The Personal Shopper (2 page)

Usually Annie tried to make sure Paula’s clients were
of the rake-thin, fashionista kind
who wanted to be talked through combining a baby doll with a tulip skirt, gaucho belt and cork wedges by an expert, but this afternoon Annie had Svetlana, so Paula had to look after
new client, Martha Cooper
.

‘Can you excuse me for just a few minutes?’ Annie asked Svetlana, who was turning from side to side in front of the mirror trying to decide whether the handbag in her left hand was a better match with the coat than the handbag in her right hand.

‘Of courrrrse.’

In
th
e cream-carpeted reception area, Annie
saw Martha, a very tall, slouchy late thirties, who had turned up for her consultation
in the universal uniform of the
busy stay-at-home mum: washed-out jeans, washed-out T-shirt, washed-out face, long hair with four inches of root, green gym shoes and Martha’s own personal touch, a truly diabolical grey parka. No wonder Paula had panicked.

For a second, it struck Annie that such a lack of care about appearance, fashion and what people thought of you was almost enviable. Then she imagined how she would
look without heels, red lipstick, foundation and a full
head of blond highlights
and the moment passed.

‘Hi, Martha, I’m Annie Valentine, lovely to meet you.’ Annie held
out a hand and gave
her most reassuring smile. ‘Have you been looking around?’

‘Y
e
s . . . a
nd now I’m even more worried,’ came Martha’s reply.

Annie was used to dressing all kinds of women: WAGs, rich wives, wealthy daughters, business highflyers, fashion mavens and of course, women who’d clearly lost their way somewhere along the line.
She hadn’t had such a needy
case in her suite for some time. Poor Martha, she’d wandered the floors, clocked the price tags, made no sense at all of the more complicated garments and now here she was, faced with one of the most glamorous shop assistants she’d ever encountered: Paula, as lithe and elegant as a young Naomi Campbell, complete with nutcracker buns and ultraviolet talons.

Although Annie was a little more real looking, she was
 
still extremely groomed and elegant: a shimmering (originally mouse-brown) blonde, expertly made up with perfect brows, French manicure and light tan, tastefully dressed, high-heeled and utterly convincing in her role of persuading endless women and occasiona
l men to part with serious
amounts of money in an effort to look more stylish and attractive.

Martha was probably now convinced she did not belong here
.

‘You are going to have such fun with us today,’ Annie told h
er,
keeping hold of Martha’s hand, so that she couldn’t bolt.

In fact, Annie loved clients like Martha. You had to start slowly with the most sober clothes The Store had to offer, but these clients were always the most grateful and the most enduringly loyal because Annie helped them to work out all the things a woman needed to know about her look – ideally by 20, but definitely by 30.

By 30, according to Annie, every woman should have put in the hours in the fitting room to work out the colours, the shapes and the cuts that flattered. Round neck or V? Knee-length or longer? High waistbands or low? Shades of red and orange or blues and purples?

By 30, every woman should also have grasped the power of one great accessory and have the fundamentals of a personal style in place.

Great dressers also understood the importance of trademark items, such as Princess Diana’s blue blazer; Mrs
Thatcher’s pussycat bow; Victoria Beckham’s
bustier; Liz Hurley’s white jeans.

These were the secrets, the dressing lessons, which Annie could reveal.

‘You’re a lovely
height,’ Annie told Martha straight away.

‘Pros and cons . . .’ was Martha’s reply.
‘
Dress waistbands come in
under my armpits and don’t get me started on the problems of finding trousers long enough.’

‘W
e’ll work with
it,’ Annie promised.
‘
Follow me into my boudoir.’

In the airy, opaque-windowed room at the heart of the Personal Shopping area, Annie and Martha sat down together on the fuchsia velvet sofa for a preliminary chat, while Paula hovered close by.

‘So, how old are your children?’ Annie wondered, not needing to ask if Martha had any.

‘Oh . . . Six, five and just turned two.’

‘You must be busy,’ Annie sympathized.

‘I must be insane!’ was Martha’s response.

‘And are you going back to work?’

‘Yes . .
. first job in seven years and
nothing from
my
Life Before Children fits . . . and I’ve no idea what people wear in offices any more. It seems to be all cardigans, sparkly skirts and high heel
s.’ Martha ended
with a plaintive: ‘Help!’

‘OK!
’ Annie was almost rubbing her hands. This was going to be easy – not to mention a joy to put right. Martha was tall, still a size 12-ish and with the right clothes and a bit of care and attenti
on, s
he wouldn’t recognize herself.

