by Carmen Reid
‘But, Annie, you will actually have to wear three-inch heels, carry a handbag and go up a hill.’
‘Yeah!’ Annie said, not sure what all the fuss was about.
‘Well, if you think it’s going to be too easy … why not persuade Svetlana to come with you? Maybe you can both carry handbags, wear dresses and coats and look … what were your words again? Look just as if you’re off to lunch at The Store.’ Tamsin was definitely warming to the theme now.
‘Deal,’ Annie said, sure Svetlana would come just to show off her Perfect Dress.
‘Uh oh!’ Ed had come into the room and caught the tail end of her conversation. ‘What have you agreed to now?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Please tell me you’re not flying to New York for fashion fortnight or maybe Alaska for Eskimo clothes week? What have you just said you’ll do?’
‘Oh, it’s just the hillwalking-in-heels thing,’ Annie replied casually. ‘I’ve said I’ll hillwalk in three-inch heels, carrying a handbag. No big deal. I’m sure it will be fine.’
Ed, who had been camping every summer since he was three, who led the school’s Snowdonia hillwalking expedition every year, who really knew just what hill walking and tenting out in the open was all about, turned to her with his mouth wide open in astonishment.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Tamsin on set:
Dark denim pencil skirt (Boden)
Cowl-necked purple cashmere sweater (Crumpet)
Heeled slouchy black boots (Miu Miu)
Total est. cost: £690
‘It’s absolutely bloody brilliant!’
‘Bonjour, mes chéris!’ Annie gave the line the best French accent she could manage and smiled welcomingly into the camera lens. ‘Today we are doing French lessons. No, don’t turn off! No chanting your verbs or learning your numbers, I’m talking about lessons in French style. I’ve been in Paris for the shows … I know,’ she confided with a wink, ‘how exciting was that! You are going to find out all about it next week, I promise, but right now I’m going to bring you French style lesson number one: coat, bag, shoes – CBS – easy to remember.’
Annie then walked towards the area of the studio where several rails, mannequins and shelves had been decked out with a delicious selection of coats, macs, handbags, boots and shoes.
‘Every one of the glamorous French women I watched strolling about the boulevards wore a lovely coat, good shoes and carried a beautiful bag. Even if they were just wearing jeans and a T-shirt underneath, they looked chic, chic, chic!’ Annie explained. ‘And nothing has to be designer, just good quality … investment quality.’
She picked out several of the items in different price ranges and extolled their virtues.
‘Now, two friends of mine are going to show you how the CBS makeover works. Before …’ Annie held out two photographs.
‘Just tilt them forward,’ Bob instructed from behind the camera. ‘Too much glare.’
‘This is Jane, looking not at all French, but just you wait,’ Annie said of the first photo. At the end of their first, unusual meeting, Annie had promised paracetamol-toting Jane that when she was feeling better, they would shop together and Jane would appear on the show. Annie had been delighted to keep her promise.
‘This is our very own Amelia,’ Annie said, holding up the second picture. ‘She’s going to show us how to rock a raincoat.’
‘And cut,’ the director instructed. ‘Are they ready yet?’ he called over to the wardrobe girl.
‘Yes, all set to go on,’ came the reply.
Bob and his camera switched positions, the lighting was adjusted and Annie’s powder and lipstick were touched up.
‘Ready to roll,’ the director instructed and Jane came out first.
Because Annie had been at her, she looked the best she possibly could. Hair styled, make-up nice, flattering black boots and a slim-cut black coat. The slouchy bag over her shoulder and the big statement scarf were perfect Annie inspired touches.
She looked beautifully put-together, but in a normal, attainable way. Annie always liked to use ordinary people on the show because models … well, they looked good in any old thing; plus, they cost money.
Annie winked at Jane to encourage her to smile and got a nervy grin in return.
‘Fabulous,’ Annie told her, ‘all set to café-hop on the Left Bank.’
Annie put a calming hand on Jane’s arm to reassure her and talked the audience who would be watching through Jane’s outfit.
Then out came Amelia in pale raincoat, shiny boots and scrumptious bag.
