Shopping With the Enemy (8 page)

‘Who cares about weather?!’ Parker exclaimed. ‘Forget weather! You have the East End. Every artist, every photographer I’ve ever heard of lives or exhibits or creates art in the East End.’

‘But you have Brooklyn and Willamsburg and NoHo,’ Lana reminded them, ‘and trust me, New York is way cooler.’

‘Do you think you’ll stay in New York or move back to London?’ Parker asked.

‘No contest, I’m staying in New York,’ Lana declared, ‘even though my mum’s trying to get me to go back and even live at home again. As if!’

‘Uh-oh … know all about that,’ Fabian sympathized: ‘my hair was the final straw. I still don’t know if it’s because she didn’t dig the grassy green or because I ruined not just one but three white towels in the process.’

The lemon tea arrived and the playful New York versus London argument went on. As Lana kept up with it, she felt her heart skipping about in her chest. Now and then her eyes met Parker’s and their legs underneath the tiny table were definitely touching.

She could hardly believe how well this was going. He was interested, she was completely sure he was interested. Any moment now and he would ask when they could meet up again.

Finally, the tea glasses were drained. Parker checked his watch then looked slightly panicked.

‘Whoa, we have to shoot. Like ten minutes ago,’ he said, pulling out a couple of bills from his wallet and putting them down on the table, ‘but Lana, on Saturday there’s this club opening, the Spider’s Nest. Big party, really excellent party and I’d love it if you would be my guest.’

‘Sure! Fantastic!’ Lana said, completely forgetting to be cool.

‘OK, let me take your number,’ Parker patted his pockets and found his phone, ‘and I’ll message you with the details.’

For several minutes after Parker and Fabian had gone, Lana had to stay on at the little table smiling to herself. He so liked her! He must like her because he’d asked her to the opening: ‘be my guest,’ he’d said.

But then the doubt began to set in. Be my guest? How many guests would he have? Did that mean she would be his plus one? Did that make it a date? Or were other people coming?

If she was one guest of many, then that wasn’t a date. No. Surely she was his plus one? That was what he’d meant.

She glanced down at her phone, wondering when his message would come in. For the sake of something to do, she clicked to Facebook and scrolled down the posts.

Owen was writing in German. The nutter. Gracie
had
changed her profile picture to an image of an adorable pug puppy in a shiny PVC coat. As Lana’s eyes travelled across Gracie’s latest post, her heart sank like a stone.

‘
Spider’s Nest opening, Sunday night. Going with my new best friend Parker Bain. Woo hoo!
’

Chapter Nine

Milan

Svetlana travels:

Multi-coloured wrap dress (Missoni)

Pale suede blazer (Gucci)

High cork wedge sandals (Jimmy Choo)

Huge sunglasses (Chanel)

Selection of diamond rings (selection of ex-husbands)

Huge gold and emerald earrings (Bvlgari Co-ordinating luggage (Hermès)

Total est. cost: £74,000

‘AND HERE IS
our car,’ Svetlana purred.

Annie’s eyes travelled beyond the glass doors of the airport towards a stately, old-fashioned, luxurymobile, gleaming in the bright Italian sunshine.

‘You have got to be joking.’

‘I never joke,’ Svetlana replied in a dark, Ukrainian-laced deadpan voice.

Annie was already in a deeply woozy state. She’d woken up very early and made breakfast for her twins before squeezing, kissing, hugging them goodbye and catching her cab to the airport.

As soon as she’d located Svetlana at Gatwick, standing with her chauffeur in front of the check-in area, Annie had been whisked into the world of first class splendour.

There had been no queuing, no waiting, no grumpy-faced check-in girls. Just a flick of tickets and passports, then she and Svetlana had been rushed to the First Class lounge, where glasses of Bucks Fizz had been pressed into their hands although it was only 7.20 a.m.

In the calm and rarefied atmosphere of the first class cabin, Annie had soaked up a little more champagne because it helped with the worries which were racing round her head, even though she was now officially on holiday.

Would Ed and Dinah cope with Owen and the twins? Would she feel any better when she got back? Would her passion for fashion really return as Svetlana promised? Would Tamsin definitely want her back? And as for Lana … Annie and Lana had still not had a proper phone conversation.
When
was that row finally going to blow over?

