty bars.’
‘Ooh. Nice.’
‘Christian knows my favourite chocolates,’ Frankie said flatly.
‘Yes, but anyone who works with you knows that too. I bet you still eat them all the time. It’s like your thing. It’s a wonder you’re not three foot wide.’
‘Thanks. Helpful.’
‘So, do you think it is Christian?’
‘I thought it was unlikely but I am starting to wonder. I think I’m off to Harvey Nichols now, which is totally his style. And I can’t imagine Davey or Zack being able to afford anything in there, so by a process of elimination…I don’t know how I feel about it if it’s him. We split up for a reason.’
‘If it is him, he’s gone to a lot of trouble to see you and you’re there, so you might as well see it through. And it might not be him. Go to Harvey Nicks and give me a call when you’re done there.’
‘Okay, but for the record, I’m not sure about this.’
‘Noted,’ Kate laughed, ‘now stop being such a big baby and get going. It sounds great to me; I’d loved to be treated to something expensive.’
‘Noted in return,’ she said drily, ‘catch you later.’ Ending the call, Frankie threw another thank you over her shoulder as she left the McLaren dealership, hoping she wasn’t going to regret this.
‘I’m supposed to ask for Millie?’ Frankie spoke to the top of the girl’s downturned head, hoping she was in the right place.
‘That’s me,’ the girl said coolly, looking up. ‘You must be Miss Taylor.’
‘I am.’
‘Welcome. I’ll be your Personal Shopper today.’ She smiled, green eyes steady, brown hair tucked neatly back into a low ponytail. ‘I'm here to help you get ready. You are cutting it a little fine though Madam, we shut at six ‘o’ clock today.’
‘Sorry. I’m always late. And Frankie’s fine. Madam is far too formal.’ She raised her eyebrows hopefully, ‘I don’t suppose you know what I’m getting ready for?'
The girl smiled politely, as if she handled questions like this every day. 'Your date. The Daniel Hersheshon Salon on the floor below us are going to do your hair and make- up, very quickly, and then I’ll sort you out an outfit. Have you ever been to the salon before? Do you know it?
'Yes.’ In another lifetime she’d spent a lot of time there, having manicures, pedicures and regular blow dries. As much as it was nice to be treated, she wasn’t sure how she felt about being that person again.
‘Do you know who the date is with?' Frankie blurted. This was looking more and more like it had Christian stamped all over it. But he should be halfway across the world, and why make contact after all this time, and in this way?
The girl gave her a strange look at that one. 'You don't?'
'Erm, no,' she stumbled, 'I’m kind of on this scavenger hunt thing where I have to follow the clues and-
'Oh, that’s so romantic!’ Millie clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling, 'Like in a film. I am so jealous. You lucky thing!’ She seemed to have completely forgotten herself and the composed professional she’d first presented as, but Frankie much preferred this version. ‘Oh, wait until you see the dress, I can’t wait to see your face. Come on, we need to hurry.’ Gesturing her over to the lift, Millie beckoned Frankie to follow her.
‘I don’t suppose the name Christian means anything to you,’ Frankie asked as they stepped in together and the lift descended soundlessly.
‘No. It was a woman who made the appointment.’
‘A woman?’ Frankie frowned.
‘Yes.’
This day just got stranger and stranger.
Half an hour later Frankie stepped back into the warm-toned, beige and brown Personal Shopping suite with Millie, stilet
to heels of her ankle boots clicking on the marble floor.
‘You look fantastic, Frankie,’ Millie said, leading her into a separate dressing area.
‘Thanks,’ Frankie stopped and looked in a mirror as she entered the room.
The senior stylist in the salon had done something incredible with a hair dryer and texturising spray, creating a sexy, messed up look that said just got out of bed after an orgasmic all-nighter. The make-up technician had done her proud too and Frankie could hardly believe how flawless her skin was, how sculpted her cheekbones, her violet eyes defined and feline-like, a bit like Gemma Arterton in a magazine advert she’d recently seen.
‘Do you like it?’ Millie came up behind her.
‘Yes.’ Frankie breathed. The girl staring back was definitely her, but better. She might even venture, striking. She’d forgotten just how flattering luxury make-up was, in comparison to the stuff she’d been buying from the supermarket for the last year. She knew it was shallow, but she had missed this. Missed looking stylish and polished. Missed the superior products and designer names.
