by Carmen Reid
And to questions about how she was doing she just replied, 'Really well, thanks. I'm so proud of Owen and Lana, they did brilliantly tonight.'
When she was momentarily caught without anyone to talk to, and not knowing the people directly around her, she set off slowly through the crowd in search of a top-up for her wine glass and another familiar face. That was when she caught her first glimpse of Ed and turned abruptly, almost knocking straight into another woman.
'Oh I'm so sorry!' Annie exclaimed.
'No, no, totally my fault, I'm not used to my size yet,' the woman said gesturing to her stomach, the hard, swollen balloon of a pregnancy round about month six or seven. 'Oh! You're Annie Valentine, aren't you?' the woman said.
Annie nodded and smiled, trying to remember where she had seen her before. She was very pretty, with a dainty face and a sleek black bob. Nicely styled, high at the back and narrowing to two points level with her pointed chin. The bump was beautifully clothed in a long, subtly coloured knit dress with a flowing black crotcheted cardigan on top.
'I was going to contact you properly tomorrow but I hoped we might run into each other tonight. I'm Denise.' She stretched out her hand to shake Annie's, then head a little to the side, she asked, 'Ed's probably told you all about me?'
That's when Annie realized who this woman was. The one Ed had been sitting beside in the café in Camden. The one he'd been laughing and sipping coffee with, the one Annie had thought (ridiculously) must be his Italian girlfriend.
'My daughter's in the choir and we went on the school trip to Bavaria together and I got to know him really well,' Denise added with a happy smile.
'Right,' Annie smiled back.
'I'm one of the buyers for House of Fraser: shoes and leather accessories,' Denise went on. 'A few weeks ago Ed showed me a pair of the shoes you're importing. I've taken them into various meetings, you know how it is nowadays, no one person is ever allowed to make a decision. We have to get all the suits and creatives and one man and his dog to agree, but the bottom line is, we love the shoes and we'd like to talk to you about stocking them in some of our stores. That's why I was going to contact you tomorrow. I hoped we could meet up and discuss this further.'
If Annie was surprised, then Ed – now within earshot and seeing the two women together and guessing what they must be talking about – was very surprised and seriously flustered.
Annie, spying his approach from the corner of her eye could have rounded on him in total confusion. Could have demanded what the hell he was doing arranging meetings about her shoes? Sneaking around behind her back? Taking shoes from her boxes without asking? What on earth had he been thinking?
Instead, Annie remembered her promise to herself to be a totally civilized grown-up, even if it killed her. So before Ed could say anything, she quickly told Denise, 'What fantastic news! That's the best news I've had for weeks! Yes, well . . . when's a good time to come in and talk to you?'
As Denise got out her BlackBerry to make the necessary arrangements, Annie turned and offered Ed a very grown up and absolutely perfectly civilized smile.
As she left St Vincent's that evening with Owen and Lana in tow, Annie's mobile began to ring. She didn't recognize the number, but she knew it was Italian. Aha! Finally Mr B was phoning her back about the zipless bags. She'd only left about eight voicemail messages for him.
But to her surprise, the voice at the other end of the line informed her: 'Annah? It is Patrizia here.'
'Oh hello, Patrizia! How are you doing?'
'Very, very bad,' came the surprising reply, 'I have bad news.'
'Right.' Annie braced herself. Mr B was not going to cave on the zipless bags front. He wasn't going to give her the money back . . . Well, never mind, she would sell her stock, slowly but surely on the internet. It had been a lesson.
'Mr Berlusponti-Milliau is being investigated by the police,' Patrizia told her. 'The bags he sell you are copies. All the new bags, nearly everything he sell you, all copies of new bags coming out next year. It is very, very big trouble. Police. Fraud squad.'
'WHAT?!'
Chapter Thirty-three
Paula at The Store:
Silver lurex vest top (Zara)
Pink satin bra (La Senza)
Very tight pinstriped black trousers
(Joseph sale – staff discount)
High black wedges (Miu Miu sale –
staff discount)
Total est. cost: £180
'Your next client's waiting.'
The bag from Mr B had already sold on eBay for £145. But there was still time to contact the purchaser, say there had been a mistake and refund the payment. So technically, Annie had not sold a fake bag. So technically, Annie would not be drummed out of eBay and she was not wanted by the Italian fraud squad – both good things.
But she had a bad feeling about getting her money back on the great stockpile of bags she had already bought from Mr B and now had stacked incriminatingly in her spare room.
She needed a lawyer and she didn't think it should be the crusty old dear who had handled the conveyancing on the many properties she'd bought and sold over the years, and who had looked after Roddy's will.
