New York Valentine Part 28

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Svetlana at show-time: Pink, white and green wrap dress (Missoni)

Pink strappy heels (Manolo Blahnik personally)

3-carat diamond and emerald ring

(Cartier via 3rd husband)

Diamond drop earrings (Harry Winston

via 2nd husband)

Diamond-studded watch (Chopard, no husband required)

Breathtaking diamond and emerald necklace

(can't even remember)

Floor-length white ermine coat (Fendi)

Total est. cost: $270,000

'From Mayfair, London'

For the next half an hour, Annie couldn't worry about Svetlana and Elena. She couldn't even think about Svetlana and Elena. She was totally focused on her daughter. Could Lana handle being the model in a show where the boy who had dumped her so cruelly and callously, was sitting in the audience?

The music began and, one by one, the girls strode out: Lana at the back, but snaking her hips and strutting just as competently as the others.

The dresses were fantastic and Annie thought her daughter looked almost unrecognizably good; the long fringe gone, swept up into a quiff and carefully pinned under the beret so that all her delicate pale features were on display. What startling big blue eyes she had! During the years of fringe, Annie had almost forgotten their impact.

Annie's eyes flicked to Taylor, and she held her breath as Lana strode down the catwalk. As she turned at the bottom to a volley of camera flashes, Annie thought Lana paused for just a little too long.

But if Lana had seen Taylor, she didn't let it put her off her stride. When she came back up the blue carpet, her walk was as confident and purposeful as before and her face didn't give any hint of fl.u.s.ter.

'That's my girl,' Annie couldn't help saying under her breath as she watched Lana turn the corner to backstage and no doubt race to have her outfit restyled.

When the next models came out, the dresses were 'evening' with chandelier earrings, b.u.t.tons undone low, lacy slips peeking from underneath and highest heels.

It worked, it really did work. Annie dared to look at the audience now to make sure people were watching and noticing how cleverly these dresses had been made. There had to be orders! Otherwise Elena's tiny apartment would very soon be filled with way too many dresses with no homes to go to. She, Lana and probably even Elena would have to move out to make room.

After another two outings in an a.s.sortment of dresses and colourful accessories, the models returned to take a bow. Then the lights were raised, the music turned down and the girls stepped out to walk amongst the guests. This way everyone could look at and even feel the dresses in detail.

Annie hurried through the crowd, determined to speak to, charm and chat up just as many buyers as she possibly could.

That was when she saw Lana sashay past Taylor quite deliberately. He smiled at her and seemed to say h.e.l.lo, but Lana just swished on straight past him. This was good, Annie thought, though not nearly as much revenge as she wanted to see dished out to the boy. Enforced tattooing, red hot pokers ... something like that would be much better.

Now Annie's attention was caught by the proximity of Svetlana to Mrs Westhoven. If that conversation was going to happen, she felt she should get over there to make sure nothing went too drastically wrong.

By the time Annie had made it to the table, Mrs Westhoven had approached Svetlana.

'h.e.l.lo, I'm Sylvia Westhoven, head buyer at Bloomingdale's. I don't believe we've met before, although Donald, I'm sure you remember me,' Mrs Westhoven gushed, reaching over to take Donald Trump's hand. 'My husband is Sam Westhoven. He's one of the partners at Brinks, Westhoven and s.h.i.+pman.'

'Of course, Mrs Westhoven,' the world-famous billionaire replied, smiling politely but without much sign of recognition.

'So what brings you here today, Donald? Is there a personal connection?' Mrs Westhoven had to ask.

'I'm here with my friend Svetlana Wisneski. This is her dress label.'

'Oh ...'

Momentarily Mrs Westhoven seemed lost for words, so Annie stepped in.

'Mrs Westhoven, please meet Svetlana, Elena's business partner in Perfect Dress who also happens to be Elena's mother.'

'I see,' Mrs Westhoven managed and held out her hand.

Svetlana had a way of presenting her hand, jaw-dropping diamonds first, before she turned it elegantly for the shake.

Mrs Westhoven held out her diamonds and gold watch too and there was almost a clatter of jewels as the two formidable madams made their handshake.

'You are Elena's mother?' Mrs Westhoven seemed torn between conflicting emotions. She'd clearly decided to disapprove of Elena but now, seeing Svetlana's obvious wealth and status, she seemed to be having second thoughts. 'From the Ukraine?' Mrs Westhoven went on, making this sound as sniffy and dismissive as she possibly could.

'From Mayfair, London,' Svetlana said with a gracious smile. 'Ukraine is such a long time ago. Vonderrrrrful childhood memories,' she gushed, untruthfully.

'So you've started up this little dress business?' Mrs Westhoven said with just as much of a sneer as she could get away with. She clearly felt she had the upper hand.

'Yes, is little hobby for me ...' Svetlana gave a tiny shrug of ermine-covered shoulder, as if to imply that she had far too much money to need to worry about making any. 'I love clothes. But this is important for Elena. She wants to run business and take over the world. She is very smart girl.'

'I see.'

'And why have you come to the show, Mrs Westhoven?'

'I am the head buyer with Bloomingdale's.'

Annie could see the answer registering with Svetlana, and her sharp mind working it out. She knew about Bloomingdale's, she knew about Mrs Westhoven and she definitely knew about Sye.

'Sye Westhoven ...' Svetlana began.

'Indeed,' Mrs Westhoven said, drawing herself to her full, Chanel-clad height.

'So, how you enjoy your ... job?' Svetlana said, giving an unmistakable little sneer of her own on the word 'job'.

'I love it. I can't imagine being a lady who just ... lunches,' came the icy reply.

Svetlana made a tinkling and obviously false laugh. Then she threw in, with a significant stroke of her glittering necklace: 'Oh, life is verrrry, verrry interesting when you have enough money.'

'Indeed.' Mrs Westhoven's eyes narrowed. She looked furiously angry.

'So our children are dating again,' Svetlana purred, before adding the killer. 'Of course, I do not approve.'

Now, the kid-skin gloves were off. Annie's heart hammered. Where would they go from here?

'If you think I approve ...' Mrs Westhoven hissed: 'how can I possibly approve of Sye taking up with some unwanted Eastern European love child brought up by relatives, who didn't meet her own mother until she turned twenty?'

Svetlana froze. This woman knew far too much.

'This is mine, give it to me,' Svetlana said and grabbed at the Tiffany's goodie bag which Mrs Westhoven was holding.

'I beg your pardon, it's mine,' Mrs Westhoven said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the bag back. For a brief moment, both women were involved in an undignified tug of war over the goodie bag, which held up admirably under the pressure.

'Ladies,' Donald Trump intervened with a genial smile, 'why don't we settle this over another bottle of champagne?'

'Never!' Mrs Westhoven declared, and with that she let go of the bag, turned on her heel and began to march to the door.

Elena, who had been watching this disaster from a safe distance, did not dare to approach Mrs W on her way out. But Annie decided maybe she would give it just one desperate try. This was, after all, the woman behind the biggest single dress order.

'Mrs Westhoven, I'm sorry, Svetlana is a unique and colourful character. She often says things she doesn't mean ...' Annie began apologetically. 'I hope the dresses at least spoke for themselves.'

'Don't waste your time,' Mrs Westhoven said, not even turning to look at Annie as she continued her march to the door, but she raised her voice so that as many of the guests as possible could hear her. 'Your dresses are unoriginal and cheap. The Bloomingdale's order remains withdrawn.'

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Sye ready to mother-meet: Thick white s.h.i.+rt (Brooks Brothers)

Beige combat trousers (Patagonia)

Hiking boots (same)