The Personal Shopper (Annie Valentine)

by Carmen Reid

  ‘I’m not forty yet,’ Annie had warned him. ‘It could all change!’

  Now, to Annie’s slight disappointment, there didn’t seem to be any clue to Marilyn left in Gray’s home. Well, unless her taste had been very masculine, but it looked as if he’d completely redecorated since she’d gone.

  There was a dark brown leather sofa in the bright sitting room and one of those swooping chrome lamps embedded in a marble plinth. On the floor was a rug made of plaited leather and a great fluffy sheepskin-covered beanbag. Tall windows overlooked the neat front garden, and a wide opening in the back wall led through to a dazzling slate and stainless steel kitchen, divided from the back garden by another huge window.

  ‘Wow,’ she kept telling him. ‘This is amazing.’

  He was such a gadget man: he showed her how the blinds slid down by remote control, how the kitchen back wall moved up like an electrically powered garage door, so that on warm days the room could be transformed to an outdoor space.

  ‘Now, let me show you the roof terrace,’ was the way Gray framed his invitation to upstairs. Annie got a peek of his beige-and-chocolate, neat-as-a-hotel-suite master bedroom on the way past the door, as he carried on to the roof terrace, the highlight of the house tour.

  Out on the terrace, surrounded by dark decking, tall shrubs in pots and ornamental marble balls, was a generous, two-metre-wide jacuzzi.

  ‘It’s a bit of fun, isn’t it?’ Gray said, unlocking the glass windows so they could go out. ‘It’s heated, obviously . . . I worried it was a bit too James Bond, but now I’m a total convert. Sitting out here, glass of champagne in one hand, watching the sunset over there, believe me, it’s breathtaking. Maybe we’ll do that later,’ he added gently.

  ‘Oh never mind later!’ she announced, only partly because staying here too late was going to cause her a babysitting headache. ‘Let’s get into the water and build up an appetite for lunch!’

  She reached for him and as they kissed, she began to unbutton his shirt, but, to her disappointment, he broke off, took a step backwards and told her: ‘There’s a big dressing gown and towels for you in here.’ Then he opened the door to his spare room and ushered her in: ‘I’ll see you out there in a few minutes.’

  Well, it wasn’t the giggly stripping off and jumping in stark naked she’d envisaged, but then this was Gray’s old-fashioned charm, wasn’t it? The reserve she’d seen in him and found so likeable?

  Annie took her clothes off in the neutral hotel-like room. There was even a cushion on the immaculate bed which matched the fabric of the curtains. She hated, hated that. No-one should ever do that. Bet that was a Tracey-turned-Marilyn touch.

  She pulled on her red with white polka dots swimsuit and hoicked herself into it. It was a glamorous 1950s style with a hefty 40 per cent Lycra. No swimsuit should come with less. With its eye-distracting dots and elastic cling, this baby did almost as much for her as a corset and was worth every penny she’d spent on it.

  Now if she’d just thought to buy the matching Joan Collins sarong and wide-brimmed straw hat . . . but then, it was April out there. The thick dressing gown was probably completely necessary.

  Just for good measure, from her handbag she slid two flesh-coloured silicone breast enhancers and stuffed them underneath her boobs in the swimsuit cups. Oh yes! That was better. Check out that cleavage. How could Gray resist? Maybe one day she’d treat herself to a boob job and defy the forces of gravity.

  She looked herself over in the mirror, readjusted her ponytail and reapplied the red lipstick chosen to match the swimsuit exactly. What a catch – even if she had to say it herself.

  Stepping out into the hall, Annie saw that the roof terrace door was open, the jacuzzi was bubbling fiercely, but Gray was not there and his bedroom door was shut.

  Never mind, she would get in first. She walked out onto the decking, feeling the smooth wood beneath her feet. A toe-test assured her that the water was bathtub warm, so she let her dressing gown fall to the deck and slipped into the pool.

  Oh! Delicious! There was a curved comfortable bench beneath the surface so she could sit and look up at the sky as her body was pummelled with surprisingly vigorous jets of water.

