The Personal Shopper (37 page)

‘Well, Marilyn did not have one good thing to say about him,’ Fern forged ahead. ‘And you have to admit, Annie, he may be charming, but he is a pernickety fusspot. I
mean, those are good qualities in a dentist, but not necessarily in a man. I know I invited him to that party for you . . . but with hindsight. Anyway, Marilyn was terribly upset. She’d always assumed Gray was going to sell their house and split the proceeds with her. In fact she has
lawyer
Ronald on the case – so you can be sure she’ll be getting as much as she possibly can.’

Ronald being another family friend. In fact, Fern went to their youngest daughter’s wedding just last year.

‘So Gray’s decided not to sell?’ Annie prompted her.

‘According to Marilyn, Gray has told Ronald he has a
 
new partner, it’s serious, they’re getting married just as
 
soon as the divorce is through and he’s moving this
 
person into the house as soon as possible. So he’s
 
claiming he needs the house, this new person has
 
children . . . it’s his asset, he’s paid for it, he’s keeping it.’

‘Well, he has a point,’ Annie decided to wade in on behalf of Gray. ‘Marilyn has no children and has never worked.’

‘Hmmm.’ Her mother sniffed just a little, as if this was absolutely no excuse for anyone to be turfed out by their husband.

‘He’s not exactly planning to leave her destitute . . . I’m sure,’ she added quickly, not to make it seem as if she had too much insider information on the case.

‘No. I’m sure there’s a valuable settlement to be made.
 
Gray is a very wealthy man. You’ve no idea how much money there is to be made in dentistry. It’s not just fillings, you know: veneers, implants, bleaching. People are going quite crazily American about their teeth.’

There was a moment’s pause and Annie was just about to take that deep breath and tell her mother that she was Gray’s new woman, that she was seriously considering the move to Gray’s rooftop-jacuzzied corner
 
of Essex, when her mother added: ‘Of course Ronald, whom I met out at dinner the other week, at Eloise’s, you know, the Clarks, wonderful cook . . . really, superb food. Although pumpkin risotto as a starter is not my absolute favou
rite, bit autumnal, quite heavy
—

‘Ronald?’ Annie reminded her, sensing the danger close at hand of having to hear Eloise’s entire menu for the night.

‘Yes, Ronald is convinced it’s a total scam by Gray. Move some poor woman in, keep the house, then ditch her again.’

‘I thought you said he was a charming man!’ Annie could barely contain her outrage.

‘Well, people do get funny about money though, don’t they? Always brings out the worst in everyone, arguing about money.’

‘So what do you think?’ Annie wondered. ‘You know him fairly well, don’t you?’

‘Oh, God knows. I’ve not seen him for months. I’m overdue a check-up in fact. Maybe I’ll book in and try and hear it from the horse’s mouth.’

Move some poor woman in . . . keep the house . . . then ditch her . . .
Just the thought of this happening . . . just the thought of people thinking it might happen. It was totally riling her.

‘Mum. It’s me,’ Annie blurted out. ‘It’s us. We’re moving in with Gray.’

‘What!’ Fern exclaimed, looking astonished at this news. ‘My God, why haven’t you told me anything about this? Last I heard, you were dinner dating and then . . . you know . . . you went all quiet about him and I didn’t like to ask. Good grief, Annie, isn’t
this a bit soon? I mean you have to think about the children.’ She sat down abruptly on the changing room stool.

‘Of course I’ve thought about the children. A big part of the reason I’m doing this is for them. But you know, it’s a trial period. I’m going to rent our flat out for six months and see how it goes.’

Her mother did not look impressed.

‘Is he serious though, love? You don’t think he’s doing this for the money?’ she asked.

‘No! Of course I don’t. Maybe he’s a bit desperate for the company. Maybe he’s speeding things along for that reason, but you know . . . we get on very well,’ came Annie’s reply.

What Annie didn’t add was how much she wanted the company too. The best thing about moving in with Gray was that she would no longer be the only adult in the household. She would have someone to kiss good night, someone right there next to her when she woke up every morning.

There would be someone to sit and open a bottle of wine with, someone to really talk to. She would no longer, every day, have to cope and battle and try to pretend that everything was just great and she was getting along just fine. If she
moved in with Gray, s
he would have back-up. A security net. Her children would no longer have to rely on just her. Right now, these reasons were more important to her than anything else.

Back at The Store after shopping with her mother, Annie was hardly pleased to be told on arrival at the Personal Shopping suite that Donna wanted to see her. She climbed the escalator and tried not to worry too much about what Donna might have to say to her today. Like it or not, she was still Donna’s very best sales assistant and that had to count for something.

She knocked on Donna’s office door and was asked to come in.

One look at Donna’s sucking-on-a-sour-plum face and she felt her heart sink. This wasn’t going to go well, she just knew it.

‘You’ve been taking The Store’s customers to other shops,’ Donna began.

Before Annie could even get a question in, Donna continued: ‘Don’t even bother trying to deny it. Apparently you were doing a consultation in Jaeger this morning, during time you’re employed by The Store.’

‘I had a couple of hours off this morning to meet my mum,’ Annie defended herself. ‘She’s shopped in Jaeger since I was knee-high, I’m not going to stop her now.’

