True Colours:The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2(26)

'Of course, madam.'

'Excellent, we're going to need at least three bottles.'

The Russian hit-woman doesn't seem to be the slightest bit fazed by  Lucy's announcement. She simply nods, gracefully. Finally, my breathing  is back under control. Deciding that if I'm going to be strong-armed  into a shopping trip, I'm going to bloody well enjoy it, I pick up my  own glass and finish it off.

'What are you looking for today, Miss Scotton?' Tatiana asks.

I rummage around in my head for an idea. What am I looking for today? I  have no idea. I'd like to say 'combats and T-shirts', but I'm pretty  certain that Mr Foster has other ideas. At last, stifling a burp, I say  the only thing that comes to mind.

'Clothes.'

Slapping my lips, I fix my attention on the champagne bottle.

'Any sort of clothes in particular?'

'Oh, I don't know.' I hiccough. 'Can't you just choose some for me? I don't know what I'm doing.'

I catch the hint of a smile on Tatiana's mouth. 'Size twelve?'

'Yes, but  …  how  … '

'Let's call it experience. Mr Foster has stipulated that you need a black dress for formal wear.'

I bridle.

'Has he now?'

'Yes.' If she's noticed my annoyance, she certainly doesn't show it.  Instead, she simply carries on regardless. Jeez, this woman knows no  fear. 'And a range of other feminine attire.'

'Really?' I demand. 'He stipulated that?'

'Yes.'

'Mr Foster can stick his stipulations right up his backside.' I smile an  agreeable sort of a smile, slightly suspicious now that I'm behaving  like a spoilt cow. I'd put an end to it if I could, but my mouth seems  to have been hijacked by a lethal combination of panic and alcohol.

And now it's Lucy's turn to wade in.

'Maya.' She lays a hand on my lap. 'You've got enough combats and jeans  and bloody T-shirts to last you a lifetime. Just go with it. You look  lovely in dresses.'

'But  … '

'No bloody complaints.' She helps herself to another glass of champagne,  refilling my glass while she's at it. 'Tatiana, trust me on this one.  We need a two-pronged attack here. Bring us more Bolly. Lots of it. I'll  get Maya pissed and you fetch all the feminine stuff you can find.'

'Certainly, madam.'

The dark Russian eyes spend a few seconds assessing me, and I don't  really blame them. After all, they must see me as an alien species: a  woman who hates shopping for clothes; a woman who hates shopping, full  stop; a woman with less fashion sense than your average tree. I wouldn't  have been surprised to find a sneer spread across that perfect  assassin's face by now. But instead, I note a glimmer of sympathy.  Leaving us to slump back on the sofa and down even more champagne, she  makes an elegant exit from the room while another perfectly presented  assistant enters, surveying us as if we're a pair of unexploded bombs  and setting two more bottles of bubbly onto the coffee table. We're half  way through the second bottle when Tatiana reappears with a rack full  of short dresses: flowery, plain, billowy, tight. A rainbow of colours  dances in front of my eyes.

'So, this is a range of summer dresses.' Without making eye contact, she  waves a hand at the rail. 'Perhaps madam would like to choose from  these  …  and then try them on.'

Try them on? Why would I want to try them on? No, no, no. I couldn't  possibly do that because trying them on would involve getting up which,  in all likelihood, would entail falling over. And worse than that,  there'd be decisions to be made. Fashion decisions. I look to Lucy for  help, quickly realising that there's none to be had: her head's  currently resting against the back of the sofa, the champagne flute  tilting precariously to one side in her hand. She's nodded off. I nudge  her, get no response, and swallow hard.

'Okay,' I whisper like a frightened child. 'Show me what you've got.'

And she does. One by one, the dresses are plucked from the rail and held  up in front of me. One by one, I dismiss them with a screwed up nose, a  shake of the head and yet another giant gulp of champagne.         

     



 

'Have you got anything a little less summery?' I slur. 'And a little less dressy?'

The Russian eyebrows launch themselves into a perfect gymnastic crab. 'I am not following you.'

'They're a bit too  …  feminine.'

'But Mr Foster  … '

'Is a control freak.'

The crab tightens a little.

'And he needs putting in his place,' I add.

'I am not sure  … '

'More booze!' Suddenly roused and reinvigorated, Lucy thrusts out her  glass and belches. 'Don't take it personally, Tats. It's just that  clothes shopping brings out the worst in my friend. Why don't you have a  drinkie?'

'I am at work,' Tatiana growls. 'Did you see anything you like?'

I do my best to focus on her face, but it's not easy. Suddenly, the room  seems to be moving of its own accord. At last, I shake my head and  place the glass unsteadily onto the table.

'They're lovely, Tats,' Lucy drawls. 'She'll take them all.'