  She threw her head back, chest out, and waited for Gray to catch her looking utterly irresistible. But long minutes passed and there was still no sign of him. Her neck was stiffening, so she relaxed the pose and her eyes fell on the stacked pyramid of large black marble balls between the potted palms.

  Surely this was another Tracey-Marilyn thing? No man went into a shop and came out with marble balls.

  What was keeping Gray? She must have been in the water on her own for at least ten minutes now. Maybe he was showering? Applying a fresh coat of aftershave?

  And what would he look like naked? she couldn’t help wondering. He would be lean, quite muscular and tanned, she suspected, but as he was almost at the 50 mark, there would probably be those tell-tale age signs: slightly shrunken buttocks, little baggy wrinkles at the armpit, elbow and knees, skin not clinging quite so firmly to the muscles . . . OK, no need to panic!

  On a whim, she reached over to pick up one of the marble balls: it was much heavier than she’d expected. The great chunk of slippery stone wobbled between her damp palms, she felt it slip just slightly and panicked that she was about to drop it to the bottom of the pool where it would cause a crack and thousands of pounds’ worth of damage. She tightened her grip on it and quickly turned to put it back into the pile.

  But the marble ornaments had been stacked with far more skill than she’d appreciated and the ball she returned was still for only a moment before it rolled off, taking down another five balls with it in a loud, cracking tumble.

  For solid marble, they rolled away at a surprising rate in three different directions – which didn’t say much for the skills of the joiner who’d done the decking.

  Annie leapt out of the pool to herd them.

  She had three balls under control and was bending over trying to reassemble the pile when she heard Gray asking: ‘How’s the water?’

  Peering over her shoulder, she saw him swathed in a dressing gown at the terrace door, balancing a small tray with a bottle of champagne and two delicate glasses.

  Instead of finding her in the pool looking fabulous with a come-hither smile upon her face, he was subjected to a full-on rear-end view as she wrestled with the slippery ornaments.

  ‘Oh dear, what’s happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, nothing . . . no damage done,’ she rushed to assure him and turned quickly to get her bum out of the spotlight, ‘I just . . . well, the marbles . . . they’ve rolled about a bit.’ She spotted the fourth and kneeled gracefully this time to pick it up.

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ Gray insisted, setting the tray down on the floor.

  He put his hands out to take the ball from her, but misjudged and made contact with her enhanced swimming costume cleavage. He pulled his hands back again, which was a mistake, as Annie had now let go of the ball, thinking Gray had it.

  It crashed down, landing squarely on Gray’s foot.

  ‘Aaaargh!’ he cried out, understandably, and instinctively brought his knee up so that, hopping slightly, he could clutch at the mashed toes. Another error, as he slipped on the now wet decking and lost his balance.

  He wobbled mid-air for a moment, arms flailing, Annie reading the shock in his look, and then with a resounding CRASH!!! he went down, falling backwards into the champagne tray and knocking himself out cold.

  ‘Gray! Oh hell’s bells! Gray!!’ was Annie’s cool, collected response.

  Her rearranging of the ornaments had killed him: it was Ms Scarlett on the decking with the marble ball.

  ‘Gray!!’ She crouched down beside him. His head had crunched into one of the glasses, the overturned bottle had rolled away and was now glugging its contents into the jacuzzi. She’d always wanted to try a champagne jacuzzi . . . but this was obviously not the moment.

  His li
ps were white, which didn’t strike her as a good sign, but there was definitely breath coming from his nose, so she let her panic subside slightly.

  What was she supposed to do? Nothing she’d ever learned about first aid (from watching Casualty) came to mind.

  Maybe she should splash him with a little water? She leaned over to the pool, scooped up a handful of water and dripped it over his temple. It ran off his forehead and into his hair.

  She couldn’t help taking just a nanosecond to scrutinize his hair, now that she had the opportunity. Leaning in, she took a closer look and satisfied herself once and for all that Gray didn’t wear a toupee. It was all natural – but he did use hair dye: there was just the tiniest millimetre or so of grey root visible on inspection. Fair enough, he liked to look good.

