Annie in Paris, page 11
Igor’s maids, all dressed in the same polo shirt, chinos and Swiss watch uniform, were never young and pretty, they were always older, almost matronly. Igor wanted his staff to be serious and to serve well. He was not interested in any kind of friskiness going on behind the scenes.
Svetlana hadn’t been in this house since her divorce and she was struck by how familiar it felt. The maid showed her up to the guest suite of rooms, talked Svetlana through the selection of pillows, asked how Svetlana would like her clothes unpacked, and wanted to know if madame would like to come to the dining room for afternoon tea. Yes, the selection of menus Svetlana had emailed over had been received, and would madame wish to dine in or out tonight?
‘Who is in the house apart from me?’ Svetlana asked.
‘Me, madame, the driver, the housekeeper and the handyman-gardener are all in the house or garden during the day.’
‘No other guests?’
‘No, madame.’
‘And I don’t expect to meet Igor during my stay as I believe he is in Brazil?’
‘Yes, madame, we don’t expect him here until November.’
This was all good news to Svetlana.
‘I think, no afternoon tea for me,’ Svetlana told her. ‘I will go out for a few hours. I’ll be back at…’ she glanced at her watch, disconcerted by the hour-forward time change, ‘maybe seven or eight o’clock and I will have dinner then.’
‘Very well, madame. Is that everything for now?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I’ll give you my mobile number,’ Yasmina added, ‘if you want to make any requests, or changes, just let me know.’
When the maid had left, Svetlana went into the huge bathroom, decorated with cream-coloured fresh flowers, a bank of scented candles and luxury toiletries, to freshen up before she ventured out onto the streets of Paris. It was another wistful moment when she looked at the polished limestone floor and remembered sitting with the designer and picking out those very tiles – it must have been about seventeen years ago now when this house was stripped out and fully refurbished. Back when she was a young woman in her thirties, not that she would have appreciated her youth. Even then, she was Botox-ing, nipping, tucking and in a panic about hitting her fortieth birthday milestone. That was when she had decided to become much more ‘economical with the truth’ when it came to her age.
Under the flattering lights of the bathroom mirror, she looked her face over carefully and critically. She poured out a glass of water from the chilled bottle of mineral water, touched up her foundation, smoothed on some of the gleaming bronze eyeshadow she liked so much, then added fresh mascara and a new coat of lipstick.
With her sunglasses on and handbag over her shoulder, she stepped out onto the sunny pavement. She had this afternoon and the whole of tomorrow to herself before her filming with Annie began. So, what to do with herself? Ah, it was no good! No matter that she was in one of the most beautiful parts of Paris, with that question, back with a vengeance, came all the nagging feelings of uncertainty and pointlessness.
15
Pâtisserie – Pastry
Paris is famous for its pâtisseries. The most wonderful gateaux, brioches, millefeuilles and pain au chocolats are available on every street corner. But I can promise you that women who wish to keep wearing the beautiful pieces they bought five years ago will only indulge in these delights at le weekend. A small slice of tart au chocolat on Saturday and a buttery croissant on Sunday, perhaps. A lifetime of slimness involves daily discipline, naturellement, but the occasional indulgences must be enjoyed to the full.
M.M.
The first night in Paris with the twins had been eventful, or maybe traumatic would be a better word. Ed had not been able to source new blankies on his way home from work at 6 p.m. The twins had appeared to accept the missing blankets at first. But late into the evening, Max had become upset, then Minette, too, and it had taken two phone calls to Owen at home to assure them the blankies were there and he would look after them, followed by making room for the twins in the not exactly spacious bed of Mum and Dad.
Then, just as Annie had finally fallen asleep, Lauren had called from New York to offload about some weird noise she was hearing in her new room that was making it impossible to sleep.
‘You’re the one making it impossible for me to sleep!’ Annie had complained.
With all that going on, she and Ed had barely had time for a rushed hello, let alone any kind of romantic reunion, or any chance for Annie to ask about the mysterious note in his pocket.
Now, 10 a.m. the following day, she was jittery with the coffee she’d already drunk, but the twins were playing in their room, as instructed, while she waited to interview Samia, the potential nanny.
When the door buzzed right on time, she opened it and was a little taken aback by her first glimpse of prospective nanny, Samia. The beautiful student, deeply tanned with corkscrew liquorice curls, was leaning against the doorframe looking not so much like a nanny, but a pouty model, in her white cami top, mid-thigh denim shorts and suede cowboy boots. Over this was a pink suede jacket with fringing along the sleeves. But her expression quickly changed to a welcoming smile.
‘Annie Valentine?’ she asked.
‘Samia?’ Annie began hesitantly. ‘Am I pronouncing that the right way?’
‘Yes,’ Samia confirmed. ‘It’s Algerian, my parents are French-Algerian.’
‘It’s beautiful, like you,’ Annie said, making Samia laugh. ‘Thank you so much for coming to see us. Would you like some coffee?’
‘No, water is good,’ Samia told her.
