Shopping With the Enemy (19 page)

‘We’re going to Vienna to get Svetlana’s boys back
from
their father,’ she explained, then filled in further details of the story.

‘So I’m in a limousine with two ladies from London who are on the tail of their missing children? Man, I have been on some wild adventures in Europe, but this … this could be my best one yet.’

A big grin appeared on Randall’s face.

‘Vienna: cool. I might stay for the ride, or I might get off before then – I’m kind of looking for a beach, but I like to obey the call of the karmic forces,’ Randall said.

‘Get off? This is not a bus service. You will leave when we ask you to leave,’ Svetlana said coldly.

‘Yes ma’am, I certainly don’t wish to outstay my welcome.’

His reply softened Annie’s heart even more.
Yes ma’am?
He was obviously such a well brought up boy.

‘Where are you from?’ she asked. ‘And why are you on top of an Italian mountain with a surfboard?’

‘Now that is a long story,’ Randall replied.

‘Fine,’ she said, nudging the Bentley, with increasing expertise now, round another tight corner. ‘We have plenty of time so why don’t you tell us all about it?’

Svetlana looked down at her phone, which had been silent for at least an hour and complained: ‘Out
of
signal! I could be missing the most important message.’

‘I’m sure we’ll get to civilization very soon,’ Annie reassured her.

‘You, American boy, open up the cupboard in front of you,’ Svetlana commanded. ‘Is there anything to drink in there?’

‘Svetlana, my love, are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Annie asked. ‘You’ve been awake all night, you’ve only eaten a croissant today. Are you sure you want to have a drink?’

‘Wow! There are three bottles of champagne in here!’ came Randall’s astonished reply. ‘They’re even chilled. It’s some kind of icebox compartment. Man, that is cool. Are you like multimillionaires on the run from the law or something? It’s OK, you can tell me, I come in peace.’

‘No! We are not on the run,’ Annie protested. ‘We borrowed this car from the hotel we were staying in when we got the news about the boys.’

‘The boys …’ Svetlana repeated sadly. ‘Open the champagne, quickly.’

‘Your wish is my command, ma’am.’

There was a dull pop then the fizzing, gluggityglug sound of a glass being filled. Moments later, Randall passed a tall champagne flute, filled to the brim, to Svetlana, who drank half of it in one go.

‘Would you like a glass, Miss Annie?’ Randall asked.

‘No thanks. I don’t like to mix huge old cars with hairpin bends and champagne. And please, Annie is fine, Miss Annie makes me sound like some Southern spinster. Are you from the South?’

‘No, I’m from Bridgeport, New England.’

Svetlana finished her glass and passed it back to Randall with the words: ‘I would like some more.’

Despite Annie’s warnings, Svetlana swigged back the second glass with two pills which she had taken from her handbag.

‘Have you got a headache?’ Annie asked.

‘No, I take sleeping pills,’ Svetlana replied, when she’d swallowed them down, ‘I need to have a rest.’

‘Sleeping pills?! Sweetheart, you are definitely not meant to wash sleeping pills down with champagne.’

Svetlana shrugged. ‘I’m a strong woman,’ she said. ‘One more glass.’ She passed the flute back to Randall who paused, looking at Annie for advice.

‘Svetlana, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Annie said.

‘Do not tell me what to do,’ Svetlana insisted.

Randall filled the glass three-quarters full and as Svetlana took it Annie warned: ‘Sip very slowly.’

For the next half an hour or so, the car wound down the mountainside. Looking ahead, they could
see
that the road was finally heading away from the mountains, towards a great green land mass ahead.

‘There’s a sign!’ Annie exclaimed.

A small metal road sign with an Austrian flag welcomed them over the border in several languages.

‘You’re joking!’ she exclaimed with a laugh. ‘You’re a genius, Randall. We’re in! We’ve made it to Austria!’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Austria

Annie in her art school days:

Pink silk blouse (Oxfam)

Cream beaded cardigan (market stall find)

Levi 501s splattered with paint (borrowed from Roddy)

Sparkly silver belt (Miss Selfridge)

Pink Mary Janes with heels (Office)

Pink lip gloss (Rimmel)

Lashings of eye kohl (same)

Total est. cost: £45

ANNIE LOOKED OVER
at her passenger, but Svetlana, head on her shoulder, was in the deep, dreamless sleep of her knockout cocktail.

