How Not to Shop (39 page)

'So, are you back?' Annie asked, resting her head on Connor's large, comfortable chest, delighted to have him in close proximity once again. 'You're not going to live in LA any more? You're going to be a proper British movie and telly star . . . like . . .'

'. . . Dame Judi Dench,' he joked: 'you know, never say never. I'm back for now. There's something new in the pipeline . . .' he waggled an eyebrow at them.

'Tell!' Annie instructed.

'No way. This is secret. Top, top secret.' He put his hands over his lips.

'Pour him another drink, babes,' Annie instructed Ed, 'we'll get it out of him.'

'No!' Connor insisted. 'Over there, I barely had one glass of wine a week – for five months! I'm already schlosched,' he added, slightly for effect, but already seriously in danger of slurring.

'And to think you used to be AA,' Annie pointed out.

'Oh, that was just for the showbiz contacts,' Connor confessed, 'everyone who's anyone goes, you know.'

'That is so shallow,' Ed pointed out.

'I know, but shallow is my middle name,' Connor said with a lazy grin.

'At least you look good,' Annie told him.

And he did too. He was bronzed, but the real stuff, not the whiffy orangey glow from a bottle. And he was so buff, his teeny waist leading straight down to snaky dancer hips. And the buttocks! Well, Annie had spotted them and they were magnificent.
Girls, this is such a shocking shame!
was the thought which had popped straight into her head.

'Ed should go to the gym, maybe you could give him a few tips,' Annie volunteered, hopefully, as Ed snorted tequila from his nose.

'Hey, I run . . . a bit. I referee rugby,' Ed said in his own defence.

'You're all right,' Annie assured him with a smile.

'Ed, my place, Saturday mornings, 11 a.m. Just wait till you meet Ben. He will bend you till you scream.'

'We
are
talking about exercise here?' Annie just wanted to be sure.

'So, your career,' Connor began, putting an arm protectively around his girl, 'we need to talk about your career. I saw the DVD you sent me of the pilot episode. You were wasted! They threw you, the gem of the entire show, away. Your producer was a tit.'

'Aw sweet, you're just saying that cos you're my friend.'

'No. I'm saying that cos you're my rival. You've got the magical X factor, girl.'

'Oh yeah,' Ed agreed from his sofa.

'You got charisma.' Connor chucked her under the chin. 'Has Rafie been in touch?'

'Has he hell,' Annie couldn't help saying, 'I think he has slightly more important things to do, like making your next top-secret mega deal. You're not going to be the new James Bond or something, are you?' she asked excitedly.

'Oh please, I think Daniel Craig is wearing those Speedos very well . . . for the moment. Where's it all going for you?' Connor asked, focusing on Annie's career again, 'what doors have you knocked on? And what is that buzzing noise?'

Annie sat up and looked around the room. 'It might be my phone,' she said, spotting the mobile on one of the side tables. She picked it up: 'Three missed calls and a message.'

Usually, she might feel a flicker of worry at this . . . that it was something to do with the children. But right now she knew Owen was upstairs with Milo and an enormous bowl of salted popcorn watching
Dr Who
reruns, and Lana was at Greta's house. Greta's mother had even phoned to say she'd arrived.

'Talk amongst yourselves,' she instructed Ed and Connor, then dialled up her voicemail.

What she heard surprised her. To say the least.

'Hi Annie, Bob here, trying to get you urgently. Phone me. Been speaking to Tamsin Hinkley. She produces two great cookery shows for Channel 4. She's thinking about the makeover format, but is wondering how to make it fresh and modern. I mentioned you, she's interested in having a chat, so you should speak to her as soon as possible. Phone me.'

Annie's eyes widened in excitement. Channel 4? Channel 4! '
She's thinking about the makeover format . . . she's interested in having a chat!

'Oh boy,' Connor said to Ed, pointing in Annie's direction, 'looks as if she's just heard something . . .'

'Uh-huh,' Ed had to agree.

Annie wanted to call Bob back straight away, but Connor wasn't going to have that.

'Tell!' he instructed.

'It's just a thought . . . just an idea . . . but there's someone who wants me to give her a call . . .'

'Who?' Connor asked immediately.

'Tamsin Hinkley?' Annie said, not sure if she'd got the name right.

'Tamsin Hinkley . . .' Connor's brow creased, which made Annie think two things: Tamsin is bad news and Connor hasn't had Botox yet.

'I've not heard of her,' he said finally.

'Oh.'

Annie couldn't deny that this was disappointing. Tamsin was bound to be another Finn-type, scraping about for a slot on digital TV. Maybe she'd already heard that Annie would work for £1,000 a month.

'What kind of programme is it?' Connor asked.

'She's thinking of doing a makeover show, but apparently she wants to make it different.'

'It's got to be you,' Connor chipped in, 'Annie's Wardrobe on a Budget. Annie's Recession Chic.'