‘It’s a pity they didn’t have time to do your nails,’ Millie said, backing away and walking into an adjoining room, voice carrying through to Frankie, ‘but what you have on will still work.’ She came back in with a garment over her arm. ‘Time for the dress.’ Millie's eyes were shining and Frankie felt an instant of friendship with the personal shopper, like they were in this together.
‘What are you so excited about?’ Frankie asked. ‘Oh.' The dress was gold, knee-length and strapless, with sequins and beading around the plunging sweetheart neckline. 'Wow.'
'Yes.' Millie giggled at her expression. ‘I think I probably wore the same expression the first time I saw it. Difference is, you get to wear it. You are so lucky.’ A tannoy announcement sounded above their head. ‘Quick,’ Millie urged, ‘the store closes in ten minutes.’
‘Oh, I’ll be quick!’ Frankie whipped her jumper over her head, stopping when she realised the kind of bra she had on wouldn’t do.
‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Millie rushed back out and returned to fling a strapless bra and invisible underwear at Frankie. ‘Hurry! Call me when you need zipping up, I’ll be out there tidying,’ she gestured to the reception area.
‘Thank you.’
Five minutes later Frankie gazed at the mirror in awe, her expression twinned with Millie’s, who’d come in to secure the zip, hooks and eyes running up the back of the dress.
'He got the fit exactly right.’ The personal shopper said. ‘He must know you really well.’
‘Hmm,’ Frankie made an indistinct sound. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen and she felt like a princess, but the accurate sizing was more puzzling than ever. She’d lost a lot of weight since the break-up. Between the hospital stay, when she’d barely eaten through grieving for her mum and pain had driven away the need for food, and the change in lifestyle of having to budget constantly to afford to eat, she’d dropped at least two dress sizes. So how would Christian know what would fit her now?
Zack was the most likely candidate; they’d been messing around with a tape measure in one of the stock cupboards only the week before. But how on earth could he afford something like this, on his wages as a Merchandiser? And how would she feel if it was him, when they were only friends?
***
‘Hey, weird girl!’ Zack appeared next to Frankie in the open door. ‘What’s up?
‘Shit!’ She dropped the box she was holding with a clatter and the hangers spilled out onto the floor. ‘Zack, you scared me.’ Crouching down, she started picking them up, shoving them away.
‘Sorry, I thought you heard me coming.’ Stooping next to her, he took the hangers back out of the box and lined them up neatly before putting them back in. ‘I was whistling.’ He added, eyes twinkling.
She stood up and went over to one of the cupboards to find some skew tags, seeing as he had the hanger situation under control. ‘Sorry,’ she replied in a mock sniffy tone, ‘I was too busy humming to hear you whistling.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Lady Frankie, is humming now a superior art form to whistling? Who do we send the memo to?’ he teased.
‘Human Resources, who else? Maybe it qualifies as part of a staff well-being initiative.’
‘Well-being? Ha, ha. Where do you work?’ Zack straightened, inserting the box back into its space on the shelf. ‘Because it’s definitely not here! Isn’t it odd,’ he mused, ‘how pristine the shop floor is, how polished and neat the shopping areas, and then how tatty the back of house areas are? If only the customers got the behind the scenes experience.’
Frankie stopped in her tracks, having had the same thought a hundred times before, every time she’d stepped off the shop floor and into the staff room or one of the store cupboards. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘it is odd.’ She smiled, ’Imagine if one day we didn’t close a door properly and a customer saw the fourth floor corridor with all the mannequins and boxes of crap along it; a complete fire hazard. There’d be mayhem!’ she joked.
He laughed, ‘You are strange, weird girl.’
‘Stop calling me that,’ she exclaimed, setting the skew tags aside, and bending over to root through one of the cupboards. The flexible measuring tape in Womenswear was forever going missing and the sales manager had asked Frankie to search some spares out.
‘Why?’
‘Argh. What a mess!’ Her hands tangled in the assortment of stuff shoved in the box by colleagues, measuring tapes and thick white parcel string and paperclips and tags. ‘Because I’m not weird.’ She spun around, hands extended to him. She pulled a pitiful face, ‘Help me, please.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Zack came over to her and started unpicking string from around her thumb and forefinger. ‘I mean, who else could imprison their hands just by going through a box?’
