New York Valentine Part 1

New York Valentine.

Carmen Reid.

About the Book.

Love is in the air!.

Personal shopper Annie Valentine has a dream job in the heart of fabulous Manhattan.

Daughter Lana is lost in the heat of first love, but has she fallen for a heart-breaker?

In London, husband Ed faces a scandal at work and knows, in his heart, he needs Annie back.

What's a girl to do when her true love is in London but her new love is New York?

Does it have to be fas.h.i.+on or family, or can Annie Valentine have it all?

Chapter One.

Lana all set for work:.

Skinny black jeans (Diesel).

Sleeveless cowl-necked, belted, complicated top (All Saints).

Skull and crossbones necklace (market stall).

White gym shoes (old PE kit).

Cloud of perfume (Gucci Floral).

Total est. cost: 215.

'Oh Muuuuuuum!'

'Move that great big, gorgeous b.u.m out of bed now!'

The voice in Annie's ear was teasing but insistent.

'Right now!'

'Oh no,' she protested, 'no, no, no, no. You have got to be joking. It can't be time. I only went to bed five minutes ago. Seriously!'

But there was no mercy. The duvet was whipped off and a playful, but still surprisingly stingy, smack landed on her behind.

'Owww!'

'Up!' Ed instructed. 'Owen and I have to leave in five minutes. The twins are washed, changed, dressed and fed. The Princess of Darkness is in charge but you, my darling girl, need to get up.'

'Yes, I've got that,' Annie said huffily. Finally, she sat up, prised opened her eyes and let the room come into focus.

'Someone should not have been out partying into the small hours when she has a full day of filming ahead. You're not 25 any more,' Ed pointed out.

'Thanks for reminding me.'

Annie's puffy eyes were properly opened now. She rubbed at eyelashes crunchy with last night's mascara and looked at her ... husband.

Husband. Husband.

They had married in June, almost exactly three months ago now, but she still wasn't quite used to Ed, this lovely man, her boyfriend, step-dad to her older children, father to her twins ... being her husband.

Her thumb moved instinctively to fiddle with the dainty diamond ring on her fourth finger.

Ed had understood her resistance to a traditional gold band. Annie had worn a wedding ring before, a ring which was now stored, in its leather case, along with a selection of other precious belongings a memory box for the husband she'd lost. So Ed had married her in June with a sliver of platinum and a diamond as slight and sparkly as a fairy.

Through the crusty mascara Annie took an appraising look at him: he had broad shoulders and a muscular build, a kind face, a teacher's 'firm-but-fair' face, brought to life with the twinkle of mischief which rarely left his warm blue eyes and expressive mouth. Then there was unruly hair: sandy brown, curly and messed up whatever he did with it.

'You look foxy,' she told him.

'You think?' he asked modestly, but gave his slim hips a little shake for her benefit.

'Yeah, you've come a long way, babes. You have learned the ways of the well-dressed Annie-man.'

After a little snort, he pointed out: 'I picked out my clothes and put them on all by myself this morning.'

'Yeah, but it's taken years of living with me for you to make such good choices.'

Yes. From his sleek, indigo jeans, past the good belt, slim-fit dark blue s.h.i.+rt, nicely tailored grey tweed jacket up to the casually overgrown hair, he looked good. Really good.

'Goodbye kiss,' she said, opening her arms.

Although Ed was on a tight schedule, he knelt down in front of her, put his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. Pus.h.i.+ng the peachy slip she'd worn to bed out of the way, he licked her breast.

'Good looking and frisky,' she said, crossing her ankles around his back.

'Lucky old you,' he replied.

They kissed long and lovingly before Ed had to break off because it really was time to go. Pulling on her dressing gown, Annie followed him out of the bedroom.

'I've got to say goodbye to my mini Alan Sugar.'

'More like your tiny Tony Soprano!'

They hurried down the narrow flights of stairs to the hallway where Annie's 14-year-old son, Owen, was already waiting, his heavy rucksack rumpling his blazer, his narrow trousers a little too high above scuffed black shoes.