In the cold light of a Monday morning in The Store with a cooling coffee on her desk as she waited for her next client to show, Annie knew there was one woman with excellent legal contacts she really had to call. Punching the number into her mobile, she waited for her to pick up.
'Svetlana?'
'Yes, this is she.'
'Hello babes, it's Annie Valentine here. How are you doing?'
'Vonderful! Ve have a date for my fourth vedding! Darling, I've done spring, autumn and winter, so this time I am going to be a summer bride!'
'That is fantastic, lovely!' Annie enthused, thinking of the shopping that this would entail. OK the dress would surely be couture, but everything else would come from The Store: the shoes, the underwear, the going away outfit, the honeymoon wardrobe. The outfits for most of the wedding party. This was excellent, excellent news.
'Babes, look, I need a good lawyer. Someone who can help me with a little business problem. Nothing serious,' she added quickly, she didn't want Svetlana to think she'd diddled her taxes or something. 'I need to get my money back from a supplier.'
'This is not a problem with the beautiful shoes, Annah?' Svetlana exclaimed.
'No, no problem with the shoes, the shoes are coming on just fine. I'm just wondering how I'm going to be able to buy as many shoes as people seem to want,' Annie added.
'Ha! You need an investor, someone with big bucks, ha?'
Annie had to laugh at this, 'Well, I might . . . House of Fraser is meeting with me at the end of the week. If they want to sell the shoes, then I have a problem, but a nice problem. More buyers than I have goods . . . but we'll see.'
'Annah . . .' Svetlana's voice was suddenly lower than usual, 'Harry tells me I need a little business. Not too much vork, you understand, but a little business on the side, tax deductible and I think I should vork with you on the shoes. The shoes are vonderful. And I meet so many people, go to so many parties. I vear the shoes, I talk about the shoes, I tell everyone . . . we get them onto television, we make big, big success. Then maybe I not need to keep marrying silly old rich men,' she broke off with a big throaty laugh.
'No Harry, he quite all right,' she added, 'I only joking with you. But you tell me, vhat you think of having former Miss Ukraine-Moneybags as your business partner? Ha, Annah? I think ve vork very vell together. No?'
For several moments, Annie was too surprised to speak. This was just too major. She just let all the possibilities, the amazing new opportunities this offered, fill her head, before finally making her reply.
'I think that is the best, best news ever!' Annie gushed. 'Babes I think veee are going to be vonderful!'
It was coming together – it was really going to happen. She already had a business mentor, someone who was going to tell her all about importing and export
ing, Revenue & Customs and all that boring stuff. Chemical toilets whiz Bronwen had been delighted to get Annie's phone call and request for help.
'I'll obviously pay you for your time,' Annie had offered.
'No way!' Bronwen had assured her. 'Just keep dressing me. You've already dressed me all the way to my first pay rise.'
There was a tap at the door of her office and the scantily clad arm and shoulder of Paula appeared, followed by the delicate clatter of her long beaded braids.
'Your next client's waiting,' Paula whispered.
Annie nodded vigorously and held up a finger to indicate she would just be one minute.
'I've got to go,' she told Svetlana. 'I'll call you about my other plans as soon as I finish work tonight.'
'Perfect,' Svetlana told her before hanging up.
Now Annie just had to send a text. If she didn't, she would have put it off too long and too late. It was only polite to send it now.
'Shall we go with Foxtons est8 agents? I will if you will. U must come to Owen's b-party. Not same without u.'
Bleep. It was sent. To Ed, obviously.
Chapter Thirty-four
The mugger:
Grey hoodie (Gap)
Black tracksuit bottoms (Adidas)
Black and white trainers (Adidas – very brand loyal)
Black beanie (market stall)
Total est. cost: nil. All nicked.
'Aaaaaargh!'
A strange thing had happened to Annie. When she was in the house on her own at night, when Owen had fallen asleep and when Lana's light was finally off, Annie seemed to grow more and more awake.
She'd once enjoyed the wind-down hour before bed, taking off her face, showering, slathering herself in lotions and potions, snuggling down for the night . . . but now she couldn't settle.
Upstairs in her bedroom she was jumpy and seemed to wind herself up further and further. She found herself clickety-clicking on the internet into the small hours of the morning because all of a sudden, sleep just didn't want to come to her. She'd rather stay up now, because going to bed involved lying in the dark for far too long, worrying.
At night in the dark she had – and she hated to admit this to herself – become a bit of a scaredy cat. When she closed her eyes, the mugger – the man she hadn't thought about at all in the weeks after it had happened – came into her mind uninvited. She could see him striding towards her from a distance, then picking up speed, then at a brisk jog, holding out his arm and wallop! She would open her eyes in horror, feeling her heart thump hard in her chest.