Undeterred, Donna carried on: ‘I’ve seen you leave our shop with customers so you can take them somewhere else. I’ve seen you, Annie. I saw you leave with a male customer who bought nothing in the menswear department, and head off for Jermyn Street.’

For a moment Annie was confused. Then it dawned on her that Donna had seen her with Ed that day.

‘But that was . . .’ she began, not sure what she was going to say next.
A special case? An eccentric individual who could find nothing right here?
It was a slightly lunatic defence, even she could see that.

But Donna wasn’t even stopping to listen. ‘Although you’re in possession of a written warning from me, you’re constantly advising people to shop elsewhere. I heard you telling one woman to get her dresses at Topshop and buy her Chloé bag on eBay!’

Like this was the worst crime in the world. Like Donna had never, ever snapped up a little bargain here or there; as if she’d only ever bought every single item including her toilet paper at The Store.

‘You can’t
sack
me for any of these things,’ Annie told her, still standing, hackles up, more than ready to fight.

‘No,’ Donna said, leaning forward in her chair now, eyes locking on to Annie’s. ‘But I can sack you for theft.’

‘Theft?’ Annie almost laughed. ‘I’d like to see you try. I’ve never stolen anything in my entire life. Not even an unpaid grape from the greengrocer’s.’

‘Oh, really?’

There was something so ominously catty about this that Annie could only suspect Donna had something on her. But what? She did honestly believe that she’d never, ever stolen anything . . . not knowingly.

Donna picked a sheet of paper up from her desk. Annie had a bad feeling as it was handed over to her.

‘Recognize this?’ Donna asked.

It was a printout of a computer page. The image was faint but Annie could still make out a digital photograph of a handbag, a Marc Jacobs handbag, BNWT and serial number. It was the one she’d bought from Lana’s website and had sold on the Trading Station for £490 last week.

Annie felt a lurching sensation in her stomach.

‘Thanks to the serial number you’ve displayed so nicely here . . .’ the note of triumph in Donna’s voice was unbearable, ‘I can tell you that this bag was stolen from our accessories department on the eighteenth of February. Maybe you’d like to explain how you ended up selling it?’

‘I did not steal it, Donna.’

That much Annie could say, but her mind raced as she tried to work out what explanation she could offer. The bag had come from Lana and Lana’s friends, the Syrup Six, who were in quite enough trouble at school. Running the charity website had been their last chance to make good. If it came out they’d been fencing stolen goods – or actually stealing them . . . Had one of the Syrup Six dared to come into The Store and walk off with a top designer handbag? That would mean police involvement and instant expulsion. Although Annie was certain Lana would not have stolen the bag, maybe she’d be expelled too for playing a part in the sales team.

The thing that was just so utterly infuriating was that
 
usually Annie checked everything she sold as scrupulously as she could. She could count on one hand the number of fakes she’d flogged on by mistake. But this bag . . . of course she’d seen straight away it was genuine, and she’d assumed (Argh! Assume and be damned) that some incredibly rich pupil or their incredibly rich parent had made a little retail mistake and decided to be generous and offload it on the website.

It hadn’t
crossed her mind for a moment
that the bag could be stolen . .
. and from her own shop.
There was nothing she could tell Donna without landing Lana and her
friends in huge
 
trouble. And even then, couldn’t Donna imply that she’d somehow put the girls up to it? Then she consid
ered the
 
rumours that would flare
up at St Vincent’s
if The Store investigated: Lana’s mother involved with a
stolen expensive
handbag
on the charity website . . . It was all horrible.

‘I had no idea the bag was stolen. I never, ever knowingly sell stolen items,’ Annie told Donna. ‘I can’t explain to you how I got that bag because someone, who couldn’t have known about it, would get into trouble,’ she continued. ‘I did not steal it, Donna. At
least show me you believe that?
’

Donna just kept her gaze trained on Annie’s face.

There was a Roman expression, wasn’t there? To fall on your sword. Annie saw that her moment of sword-falling had arrived: completely out of the blue. She was going to have to leave. Right now. Without a fuss. Cave in to Donna completely. Even though Donna’s sales figures for the next few months would be on the floor, she wouldn’t care because she’d be rid of the one person who consistently dared to stand up to her.

Annie would have to leave her white-walled, pink-sofa-ed suite, her daily dose of rubbing shoulders with Yves St Laurent workmanship, Paul Smith tailoring and
 
multi Missoni colours. Even worse, she would have to leave The Store’s staff: Avril,
Delia, Paula, all the others
. There would be no more weekly happy hour sessions, no more staff discount, no more sale rail bargains, no more Tupperware boxes from the staff canteen.

‘I’ll get my things.’ Annie’s voice was so husky, she barely recognized it.

Donna just nodded.

It was only sinking in for Annie that if she were to leave in disgrace, there’d be no pay-off, no severance pay. She might not even be paid for the rest of the month.

‘You have to give me references!’ Annie exclaimed, feeling a wave of panic. ‘You can’t put me down as leaving for theft. I’ll never get another job and you know, Donna, you kno
w that I would never, ever do
something like this. Everything I get from The Store I pay for, fair and square. Does HR know about this?’ she asked anxiously.