Late Night Shopping:

Annie at her desk:

Tailored dress (McQueen! Yes but with a staff discount.
Anyway trousers are too weird this season:
jodhpurs? Hello!)
Genius wide-topped ankle boots
(Pucci, again staff discount)
Black hold-ups with lace top (Asda)
Sleek bronze reading glasses for ultra-private
use only (Moschino)
Extreme bikini (Hollywood Waxing Co. –
Owwwwwwwch)
Total est. cost: £780

'Annie, have me. Buy me. Only you can love me like I
need to be loved.'

'Will you come to bed now?
Please?
'

Annie, still at her desk chair, eyes fixed on the computer screen shouted back, 'Yeah babes, I'm coming, I am coming this very second, promise.'

She didn't make a move. This was the third time Ed had called but she wasn't ready to go just yet. Because there was no doubt that the hours between 10 p.m. and 12 p.m. were becoming the busiest for her online eBay shop, Annie V's Trading Station.

It wasn't so surprising. What with ten-hour-a-day jobs, bum-numbingly long commutes, cooking dinner for the masses, cleaning, more cleaning and clearing up, it was only after 10 p.m. that a girl could finally pour a glass of wine, chill out, log on and get down to some serious late night shopping.

In an age of multi-taskers, Annie Valentine still made most people look like slackers. For four long days a week, she worked hard as a personal shopper, image consultant and all-round makeover maven at The Store – the über-fabulous London fashion mecca where
everyone
who wanted to know
everything
about what was so-hot-it-hurt had to shop.

Should sleeves be tight this season or loose? Tight at the bottom, loose on top? Tight on top but loose at the bottom? Where should pockets be? High? Low? Obvious? Invisible?

Annie, who was at The Store from 10 a.m. until 9 p.m. so she could pack a full working week into four days, who read every important fashion magazine, who watched the runway shows on video, who ran hourly checks on fashion websites to be utterly informed, Annie was the woman with the answer to every fashion question.

Was the new Balenciaga swing jacket for you? Or the wasp-waisted Saint Laurent? Where could you get those Miu Mius in a size 39? Should you go Missoni this season or embrace Proenza Schouler? Annie was the one who could let you know.

Not that a high fashion look was appropriate for every one of her clients, of course. But she could tell at a glance those women who needed a serious yank by their mousy locks into the twenty-first century, and those who were looking for the whisper of insider information to put them just one step ahead of the fashionista crowd. (As everyone in fashion knows, one step ahead is perfect,
two
steps ahead is as good as two steps behind.)

When Annie wasn't at The Store or manning her eBay shop front, she was bowling round London in her big, shiny black Jeep packed with hangers, hanging rails and boxes full of second-hand clothes. Either on her way to see a client in need of an urgent wardrobe revamp, or on her way back, with a bootload of things she'd weeded out from her client's cast-offs to sell on commission.

As word spread, the name and number of no-nonsense Annie was popping up in little black books and BlackBerrys all over London. Been promoted? Going back to work after a break? Husband threatening to trade you in for a younger model? Friends would whisper to each other: '
Give Annie a call.'

She could make her clients look smarter, cleverer, three inches taller, three inches narrower, five years younger, sexy, current, informed and part of the game again. In one brisk shopping session, she could transform someone from bewildered follower of fashion to leader of the pack. There were now a surprising number of wealthy but insecure women in the capital who couldn't add so much as a belt or an earring to their wardrobes unless Annie had approved its purchase.

Being so constantly in demand, Annie was always a woman in a hurry, never really happy unless she was doing two things at once: driving and talking on the mobile (hands-free), walking at great speed on three-inch heels while advising a client on the mobile, haggling on the mobile while eating a carefully calorie-controlled snack (in the ongoing battle to remain a size 12 . . . or else there wouldn't be a single designer item left that she'd be able to fit into). Good grief, even Donna Karan could no longer be relied on to cut clothes generously now that she'd ashtanga yoga-ed herself into a size 10.

But despite Annie's 110 per cent commitment to her many jobs, there was no forgetting the other key elements in her life. She devoted all her available nonworking time to the care and attention of her two children and one still quite new live-in lover.

Her daughter, Lana, was sixteen and increasingly complicated. She had dark hair, even darker moods and some days grumped about like a firework, ready to explode with a bang and a shower of sparks at any moment. On the, fortunately rare, days when Lana's PMT coincided with her mother's, there was a threat of murder in the air.