'Could you wear a veil?' Annie suggested, trying to keep the giggle out of her voice.
'Oh ha bloody ha.'
'I see you again in five weeks,' Svetlana reminded Annie, leaning down to kiss her on both cheeks before she sailed out of the changing room, leaving Annie and her assistant to bag and box up her purchases and send them down to the waiting car, 'and if you need to speak to me before then, you call,' came the instruction, 'I am always here to give advice. Harrrry says I give very good advice. He says I could have been vonderful lawyer.'
'Thanks darlin', have a lovely holiday,' Annie called after her.
'And what's up?' Paula, Annie's assistant, wanted to know as soon as Svetlana was out of earshot.
'Oh nothing much,' Annie tried to shrug her off.
But Paula, in all six foot two of her black gorgeousness, was not going to be put off so easily. She ran bright orange talons though her long beaded braids and urged, 'Yes there is. You look rubbish, and Svetlana's offering you advice. What's up? You have to tell me . . .'
'So you can tell everyone else in the whole shop,' Annie said, but with a smile.
'Yeah! 'Zactly.'
'OK, well, if you have to know, Ed has gone off in a huff. He's packed his suitcase and gone to his sister's.'
'Oh no!' Paula gasped, suitably shocked. 'Why?'
'Let's just say there are a few things we can't agree about,' Annie replied, 'and he's having a sulk. There's no other word for it. But I've decided: fine, if he wants to sulk, I'm going to let him. I've not had a sulker before,' she confided. 'My husband was a shouter, he always wanted to get it out there, off his chest, into the open.'
'But he was an actor,' Paula reminded her.
'True, he liked the drama of a really good row. I've tried phoning Ed, babes,' Annie couldn't help telling her, 'I've left loads of messages for him, but, nothing. So I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now.'
'Here's the girl who can help you!' Paula cracked a wide smile as Annie's next client bustled into the suite on deadly heels.
'Dannii!!' Annie tried to sound as enthusiastic as she possibly could, 'Dannii, Dannii, here to bring joy and juicy gossip into our lives.'
'Help you do what, girl?' came the cheerful reply.
Dannii with her long bleached blonde tresses, tightest jeans, highest heels, fussiest top, bling watch, serious jewellery and bag, complete with ridiculous Yorkie dog with pink bow in its hair, was a force of nature.
No, that wasn't right. There was nothing natural about Dannii at all from her hair colour to her skin tone, to her lip and bust size. She was a force of un-nature.
'Man trouble,' Paula said, pointing at Annie.
'Oh no, girl.' Dannii put her hand up in a stop sign and said, 'We don't want to go there. Been there, done that, never want to go there again. So what's the story?'
She set her bag with her dog down on the floor and turned her head slightly to the side, just like the dog, to listen.
'Oh let's not go into all that,' Annie insisted, 'it's not that interesting.'
'Has he got someone else on the go?' Dannii couldn't resist asking. 'There's only one way to deal with that, my love. Outplay her. Outflank her every move. Outclass her . . . and grab the game for yourself.'
It wasn't at all obvious that the love in 24-year-old Dannii's life was a Premier League footballer. How else would she have four or five thousand pounds to drop every time she popped in for a consultation with Annie?
'Darlin',' Dannii went on before Annie could stop her, 'you can't go sulking about in a black dress. If you want him back, you've got to doll up and knock him dead.'
'Why is everyone going on about this dress?' Annie said. 'This is a very nice dress. It unbuttons low, it's a great fit round the waist, it's flirty! This is a lovely dress.'
Dannii looked at her doubtfully. 'Men don't like black,' she said finally, 'unless we're talking underwear. You need to brighten up and tighten up!'
Annie, who was usually the one dispensing wardrobe advice much more tactfully than this, wasn't sure how to react.
'OK, well, I will bear that in mind, babes. Let's talk about you now, what are you in for today?' she asked. 'Special occasion? Some new things for the new winter wardrobe?'
'Both,' Dannii told her happily, 'but first there's something I have to show you!'
'Down you go, Gucci,' she told her dog in a baby voice as she set her lavish, gold-trimmed bag on the floor and rummaged around inside.
'Gucci?' Annie had to ask.
'Yeah! Gucci-coo my little poochy, isn't she sweet? She's my baby, aren't you darling?' She bent down and made kissing noises while the dog licked her right on the lips.
Annie and Paula exchanged an uneasy look. Annie quite liked dogs but that was definitely taking it too far.
'She won't wee on the carpet, will she?' Annie wondered.
'No, she'll stay in her baggy, won't you, Gucci?'
From the other side of the handbag, Dannii brought out a copy of
Heat
magazine.
Dannii's relationship with the weekly glossies hadn't begun well. Because she was young and pretty with a famous boyfriend and far too much cash to lash on herself, the magazines had had it in for her from day one.
'Trashy Dannii', 'Dannii misses again', 'Dannii spent five grand on this outfit, but she still looks cheap' – all that sort of headline horror had been landed on her lovely little head.
On several occasions, Annie had been the one on hand with the tissue box to help mop the devastated tears. She was the one Dannii had turned to for advice on how to achieve more restrained and elegant dressing.
