I Heart New York by Lindsey Kelk Read Free Book Online Page A

I’ve got a whole plan for you, doll. Do you think you could let this interfering yank take you through Angela Clark version two?’
    ‘I don’t have anything better to do,’ I laughed. It was so weird to be taken in hand by someone I had met twenty-four hours ago, and, for some reason, it made perfect sense. I already felt as if I’d known Jenny all my life and being with her in New York made London and Mark feel a very long way away and a very long time ago.

    After lunch we moved on to the very important job of creating my new wardrobe. A quick run around the fourth floor and three armloads of clothes later, I was ordered into a changing room while Jenny and two assistants appeared intermittently with racks and racks of clothes. Soon I was clad in beautiful 7 for All Mankind skinny jeans that made even my short legs look sexy (according to Jenny) and a flared pair of J Brands that I could dress down with my Converse and an old T-shirt, or dress up with my Louboutins (according to Jenny). One of the helpful and definitely on commission assistants declared that, despite my legs being a little on the short side, they were a good shape and as such, should be on display. Excitingly, I found out I was just a size 8 in America, reason enough to hang around a couple of weeks at least. She had brought in a whole rail of bum-skimmingly short dresses before we both accepted that I would never be able to walk more than ten yards down the road without pulling them down. After that, we added a couple of inches to the length and I relented on a cute blue French Connection jersey dress, a gorgeous Marc by Marc Jacobs printed smock and several stunning bits from Ella Moss and Splendid–T-shirt dresses so soft they felt like clouds! I had no idea. Primark was over for me in that instant. Several C&C California T-shirts and a couple of pairs of shorts and easy to wear skirts later, we moved on to evening wear.
    ‘So, for dates…I’m thinking something flirty but fun? Classic though. And easy to wear. You can’t be sexy if you don’t feel good.’ Jenny sent the assistants scurrying across the shop floor with another flick of her wrist. I stood in my pants, peeping round the corner of the slatted wooden door waiting for the next rack of clothes. And in no time they arrived. Vera Wang Lavender. Tory Burch. Nanette Lepore. DVF. 3.1. phillip lim. Paul & Joe Sister. More Marc Jacobs. This was so much fun.
    ‘What are you wearing right now?’ Jenny asked loudly through the door.
    ‘Nothing?’ I replied, slipping out of a gorgeous Marc by Marc Jacobs printed silk halter dress. ‘Underwear?’
    ‘I have a horrible feeling I ought to take a look at that too.’
    Jenny’s level of horror raised to orange alert when she saw my M&S heart print boy shorts and mismatched bra. Then she went a funny pink colour when I admitted that I didn’t exactly know what bra size I was.
    ‘It’s just not OK,’ she said, shaking her head and snatching up several styles and sizes. ‘Do you want your rack around your knees at forty?’ I was pushed back into my new natural habitat of the changing room, armed with balconettes, backless, strapless, plunge, soft, full cup and half cup bras.
    Before my credit card company could know what had happened, I was up another floor buying flip-flops, flats and full-on heels to match all my outfits. Despite Jenny’s insistence that gladiator sandals were the shoe of the season, I couldn’t help but feel as if they were more my great aunt Agatha than me and eventually, she let it go. But the ballet pumps, the Havaianas and two pairs of wedges were coming with us.
    We headed back down through the store, laden with bags–big, medium and little–I had spent more than a month’s income in only four hours but I was too happy at the teeny tiny numbers on the labels (a SIX on one of them!) to feel any buyer’s remorse, (even if it was just a ten in translation). Riding back down to the ground floor, I adopted the