The interview felt straightforward enough. Samia had done plenty of childminding before, plus she had grown up with a much younger brother and sister. And as her uni classes didn’t start for a few weeks, she would be available whenever required and could also do some weekend babysitting.
Annie liked the idea of spending the mornings with the twins and then having the afternoons free to work, research and explore Paris for film crew and interview destinations.
After a satisfactory half hour in which Samia seemed to answer every question well, the twins were allowed to come out of their room to meet her.
‘Ah bonjour!’ Samia’s face brightened at the sight of them. ‘You must be Minette and you must be Max? Wow, you both look much older than four!’ A compliment designed to flatter every small person.
‘Do you know any French words?’ was her next question. And the twins decided not to waste time being shy, but to get straight on board with this friendly girl.
‘Baguette,’ Minette offered.
‘Taxi!’ Max said and laughed because he knew this word was the same in French and English.
‘Metro,’ was Minette’s next word, ‘and merci.’
‘Pantalons,’ Max offered the French word for trousers and for some reason this set both children off into raucous laughter.
‘Do you want to show Samia your room?’ Annie offered, and the twins jumped at the chance to take her away to their space.
After ten minutes or so of listening to the chatter between Samia and the twins, Annie offered her a week’s trial, ‘to make sure we all get on’, followed by another two or three weeks of work if everything went well.
‘I’m so happy,’ the new nanny gushed. ‘Would you like me to start tomorrow?’
‘That sounds perfect,’ Annie agreed. ‘Would you like to do a longer day? Maybe 11 till 6 p.m.? Because, I have filming… oh my goodness,’ she realised with a start, realising how much she still needed to organise today.
‘I’m off this afternoon,’ Samia said, perhaps picking up on the harassed expression on Annie’s face. ‘Would you like me to come back later and take the twins out for a few hours. It’s a beautiful day, we can go visit some play parks.’
Max and Minette jumped up and down at the prospect: ‘Please, Mumma!’
So that was settled.
Luckily, Samia’s references came up shining and in time, so when she arrived back at the flat, in pristine jeans and sneakers this time, Annie helped the twins into their shoes and gave each one a tender kiss before seeing them out of the door.
There was still that anxious moment though, when she looked at them all and said, ‘Have a good time,’ but had to check, ‘You’ve got my number in your phone, Samia? And the twins have our numbers written inside all their shoes just in case of, you know, the unexpected.’
‘We are going to some lovely parks. It will be very safe and fun!’ Samia assured her. ‘But numbers in their shoes is a good idea. I love it!’
An hour later, Annie was hard at work in the sitting room. She’d rechecked all the arrangements for filming tomorrow and the day after. She’d messaged Svetlana to confirm and was now trying to make some new friends and contacts in Paris, but this wasn’t going so well.
‘Yes… I’m on television in the UK,’ she was trying to explain to the next very important fashion PR on her list.
‘No, it’s not the BBC… but we have about 1 million viewers, so it’s a really well watched show.’
‘What is this programme called?’ came the uninterested voice at the other end of the line.
‘How To Be Fabulous… and we’re doing two episodes set in Paris, all about French fashion, so, of course, we want to feature you.’
‘Who else in Paris has agreed to be on this show?’
This was currently the difficult question. She was putting out her first feelers, but so far, everyone had asked ‘who else has agreed?’ and as soon as she admitted, with total honesty, that her list was still ‘wide open’, well, the shutters went down.
So, time to try a new approach: ‘This is my first day of contacting people and I’ve come to you first, of course,’ Annie gushed. ‘If we can’t do something really creative and interesting involving the Karl Lagerfeld brand then why come to Paris?’
‘Exactement!’
Was it Annie’s imagination or was there just a little more interest in the PR’s voice now.
‘Would you be interested in a feature with Choupette?’ was the next question.
‘Choupette?’ she repeated. The name rang a bell and she didn’t want to admit to not knowing who Choupette was… a new designer? A new model? Or muse?
‘Yes, the late Monsieur Lagerfeld’s cat, Choupette. The cat was a very important inspiration, even a mentor for the label. She has her own fashion line and her own representation. I can give you their number and see if they will let her be featured on your show.’
‘I see… well…’ Annie did not like the way this was going. She was about to be brushed off by her fifth fashion house in a row and left to interview a cat… and even if the cat did have her own fashion line and representation, it was not what she was looking for.
A cat!
‘Yes, please give me the contact details for Choupette’s representation,’ Annie went on as cheerfully as she could. ‘How clever of you to think of this. Do you think we could possibly get permission to film in your store? Maybe one morning, before opening time? Maybe one of the assistants could show us round some items from the latest collection? We love details,’ she went on, ‘we want to see what sets these amazing clothes apart from the kind of clothes you can buy anywhere.’
‘Especially in the UK,’ the PR sniffed, ‘your clothes are truly cheap and horrible.’
‘Right… yes…’ And thanks for that.
‘Give me your contact details, I can make a request, but I think the answer will be no,’ the woman told her.