But Dannii wasn't exactly easy to rein in. No matter how many beautiful, simply cut items Annie urged Dannii towards, she would wear them out on the town with all the wrong kinds of accessories: open-toed high heels, visible knickers, a bottle of vodka and three drunken football players.
Nevertheless, Dannii was standing in front of her flicking though
Heat
with a triumphant look on her face.
'Here!' she said finally. 'Take a look at this!'
She handed the magazine to Annie, open at a double-page spread on footballers' girlfriends. The women had been divided up into columns headed 'scores' and 'misses', and then right in the centre there was Dannii. She was labelled a 'hat-trick', 'because we love Dannii's dress, bag and shoes!' the magazine trilled.
Annie had selected every one of those items and had suggested putting them together. Despite her mood of general gloom, she couldn't resist a smile of pleasure . . . and if Dannii was now a style-setter, then Annie had a brilliant idea.
'This is fantastic!' Annie enthused, 'Look at you! That Cavelli dress is stunning on you. What a brilliant picture, blimey you'll be on the cover of
Vogue
next!'
Dannii beamed.
'Before we go out and look at some new things, I have to tell you about Timi Woo shoes. Have you heard of them?' Annie's voice lowered a little, because she was being totally disloyal to The Store here, something she never liked to do. 'They're just amazing! Brilliant quality, gorgeous colours and you can only get them on the internet. Insider's secret. C'mon, I'll get Paula to show you hers.'
* * *
If Dannii and her boundless enthusiasm had managed to revive Annie's mood slightly, it was about to be killed off again by Paige, who walked into the suite just as soon as Dannii wiggled out, along with her £4,000 worth of evening dresses, tight jeans and sparkly tops, not to mention her little hairy Gucci-Coo.
Paige had been here twice before, although Annie wasn't quite sure why because no matter what Annie suggested, Paige just chose the things she would have bought on her own anyway. And these things were always neutral. They were beige or taupe or light grey. They were sand, or greige or putty. There was no dragging Paige away from neutral. Even her hair and skin were beige.
Maybe it was because she worked for an accountancy company where no one was allowed to stand out, maybe it was because she was single, childless and more than a touch neurotic, or maybe it was just because her name was Paige and she liked to wear beige.
When Annie had taken her down to the cosmetics counter, in the hope of persuading her to try out some slightly more enlivening colours, Paige had picked out the beige eye shadow, the taupe cheek colour and the nude lipstick. In other words, she'd looked almost exactly the same when she left the counter as when she arrived.
Whenever Annie brought her an outfit to try on, she would ask, 'Doesn't it come in something just a little bit more neutral?'
Until Annie wanted to shriek, 'NO!! It doesn't! That's the point!'
On previous visits, Annie had tried to fight against the beige tide by bringing up rails of carefully selected, mouth-wateringly tempting colours: a blouse in grape silk, a teal blue cashmere cardigan, a bottle-green shirt dress, a heathery pink jacket . . . for them all to be rejected in favour of 'something that will go with everything'. This was the phrase which drove Annie mad. Why did
something
have to go with
everything
? No one ever wore their somethings with everything! The terror of having a lone something left in the back of the cupboard which went with
nothing
explained why some people only ever bought black or navy, or in Paige's case greige. And they missed out! They missed out on grass greens and sky blues, inky purples, juicy watermelon, sharp lemon, comforting coffee, earthy greens, rich russets, pillarbox red, the energy burst of orange . . .
So today, Annie in her black dress and black patent shoes was going to introduce Paige to colour, but only one tiny step at a time.
As soon as Paige was safely inside a swish grey trouser suit, Annie brought her a chunky bracelet – cheap for The Store, just plastic stones strung together with elastic – and slipped it onto her wrist. Crucially, the bracelet was olive green.
'Hmmm . . .' Paige didn't seem to object, she was concentrating on the suit, which once some necessary alterations had been done, was going to be a total winner.
Next, Annie handed her a sleek, lizard print clutch bag in grey and . . . olive green.
Paige held the bag, as intended, in the hand with the olive green bracelet. Oh that was so nice! Annie was now desperate to run out onto the shop floor and get a thin green-fringed velvet scarf to slip under Paige's jacket so that it peeked through with its hint of softness just at the collar and below the buttons. But she stayed still . . . careful not to undo all the progress they were making.
When Paige put her narrow frame into a stone grey day dress, Annie risked a red, white and smoky grey necklace made of multiple bead strands twisted artfully together. Then, holding her breath, she removed the narrow black belt the dress came with and threaded a slim scarlet one through the belt loops in its place.
'Hmmm . . .' Paige considered herself in the mirror.
'You know you could consider a red lipstick with this,' Annie encouraged, 'but you've got to break yourself in slowly with red lipstick if you don't usually wear it. Start with red lip gloss, then gradually add just a trace of lipstick with the gloss, smudge it round with your finger, get used to the bold new red lips on your face . . .'
Next, a beige chunky-knit cardigan was paired with green-blue leather gloves, and an outfit of unrelenting mushroom, even if it was Armani mushroom, was draped with the softest spun cashmere wrap . . . in dusky pink.