Mini Shopaholic
Page 40
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There are some gorgeous pieces on that rail. Davina would look amazing in any one of them. I can see the lust growing in her eyes.
‘Are those …’
‘Just a few options.’
‘I can’t.’ She shakes her head desperately. ‘I can’t turn up in something new.’
‘But would your husband know it was new?’ I can’t resist saying. I see this thought register in her head.
‘Maybe not,’ she says at last. Her brow is clearing a little … then it wrinkles anxiously again. ‘But I can’t possibly come back home with any shopping bags. Or have anything delivered. Or have anything delivered to work. All the junior staff will chatter and want to see, and it’ll get back to my husband. That’s the downside of both working in the same hospital.’
‘So how can you buy a dress?’ says Jasmine bluntly. ‘If you can’t take anything home or have it delivered?’
‘I don’t know.’ Davina looks a bit crestfallen. ‘Oh, this is hopeless. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Of course you should!’ I say firmly. ‘We’re not in the business of giving up. Come in and have a cup of coffee and look at the dresses. And I’ll think of something.’
The minute Davina puts on the Philosophy by Alberta Ferretti, we both know. She has to have it. It’s a black and bitter-chocolate sheath with a trailing wisp of chiffon and it’s five hundred pounds and worth every single penny.
So now it’s up to me to work out how we do it. And by the time she’s dressed again and has eaten the sandwiches which I ordered for her, I have the answer. We are hereby introducing a new, specialist personal-shopping service at The Look called SIP (Shop in Private). By lunchtime I’ve made all the arrangements for Davina, plus I’ve come up with several extra innovations. I’ve even typed up a quick email about it, which begins: ‘Do you feel guilty about shopping in these troubled days? Do you need a new level of discretion?’
I don’t want to boast, but I’m quite proud of all my ideas. Customers can come to the personal-shopping department, select their new clothes, and then, in order to remain discreet, choose from a number of delivery options:
1. Have clothes on standby, ready to be biked over to client’s house at a suitable specified time (i.e. when no one else is in).
2. Have clothes delivered in a cardboard box labelled ‘Computer Paper’ or ‘Sanitary Products’.
3. Have a member of staff (i.e. me or Jasmine) pose as a friend, visit home and offer clothes as ‘unwanted cast-offs’.
4. Have a member of staff (i.e. me or Jasmine) pose as a cleaning lady, visit home and secrete clothes in hiding place to be previously arranged.
5. For a more substantial fee, members of staff from The Look (me and Jasmine) will set up a ‘charity stall’ at a location to be arranged,* where the client may ‘purchase’ clothes for a nominal price in front of spouse or partner.
*This option may work better for groups of shoppers.
Davina’s going for the ‘Computer Paper’ option. By the time she left, her eyes were sparkling with excitement and she gave me a massive hug, saying she’d send me pictures of the reception and I’d absolutely made her day. Well, she deserves it. She looks amazing in that dress and she’ll remember the occasion all her life. As I set off for lunch with Bonnie I feel pretty chuffed with myself.
The only teeny doubt which occasionally shoots through my head is that I haven’t run the ‘Shop in Private’ scheme past any of my bosses. Like the MD or head of marketing or director of operations. Strictly speaking, I should have got a new initiative like this approved before I launched it to the public. But the thing is, they’re men. They’d never understand. They’d probably just make lots of stupid objections and time would tick away and we’d lose all our customers.
So I’m doing the right thing. Yes. I’m sure I am.
I’m meeting Bonnie at a restaurant near the Brandon Communications offices and as I arrive she’s sitting at a table, looking as understated as ever in a beige tweed dress and flat patent pumps.
Every time I’ve met Bonnie, she’s always seemed remote and spotless; almost not-human. But I know there’s a hidden side to her – because I’ve seen it. At the last Brandon C Christmas party, I happened to notice her when the rest of us were on the dance-floor singing madly to ‘Dancing Queen’. Bonnie was sitting alone at a table, and as I watched, she surreptitiously helped herself to one of the left-over hazelnut chocolates left on the plates. Then another one. She went around the whole table, discreetly hoovering the hazelnut chocolates, and even folded the wrappers neatly and put them in her evening bag. I never told anyone about it, even Luke – because something told me she would have been mortified to have been seen. Let alone teased about it.