Bad, bad habits were forming: she had begun to change into her pyjamas and bring her duvet to the sitting room, where she would have the TV on low and fall asleep on the sofa. When she woke at four or five in the morning, the birds were already singing and she would finally feel safe enough to go back to her own bed.
Not her bed . . . their bed. The sumptuous leather bed, glossy and luxurious, bought when they moved in together, when Annie's marital bed had finally been consigned to the spare room and her new life with a new man had begun properly.
Their bed. When she was lying in it, wide awake, wondering who would get it when the house was sold and they had to go their separate ways . . . jog, jog, jogging, into her mind would come the mugger again.
Tonight it had just turned 11 p.m. when Annie came down to the sitting room in her pyjamas with her duvet and a supposedly soothing cup of herbal tea. She was achingly tired.
She settled down on the sofa, tucked the covers around her and was quickly tuning out the gentle hum of chatter from the telly and dozing, finally falling into sleep . . . deeper and deeper until . . . the dull clunk of all the lights, appliances and the TV coming to an abrupt standstill woke her up with a start.
She sat up in the pitch darkness trying to understand what had happened. Then she heard a sound in the hallway outside.
With a lurch, sending her heart into overdrive, she realized she could hear footsteps in the hallway. Heavy ones, nothing like Owen's or Lana's. There was someone in the house.
Frozen in the dark silence of the sitting room, she heard the footsteps heading off in the direction of the kitchen. There was a burglar in the house! And he'd cut the electrics so that there was no chance of an alarm going off or of anyone waking up and pressing a panic button.
She'd read about burglaries like these. Burglars who waited until people were at home, robbers who woke people up and made them reveal the valuables. Burglars who pulled out knives and forced you to hand over your bank cards and PIN numbers. One went to the cash machine while the other stayed holding a knife to your children to make sure you weren't lying.
She could hear drawers and cupboards being opened in the kitchen. He was looking for a knife . . . The burglar was looking for a knife! The blood was drumming in her chest and in her ears. He was going to come out of the kitchen and start hunting round this room – what if he went upstairs? The children!
Annie wanted to stuff the duvet into her mouth to stop herself from moaning with fear. She wanted to scrunch down into the smallest possible space and hide from this. She wanted to faint to be out of it so that she couldn't even know this was happening.
What if it was her mugger? What if he had got her address from the bag or from her phone and he'd waited till tonight to come back to see what other choice items of YSL he could take? They had never got round to changing the locks!
Some instinct, not of self-preservation, but of the ferocious need to protect her children, kicked in and cleared the frozen panic from her mind.
Annie looked round the room, now slightly less dark as her eyes adjusted to the light, scanning frantically for something, anything with which she could defend them all from this intruder. The lamp looked far too big, the vases too flimsy. Picture frames weren't any use.
She could hear the kitchen door opening. It was now or never, there had to be something. On the coffee table were several heavy, solid hardback books. One of those would have to do. It was the only useful thing she could think of.
The burglar was already in the hall, she would have to be quick – very quick and totally silent. Without thinking any more about it, she slipped off the sofa, pulled the book from the table and carried it to the doorway. Then she hung back, waiting for the intruder to walk past. She'd surprise him from behind, it was her only chance.
Annie shook with fear as the footsteps came towards her. She was going to have to go out, she couldn't wait, she couldn't bear to risk being caught without acting. With a scream of fright and fury, she stepped out right into the path of the burglar and whammed the book very hard at him.
She'd hoped to wallop him on the head: she'd hoped she would be able to hit him hard enough to knock him down. Maybe even knock him unconscious. But to her horror, the intruder shouted: 'Aaaaaaaargh!' in a voice which sounded even more frightened than hers.
The figure dropped something to the floor with a clatter before yelling, 'Jesus, Annie, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?'
Then he added, 'For God's sake, my nose!'
The voice was unmistakably Ed's.
'Ed! You . . . you . . . you,' Annie shouted, terror instantly giving way to a wave of fury, 'what the hell are you doing? Creeping about here in the pitch black scaring me out of my mind!'
Cupping a hand over his nose, he explained in a muffled, but none the less, highly annoyed voice, 'I rang the bell. When you didn't answer I let myself in. I switched on the light in the hall and a bulb blew and tripped the whole house. So obviously I went to the kitchen to get a torch, so I could get to the fuse box . . . and the batteries in the torch are dead, so I was just going to look for some more when you shoot out of the sitting room giving me the fright of my life and whack me in the face with a bloody encyclopaedia or something.'