‘OK Randall, concentrate on the map and tell me
where
we are and where we’re supposed to be going.’

‘Yes ma’am, I’ll try. So tell me all about London.’

This simple instruction began a long and involved conversation as Annie, prompted by further questions, told Randall all about herself and her life. Maybe because she was driving with her eyes on the road, maybe because he was a good listener, she found Randall easy to talk to.

‘You’re on television!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh my, I am hitching with the rich and famous!’

‘It’s a makeover show – I’m not that famous, believe me.’

‘Wow. Can I look you up on YouTube? Are you in fact Britain’s Oprah?’

Annie laughed.

‘I’m definitely on YouTube,’ she said, thinking back to the toe-curling live event. That was bound to be there, courtesy of someone’s mobile. It had probably already scored one million hits and a thousand nasty comments.

‘But I’m not Oprah,’ she added. ‘I mean … must be nice to be as famous as Oprah.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Randall said, ‘I think it must be bad for the soul to be as famous as Oprah. She can never be free. She can’t walk down the road, or hitch-hike …’

Annie laughed at the thought.

‘She can’t even pick her nose without guards, assistants, somebody somewhere watching her. Can you imagine what totally bad karma that must be?’

Annie considered the pros and cons of being Oprah. Maybe Randall had a point but …

‘I’d be willing to trade up to the Oprah lifestyle for a bit,’ she admitted, ‘just to try it out. Just to make sure it’s hell.’

‘But you must be very happy with your life: you have a husband, four kids, a beautiful house, a great job. That sounds pretty good.’

It did.

It did sound really good. So why was she so frazzled with it all that she’d bailed out and run away to Italy for a break?

And then Annie found herself telling Randall about the punishingly long hours, the disastrous live event, the feeling that she’d lost the one thing she’d always been good at, and finally: the row with Lana which still hadn’t been resolved.

‘Whoa,’ he sighed when she had finished, ‘you’ve got it sussed. You’ve got it made but you feel miserable, like … just about every single grown-up I know.’

‘Ha.’

A light shower of rain was misting the windscreen, so she searched amongst the levers and the knobs for the windscreen wiper control.

‘Too much stuff in your life, I’m guessing. You’re weighed down. You need to clear out, give away and travel light. I’m just a guy with a backpack and a surfboard and I’ve never been happier.’

‘Ha!’ she repeated. How did anyone travel light through life with four children, a husband, a TV career and a dog?

‘What do you do?’ she wondered. ‘Or what do you plan to do?’

‘I surf,’ Randall answered simply. ‘I used to study. I had all sorts of plans, or certainly my parents did. But right now, I surf therefore I am.’ He paused to let that one wash over her. ‘I’m travelling through Europe in search of the perfect wave.’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes and no,’ he answered. ‘I don’t think you should be too serious about anything. That’s the problem with grown-ups: way too serious. Remember when you were my age? You probably didn’t give a damn.’

Annie cast her mind back to her late teen, early twenties self.

The art student. Then the film costume designer. Then the girl – not much older than Lana was now – wildly in love with charming, handsome actor, Roddy, who had been her first husband: father of Lana and Owen.

‘You grow up, you have children, you have to get serious,’ she told Randall.

‘You don’t have to,’ he reminded her.

‘My first husband died and I had to get very serious.’

She hadn’t meant to mention it, but the heart-to-heart atmosphere had drawn it out of her.

‘Oh, Miss Annie, I am very sorry.’

For several minutes there was quiet in the car as Randall considered her words and Annie wondered how to steer the conversation away from them.

‘I was an art student when I was your age,’ she offered, hoping this would move their conversation on.

‘Really? Painting and everything?’

‘Yup, painting and everything – abstract oils, mysterious sculptures – then I went into costume design.’

His face seemed to lighten with understanding.

‘I get it now, you’re an artist!’ he said, ‘you’re a creative person all snarled up with TV shows and making a living and trying to get people to buy things that designers tell you to wear every season, no matter how crazy they are.’

He leaned forward and looked at her earnestly: ‘You need to get back to your roots. Be creative and arty again. Reconnect. Then you’ll feel happy. And you’ll probably be a better friend to your daughter too.’

