done there.’
‘Okay, but for the record, I’m not sure about this.’
‘Noted,’ Kate laughed, ‘now stop being such a big baby and get going. It sounds great to me; I’d loved to be treated to something expensive.’
‘Noted in return,’ she said drily, ‘catch you later.’ Ending the call, Frankie threw another thank you over her shoulder as she left the McLaren dealership, hoping she wasn’t going to regret this.
‘I’m supposed to ask for Millie?’ Frankie spoke to the top of the girl’s downturned head, hoping she was in the right place.
‘That’s me,’ the girl said coolly, looking up. ‘You must be Miss Taylor.’
‘I am.’
‘Welcome. I’ll be your Personal Shopper today.’ She smiled, green eyes steady, brown hair tucked neatly back into a low ponytail. ‘I'm here to help you get ready. You are cutting it a little fine though Madam, we shut at six ‘o’ clock today.’
‘Sorry. I’m always late. And Frankie’s fine. Madam is far too formal.’ She raised her eyebrows hopefully, ‘I don’t suppose you know what I’m getting ready for?'
The girl smiled politely, as if she handled questions like this every day. 'Your date. The Daniel Hersheshon Salon on the floor below us are going to do your hair and make- up, very quickly, and then I’ll sort you out an outfit. Have you ever been to the salon before? Do you know it?
'Yes.’ In another lifetime she’d spent a lot of time there, having manicures, pedicures and regular blow dries. As much as it was nice to be treated, she wasn’t sure how she felt about being that person again.
‘Do you know who the date is with?' Frankie blurted. This was looking more and more like it had Christian stamped all over it. But he should be halfway across the world, and why make contact after all this time, and in this way?
The girl gave her a strange look at that one. 'You don't?'
'Erm, no,' she stumbled, 'I’m kind of on this scavenger hunt thing where I have to follow the clues and-
'Oh, that’s so romantic!’ Millie clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling, 'Like in a film. I am so jealous. You lucky thing!’ She seemed to have completely forgotten herself and the composed professional she’d first presented as, but Frankie much preferred this version. ‘Oh, wait until you see the dress, I can’t wait to see your face. Come on, we need to hurry.’ Gesturing her over to the lift, Millie beckoned Frankie to follow her.
‘I don’t suppose the name Christian means anything to you,’ Frankie asked as they stepped in together and the lift descended soundlessly.
‘No. It was a woman who made the appointment.’
‘A woman?’ Frankie frowned.
‘Yes.’
This day just got stranger and stranger.
Half an hour later Frankie stepped back into the warm-toned, beige and brown Personal Shopping suite with Millie, stiletto heels of her ankle boots clicking on the marble floor.
‘You look fantastic, Frankie,’ Millie said, leading her into a separate dressing area.
‘Thanks,’ Frankie stopped and looked in a mirror as she entered the room.
The senior stylist in the salon had done something incredible with a hair dryer and texturising spray, creating a sexy, messed up look that said just got out of bed after an orgasmic all-nighter. The make-up technician had done her proud too and Frankie could hardly believe how flawless her skin was, how sculpted her cheekbones, her violet eyes defined and feline-like, a bit like Gemma Arterton in a magazine advert she’d recently seen.
‘Do you like it?’ Millie came up behind her.
‘Yes.’ Frankie breathed. The girl staring back was definitely her, but better. She might even venture, striking. She’d forgotten just how flattering luxury make-up was, in comparison to the stuff she’d been buying from the supermarket for the last year. She knew it was shallow, but she had missed this. Missed looking stylish and polished. Missed the superior products and designer names.
‘It’s a pity they didn’t have time to do your nails,’ Millie said, backing away and walking into an adjoining room, voice carrying through to Frankie, ‘but what you have on will still work.’ She came back in with a garment over her arm. ‘Time for the dress.’ Millie's eyes were shining and Frankie felt an instant of friendship with the personal shopper, like they were in this together.
‘What are you so excited about?’ Frankie asked. ‘Oh.' The dress was gold, knee-length and strapless, with sequins and beading around the plunging sweetheart neckline. 'Wow.'
'Yes.' Millie giggled at her expression. ‘I think I probably wore the same expression the first time I saw it. Difference is, you get to wear it. You are so lucky.’ A tannoy announcement sounded above their head. ‘Quick,’ Millie urged, ‘the store closes in ten minutes.’
‘Oh, I’ll be quick!’ Frankie whipped her jumper over her head, stopping when she realised the kind of bra she had on wouldn’t do.
‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Millie rushed back out and returned to fling a strapless bra and invisible underwear at Frankie. ‘Hurry! Call me when you need zipping up, I’ll be out there tidying,’ she gestured to the reception area.
‘Thank you.’
Five minutes later Frankie gazed at the mirror in awe, her expression twinned with Millie’s, who’d come in to secure the zip, hooks and eyes running up the back of the dress.
'He got the fit exactly right.’ The personal shopper said. ‘He must know you really well.’
‘Hmm,’ Frankie made an indistinct sound. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen and she felt like a princess, but the accurate sizing was more puzzling than ever. She’d lost a lot of weight since the break-up. Between the hospital stay, when she’d barely eaten through grieving for her mum and pain had driven away the need for food, and the change in lifestyle of having to budget constantly to afford to eat, she’d dropped at least two dress sizes. So how would Christian know what would fit her now?
Zack was the most likely candidate; they’d been messing around with a tape measure in one of the stock cupboards only the week before. But how on earth could he afford something like this, on his wages as a Merchandiser? And how would she feel if it was him, when they were only friends?
***
‘Hey, weird girl!’ Zack appeared next to Frankie in the open door. ‘What’s up?
‘Shit!’ She dropped the box she was holding with a clatter and the hangers spilled out onto the floor. ‘Zack, you scared me.’ Crouching down, she started picking them up, shoving them away.
‘Sorry, I thought you heard me coming.’ Stooping next to her, he took the hangers back out of the box and lined them up neatly before putting them back in. ‘I was whistling.’ He added, eyes twinkling.
She stood up and went over to one of the cupboards to find some skew tags, seeing as he had the hanger situation under control. ‘Sorry,’ she replied in a mock sniffy tone, ‘I was too busy humming to hear you whistling.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Lady Frankie, is humming now a superior art form to whistling? Who do we send the memo to?’ he teased.
‘Human Resources, who else? Maybe it qualifies as part of a staff well-being initiative.’
‘Well-being? Ha, ha. Where do you work?’ Zack straightened, inserting the box back into its space on the shelf. ‘Because it’s definitely not here! Isn’t it odd,’ he mused, ‘how pristine the shop floor is, how polished and neat the shopping areas, and then how tatty the back of house areas are? If only the customers got the behind the scenes experience.’
Frankie