New York Valentine (24 page)

Annie, as close to the backstage entrance as she’d managed to get in several frantic seconds, whispered frantically to whoever was there, ‘Tell Lana, Taylor’s here … just so she knows in advance.’ But there was no reply and she couldn’t be sure anyone had heard.

Meanwhile the room had fallen silent in interested anticipation – which was exactly why Svetlana chose this moment to make her late,
great
entry.

Sweeping in through the door, a white ermine fur coat swishing at her ankles, spectacular diamonds blinking in the pale available light, great blonde beehive hair making her appear about six foot five, she announced in her deep, husky voice, ‘Oh darrrrrlink, we are just on time. Look they wait for us and here is our seat, right at the front.’

Heads all around the room craned as Svetlana, coat, diamonds and beehive picked their way through the tables and chairs to the prime seat right at the top of the runway.

Svetlana’s arm was tightly gripped by her old friend and the richest New York male she could lay her hands on at short notice – Donald Trump. His hair, tan and diamond-studded tie clip glittered and shimmered in the spotlight just as much as Svetlana did.

As the pair sat down, they began to sip elegantly at the glasses of champagne which appeared as if by magic in their hands.

‘My mother,’ Elena breathed into Annie’s ear: ‘it’s always all about her.’

Svetlana at show-time:

Pink, white and green wrap dress (Missoni)
Pink strappy heels (Manolo Blahnik – personally)
3-carat diamond and emerald ring

(Cartier via 3rd husband)
Diamond drop earrings (Harry Winston
via 2nd husband)
Diamond-studded watch (Chopard, no husband required)
Breathtaking diamond and emerald necklace

(can’t even remember)
Floor-length white ermine coat (Fendi)
Total est. cost: $270,000

‘From Mayfair, London’

For the next half an hour, Annie couldn’t worry about Svetlana and Elena. She couldn’t even think about Svetlana and Elena. She was totally focused on her daughter. Could Lana handle being the model in a show where the boy who had dumped her so cruelly and callously, was sitting in the audience?

The music began and, one by one, the girls strode out: Lana at the back, but snaking her hips and strutting just as competently as the others.

The dresses were fantastic and Annie thought her daughter looked almost unrecognizably good; the long fringe gone, swept up into a quiff and carefully pinned under the beret so that all her delicate pale features were on display. What startling big blue eyes she had! During the years of fringe, Annie had almost forgotten their impact.

Annie’s eyes flicked to Taylor, and she held her breath as Lana strode down the catwalk. As she turned at the bottom to a volley of camera flashes, Annie thought Lana paused for just a little too long.

But if Lana had seen Taylor, she didn’t let it put her off her stride. When she came back up the blue carpet, her walk was as confident and purposeful as before and her face didn’t give any hint of fluster.

‘That’s my girl,’ Annie couldn’t help saying under her breath as she watched Lana turn the corner to backstage and no doubt race to have her outfit restyled.

When the next models came out, the dresses were ‘evening’ with chandelier earrings, buttons undone low, lacy slips peeking from underneath and highest heels.

It worked, it really did work. Annie dared to look at the audience now to make sure people were watching and noticing how cleverly these dresses had been made. There had to be orders! Otherwise Elena’s tiny apartment would very soon be filled with way too many dresses with no homes to go to. She, Lana and probably even Elena would have to move out to make room.

After another two outings in an assortment of dresses and colourful accessories, the models returned to take a bow. Then the lights were raised, the music turned down and the girls stepped out to walk amongst the guests. This way everyone could look at and even feel the dresses in detail.

Annie hurried through the crowd, determined to speak to, charm and chat up just as many buyers as she possibly could.

That was when she saw Lana sashay past Taylor quite deliberately. He smiled at her and seemed to say hello, but Lana just swished on straight past him. This was good, Annie thought, though not nearly as much revenge as she wanted to see dished out to the boy. Enforced tattooing, red hot pokers … something like that would be much better.

Now Annie’s attention was caught by the proximity of Svetlana to Mrs Westhoven. If that conversation was going to happen, she felt she should get over there to make sure nothing went too drastically wrong.

By the time Annie had made it to the table, Mrs Westhoven had approached Svetlana.

