The Complete #LoveLondon Collection

Frankie stopped in her tracks, having had the same thought a hundred times before, every time she’d stepped off the shop floor and into the staff room or one of the store cupboards. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘it is odd.’ She smiled, ’Imagine if one day we didn’t close a door properly and a customer saw the fourth floor corridor with all the mannequins and boxes of crap along it; a complete fire hazard. There’d be mayhem!’ she joked.

He laughed, ‘You are strange, weird girl.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ she exclaimed, setting the skew tags aside, and bending over to root through one of the cupboards. The flexible measuring tape in Womenswear was forever going missing and the sales manager had asked Frankie to search some spares out.

‘Why?’

‘Argh. What a mess!’ Her hands tangled in the assortment of stuff shoved in the box by colleagues, measuring tapes and thick white parcel string and paperclips and tags. ‘Because I’m not weird.’ She spun around, hands extended to him. She pulled a pitiful face, ‘Help me, please.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Zack came over to her and started unpicking string from around her thumb and forefinger. ‘I mean, who else could imprison their hands just by going through a box?’

She stuck her tongue out at him in answer.

‘And who else has got freaky alien eyes?’ he quipped, grinning to take the sting out of any insult.

‘Oi! What do you mean alien eyes?’ she growled, pretending to glower at him.

‘They’re a really unusual colour,’ he said, head bent over her hands as he tried to unwrap the requested measuring tape from around her wrist, and separate it from the string.

Frankie didn’t answer, distracted by the space between his hair and collar, noticing a row of freckles along the back of his neck. It was hardly surprising how fair he was, but it was funny the things you saw when you stopped to look at people. She wondered if he had freckles in other places too. The thought shocked her into talking. ‘They’re a kind of deep violet,’ she agreed. ‘It is quite rare. Comes from my Mum’s side of the family.’ She stiffened.

‘Yeah,’ he lifted his head to gaze up at her, but didn’t give any indication he’d picked up on her tension, ‘for weeks after I started I thought you were wearing some of those fake party contact lenses you get. I even asked George,’ one of their colleagues from Menswear, ‘and he laughed at me. But the shape of your eyes is sort of different too, sort of cat-like.’

‘You’ve been spending far too much time thinking about this,’ she sniggered, pulling her hands away as he unravelled the last of the mess. ‘Cheers.’ She took a measuring tape off him and started wrapping it up and he took the other. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’ve been trying to calculate my dress size too.’

‘Which is?’ he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding the tape out to her and trying to wrap it around her waist.

'Get lost!’ she squirmed away. ‘A lady never shares that information.’

‘Fair enough,’ he smiled, ‘not that it really matters.’

'God, you’re not going to go all Bridget Jones on me, are you?'

'What, and tell you that I like you,’ he batted his eyelashes and she realised just how long they were, ‘just as you are? Nah, I'm hardly Colin Firth.'

She smirked, ‘But you do watch rom coms.’

He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Occasionally, but I’m man enough to take it. But we’re just friends right?’ he waited for her to nod, and dropped the rolled up measuring tape in her palm. ‘And besides, I'm not really into any of that soppy stuff. I’d rather just tell a girl I like her and ask her out.’

‘Okay. You don’t have to act like I’ve accused you of being a mass murderer.’

He swiped a pair of scissors off the side, a fake manic gleam in his eyes as he advanced towards her. 'How do you know I’m not?’

‘Eek! Please, don’t hurt me,’ she threw her arms up in front of her as she edged toward the door, ‘please spare me. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m too young to die!’

‘Oh, all right then.’ He threw the scissors aside. ‘It’s coffee time anyway. Do you want one?’

She giggled, dropping her arms, ‘You’d make a crap serial killer, so easily distracted by caffeine. And, yes please.’ He’d taken to making them fresh coffee in a cafetiere every morning and afternoon, a new brand with hints of vanilla. She loved it, and appreciated the effort. One of the girls from the Dior counter had grumbled the other day that he didn’t make coffee for them.

‘A sensible serial killer,’ he argued, checking his watch, ‘I think a caffeine hit would be pretty important. Get the blood pumping and the adrenalin spiking for all the running around I’d have to do, stalking big-breasted blondes down impossibly long corridors with thousands of doors.’

She laughed as they closed the cupboard behind them. ‘Again, you’ve spent too much time thinking about this. I’m concerned that you haven’t got any meaningful hobbies. Anyway, I’m just going to take these down to Womenswear,’ she held up the tapes, ‘so I’ll meet you up there.’

‘No problem, see you in the staff room in a minute.’

Frankie turned away, humming under her breath.

‘Oh, Frankie?’

‘Yes?’ she spun around.

‘The reason it wouldn’t matter what your dress size is, is because it’s about shape and proportions, not size. But given part of my job involves dressing dummies and working with clothes, I reckon you’re probably,’ he reeled off a set of figures that made her eyes widen because of their accuracy. ‘I’m guessing from your face I’m close, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, or else all the girls will want the same service.’ He ducked and guffawed as a tape measure went sailing over his head.

She was smiling as she turned away, and still was a few minutes later.

***

‘I said, here are the shoes that go with it,’ Millie extended a pair of black stilettos to Frankie, and she got the sense it wasn’t the first time the personal shopper had tried to hand them to her. ‘We’re going to get locked in, and you’re going to be late.’

‘Th-thanks.’ Frankie shook her head, ‘Sorry.’ Slipping them on, she checked her reflection. ‘Okay, good to go.’ She hesitated, ‘Do you know where I’m going next?’

‘No,’ Millie placed a black wrap around Frankie’s shoulders and handed her a matching handbag. ‘All I know is there’s a car waiting at the front entrance to take you to the next stop. Now, don’t worry about your jacket and clothes, a courier will run them home to you tomorrow. I put your phone, money, keys and other things in the bag. Let’s move.’

‘Thank you. I feel like a celebrity with her own entourage,’ Frankie admitted as they rode the lift down to the ground floor.

‘Let’s hope you’re going somewhere fitting then,’ Millie replied, leading her out to the entrance on Knightsbridge, signalling to a driver standing next to a silver limo. ‘Just promise me you won’t act like a diva.’

‘I won’t,’ Frankie grinned as they both stared at the luxury car. ‘Although it might be hard. Thank you for all your help,’ she said, sashaying over to the car door the driver was holding open, and sliding in carefully in the tight dress.

‘Just doing my job.’ Millie stooped to peer in at her, shaking her head in disbelief at the ready poured glass of champagne Frankie was already holding in her hand. ‘If you think it’s appropriate, I’d love to know how you got on.’

Frankie took a sip of fizz, sneezing as the bubbles went up her nose, ‘Of course I’ll let you know,’ she replied.

‘Great. And if you could arrange for the limo to circle back and drop me home, even better,’ Millie quipped.

Frankie nodded and winked, ‘I’ll do my best.’

As the car drew away from the kerb and the waving personal shopper, Frankie leaned forward to speak to the driver, ‘Do you know where we’re going?’

‘Not far, Madam,’ he replied, ‘not far at all.’

A minute later they were pulling in beside Hyde Park Corner, Frankie having only drunk half of the glass of delicious champagne. ‘We’ve only come about half a mile.’ She peered out at the grey statues, arches and columns.

‘Just under,’ the driver said, eyes meeting hers in the mirror, ‘but you wouldn’t want to walk it in those shoes, would you?’

‘I guess not,’ she said wryly, looking down at the pin-sharp heels. ‘So what now?’

He gestured her forward and she shuffled toward him. ‘For you.’ Handing her an envelope. ‘I’ll wait while you read it. You have to tell me where we’re going.’