‘Where is Amelia’s bag from?’ Tamsin wanted to know as soon as filming on the segment was over. ‘I wasn’t paying attention and I want it now!’
‘Oooh, I didn’t know you were our audience today,’ Annie said, surprised to see her boss. ‘Coccinelle, if you must know.’
‘You know I like to spy on you in secret,’ Tamsin teased. ‘Make sure you’re just as good when I’m not there. No, I’m meeting someone else over here this afternoon, but, Annie, I have to tell you, the footage from Paris has been edited and it’s absolutely bloody brilliant! Elena in tears, Svetlana running about in a panic, the old French lady is genius, the tranny … honestly, it’s a shame to run it on a half-hour TV slot, it’s like a film,’ Tamsin enthused.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Tamsin put a hand on Annie’s shoulder. ‘It’s ratings gold. And the Oxfam hillwalk is shaping up nicely; it could be our way to end the series,’ she added.
‘Oxfam?’ Annie asked Tamsin. ‘Are you not supposed to tell me about stuff like that?’
‘Another big idea,’ Tamsin answered. ‘We’ll go on location – Scotland, I think. We’ve not done a show up there yet. We’ll get viewers to sponsor you online and we donate the money to Oxfam. You’re going to do the hillwalk with a proper mountaineer who will wear Everest Camping’s anorak and hiking boots. And we would like Svetlana to come with you. I mean, that would be fantastic: the two ladies who lunch versus the mountain guide.’
Annie could see the obvious enthusiasm in Tamsin’s face. She understood that this was going to be great TV. But for the first time she felt just a little nervous about the idea of really, properly hillwalking in heels.
Ed had already warned her that what she planned was dangerous and anyway, her husband, the lovely, adventurous, just ever so slightly reckless Roddy – he’d gone hillwalking one fine weekend and he’d never come back.
‘Do you know how my husband Roddy died?’ Annie suddenly found herself asking Tamsin.
Tamsin looked at her with surprise. ‘No …’ she began, but her mind was working; maybe the details were coming back to her.
‘He was hillwalking on a stag weekend, he fell and hit his head. Brain haemorrhage.’ Annie stopped there, not wanting to add any further details.
Those terrible days spent in intensive care with Roddy on life support … the details were stored in a part of her mind that she tried not to access too often.
‘Hillwalking?’ Tamsin repeated to Annie. ‘Oh no.’
For a moment there was silence between them.
‘I’ve been a bit too flippant about this …’ Annie admitted.
‘Well … no … I mean … you could raise some awareness there, maybe … the possible dangers.’ Tamsin was thinking out loud.
‘You’re thinking about the publicity angle, aren’t you?’ Annie couldn’t help asking Tamsin.
‘No, no, don’t be silly,’ Tamsin began, but then admitted: ‘Yes, of course I am. Publicity is good, Annie, there are still Myleene rumbles.’
‘Pssst! magazine have got an interview with my long-lost dad in their next edition,’ Annie remembered.
‘Have they? How are we going to respond to that?’
‘Dunno,’ was Annie’s honest answer. ‘Maybe we should wait and see what he says – if they really have it. They might just have bumped into someone in a bar who said they had a drink with him once.’
‘What a colourful life you lead
,’ Tamsin said.
‘So, hillwalking in heels. What’s your plan?’ Annie wondered.
‘I’m not expecting you to scale Ben Nevis,’ Tamsin assured her. ‘Amelia’s been speaking to a very enthusiastic guide. Plus, what do you think of the idea of using a little digital video recorder yourself? To give it a very homemade, video diary kind of feel? I mean, if we send you up with Rich or Bob in tow, then everyone knows you have a film crew with you, so there’s no risk, no element of danger.’
‘What kind of danger am I supposed to be in?’ Annie exclaimed. ‘The only risk I’m prepared to run is twisting my ankle. That’s it. I don’t want to fall off a bloomin’ mountain!’
As soon as the car had pulled up outside her house after work, Annie knew she wanted to go and see her mum before she got embroiled with all the other members of her family.
