Late Night Shopping: Read Online Free PDF

to a concert this evening. She didn't know what kind of concert, except that it was at the Barbican and he'd got a special rate on the tickets. But this was a good thing, as Ed wasn't really happy unless he got a live music fix at least twice a week and Owen was always willing to tag along, whereas Annie had been dragged to several strange things (Shostakovich and Benjamin Britten, to name two) and had made it quite clear she shouldn't be his number one choice of musical date.
     
Lana had already phoned to say she was going to be with her new boyfriend, Andrei, this evening, doing their homework together . Annie had tried her hardest not to tut down the line. Probably the most irritating thing about Lana's new boyfriend was that there was nothing wrong with him – absolutely not one thing Annie could complain about. He was the perfect boyfriend and this made her twitch with annoyance because, if she was really honest, she wasn't quite ready to watch Lana fall madly in love. She wasn't ready to be relegated to the sidelines of Lana's affections . . . not just yet.
     
Annie turned off the row after row of ceiling lights that gave the personal shopping suite its glamorous dazzle, then, handbag and carrier bags slung over her shoulders, she walked down the escalator, already silent and still because it was after 9 p.m. and The Store was closed.
     
As she rounded the corner from the bottom of the escalator into Accessories on the ground floor, Annie didn't exactly mean to look, she really didn't. She'd intended to keep walking towards the front door, where she was meeting her sister in about three minutes' time, but then there was a movement which forced her to turn her head.
     
There, in the designer handbag corner, with its golden wooden shelving still lit from above and the new season's patent bags glowing like works of art, Sandra the sales consultant was dusting the scrunchy, slouchy, violet slice of handbag heaven which Annie couldn't seem to get out of her mind.
     
'Oh babes!' Annie couldn't stop herself from walking over now. 'No one's bought it today then?'
     
Sandra, an elegant blonde in her forties who'd spent five years in Accessories and knew everything there was to know about selling arm candy, turned to her and smiled: 'No, Annie, not yet. There was a very close call today. A woman was in here for over twenty minutes looking at it, handling it and trying it on. She said something about maybe next week when her pay cheque comes in.'
     
'Maybe next week!' Annie spluttered. 'It won't be here next week! Why didn't she just take it? Hasn't she heard of credit cards? Some people are just strange . . .'
     
'Which means it's still here.' Sandra, on tiptoe, took the bag down from its plinth and handed it to its most fervent admirer.
     
Ooooh, the weight, the softness, the substance, the crackle of patent leather, the gentle jangle of quality fittings. How could anyone ever think about buying a fake bag when the real thing was so very, very stunningly good? Annie herself had occasionally succumbed to the lure of the cheap, fashionable fake but it was always so woefully disappointing compared to the real thing.
     
And this was such a great piece! If she bought this bag, she could dress it up, dress it down. She couldn't think of an occasion that would be inappropriate for the bag. It was big, but not too big, soft but with structure . . .
     
Annie slipped it over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of herself in a mirrored column, then quickly took it off and handed it back to Sandra.
     
'I have to go,' she said sharply, more to herself than to Sandra, or indeed the handbag.
     
'A stunning investment piece,' Sandra, began, only for Annie to chime in with her so they said together: 'It will go with absolutely everything.'
     
'Definitely not tonight, my love,' Annie called, walking away from the source of temptation as quickly as she could, 'Night-night.'
     
She passed the Chanel counter, scooped a blob of £120 a jar