‘Are those …’
‘Just a few options.’
‘I can’t.’ She shakes her head desperately. ‘I can’t turn up in something new.’
‘But would your husband know it was new?’ I can’t resist saying. I see this thought register in her head.
‘Maybe not,’ she says at last. Her brow is clearing a little … then it wrinkles anxiously again. ‘But I can’t possibly come back home with any shopping bags. Or have anything delivered. Or have anything delivered to work. All the junior staff will chatter and want to see, and it’ll get back to my husband. That’s the downside of both working in the same hospital.’
‘So how can you buy a dress?’ says Jasmine bluntly. ‘If you can’t take anything home or have it delivered?’
‘I don’t know.’ Davina looks a bit crestfallen. ‘Oh, this is hopeless. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Of course you should!’ I say firmly. ‘We’re not in the business of giving up. Come in and have a cup of coffee and look at the dresses. And I’ll think of something.’
The minute Davina puts on the Philosophy by Alberta Ferretti, we both know. She has to have it. It’s a black and bitter-chocolate sheath with a trailing wisp of chiffon and it’s five hundred pounds and worth every single penny.
So now it’s up to me to work out how we do it. And by the time she’s dressed again and has eaten the sandwiches which I ordered for her, I have the answer. We are hereby introducing a new, specialist personal-shopping service at The Look called SIP (Shop in Private). By lunchtime I’ve made all the arrangements for Davina, plus I’ve come up with several extra innovations. I’ve even typed up a quick email about it, which begins: ‘Do you feel guilty about shopping in these troubled days? Do you need a new level of discretion?’
I don’t want to boast, but I’m quite proud of all my ideas. Customers can come to the personal-shopping department, select their new clothes, and then, in order to remain discreet, choose from a number of delivery options:
1. Have clothes on standby, ready to be biked over to client’s house at a suitable specified time (i.e. when no one else is in).
2. Have clothes delivered in a cardboard box labelled ‘Computer Paper’ or ‘Sanitary Products’.
3. Have a member of staff (i.e. me or Jasmine) pose as a friend, visit home and offer clothes as ‘unwanted cast-offs’.
4. Have a member of staff (i.e. me or Jasmine) pose as a cleaning lady, visit home and secrete clothes in hiding place to be previously arranged.
5. For a more substantial fee, members of staff from The Look (me and Jasmine) will set up a ‘charity stall’ at a location to be arranged,* where the client may ‘purchase’ clothes for a nominal price in front of spouse or partner.
*This option may work better for groups of shoppers.
Davina’s going for the ‘Computer Paper’ option. By the time she left, her eyes were sparkling with excitement and she gave me a massive hug, saying she’d send me pictures of the reception and I’d absolutely made her day. Well, she deserves it. She looks amazing in that dress and she’ll remember the occasion all her life. As I set off for lunch with Bonnie I feel pretty chuffed with myself.
The only teeny doubt which occasionally shoots through my head is that I haven’t run the ‘Shop in Private’ scheme past any of my bosses. Like the MD or head of marketing or director of operations. Strictly speaking, I should have got a new initiative like this approved before I launched it to the public. But the thing is, they’re men. They’d never understand. They’d probably just make lots of stupid objections and time would tick away and we’d lose all our customers.
So I’m doing the right thing. Yes. I’m sure I am.
I’m meeting Bonnie at a restaurant near the Brandon Communications offices and as I arrive she’s sitting at a table, looking as understated as ever in a beige tweed dress and flat patent pumps.
Every time I’ve met Bonnie, she’s always seemed remote and spotless; almost not-human. But I know there’s a hidden side to her – because I’ve seen it. At the last Brandon C Christmas party, I happened to notice her when the rest of us were on the dance-floor singing madly to ‘Dancing Queen’. Bonnie was sitting alone at a table, and as I watched, she surreptitiously helped herself to one of the left-over hazelnut chocolates left on the plates. Then another one. She went around the whole table, discreetly hoovering the hazelnut chocolates, and even folded the wrappers neatly and put them in her evening bag. I never told anyone about it, even Luke – because something told me she would have been mortified to have been seen. Let alone teased about it.