'But madam would like to try them on?'

'No,' I cry. 'Don't make me do it.'

'Tops,' Lucy interrupts, knowing that if I'm pushed any further in the  direction of trying things on, there's likely to be a total meltdown.  'Loads of tops and skirts. That's what we should look at now.'

I lean to one side. 'When the hell am I going to wear skirts?'

Lucy shrugs. 'You never know. Mr Mean and Hot and Moody might want easy access.'

'He can want all he likes.' I laugh. And then I wave a hand in the air. And then I laugh again.

While Tatiana withdraws, dragging the rail behind her, Lucy takes off her shoes and curls up her legs on the sofa.

'Oh, I could get used to this.' She lifts her glass. 'Beef!' she shouts. 'Do you want a drink, geezer?'

Beefy seems to shrink into the corner. 'No thank you, miss. Not while I'm on duty.'

'God they're no fun. They're no fun, are they, Maya?' Lucy pokes me, a  little too hard, and then she slips into some sort of demented reverie.  Her eyes glaze over. 'This is just like those films,' she breathes.  'You're like Whitney Houston, and he's like Kevin Costner.' She points a  finger at Beefy, and then she seems to vibrate. 'No!' she shouts. 'It's  like Pretty Woman. And Dan's Richard Gere, and you're ...'

She's lost in fuddled thought now and clearly her brain can't quite keep up with her mouth. I help her out.

'A prostitute?'

'A prostitute? She's not a prostitute, is she, Beefy?'

In unison, we look to my bodyguard for an answer, but he's on his mobile  now, tapping out a message. I have no time to ask him if he's texting  Mr Foster because as soon as I open my mouth, Tatiana reappears, pushing  a rack stuffed with skirts and blouses. As each garment is presented to  me, I sigh deeply, reaching out to feel the material, as I'm sure  you're supposed to. And then I shrug my shoulders, apologetically, and  quaff more champagne.

'All of them,' Lucy exclaims. 'She'll take all of them. Now, show us some big dresses!'

'Big dresses?' Tatiana asks.

'You know, the ones that go all the way down your legs,' Lucy explains  as best as she can. 'The ones you wear at night when you go to posh  places. She's going to a posh place on Friday and she needs a big  dress.'

'Evening wear.' Tatiana sounds quite world-weary.

Taking the rail of skirts and blouses with her, she disappears for a few  minutes, during which time I close my eyes. I'd like nothing more than a  quick nap. I'm nearly there when the rattle of tiny wheels stirs me.  Forcing my eyelids open, I'm confronted by a selection of evening  dresses in a range of colours.

'Can you just find me a black one,' I yawn. 'That's all I need. A long, black dress with a slit down the side.'

'A slit?' Lucy demands. 'Why does it need a slit?'

'Because  … ' I hiccough, and then I let out a belch. Jesus, this fizzy  stuff has filled me with wind. 'Because he wants to poke his finger in  it.' While I waggle a finger about in the air, vaguely aware that  Tatiana's bottom lip has taken a dive, I suddenly realise that my  filter's malfunctioned. I really shouldn't have said that, but my  mouth's pushing on regardless. 'And it needs a low, what do you call  those things?'

'Neckline?' Tatiana suggests.

I nod profusely. 'Yes. One of those because he wants to see my boobies.'         

     



 

She gives me a thoroughly professional smile and disappears again. I'm  about to help myself to another glass of champers when I hear a ping.  Forgetting about the drink, I lean down, dig my mobile out of my handbag  and open up a message from Dan.

Stop being a difficult arse, Maya. Buy some dresses. X

So, I was right after all. Shooting a scowl in Beefy's general  direction, I realise that I'm being spied on by Mr Control Freak  …  and  I'm seriously not having that. I type in my response, stare at the kiss,  and decide to take it off again before firing off my reply.

I'll buy what I like if you don't mind.

By the time the next text arrives, I've already downed another glass of champagne.

Of course I don't mind, as long as you buy some dresses. And where's my kiss? X

My mouth smiles and my brain complains. This whole  buying-a-load-of-clothes process is bad enough. I just don't need Dan  wading into the picture. Without sending a reply, I sling the mobile  back into my bag and decide that I should bring Lucy into the loop, only  she's not sitting next to me any more. In fact, she's currently  staggering around the room, swerving from side to side and pausing to  admire a huge pot plant before she finally homes in on the rack of  dresses. While Lucy begins to rifle her way through the selection of  evening gowns, Tatiana returns, wielding a strapless number with a  lace-up back and a slit down the side. My heart beat triples in pace. I  know this dress. I've already taken a good look at it, and decided that  eight thousand eight hundred pounds is a ridiculous price to pay.