She walked down the garden path towards the basement entrance and rang the bell. Fern opened the door just moments later.
‘Hello, there you are!’ were Fern’s words of greeting. ‘Come on in and have some wine with me. I’m having a great day.’
‘Oh good,’ Annie said, landing a kiss on her mum’s cheek. ‘What’ve you been up to today then? Burning all your library books in the middle of the bedroom? Gardening in your pyjamas?’ she joked, only because that was how their relationship had always been; Annie had always been allowed to tease her mum.
‘W-what?’ Fern turned towards her, looking all hazy and lost. ‘Library books? Do I have library books?’
When Annie looked back at her in distress, not knowing what to say, a grin split Fern’s face and she said: ‘Gotcha!’
‘Mum!’ Annie told her off. ‘Don’t do that! Don’t ever do that!’
‘Sit,’ Fern instructed Annie as they came into the little sitting room. ‘I’ll get the glasses and whatnot. I have a plan, Annie, I’m very excited! And I’m feeling good, darlin’, I think the pills are working.’
‘Well, they did say it would take time,’ Annie called after her as she disappeared out of the room.
When Fern came back, she poured them each a small glass of white wine then settled herself down on the chair opposite Annie’s.
She looked unusually cheerful, which made Annie nervous. What was coming next?
‘I’ve spent the afternoon getting Ed to look things up for me on the internet.’
That was sweet, ‘look things up’, as if the internet were some sort of library or glorified phone book.
‘And?’ Annie asked.
‘I’m going to go home,’ Fern announced, ‘and I’m moving a toy-boy in with me.’
‘What?’ Annie spluttered, sending wine rushing off in all sorts of dangerous directions.
Fern just laughed. ‘I’m serious,’ she said, ‘I’ve found a student who’s going to come and live with me. Help with the gardening and the cleaning and make sure I don’t get up to anything bizarre. He’s studying nursing at the college in town.’
‘He? But who is this person?’ Annie demanded. ‘This is scary! He could be an axe-murderer!’
‘Stefano, from Chile. We’re going to meet him, me and Ed, but his references are excellent. This is all my idea, Annie, by the way. You can’t blame Ed for any of it. So, Stefano gets free accommodation and I get free help. It’s going to work out perfectly.’
Reaching over to touch her daughter on the hand, Fern added: ‘I have to go home, darlin’. I keep telling you that. I have to find a way to get home and I think this is the way. You can put me wherever you like when I’ve lost it,’ she added, shooting her daughter the cheerful smile which was meant to cover up the great sorrow behind these words, ‘but for now, I want to be in my own home. I’ve stabilized, Annie, I know it. I feel fine. The doctor hoped this would happen.’
Before Annie could make any reply, or could think of anything sensible to say, there was another ring at the door.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Annie asked.
‘No. Must be Ed, wondering where you’ve got to.’
‘I’ll go,’ Annie said, jumping up.
‘No, no,’ Fern insisted, ‘sit, drink … enjoy another three seconds of spare time.’
‘No, I’ll go!’ Annie protested.
Although she made it to the door first, she could hear her mother following on right behind her.
She turned the Yale lock, opened up and saw a leathery skinned man of about sixty standing in front of her. He had a head of thick grey hair, cut short, and a weather-beaten face with a map of deep-set wrinkles running from his eyes. Dressed in a slouchy navy jacket and a pair of jeans, he was short but very upright, almost standing to attention. Somehow, to Annie, he looked as if he should be wearing a cap. He almost seemed to be missing some kind of headgear.
‘Hello. I’m looking for Fern Mitchell,’ were his first words.
‘She’s right here,’ Annie replied, gesturing for her mother to come forward.
‘Are you Annie?’ the man asked just as Fern got to the door.
‘Yes,’ Annie replied with surprise. ‘Have we met before?’
At this, the man shook his head slowly, cast his eyes down to the hands clasped tightly in front of him and said: ‘Oh dear, oh dear …’
Fern was standing beside Annie now and as she laid eyes on the man at the door, her hand flew up to her chest: ‘Oh my good gracious!’ she said with real shock.