Annie wanted to laugh it off.

She wanted to make fun of his hippie-kid ideas: set herself free … be creative … reconnect …

Hadn’t Lana said the same thing? ‘
You were really arty and creative
.’ She wanted to laugh at Randall and tell him: ‘
Yeah, right and what is Tamsin, my producer, going to feel about this?
’

But instead, Annie couldn’t say anything because all she could feel was the hard lump in her throat that meant tears were threatening.

‘It’s easy to say this stuff,’ she blurted out, ‘but it’s not so easy to do.’

‘But you need to do it, Miss Annie, otherwise you’re just one more unhappy grown-up troubling the cosmos.’

It was beginning to grow dark. Annie was still driving and Svetlana was still sleeping. Although Annie had looked the map over carefully with Randall and had tried to convince herself they were travelling in the right direction, she was not entirely sure.

How on earth could it already be nearly 7p.m.? They were supposed to have arrived in Vienna hours and hours ago. But they were still on small, quiet roads, passing forests, farms and the occasional village. They were in the deepest countryside, miles from any kind of city.

‘Langenstein?’ she asked, looking at a forlorn
little
white signpost: ‘haven’t we already passed a signpost for Langenstein?’

Randall just shrugged.

‘We have to stop. We’ve got to find someone, we need to ask directions.’ Annie was beginning to feel panicky. If Svetlana woke up and found they were still nowhere near the capital and her boys, she would freak out.

Annie had to get them to Vienna – and fast. The sleeping pills couldn’t last for ever.

She pressed hard on the accelerator and tried to build up speed. But the reverse happened: the car slowed. She pressed harder, but it slowed right down. Finally, it crawled to a complete stop.

‘Oh no, now what?’

‘Well, I’m no expert …’ Randall’s voice sounded infuriatingly relaxed and sleepy: ‘but I think the universe could be trying to tell you that you’ve run out of gas.’

‘What?!’ Annie exclaimed. ‘And shut up about karma, the cosmos and the blinking universe!’

She turned the key in the car’s ignition, but nothing happened. Obviously the broken fuel gauge had continued to register full, but she’d thought that last fill-up would keep them going to Vienna. She should have guessed that the Beast would find going up and down a mountain range very thirsty work.

‘And just what are we supposed to do now?’ she
asked,
wondering, not for the first time, how she had managed to get herself into this hideous mess.

For a horrible moment, Svetlana’s head jerked forward and Annie thought she would have to deal with an enraged Ukrainian tantrum, on top of everything else. But the head went back down and Svetlana’s sleep continued.

‘What now?’ Annie asked her hitch-hiker.

Randall leaned over and whispered back: ‘You give me some money and I’ll find us some gas or someone who can tow us to a garage.’

‘But I’ve hardly got any money – I always use a card.’

Randall pointed to the luxurious clutch bag lying in Svetlana’s lap. ‘I have a feeling that there might be some cash in there.’

‘I can’t just give you Svetlana’s money!’

‘You should really learn to be more trusting,’ Randall told her, with a hint of disappointment. ‘But I’ll leave you my surfboard as insurance.’

Annie didn’t have much choice; well, her choices were not appealing. Either sit tight in a fuel-less car and wait for Svetlana to wake up and
kill
her. Or try to prise Svetlana’s clutch from her drugged hands and hand over cash to the surfer dude she’d only known for a few hours … in the hope that he’d come back with petrol.

Right.

She’d have to go with option two here because there was less chance of death.

She leaned over and gently, very, very gently took hold of one corner of Svetlana’s clutch. Thinking about all the times she had eased a blanket, soggy biscuit or toy from her babies’ sleeping hands, she wiggled it free.

Although Svetlana moved slightly in her sleep, she did not waken.

With the clutch in her lap, Annie unclasped the substantial brass lock and looked into the pigskin-lined interior. Alongside a phone and a selection of Chanel cosmetics was a purse, probably Hermès, which was absolutely bulging with euro notes. Seriously – thousands of euros’ worth.

She repressed the desire to gasp; after all, it wasn’t good to let a virtual stranger (albeit one she’d poured her heart out to just an hour or so ago) know how much was in the bag.