Svetlana didn’t talk much on the flight, she just issued occasional instructions: ‘If you are nervous, drink more champagne. Champagne is wonderful for nerves.’

So here they were in Milan airport, where bright sunshine sliced through the windows, promising a beautiful day outside.

‘It’s summer!’ Annie declared with surprise. May had been so gloomy in London, she’d almost forgotten.

She trailed in Svetlana’s Missoni clad, Bvlgari sparkling, Annick Goutal scented wake and even pulled Svetlana’s matching, wheeled luggage alongside hers.

‘Hermès?’ Annie had asked appreciatively when the bags appeared first, of course, ahead of the queue, alongside her slightly more practical Samsonite.

‘Yah,’ Svetlana had confirmed, ‘Louis Vuitton is vulgar. For footballers and Russians.’

They began to walk towards the hotel’s car, identifiable by the hotel crest emblazoned on the doors. A smiling, uniformed chauffeur with white gloves and a peaked cap was approaching them, eager to relieve them of their luggage.

‘Is this a Rolls-Royce?’ Annie asked.

‘No. Much better. Is a Bentley, like my car,’
Svetlana
assured her, ‘but this one is vintage.’

‘The hotel’s
Bentley
…’ Annie was very impressed as the door was opened and she slid into the deep, leathery comfort of the back seat. In front of them was a fold-down table set with crystal glasses, bottles of champagne and sparkling water.

‘But now, no more champagne,’ Svetlana instructed. ‘Is best to begin the spa programme from the moment we enter the car.’

‘The spa programme?’

‘Five days of very pure, very clean living, Annah.’

Suddenly Annie felt a twinge of doubt. This was going to be a luxurious, pampering mini-break, wasn’t it? There wasn’t any chance that Svetlana had signed her up for some kind of military fitness boot camp, was there?

No, she smiled at the thought. Boot camps wouldn’t have crystal glasses and Bentleys.

But then again, Svetlana’s figure was flawless, Svetlana’s exercise regime was relentless, Svetlana’s beauty drills were not for the faint-hearted. Svetlana looked astonishingly good because she worked at it every waking moment.

Her idea of ‘pampering’ might be very different from Annie’s.

‘This spa’s programme is legendary,’ Svetlana began, settling back in her seat, ‘one of Europe’s best-kept beauty secrets. Every famous, beautiful
woman
in the world comes here once or twice a year. Here they can take 10 kilos from you in five days and ten years from your face at the same time. It is truly astonishing. One of my secrets.’

‘Really? You do know how much I appreciate you taking me with you?’ Annie said, although she had already thanked Svetlana at least one hundred times. ‘
Ten
kilos in
five
days?
Really?!
Do you think they could do that for me?’

‘If you stick with the programme,’ Svetlana assured her, ‘the whole programme.’

Annie might have heard something of a warning in those words if she hadn’t been in such a frenzy of excitement.

‘Ten kilos?!’ she repeated. ‘Isn’t that even more than 20 pounds?’

‘Twenty-two pounds,’ Svetlana confirmed.

‘In five days?!’

Annie looked down at her baby bulge, or should that now be her toddler tum?

‘If they can get rid of this in five days, it will be a blinking miracle. The Pope will have to be informed. He’ll have to make the programme director a saint or something.’

Svetlana smiled: ‘They will try everything they can for you.’

‘So what does the programme involve?’ Annie asked, pouring out two glasses of water.

‘The spa gives you a total detox. They serve a pure, clean diet that will make you thin and make you glow. You will be clean from the inside out. You will love it.’

‘Right.’ Annie sank back into her seat. A total detox … well, that didn’t sound so bad. She’d detoxed before. It was all about dairy-free, wheat-free, sugar-free stuff. Eating quinoa, rice and vegetables for a few days, that couldn’t really hurt anyone, could it? Plus, she knew it was what she really needed.

Although Ed and Dinah lectured her constantly, Annie was perfectly aware that her daily diet still revolved almost completely around buttery toast, chocolate bars, endless cups of milky coffee and large glasses of wine.

Svetlana took her mobile from her tiny alligator clutch bag and looked at the screen a touch anxiously.

‘Everything OK?’ Annie asked.

