sharing a jug of margaritas after the day I’ve had.’
Classy. Oh yes.
‘Theatre? I bet you like the theatre?’ Annie made one last attempt at somehow connecting with Spencer, as she rang up his purchases.
‘Oh, yes. I’m going to the Noël Coward thing that’s just opened, what’s it called again?’
Sunshine was breaking through the clouds.
‘ After the Ball ? When are you going?’ Annie could barely contain her grin.
‘Thursday night, I think.’
‘No! Really,’ she gushed. ‘My friend is in one of the lead roles and that’s the night he’s invited me along. He says Thursday night is the real theatre buff’s night.’ She was making this up as she went along. Every word. Well, OK, apart from Connor being the lead.
‘Really!’ Spencer didn’t sound quite as pleased as she’d hoped.
‘I might see you there then, in your fabulous new clothes.’
‘Well, yes . . . That would be nice . . .’
‘And contact lenses,’ she advised. ‘Either a small metal rim or contacts. Definitely.’
‘Right . . . er . . .’
It was hard to judge from so few words whether Spencer was pleased at this turn of events, or worried that he now had a stalker on his hands.
Chapter Seven
Megan’s outfit for her ex-husband’s wedding:
Missoni dress (The Store)
Manolo boots (The Store)
Gucci bag (Gucci)
Philip Treacy hat (The Store)
3.5-carat emerald engagement ring (Ex-husband)
Cartier diamond watch (Ex-husband)
Asprey gold and diamond bracelet (Ex-husband)
Est. cost £220,000
‘I want to look everything his cheap little girlfriend is not.’
‘Nooooooooooooo!’ shrieked Taylor. She yanked the four-figure silky, frothy Matthew Williamson creation up over her head and tossed it onto the floor.
‘No more empire lines! I’ve tried on six now and they all make me look fucking pregnant!’
‘Taylor!’ Megan warned in knee-jerk reaction to the swearing.
Annie was so exhausted, she was going to have to lie down and mainline an energy drink when this ordeal was finally over. She’d already been with Taylor and her terrifying mother, Megan, for one and a half hours: they’d booked a double session.
Dressing them was like the Personal Shopper Olympics. Annie was always surprised when they came back to her, because she was sure these Vogue , Harpers and Net-a-porter experts, these females wealthy enough to shop for everything they could possibly need in The Store, even groceries, knew far more about up-to-the-nanosecond fashion than she ever could.
She suspected she was brought in, like the UN, to serve in a peacekeeping role when this precocious 16-year-old went frock hunting with her beautiful mama.
Taylor was, like every teenage girl, a special shopping challenge.
She was extraordinarily pretty with long flicky blond hair and the lean, perfectly proportioned body and dewy complexion born of great genes and lashings of money.
Taylor was made of fresh air, skiing holidays, summers on the beach under factor 30, sensible boarding-school food, a mild eating disorder and daily workouts on the hockey pitch.
Here to choose outfits for Taylor’s father’s remarriage, it didn’t look as if they were ever going to agree because Megan wanted Taylor to wear something sweet and girly, whereas Taylor wanted the kind of dress a 30-year-old vamp would consider daring.
Taylor had dismissed all suits as ‘bo-oh-ring’, including a gorgeous pale pink Miu Miu which had inspired her to say: ‘Look at me, I’m Lady Penelope,’ and then do a really quite funny impersonation of the Thunderbirds puppet.
In pale blue velvet and lace, while Megan and Annie had sighed at how divine she was, Taylor had pulled a face and gone: ‘Yeuchh! What a drip!’
All the cute empire lines had been tossed off in horror and Annie was beginning to wonder what more The Store could offer.
‘I want the black wrap! Pleeeeease,’ Taylor whined, sounding more and more like the spoiled and pampered
Classy. Oh yes.
‘Theatre? I bet you like the theatre?’ Annie made one last attempt at somehow connecting with Spencer, as she rang up his purchases.
‘Oh, yes. I’m going to the Noël Coward thing that’s just opened, what’s it called again?’
Sunshine was breaking through the clouds.
‘ After the Ball ? When are you going?’ Annie could barely contain her grin.
‘Thursday night, I think.’
‘No! Really,’ she gushed. ‘My friend is in one of the lead roles and that’s the night he’s invited me along. He says Thursday night is the real theatre buff’s night.’ She was making this up as she went along. Every word. Well, OK, apart from Connor being the lead.
‘Really!’ Spencer didn’t sound quite as pleased as she’d hoped.
‘I might see you there then, in your fabulous new clothes.’
‘Well, yes . . . That would be nice . . .’
‘And contact lenses,’ she advised. ‘Either a small metal rim or contacts. Definitely.’
‘Right . . . er . . .’
It was hard to judge from so few words whether Spencer was pleased at this turn of events, or worried that he now had a stalker on his hands.
Chapter Seven
Megan’s outfit for her ex-husband’s wedding:
Missoni dress (The Store)
Manolo boots (The Store)
Gucci bag (Gucci)
Philip Treacy hat (The Store)
3.5-carat emerald engagement ring (Ex-husband)
Cartier diamond watch (Ex-husband)
Asprey gold and diamond bracelet (Ex-husband)
Est. cost £220,000
‘I want to look everything his cheap little girlfriend is not.’
‘Nooooooooooooo!’ shrieked Taylor. She yanked the four-figure silky, frothy Matthew Williamson creation up over her head and tossed it onto the floor.
‘No more empire lines! I’ve tried on six now and they all make me look fucking pregnant!’
‘Taylor!’ Megan warned in knee-jerk reaction to the swearing.
Annie was so exhausted, she was going to have to lie down and mainline an energy drink when this ordeal was finally over. She’d already been with Taylor and her terrifying mother, Megan, for one and a half hours: they’d booked a double session.
Dressing them was like the Personal Shopper Olympics. Annie was always surprised when they came back to her, because she was sure these Vogue , Harpers and Net-a-porter experts, these females wealthy enough to shop for everything they could possibly need in The Store, even groceries, knew far more about up-to-the-nanosecond fashion than she ever could.
She suspected she was brought in, like the UN, to serve in a peacekeeping role when this precocious 16-year-old went frock hunting with her beautiful mama.
Taylor was, like every teenage girl, a special shopping challenge.
She was extraordinarily pretty with long flicky blond hair and the lean, perfectly proportioned body and dewy complexion born of great genes and lashings of money.
Taylor was made of fresh air, skiing holidays, summers on the beach under factor 30, sensible boarding-school food, a mild eating disorder and daily workouts on the hockey pitch.
Here to choose outfits for Taylor’s father’s remarriage, it didn’t look as if they were ever going to agree because Megan wanted Taylor to wear something sweet and girly, whereas Taylor wanted the kind of dress a 30-year-old vamp would consider daring.
Taylor had dismissed all suits as ‘bo-oh-ring’, including a gorgeous pale pink Miu Miu which had inspired her to say: ‘Look at me, I’m Lady Penelope,’ and then do a really quite funny impersonation of the Thunderbirds puppet.
In pale blue velvet and lace, while Megan and Annie had sighed at how divine she was, Taylor had pulled a face and gone: ‘Yeuchh! What a drip!’
All the cute empire lines had been tossed off in horror and Annie was beginning to wonder what more The Store could offer.
‘I want the black wrap! Pleeeeease,’ Taylor whined, sounding more and more like the spoiled and pampered
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