She stuck her tongue out at him in answer.
‘And who else has got freaky alien eyes?’ he quipped, grinning to take the sting out of any insult.
‘Oi! What do you mean alien eyes?’ she growled, pretending to glower at him.
‘They’re a really unusual colour,’ he said, head bent over her hands as he tried to unwrap the requested measuring tape from around her wrist, and separate it from the string.
Frankie didn’t answer, distracted by the space between his hair and collar, noticing a row of freckles along the back of his neck. It was hardly surprising how fair he was, but it was funny the things you saw when you stopped to look at people. She wondered if he had freckles in other places too. The thought shocked her into talking. ‘They’re a kind of deep violet,’ she agreed. ‘It is quite rare. Comes from my Mum’s side of the family.’ She stiffened.
‘Yeah,’ he lifted his head to gaze up at her, but didn’t give any indication he’d picked up on her tension, ‘for weeks after I started I thought you were wearing some of those fake party contact lenses you get. I even asked George,’ one of their colleagues from Menswear, ‘and he laughed at me. But the shape of your eyes is sort of different too, sort of cat-like.’
‘You’ve been spending far too much time thinking about this,’ she sniggered, pulling her hands away as he unravelled the last of the mess. ‘Cheers.’ She took a measuring tape off him and started wrapping it up and he took the other. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’ve been trying to calculate my dress size too.’
‘Which is?’ he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding the tape out to her and trying to wrap it around her waist.
'Get lost!’ she squirmed away. ‘A lady never shares that information.’
‘Fair enough,’ he smiled, ‘not that it really matters.’
'God, you’re not going to go all Bridget Jones on me, are you?'
'What, and tell you that I like you,’ he batted his eyelashes and she realised just how long they were, ‘just as you are? Nah, I'm hardly Colin Firth.'
She smirked, ‘But you do watch rom coms.’
He shrugged his b
road shoulders. ‘Occasionally, but I’m man enough to take it. But we’re just friends right?’ he waited for her to nod, and dropped the rolled up measuring tape in her palm. ‘And besides, I'm not really into any of that soppy stuff. I’d rather just tell a girl I like her and ask her out.’
‘Okay. You don’t have to act like I’ve accused you of being a mass murderer.’
He swiped a pair of scissors off the side, a fake manic gleam in his eyes as he advanced towards her. 'How do you know I’m not?’
‘Eek! Please, don’t hurt me,’ she threw her arms up in front of her as she edged toward the door, ‘please spare me. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m too young to die!’
‘Oh, all right then.’ He threw the scissors aside. ‘It’s coffee time anyway. Do you want one?’
She giggled, dropping her arms, ‘You’d make a crap serial killer, so easily distracted by caffeine. And, yes please.’ He’d taken to making them fresh coffee in a cafetiere every morning and afternoon, a new brand with hints of vanilla. She loved it, and appreciated the effort. One of the girls from the Dior counter had grumbled the other day that he didn’t make coffee for them.
‘A sensible serial killer,’ he argued, checking his watch, ‘I think a caffeine hit would be pretty important. Get the blood pumping and the adrenalin spiking for all the running around I’d have to do, stalking big-breasted blondes down impossibly long corridors with thousands of doors.’
She laughed as they closed the cupboard behind them. ‘Again, you’ve spent too much time thinking about this. I’m concerned that you haven’t got any meaningful hobbies. Anyway, I’m just going to take these down to Womenswear,’ she held up the tapes, ‘so I’ll meet you up there.’
‘No problem, see you in the staff room in a minute.’
Frankie turned away, humming under her breath.
‘Oh, Frankie?’
‘Yes?’ she spun around.
‘The reason it wouldn’t matter what your dress size is, is because it’s about shape and proportions, not size. But given part of my job involves dressing dummies and working with clothes, I reckon you’re probably,’ he reeled off a set of figures that made her eyes widen because of their accuracy. ‘I’m guessing from your face I’m close, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, or else all the girls will want the same service.’ He ducked and guffawed as a tape measure went sailing over his head.