'Come on!' Owen urged Ed, 'chop, chop, chop, let's look perky.'

He made an exaggerated movement towards his watch, slowly pulling back the cuff of his school s.h.i.+rt and flas.h.i.+ng the bling golden timepiece on his wrist.

'Owen?!' Annie began, 'what piece of old tat have you been las.h.i.+ng your cash on now?'

'Genuine,' Owen said, tapping at the face of his watch.

'Yeah,' Ed shot the watch a glance, as he scrambled his bags, guitar and violin cases together. 'Genuine fake Swiss watch, made in China and flogged down the market by the Russian wide-boys.'

'You don't have to believe me,' Owen said, replacing the cuff and shooting his mum a smug smile.

He ducked his head slightly as she approached, but still allowed her to kiss him on the cheek and run a hand through his hair.

'That's my boy,' she said, realizing with a pang that he was just half an inch or so shorter than her. Any week now and he would overtake. He would be her big boy and she would have to look up to him!

He picked up his flashy sports bag and as he headed towards the door, gave her a wave which made the gold strap on his wrist twinkle.

For several months now, Owen had been making serious pocket money working on a market stall for his entire weekends. Just like his mum, after Owen had earned hard, there was nothing he liked to do more than spend hard.

Owen loved to work and he loved to buy and sell. Annie still found it funny, because Owen had once been very shy and introverted. The kind of little boy who'd found it easier to talk to his toy trains than to his friends. But now the trader Owen worked for at the weekends was paying him 90 a day, plus commission, because he was so good at his job.

Yes, there was a certain amount of ear-grating, market-stall lingo that Owen's family now had to endure. Annie could just about stand it because when Owen talked about his DVD stall, he just lit up with excitement. And wasn't that what you had to encourage your kids to do? Help them to find the things in life which lit them up?

Annie kissed Ed one more time, waved her two boys out of the door, then headed towards the kitchen where her nearly-18-year-old daughter Lana, who had definitely not yet found the things which lit up her life, was looking after the twins.

'Good morning, my love,' Annie said cheerily as she entered the room, her smile widening as she spotted the freshly made pot of coffee. Ed really was too good to be true.

Lana made a grouchy 'umph' in reply and carried on sipping from her mug, behind a curtain of long, dark hair. The babies, almost a year old now, began to scurry across the kitchen floor towards their mummy.

'h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, my darlings,' Annie cooed, squatting down and opening her arms wide to hug them both. They were far too big and heavy now to be picked up for a cuddle together.

'Mumma!'

First to reach her was Minette with her dark, soulful eyes and creamy cheeks. Micky wasn't far behind, nappy bottom waggling busily. They buried sticky faces straight into Annie's dressing gown but she didn't mind one tiny bit, just stroked their silky heads devotedly.

'Can you pour me a coffee, darlin' ... and maybe, just because you're extra super nice, can you make me some toast?'

Lana let out a long sigh and dragged her slim, entirely black-clad body up from her chair.

'Thanks, Lana, you're a star,' Annie said, as generously as she could, though really she'd have liked to seriously shake Lana or maybe even administer a little kick to her pointy, skinny-jeaned behind.

How many other teenage girls would kill, or at least donate vital organs, to be spending their gap year working in television? And did Lana thank her mother for arranging this amazing work placement? Did Lana look forward to her exciting day ahead at the studio? No. Lana was pretty much in a grump from morning till night and there didn't seem to be a thing that Annie could do about it. So because complaining about the grumpiness hadn't worked, Annie was currently trying to tune it out entirely and respond with relentless joy and positive vibes.

As she sat down to her coffee and toast, the babies, bored with cuddles, scuttled back to their play mat and the rolling b.a.l.l.s, blocks and other drool-soaked objects of baby attraction.

Registering the time, Annie gulped her toast and swallowed the coffee with speed.

