‘Cool,’ Lana says, some of Fleur’s enthusiasm already rubbing off on her.  Fleur is a good change after the drawling Mr. Benby.

‘He mentioned formal attire, beachwear and a pair of new trainers.’  Lana nods.  The man is thorough, she will give him that.  ‘Do you want a coffee or tea or shall we hit the road?’

‘Hit the road.’

They walk together to the lift.  Fleur calls it and turns to Lana. ‘Do you have any specific shops or do you want to leave it to me?’

‘You decide everything.’

And that turns out to be an excellent decision as Fleur proves to be an expert shopping companion.  She knows exactly where to go to get what.

Their first stop is Selfridges.  Fleur guides her to a cosmetics counter.  ‘The girl can make a monkey look sexy, so listen carefully to her advice,’ she says about a sweet-looking girl standing behind the counter called Aisha.  Lana is popped on a high stool, given a hand mirror and taught how to make the best of her make-up.

‘You have such beautiful skin,’ Aisha admires with a warm smile.

‘Have you ever tried wearing waterproof mascara?’ Fleur asks smoothly.  Lana looks at Fleur.  Her face is innocent, but it is clear that Blake has mentioned something about her smudged mascara.  Together the three of them choose two lipsticks, some sparkly eyeliner, cream blusher and waterproof mascara.

‘Now to the perfume department.  Something terribly exotic to go with your dark hair and gorgeous eyes.’

Then they go upstairs and pick out a green and blue bikini and a transparent blue wrap-around.  Afterwards, Peter drops them off at the front entrance of Harrods.  Lana has never been inside before, but Fleur seems to know her way around, and they quickly make for the first floor where they pick up what Fleur calls the basics: a white blouse and plain black trousers. They walk out of the side entrance of Harrods on the east side and enter Rigby and Peller.  Fleur has made Lana an appointment for a fitting.  The woman who calls her into the changing room is middle-aged with large strong hands.

‘Most women are walking around in the wrong bra size,’ she says, and makes Lana bend over while she fits her with a bra. It turns out so is Lana.  She is not a 34A but a 32B.  When Lana has chosen the designs she wants Fleur flashes her company credit card.

‘Now let’s go get the good stuff,’ says Fleur, batting her eyelashes.

‘How much are you allowed to spend on me?’ Lana asks curiously.

‘Actually,’ Fleur says, ‘Mr. Barrington didn’t see fit to set a limit.’  She winks conspiratorially.  ‘So we make hay while the sun shines.’

They walk around the back of Harrods and down Old Brompton Road.  Fleur is a mine of information.  She knows everything about fashion, what’s in, what’s out, what’s so in, what’s so out, what’s in if you are not really in, what gets the best second-hand prices when you want to flog it.

She suggests a beautiful red and silver handbag in Gucci.  ‘To die for,’ she says.

‘It is a limited edition.  Pure crocodile skin,’ explains the snooty-faced sales assistant helpfully.

‘OK,’ Lana says, bewildered by the price tag.  She stands by the counter while Fleur pays and wonders what sort of reception she would have received if she had come alone.  ‘Let’s go,’ Fleur sings merrily.

Then Lana is being led into Chanel.  All her life she has dreamed of owning a Chanel bag.  Once someone gave her a fake Chanel bag for Christmas and she waited until a reasonable time had passed before giving it away to a charity shop.  If she couldn’t afford the real thing she didn’t want to pretend.

Fleur is clever.  It is as if she understands; here her suggestions are unnecessary.  All she says is, ‘Choose.’  Lana feels she is in Aladdin’s cave.  She cannot choose.  In the end she goes for the classic black with the leather interlaced gold chain strap.  But when Fleur goes to the counter she says, ‘We’ll have the pink one too.’

‘That’s nearly seven thousand pounds!’

‘Yes, but we have no limit.  Besides, every girl needs a pink handbag.  What else can you carry when you want to dress in white?’ Fleur says reasonably and phones Peter to come and pick up the packages.

Almost in a daze, Lana is led into and out of a string of designer boutiques.  Most of the shop assistants seem to recognize and head for Fleur immediately.

‘Cupboard love,’ Fleur dismisses, as they flutter around her with accommodating smiles.  ‘I am often here helping the wives of our high profile Middle Eastern clients spend their money.’  Fleur seems very sure of exactly what will look good on Lana.  They buy a cream and gold suit, a red cocktail dress; a backless, sequined, black evening gown, and a sleeveless signature dress from Pucci, and of course shoes to match.  Fleur decides that Lana will need a black pair of court shoes for the trousers, dainty diamond-studded stilettos, two tone sandals, tall brown boots, and multi-colored, ultra fashionable platforms.

‘Right, we are almost running out of time, but first a quick trip to Versace.  Versace can be too gaudy and whorish, but this season they have something that I think will suit you perfectly.’  That something turns out to be an electric blue shirt that is almost the same color as Lana’s eyes and skin-tight black leather trousers.  ‘Exactly as I thought—fantastic,’ she says, pleased with herself.

Fleur looks at her wristwatch.  ‘Perfect timing.  Let’s have some tea.’  Once again Peter comes to collect the packages, and they find themselves a table in a French patisserie full of women.  They order cream tea.  Lana bites into a buttered cream and jam filled scone ravenously.

‘It is wonderful that you can eat so much and still be so slim.  I have to be careful,’ Fleur says, sipping lemon tea and breaking off small crumbs of her croissant.

‘Missed lunch,’ Lana says, swallowing.

Once Lana catches Fleur looking at her with an unreadable expression.

‘Do you have to do this often for Blake?’

‘To be perfectly honest, I have never done this before or heard of Mr. Barrington asking anyone else to do something similar, and though I was flattered to be asked, I was also dreading it.  I thought you would be a brash gold-digger, but you are an unassuming breath of fresh air.  I am glad to have taken you around.’

After tea, Lana and Fleur climb into the Bentley and Peter takes them to a hairdressing salon that belongs to one of the top hairstylists in the country.  They go in and a young girl with bright red hair comes to greet and lead them into a private area.  Two glasses of champagne arrive on a tray.

‘Go ahead,’ Fleur encourages.  ‘You’ll be grateful for it when you are at your next appointment.’

‘Why?  What’s next?’

Fleur smiles cheekily.  ‘Full body wax.’

Lana’s jaw drops when the celebrity stylist himself appears.  He noisily air-kisses Fleur on both cheeks and does the same with her.  Then he stands back to look at Lana thoughtfully.  Tipping his head to the side he reaches for her hair.

‘Oooo,’ he says, rubbing it in his fingers.  ‘Virgin hair.  You have never bleached or permed it, have you?’

Lana shakes her head.

‘Beautiful.  It is a sin to cut such hair.  Come, come,’ he says leading her to a single chair in front of a mirror and waiting while she sits.  ‘We will leave the length, but we will do something wonderful for this heart-shaped face.  We will give it a fringe.’

He picks up his comb and scissors.  When he is finished Lana can hardly believe what a difference a fringe has made.  Her eyes are suddenly enormous and her little chin now looks delicate and cat-like.

‘Beautiful,’ declares the stylist flamboyantly.

‘Very beautiful, indeed,’ agrees a delighted Fleur.

While Fleur is paying, Lana stares at herself in the mirror.  She looks so different she almost doesn’t recognize herself.