‘Hello, I’m Sylvia Westhoven, head buyer at Bloomingdale’s. I don’t believe we’ve met before, although Donald, I’m sure you remember me,’ Mrs Westhoven gushed, reaching over to take Donald Trump’s hand. ‘My husband is Sam Westhoven. He’s one of the partners at Brinks, Westhoven and Shipman.’

‘Of course, Mrs Westhoven,’ the world-famous billionaire replied, smiling politely but without much sign of recognition.

‘So what brings you here today, Donald? Is there a personal connection?’ Mrs Westhoven had to ask.

‘I’m here with my friend Svetlana Wisneski. This is her dress label.’

‘Oh …’

Momentarily Mrs Westhoven seemed lost for words, so Annie stepped in.

‘Mrs Westhoven, please meet Svetlana, Elena’s business partner in Perfect Dress who also happens to be Elena’s mother.’

‘I see,’ Mrs Westhoven managed and held out her hand.

Svetlana had a way of presenting her hand, jaw-dropping diamonds first, before she turned it elegantly for the shake.

Mrs Westhoven held out her diamonds and gold watch too and there was almost a clatter of jewels as the two formidable madams made their handshake.

‘You are Elena’s mother?’ Mrs Westhoven seemed torn between conflicting emotions. She’d clearly decided to disapprove of Elena but now, seeing Svetlana’s obvious wealth and status, she seemed to be having second thoughts. ‘From the Ukraine?’ Mrs Westhoven went on, making this sound as sniffy and dismissive as she possibly could.

‘From Mayfair, London,’ Svetlana said with a gracious smile. ‘Ukraine is such a long time ago. Vonderrrrrful childhood memories,’ she gushed, untruthfully.

‘So you’ve started up this little dress business?’ Mrs Westhoven said with just as much of a sneer as she could get away with. She clearly felt she had the upper hand.

‘Yes, is little hobby for me …’ Svetlana gave a tiny shrug of ermine-covered shoulder, as if to imply that she had far too much money to need to worry about making any. ‘I love clothes. But this is important for Elena. She wants to run business and take over the world. She is very smart girl.’

‘I see.’

‘And why have you come to the show, Mrs Westhoven?’

‘I am the head buyer with Bloomingdale’s.’

Annie could see the answer registering with Svetlana, and her sharp mind working it out. She knew about Bloomingdale’s, she knew about Mrs Westhoven and she definitely knew about Sye.

‘Sye Westhoven …’ Svetlana began.

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Westhoven said, drawing herself to her full, Chanel-clad height.

‘So, how you enjoy your …
job?’
Svetlana said, giving an unmistakable little sneer of her own on the word ‘job’.

‘I love it. I can’t imagine being a lady who just … lunches,’ came the icy reply.

Svetlana made a tinkling and obviously false laugh. Then she threw in, with a significant stroke of her glittering necklace: ‘Oh, life is verrrry, verrry interesting when you have enough money.’

‘Indeed.’ Mrs Westhoven’s eyes narrowed. She looked furiously angry.

‘So our children are dating again,’ Svetlana purred, before adding the killer. ‘Of course, I do not approve.’

Now, the kid-skin gloves were off. Annie’s heart hammered. Where would they go from here?

‘If you think I approve …’ Mrs Westhoven hissed: ‘how can I possibly approve of Sye taking up with some unwanted Eastern European
love child
brought up by
relatives
, who didn’t meet her own mother until she turned twenty?’

Svetlana froze. This woman knew far too much.

‘This is mine, give it to me,’ Svetlana said and grabbed at the Tiffany’s goodie bag which Mrs Westhoven was holding.

‘I beg your pardon, it’s mine,’ Mrs Westhoven said, snatching the bag back. For a brief moment, both women were involved in an undignified tug of war over the goodie bag, which held up admirably under the pressure.

‘Ladies,’ Donald Trump intervened with a genial smile, ‘why don’t we settle this over another bottle of champagne?’

‘Never!’ Mrs Westhoven declared, and with that she let go of the bag, turned on her heel and began to march to the door.

Elena, who had been watching this disaster from a safe distance, did not dare to approach Mrs W on her way out. But Annie decided maybe she would give it just one desperate try. This was, after all, the woman behind the biggest single dress order.

‘Mrs Westhoven, I’m sorry, Svetlana is a unique and colourful character. She often says things she doesn’t mean …’ Annie began apologetically. ‘I hope the dresses at least spoke for themselves.’

