Late Night Shopping: by Carmen Reid Page B

meant there was time to do the one thing that she really needed to do, now that she was going to be the head of her own luxury goods empire, now that all this cash was about to land in her private back account. She'd be able to pay off all her credit cards, take the family on holiday, and . . .
     
Rushing down the escalators, taking two steps at a time, she made it to the ground floor.
     
Cutting through the vividly perfumed air, she made straight for Accessories to claim her bag.
     
The Bag?! She could see straightaway that the bag was not on its plinth. Somebody else had bought it! Oh no!
     
Hurrying to the concession counter, she spotted Sandra deep in conversation with a woman, and there was The Bag on the counter top between them.
     
Annie knew quite enough about shopping psychology to know that the last thing to do was rush up and say, 'Hands off, that's mine.' Nothing made any shopper want anything more than a rival.
     
Instead, as she strained to hear what Sandra and the woman were saying to each other, she picked up a beautiful brown Mulberry bag, supple as a well-worn saddle, and began to fondle it. She slung it over her shoulder and walked this way and that in front of the mirror.
     
'Hmmm . . .' the customer was telling Sandra, 'I just can't quite decide. I mean, it is beautiful, but it's so expensive.'
     
'It's a very limited edition. Only twenty of these bags will be sold in London in total.' Sandra was ignoring Annie and leaning in for a serious sales pitch. 'This is the opposite of a fashionable "it bag". This is completely exclusive. There's a letter inside, hand-signed by the designer. Not Saint Laurent himself,' she added quickly, 'he's retired now. But by the bag's creator.'
     
'For that kind of money,' the customer joked, 'I'd expect the creator to invite me to their house for dinner.'
     
'But look at the workmanship,' Sandra went on, 'the lining is quilted suede, all the zipped compartments inside are satin lined with a solid brass zip. This bag will last a lifetime. Probably two. You'll be able to hand it down.'
     
Annie wasn't getting anywhere with the Mulberry: she ditched it and picked up Chloé's new season tote. Now this was a lovely bag, jade blue and creamily soft. It jangled and slouched up against you. Snuggled, even.
     
She walked just a little more obviously past Sandra and the customer.
     
'Lovely bag,' she called across to Sandra, 'I might come down to get this in my next break. Can you hold it for me?'
     
'Yes Annie, I can hold it for you.' Sandra's voice was a touch weary. She knew exactly what Annie was up to.
     
Ooooh, but the customer had turned. The customer was looking.
     
Annie glanced at her watch. She had to go! She was going to have to leave it in the lap of the gods. Taking one last, long look at her bag, she set the Chloé back on the shelf and sped back upstairs.
     
Irena was from Romania, but she'd moved to London for a decent job. She was in her late twenties, much younger than Annie's usual client, but she had made this appointment asking specifically for Annie Valentine.
     
She wasn't going to be hard for Annie to dress because she was so pretty, with a figure that Annie understood perfectly because it was curvaceous with a nipped in waist, just like hers.
     
Slipping in and out of Irena's changing room with dresses, skirts, jackets and belts, Annie was impressed with the extravagance of Irena's deep burgundy underwear.
     
Finally, Irena, who had come for 'just two great outfits,' seemed to be settling on a dress, a skirt and a blouse, then a fantastic swing jacket with wide sleeves which went with all three.
     
'Thank you,' she gushed at Annie, 'you are very good at your job. I hear so much about you. I have been wanting to meet you for a long time.'
     
Annie couldn't help feeling there was something a little strange about the way Irena shook her hand and looked so deeply into her face.
     
'Have you been in London long?' she asked.
     
'Just a few