  But anyway . . . she had to get on and do something to help him. She decided to roll him gently onto his side – the recovery position, wasn’t it? – then she’d phone for an ambulance.

  As she began to pull him over, she saw that his head was bleeding at the back from the little shards of glass embedded in it. It didn’t look too serious, but they definitely needed medical assistance.

  Once he was in position, a fold of his dressing gown fell open to reveal a fresh surprise.

  Was that a . . . ? Could that really be . . . ?

  One part fascinated, one part horrified, Annie moved her head down to examine this new development.

  There was no mistaking it: poking up from the thick white cloth of the dressing gown was a rigid, pink erection.

  That wasn’t right, was it? You couldn’t be unconscious and have a boner like that. Could you?

  She wanted to touch it, to make sure it was real. But it looked real enough, pointing at the potted palms, sure and solid as a tent pole.

  This could not be a natural phenomenon, could it? No. Gray must have taken something. One of those products everyone with an email address opened up to every morning: Viagra, Cialis, soft tabs . . .

  Gray gave just the slightest of groans and Annie quickly got to her feet. It wouldn’t do to get caught examining a man’s penis while he was unconscious. No, that wouldn’t look good at all.

  His eyes were still closed, so she ran to find her mobile, snatching it from her handbag in the spare room just as it started ringing.

  ‘Yes?’ she answered, rushing back to the terrace.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Lana, I can’t—’

  ‘Muuuum, Owen’s being really, really annoying—’

  ‘Lana, I have to go, Gray has—’

  ‘God!’ Lana screamed. ‘Gray this, Gray that. Who cares about your stupid boyfriend? I’m not babysitting for you any longer! I’m going out! Owen can just wait in for Dinah.’

  ‘Lana! Give Dinah a call, please. I have to use the phone now. Please, Lana, please! Don’t leave Owen at home on his own, he might play with the science kit and blow the entire place up,’ she pleaded.

  A huge, martyred teenage sigh came back down the line at her. Then Lana hung up.

  Annie could not worry about Lana and Owen. Right now she had to dial 999.

  She was putting her folded gown underneath Gray’s head, when he came round. He jerked his head up too quickly and almost passed out again. Annie was trying to explain what had happened, but it was taking some time to sink in.

  ‘What do you mean, hit my head?’ he asked in a voice that sounded a little slurred.

  ‘You’ve had a fall . . . please, just stay still, there’s an ambulance on its way.’

  ‘An ambulance!!’

  There was no ignoring the Bone. It was still there, long and pink, poking well clear of his dressing gown. She shifted position a little to get away from it.

  ‘Gray, you’ve been unconscious, you’ve got pieces of glass in your head, you need to go to hospital.’

  He lay still, absorbing this information.

  ‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she soothed. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  Annie had just spotted her towel and was about to throw it over his middle to stop him from noticing the embarrassing little situation going on down there, but then came a much deeper groan and the pulling up of his knees and rearranging of his dressing gown as he noticed.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ he exclaimed and curled himself foetally around the unforgiving, undisguisable Bone.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about that . . . I’m flattered,’ Annie joked, trying to put him at ease. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’

  He just closed his eyes and groaned again.

  ‘Look, Gray, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve got chicken fillets in my swimsuit.’

  He open his eyes and looked at her in bewilderment.

  She reached down the front of her costume and matter-of-factly pulled out one of her silicone breast enhancers, wibbling it in front of his face. ‘Viagra for girls,’ she assured him. ‘At our age,’ she added, chummily, ‘we need all the help we can get.’

  He just groaned again.

  The ambulance crew of three arrived and included Brenda, a visual feast from Tasmania. Deeply tanned, tomboyish and gorgeous, she at least perked Gray up slightly.

  ‘A romantic moment gone wrong here, then,’ she summed up, surveying the bubbling jacuzzi, Annie still in glamourpuss swimsuit and pole-axed, tent-pole Gray.

  One crew member spoke into his radio: ‘Middle-aged male: champagne glass injuries to the scalp, injury by a spherical marble ornament to the left foot, suspected concussion and a possible Viagra reaction. Yes, I am in Upper Ploxley . . . How did you guess?’ He did at least try to keep the chuckle from his voice.