‘Don’t waste your time,’ Mrs Westhoven said, not even turning to look at Annie as she continued her march to the door, but she raised her voice so that as many of the guests as possible could hear her. ‘Your dresses are unoriginal and cheap. The Bloomingdale’s order remains withdrawn.’

Sye ready to mother-meet:

Thick white shirt (Brooks Brothers)
Beige combat trousers (Patagonia)
Hiking boots (same)
Digital camera (Nikon)
Woven wrist bracelets (Bolivia)
Total est. cost: $680

‘There’s another side.’

The post-show party was not intended to be a big event but it was nevertheless one of the most glamorous get-togethers Annie had ever been to, because it was in Svetlana’s room at the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue.

Even Svetlana didn’t splash out on a suite at the Carlyle, so this was an intimate and cosy party based around Svetlana’s king-sized bed and the vast sofa at the foot of it. But it was still perfectly glamorous in every way and with views from eleven floors up right over Manhattan.

Sculptural orchids on every available side table? Check. Impressive white marble fireplace? Check. Bowls of too perfect to eat fruit? Check. Luxurious furnishings and fabrics? Swathes of silk and satin? Check and check.

Still, Svetlana had spread her ermine coat over her king-sized bed, just to make it that touch more luxurious.

Now the little handful of guests – well, in fact, it was just Svetlana, Annie, Connor and Lana – were drinking wine or fizzy water and picking from the silver trays of food brought up by room service.

Annie and Lana were on the sofa, while Svetlana and Connor were draped across the ermine and the bed. Annie wondered why her two friends had only met so briefly in the past. The two divas seemed perfectly suited to one another.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t come to the show. I still can’t believe you didn’t come,’ Annie complained to Connor.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to take the spotlight away from anyone,’ he said with such pomposity that Annie had a fit of the giggles.

‘No, of course not,’ she managed, ‘because you are soooooo famous in New York, I don’t know how you manage to get out the door in the morning without being mobbed by your fans and the paparazzi.’

‘Have some more champagne, darrrling,’ Svetlana said, dangling the bottle over Connor’s glass. ‘This the worst day in my business life so far. We have to celebrate.’

‘You need a marketing strategy,’ Connor offered, already sounding sozzled.

‘Shut up,’ Annie told him, ‘no one’s talking about marketing strategies tonight. We’re just going to enjoy being in a room at the Carlyle. For me, this is a once in a lifetime event. Well … unless Tamsin gets me a job starring in the next blockbuster, obviously.’

‘Too fat,’ Connor informed her.

‘Shut up!’ Annie repeated, filling up her own glass. ‘Anyway I’m training with Gawain,
trademark
tomorrow. So look out, Hollywood.’

‘If you are training with Gawain tomorrow,’ Connor said, sitting up to look at her, ‘you better put that glass down right now. You have no idea how much pain he is going to inflict. You can’t have a hangover as well. It will kill you.’

‘I will fight the pain with champagne,
trademark,’
Annie insisted and downed another mouthful.

There was a tap on the door and as Svetlana called out, ‘Come in!’ Elena and Sye, hand in hand, strolled into the room.

‘Oh hello.’ At the sight of another so obviously handsome man, Svetlana automatically patted her hair, adjusted her cleavage and sat up on her bed. Then she extended her diamond-encrusted hand. ‘Wonderful to meet you properly,’ she said graciously, then spoiled it slightly by adding, ‘Your mother is total beeeeetch.’

‘Well, Mrs Wisneski,’ Sye began, sounding relaxed, ‘I guess you wouldn’t be the first person to think that. But maybe you need to get to know her better. There’s another side. A very charming side.’

‘Hmmm, I don’t know if there is going to be much getting to know this woman better. But you, Sye, Elena thinks I need to know you a little better, so sit on bed here, have a drink and talk to me.’

Annie thought it was a good thing that Elena sat right down beside Sye to protect him, because Svetlana looked dangerously like she might eat him all up in one gulp.

‘How are you, baby?’ Annie asked her daughter, who was sitting quietly on the sofa, sipping at mineral water and watching all the lavish Svetlana antics with wide eyes.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Did you like modelling?’

‘Not much. Another fantasy fulfilled, which turns out to be not as much fun as you’d thought.’

‘Ooooh so young and so world-weary,’ Annie teased. ‘You did see … you-know-who, didn’t you?’

‘Mmmm,’ Lana confirmed with a little nod.