'Oh good grief! I've got to get dressed have my usual morning melodrama,' she told Lana. 'Can you hold the fort for me down here just a tiny bit longer, babes? Dinah will be here in twenty minutes.'

'Oh Muuuuuuum!' Grumph, humph, harrumph.

'Thank you, sweetheart. You look great,' she added, not just to try and cheer Lana up, but also because it was true.

Lana was rocking the funky film crew look. She was dressed practically enough for all the errands she'd be running and ch.o.r.es she'd be doing today. But the look came with dark eyeliner, a thick black fringe and just enough edge.

Annie had worried that maybe she was mollycoddling her daughter by arranging a job for her. But unlike her friends, who were planning trips abroad for work and travel, once Lana had left school with her impressive clutch of exam results, she'd been reluctant to make plans and didn't seem to have any ideas about her future. So finally, Annie had made the move and arranged the under-paid TV job because she hated to see Lana sitting about at home, becoming more and more gloomy.

The fact that Lana could only work up the bare minimum of enthusiasm for her new job drove Annie slightly wild. But what could she do? Over the years, she had discovered that she could not nag, trick, encourage or even bribe Lana into enthusiasm.

'OK, better get to my wardrobe. I'll try not to take too long ...' Annie said, more to herself than to her daughter.

But this was the strange thing: everyone in her family now looked great, she thought. They all had their own individual-with-a-twist look and they worked it. Ed did groovy jeans, plus s.h.i.+rts and tweedy jackets. Owen was sporty labels with added bling. Lana did dark, skinny and moody. Even the babies had a look! Currently faded denim dungarees, Micky's with a blue top, Minnie's with pink.

But Annie, who'd been a personal shopper for years with one of London's best known fas.h.i.+on stores, who'd dressed women from every corner of London with every conceivable fas.h.i.+on dilemma, who now presented her very own How Not To Shop fas.h.i.+on TV show ... Annie was the one member of the family who was having a bit of an image crisis.

As Annie opened her wardrobe doors and looked at the collection of clothes inside, it hit her once again. There was so much in here. So many outfits. But, aside from a trusted handful which she'd worn so often that even the TV crew were starting to poke fun, there wasn't anything she could wear because ...

Annie looked down at herself. She was a whole size bigger than she used to be. An entire size. Possibly even, she had to admit to herself, two sizes; well, almost certainly one and a half. Even with double control pants (frankly a nightmare when you needed a wee), she could no longer fit into most of her wardrobe and there was no way, absolutely no way, she was buying new items in the dreaded new size even though this was exactly what she would tell a client to do if they came to her for advice.

Buying new things in a bigger size would be giving up ... it would be admitting defeat. She'd always been able to slim down and get back into her 12s and although she'd been dragging about the post-baby bulge for nearly a year now, she was not prepared to give up the battle yet.

Her hand went out to the stretchiest black dress she owned. OK, red leggings ... the patent, peep-toed, very high red shoes ... red lipstick ... an amazing red and pearl necklace. These items would surely distract from the fact that she was wearing the black stretchy dress once again.

Another crimp on the shopping front was the promise she'd made to Ed about her mighty credit card debt.

Ever since she'd been old enough to own a credit card, Annie had been servicing, juggling, redistributing and rearranging her great big designer-label-caused debt. But now she'd managed to bring the figure down to just within reach of 5,000 the lowest she could ever remember it being. She'd promised Ed she would clear it, and only then would she be allowed to buy new items from some carefully worked out budget that Ed was apparently going to draw up for her.

Just 5,000 to go. It was still a lot of money to owe, but her card debts had once been close to ten times that amount. So now she was on track and almost certain that she could beat her promise to have it cleared by Christmas.

She'd thought that paying off a debt would just be pure denial and pain and, yes, seeing so much of her generous TV pay disappear in lump sums to Messrs Visa and MasterCard was difficult. But on the upside, being able to open those sinister white envelopes without the feeling of impending panic attack was much more rewarding than she'd expected.