'Why Costco is cool,' Ed added.

'How to buy Prada on eBay,' Connor went on.

'How to make do with Mango when you really want Miu Miu,' Ed couldn't resist, then: 'Annie Valentine, the Nigella of budgeting,' he announced.

'Ooh, I like that!' Connor was grinning.

'Will you both shut up?' Annie was beginning to feel nervous, despite the four or – good grief –
five
margaritas she'd had.

'I'm going to phone Bob and talk to him about it. Then I'll . . . I'll try and get hold of Tamsin.'

Both Connor and Ed could hear the anxiety in her voice.

'Let me help,' Connor offered, 'I could speak to her first. I could introduce you.'

'No, babes,' she insisted, turning on her way out of the room, 'I think I have to do this for myself.'

'Doncha just love her?' Ed asked Dave, as he scratched the dog's head.

Svetlana rushes home:

White fur coat (boutique in Moscow)
Green, pink and white silk day dress (Celine)
Green ankle-strap sandals (Manolo)
Diamond jewellery (various ex-husbands)
Total est. cost: £140,300

'I have to phone!'

Harry took another exasperated look at his wristwatch: 4.26 p.m. His mobile was in his hand but he had to wait. There was no point calling anyone else right now, he had done everything he could. Now he just had to wait and see if he was going to be in time.

He walked up and down the drawing room, tugging at his cuffs and chewing his fingernails. Then lacing his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles. If Harry's secretary had been in the room, she'd have assumed he was waiting for the judge's verdict after a particularly long and difficult case.

There was the rumble of a black cab's engine in the street, and Harry hurried to the window. In the back of the cab he could see Svetlana, her beautiful face peering from a white fur collar. Even from here, he could see how pale and anxious she looked, her hands clasped tightly in front of her lips as if she was praying.

Maria must have heard the taxi too, because Harry could hear her rushing to open the front door. As soon as Svetlana approached the steps, Maria cried out, 'Oh Miss Wisneski, I not know! If I know anything, I tell you! I not let boys go with him! I never want to let boys go with him on Saturdays!'

When Harry came out into the hall, he found the two women on the doorstep, tears streaming down their faces. Svetlana was bending over to put her arms round the shoulders of the tiny maid. Maria was reaching up both for support and to try and bring comfort.

'Harry . . .' Svetlana began, looking across at him, but she was too upset to say anything else. She reached one arm out for him, and before he knew it Harry found himself in an embrace with both Svetlana and the maid.

'Everything's in place at the airport,' he tried to reassure them. 'If that's where they're flying from, it won't happen.'

But he could hear the dreaded 'if' in that sentence and he knew it would be all that Svetlana and Maria would focus on.

'We just have to wait for news now. Try to stay calm,' he said soothingly.

Maria was the first to pull out of the embrace. She lifted her white apron and patted it against her face before telling them that she would go and make tea.

'I come to the kitchen with you,' Svetlana insisted, 'you not cry on your own.'

Maria immediately burst into tears at this unexpected kindness.

'I make the tea,' Svetlana told her, putting an arm round her shoulder, 'strong, Russian Caravan tea. We must be strong now too, for . . .' but her voice cracked before she could say her children's names.

A tense and anxious hour passed during which Svetlana and Maria ran through the full range of emotions. The boys were lost. The boys were saved. The boys would never be seen again. The boys would come back. Today. Tomorrow. Some time very soon. Just as soon as extradition proceedings began.

Svetlana did know she would fight for them for the rest of her life if she had to, using every penny in her bank account if necessary.

She began to question Harry at length about extradition hearings. How did they work? Did he know any cases? Could he tell her what had happened?

Harry tried to make it sound as simple and hopeful as he could, without blatantly lying.

Finally, Svetlana couldn't stand it any longer.

'I have to phone! Someone! Somewhere!' she screamed at Harry and he handed over his mobile and called the direct line for the inspector at Luton police station.

'Hello, Inspector Thompson speaking,' came the reply.

'This is Svetlana Wisneski, I need to know vat happening with my boys at Luton airport. Petrov and Michael Wisneski. Is there any news from the airport? Have they been there? Have they been seen? Have they been taken out of the country yet?'

'Hello, Mrs Wisneski,' the woman responded, calm and friendly, 'I've got two constables down there right now. I've been told the operation's under way. I'm expecting the briefing shortly.'

'Vat this mean?!' Svetlana demanded in exasperation.
Operation under way? Expecting briefing?
'You have boys?' she asked, furious with fear, 'Ya? Or no?'

'The constables are on the scene along with a child protection officer and I believe a protection order has been served. As I explained, I am awaiting a full briefing on this,' the inspector tried to explain.

'Speak to her!' Svetlana commanded and passed the phone to Harry.

Only when Svetlana at last saw Harry smile and utter the words, 'That's marvellous, thank you so, so much', did she calm a little.