‘Paula is your
shopping
guide for today, so’ – Annie shot Paula her ‘pay attention’ look – ‘she is going to help you buy
not
a trouser suit.
Sooo over! But trousers which fit and flatter. I’d recommend grey, straight legs – not too narrow, not too wide – then a short,
toning
, but not
 
matching, bang-up-to-date, swingy jacket with a single button. OK?
’

Martha nodded.

‘Then y
ou need
to find day shoes which fit
and that you love in a colour to go with the suit. Now, Martha, you are not allowed brown or black
shoes
and I’m not even going
to mention navy. I’m sorry, the
se are my rules!’ but she winked at Martha, so it wasn’t too bossy. ‘Go for gold, green, purple, red, orange, yellow . . . Something lovely. Who needs black?

So, once you have the shoes,’ she went on, ‘you’re to find three knockout tops which go with the trousers, jacket and the footwear. Three is the minimum. No slacking, we make you work here. Then, your final mission for today, should you choose to accept, is to find a colourful skirt that goes with all three tops, the shoes and the short jacket. OK? Got me?’

Martha and Paula nodded obediently.

‘This way, I promise you’ll be beautifully dressed for the office every single day. Obviously if you want to look at raincoats, umbrellas, boots, cardigans . . . or
make-up
,’ there was a noticeable stress on this final item, ‘Paula can advise, but get the basics in place first. You can always come back to us. In fact we’d love you to come back. We’re a bit like the dentist, we like you in for regular check-ups.

‘
Now . . . just one last thing,
my
darl
in’, then I really have to get
back to my other client, how are you planning to . . . er . . . style your hair for work?’ Annie had considered the question carefully and had decided this was the most tactful way to frame:
For goodness sake girl,
get a decent cut and colour!

‘Style my hair? Style . . .’ Martha repeated the word slowly as if it was foreign to her, ‘my hair?’

Annie nodded e
ncouragingly.

Martha gave a deep sigh then blurted out: ‘All I’d like is to be free of head
lice just long enough to remember
to
actually get to the hairdresser’s.’

‘Oh! Oh no!’ Annie, who’d once had to deal with an ‘outbreak’ on her son’s head, at least had so
me sympathy, but Paula took
several steps backwards and now looked as if she wanted to run screaming from the room.

‘
I’m clear at the moment,’ Martha added quickly, sensing The Store’s personal shopping staff weren’t as used to talk of head
lice as her mother and toddler group.

‘I’d forgotten about those beasts
,’ Annie said, trying to resist the urge to scratch her head at the thoug
ht. ‘
So . . . well . . . better get the haircut as soon as you can, before
they pop up again. Right!’ Annie had to get back to Svetlana, no doubt about it. ‘Off you go, you two. And make sure I get a look at the finished result!’

‘Now what?!’ Annie wanted to know when, twenty minutes later
, Paula was back
again. ‘I can’t do your job for yo
u!’

‘Donna! In
your office,’ Paula warned
.

This was not good news. Annie tried to see as little of her witch of a boss as possible, but there were
 
several days in every month, carefully recorded in Annie’s diary, when Donna was a hormonal madwoman wh
o had to be avoided
.

‘She’s logged on to
your computer!’ Paula added
.

No doubt about it, Annie would have to go, and just as she’d finally begun to hit Svetlana for some priceless new husband advice.

‘I am so sorry,’ Annie told Svetlana and Olga
. ‘There’s a tiny problem I have to sort out.’

‘No matter,’ Svetlana assured her. ‘We are finished here. Everything is decided. We get ready to go now.’

‘OK, I’ll see you in a second
,’ Annie said as she rushed out of the changing room towards the windowless matchbox of an office which housed her desk, files, company computer and, most importantly, personal laptop, which right now was plugged into The Store’s internet connection and up and running on her eBay homepage.

Personal shopping at The Store was Annie’s day job. Around it, she crammed in private home makeovers via her Dress to Express service, then there was the Annie V Trading Station on eBay which did great business selling designer items: BNWT (brand new with tags), new, nearly new, secondhand and vintage.

Where did Annie source these items? Her own staff-discounted wardrobe, The Store’s sale rail, the bargain bins of other shops, junk shops, charity shops, other eBay auctions and sites. Annie had a saleswoman’s eye for a great bargain and a profitable resale.

Personally, she never bought anything at full price: not a haircut (her hairdresser came to all her sale pre-previews), not a bottle of shampoo (bulk buy on the internet), not a tin of beans (she knew what was on offer
 
at every supermarket and cash and carry within a 20-mile radius of her home), not a car (secondhand, Christmas Eve, fantastic deal). And she was generous with her knowledge: family and friends all benefited from her bargains. Everyone who knew her well had a
 
cupboard at home stuffed with tinned tomatoes, disposable barbecues, Christmas cards,
jumbo boxes of nude hold-ups, all kinds of things
which she’d secured for them at knockdown rates.