Annie looked at her mother, then back at the man.
She didn’t know why, but she could feel the hairs rise up on the back of her neck.
‘Good gracious!’ Fern repeated.
Annie looked at the man very closely, scrutinizing the eyes beyond the crinkles and the mouth slightly upturned in a smile, which looked deeply apologetic.
‘Mick,’ Fern’s mother said much more calmly now, ‘I think you’d better come in.’
The man gave a nod and Annie felt both her eyes and her mouth widen in horror.
Mick?
Mick!
As far as Annie knew there had only ever been one Mick in Fern’s life.
Could this really be him? No. Surely not.
Mick was long gone, had not been heard from in years and years. Mick was not expected to ever return again …
Chapter Thirty-Four
Totally sexy Sye:
White cotton button-down shirt (Brooks Brothers)
Beige multi-pocketed cargos (Patagonia)
Leather bracelet (Mom)
Multi-coloured fabric bracelets (a special ex)
Hiking boots (Hi-Tec)
Total est. cost: £210
‘All yours, baby …’
In a cosy booth in an old-fashioned pub in Kensington, a very good-looking couple had forgotten all about the drinks on the table in front of them.
The blond girl had both her arms wrapped around the slim waist of the slightly scruffily dressed guy beside her. The guy, kissing her probingly on the mouth, wished only that there was somewhere more private where they could wrap their legs around each other too.
‘Sye?’ Elena asked when she finally broke the kiss off and came up for air. ‘You can use the photo you took. I’ll sign the form.’
Sye’s green-brown eyes were fixed on hers. He didn’t think he’d ever, ever felt more attracted to anyone in his whole life.
‘Aha,’ he murmured, just wanting the kissing to carry on again.
He was thinking about the logistics: he was staying on a fold-down sofa with a friend who had small children. There was no taking Elena back there. From what he could understand about her situation, she was living with her mother and stepfather, plus more children. So male visitors weren’t exactly going to be welcomed there either, were they?
He was wondering if they could get a hotel room. But in Kensington? His eyes watered at the thought of how much that might cost.
‘But then can I keep the photo after Women’s Wear Daily has published it? Can it be mine?’ Elena was asking him.
‘Yeah,’ he told her, ‘you sign a release fo
rm for me, then I’ll sign the rights over to you … so that when you’ve dumped me and made the photo into a billboard, twenty-four feet by twelve, I won’t be able to claim a penny. Is that your plan?’ he asked, kissing her neck.
‘Yeah!’ she teased. ‘How did you guess?’
It wasn’t a billboard she had in mind – well, not yet anyway, she just wanted to own that photo in case she needed an advertising shot.
‘Happens all the time. Gorgeous but ruthless young businesswomen seduce photographers and steal all their copyrights,’ Sye said.
‘Poor, poor you,’ Elena replied with a throaty giggle. ‘How long are you in London?’ she added, her lips pressed right up against his ear, which seemed to call every hair from the top of his neck to the base of his spine to attention.
‘Two days,’ he told her. ‘And I have lots of work to do … unfortunately.’
‘Are you working tonight?’
‘Not until eight thirty,’ he told her, hoping she was going to suggest where they could go to be alone together.
‘Then we go to hotel,’ she said, scrunching up the fabric of his shirt in her hand, because the thought of ripping it off was uppermost in her mind.
‘I’m not sure if I can afford a hotel round here.’ He wanted to warn her straightaway.
‘No, I know somewhere … friend of friend …’ she added, with something of a dark look.
Sye felt another surge of desire. There was so much to know about her, so much to find out. He didn’t doubt for a moment that it was all intriguing.
‘Let’s go now,’ he said, wrapping her hand in his, wanting to pull her away from the table and go immediately to wherever it was they were going.
‘But first we need to sign,’ Elena said, all business sense not quite forgotten. ‘Later, we forget … or maybe fall out.’
Sye shook his head at the idea of arguing with her. ‘I don’t think so.’
Elena, head tilted flirtatiously, handed him a pen, and then from her mock-croc handbag she also brought out a form.