‘Look, why don’t I call you again in a few days, once I’ve spoken to Choupette’s PR, and see how that request is going?’
‘Yes, if you would like to do this, but I am not optimistic… your television show is not “on brand” for us. We only want to associate with luxury lifestyles, premium products. So, I do not think this will be a fit for us.’
Annie drew the call to a close as positively as she could, but as with the calls before, she felt no great surge of optimism. In fact, she felt dismissed and looked down on. All the calls she’d made so far to the big fashion names had not gone well. She had no great hope that any of them would come back with a positive answer to her requests. Interviews with important fashion-house people were looking extremely unlikely. Even her requests for permission to have little thirty-minute filming slots inside the hallowed stores were not being met with any enthusiasm.
And everyone’s most important question for her was: ‘who else has agreed to this?’
Short of lying and telling everyone she was calling them first, or pretending that Chanel had already said yes… what could she do?
For goodness’ sake, she told herself, it was far too early to get downhearted about this. She pulled her shoulders back, decided a fresh cup of coffee was in order, and gave herself a bracing talking to.
This was Paris! It was full of fashion snobs. No one said this was going to be easy. And if everyone gave up at the first sign of a no, where would we be?!
Right…
She switched the coffee maker on and flipped thoughtfully through the French magazine that Samia had brought her when she’d arrived to begin her first shift with the twins.
‘My favourite fashion magazine,’ she’d announced, handing it to Annie. ‘I thought you might like to look at it, because of your job.’
Just the fumes of coffee coming from the little machine were already starting to revive her. She flicked through the pages and liked what she saw. Outfits with style and edge, prices that were affordable. She held the magazine up to get a better look at the designers that were credited. New French names, and names that sounded Moroccan, or Algerian in origin.
This was promising.
She was sipping at her coffee now and thinking hard.
Maybe she was going about this all the wrong way. She had thought she would work from the very biggest ‘must have’ names down, but maybe it would make much more sense to work her way up. If she had a list of small and then mid-sized exciting and fashionable designers that had agreed to speak to her, maybe she could work her way to the very top of the pile.
Maybe the sniffy girls at Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent would be much more receptive if she told them some edgy new designers were already in the bag.
Start small, she thought. That’s what I have to do. So, she began to look even more carefully through the magazine, noting names of clothing, handbag and jewellery designers and looking them up online. If they were a favourite of an up-and-coming fashion or film person, so much the better.
She sent out messages, tweets and emails. For those where she could find a phone number, she decided it would be worth trying to have a call.
‘Hello?’
‘Allo?’
‘Do you speak any English?’
‘Ah… are you speak the French?’
‘Not really…’ So she decided to put it as plainly as possible: ‘I want to put your shoes on television in London.’
There was a pause followed by hysterical laughter and a volley of French she couldn’t possibly follow. Then the line went dead.
Oh good grief!
Did they not want to be on television? Were they too high fashion? Or did they think this was an elaborate practical joke. She didn’t know.
What she did know was that almost an entire afternoon had gone by and she had nothing else to fill those episodes with yet, except Svetlana.
Annie glanced around the apartment searching for where she had last placed Samia’s magazine and spotted one of Ed’s jackets lying carelessly over the back of a chair. She went over, picked it up, brushed it down and carried it through to the bedroom, intending to hang it up properly.
After what she’d found the day before, she couldn’t help herself from making a sweep of the pockets and to her astonishment, she pulled out another note.
This one was decorated with hearts, kisses, plus the words:
Je suis obsédée par toi.
She thought she knew what that meant, but she typed it into Google translate to check. Yes, as she’d feared:
I am obsessed with you.
Ed… Ed? And surely that gorgeous Sylvie? That was what immediately sprang into her mind. And she felt so shocked, so overwhelmed… so completely wounded that she had to sit down.
Ed? He’d never in their years together made her feel that there was any risk. Her late husband, Roddy, oh yes, charming, handsome actor, Roddy, who used to go abroad for long stints of filming with beautiful actresses. He had made her just about insane with jealousy, although there had never been any hard evidence or any admission of an affair. Actors… what happened on the film set almost always stayed on the film set.
But Ed? Her loyal and loving husband, who went to school, who parented, who stayed home most evenings and most weekends, unless he had a musical event to go to. Well, maybe that was the problem, maybe life had become far too predictable and this was how he was reacting to his first taste of freedom.
Two notes… and those lit-up Insta photos… and, now that she thought of it, she never did hear about whether Sylvie got her keys back that night. Could something much more serious than she was even suspecting be going on?
And… now what?
She had to meet him… before the twins came back. She had to ask Ed straight out about this.
16
Les Lèvres – Lips
Red lipstick is the ultimate morale boost – there is a shade out there that is for you, keep on trying until you find it. Buy a palette and mix if need be. I recommend applying with your finger so it blurs and sinks in well. It should feel just like lip balm.
M.M.
While she was still holding the note in her hand, while she was still wondering what Ed would offer as an explanation, Annie’s phone began to ring. She saw it was a French number, so answered immediately.