  ‘Could you pack a bag for your boyfriend?’ they asked Annie.

  ‘Erm . . . Gray? What do you want me to get for you – and where will I find it?’ she had to ask, causing more stifled sniggering from the ambulance crew.

  Gray was finally carried out on a stretcher with the weight of three towels over his middle in an attempt to keep the Bone at bay.

  Once they’d all left, Annie switched off the jacuzzi, swept the broken glass from the decking, drank down the mouthful or so of champagne left in the bottle, locked the terrace doors, changed out of her swimsuit and exited the house, pulling the front door shut behind her.

  Back in her Jeep, she sat in the driver’s seat for a few moments to consider the events of the afternoon. She wondered if she should have accompanied Gray to hospital, but he’d told her not to. She wondered if she would ever hear from him again . . . She’d get in touch first, make sure that somehow they pick up again from here.

  It was an accident . . . these things happen . . . but why today?! Finally Annie had to give in and allowed herself to do the one thing she hadn’t been able to do ever since the marble boulder had slipped from Gray’s grip: she began to rock with laughter.

  ‘That’s the best story I’ve heard all week,’ was Connor’s verdict, when she rang to share it with him later: ‘The man with the marble balls and a rod of iron.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  New, improved Martha:

  Orange, red and white dress (Issa)

  Slouchy brown boots (Miu Miu)

  Caramel tote (Chloé)

  Est. cost: £1,400

  ‘Don’t you think I’m transvestite tall?’

  Paula, now back on the shop floor, was the assistant who led Martha Cooper into the Personal Shopping suite for her second visit with the words: ‘Wow! I can’t believe it’s really you!’

  Annie, who was trying to fit in several quick computer bids and her stone-cold Starbucks latte, not to mention arrange a delivery of flowers to Gray at his hospital bed, took her feet off her desk and began to clap her hands.

  ‘Oh, very good!’ she told Martha, who was smiling from ear to ear.

  The mum who’d turned up in old jeans and a parka now stood before them in the sharp trousers and swing jacket she’d bought on her first visit, nicely grunged down with a pair of green g
ymmies. But the biggest change was the healthy, make-up-assisted glow on her face and the hair. The lank overgrown mop was now a tousled, tonged, caramel-coloured mane.

  ‘Grrrrrrr,’ Annie purred. ‘Look at you. Good enough to eat. And are you back at work now?’

  Martha nodded.

  ‘So you’ve returned to spend lots of your new lolly?’

  ‘Oh yes. I want a raincoat . . . and a dress . . . and maybe some boots . . . and possibly a bag.’

  ‘Oh, you are so in the right place, babes. And it’s me looking after you this afternoon, hope that’s OK? Right . . . follow me, we’ll do a little tour of the shop floor and bring back a bundle of things for you to try.’

  After a speed search of the collections Annie thought would work for Martha, they were back in the suite. A vibrant orange and red Issa dress with high-heeled boots and a fab bag were the choices Annie was nudging Martha towards.

  The dress was beautiful on. Although it was patterned, it wasn’t floral because, as Martha had warned Annie: ‘A tall girl in big flowers . . .’

  ‘Is a sofa,’ Annie had agreed straight away.

  Unfortunately the high-heeled brown slouchy boots which went so brilliantly with the dress seemed to be the problem for Martha.

  ‘I know everything looks better with heels,’ she began, ‘but don’t you think I’m now transvestite tall?’

  ‘No,’ Annie assured her, but, well . . . she was about six foot four in those boots, which was a little scary.

  ‘There’s no use telling me how tall Cindy, Lindy, Elle etc. are, I just don’t want to be the tallest thing in a room bar the column holding up the ceiling. And . . .’ she gave the slightly confused hand gestures which Annie had seen in so many clients before, ‘I just don’t think this—’

  ‘Is really you?’ Annie jumped in. ‘Too smart, too dressy . . . too much, too soon! Sorry, I’m rushing you in there. OK. We like the dress? Agreed? So maybe we need to style it down. And we need to bring you down too, don’t we?’