‘Yes. Yes I think so. Harry and Maria know exactly what the boys are doing over the weekend. There is no chance of anything happening to them. I know this. I know this, but still the worry rises up, now and again, that Igor will try to take them.’

Svetlana’s sunglasses covered most of her face, so it was difficult to read her expression. Annie felt that if she was in this situation, she’d find it hard to leave
her
children alone for a moment, but Svetlana always managed to handle the high-powered problems her high-powered life seemed to bring.

‘Why is Igor so desperate for the boys to go to his old school, anyway?’ Annie asked.

‘In his opinion, this is the best way to train the body and mind for the future,’ Svetlana replied, shaking her head. ‘But I think if you go to military school, you turn out like Igor: always at war. He is at war with me, at war with everyone who does business with him, at war with himself. This is result of military school.’

‘But he is a phenomenal success,’ Annie pointed out. ‘Maybe he wants his sons to be a success just like him and he thinks—’

‘They need to be like him,’ Svetlana interrupted. ‘This will never happen. Michael could be like him, if he went to Russian military school, so I will not let him go. Petrov is a totally different child: quiet and sensitive. Petrov will never, ever go to military school. If Igor tries to do this – I will kill him.’

For most people this was simply an expression, but when Svetlana said it, it sounded like a terrifying threat.

‘How long will it take Igor to accept this?’ Annie asked.

‘I don’t know. He has never given up on anything ever before. Tschaaaaa!’

The Bentley had purred smoothly from the airport autostrada, past the motorways encircling Milan and out into the glorious Italian countryside. As they drove by terracotta tiled houses and dark cypress trees set against a bright and blue sky, Annie wished Micky hadn’t yanked both arms off her only pair of sunglasses three minutes before her taxi had arrived.

She shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed out of the window until Svetlana noticed the problem, clicked open her clutch and offered up a spare pair of vast black Chanel shades.

Another half an hour or so into the countryside and the Bentley slowed, indicated, then waited in the road to make a right turn. Two black metal gates set between carved stone gateposts began to part. The Bentley swung through the gates and began to move up the driveway, gravel crunching under its tyres.

‘I could get used to this,’ Annie told Svetlana, ‘being driven about in my Bentley, through my electronic gates, up my driveway. Do
you
have other houses?’ she wondered. Maybe Svetlana had a castle or two like this tucked up in a tax haven.

‘Ah … so many other houses when I was Mrs Wisneski, I lose count, but now just a farmhouse in Portugal,’ Svetlana replied. ‘I’ve not been there since 1984 when it was fashionable to play golf.’
She
gave a little snort: ‘
Golf?!
Can you imagine?’

‘You’ve not even been there since 1984?’ Annie could hardly take this in. ‘But why don’t you sell it?’

‘It’s rented out; it makes some money. Anyway, from Igor I learn if you keep property for long enough, you always win.’

‘But how long is long enough?’

‘For ever. The best length of time to keep real estate is for ever.’

The Bentley purred up the driveway, through jewel green lawns studded with bright flower beds, towards a beautiful old building. This Italian-style stately home came complete with pale stone columns, ornately carved balustrades and balconies overflowing with flower displays.

The towering front entrance with studded wooden doors was wide open and a smartly uniformed doorman was waiting for them.

‘Look at this place!’ Annie exclaimed, pushing the sunglasses onto her head to take a better look. ‘Just look at it! Isn’t it breathtaking?!’

Svetlana gave a little smile in agreement.

As the car pulled to a halt, Annie jumped out, almost gaping at the views. Over there was a huge, vibrantly blue swimming pool surrounded by a stone terrace with a view right out over the most beautiful lake she’d ever seen.

The water sparkled in the sunlight; she gazed at
the
hills in the distance and bright, bright blue sky above. This was heaven. Sun loungers were set out around the pool and as the guests basked in the sunshine, a waiter hovered at their elbow serving tall drinks. She couldn’t wait to be lying there, Svetlana’s sunnies in place as she sipped at a cooling, brain-numbing cocktail or three.

But the rumble in her stomach warned her that hours had passed since the First Class breakfast – surely it was time for a gorgeous cappuccino with thick creamy froth and a dusting of grated chocolate? Or was it too early for lunch … something beautiful, Italian, fresh and salad-like but nicely substantial? She definitely needed something before she stripped off and dived into the pool.