She looked Maddy up and down. Her baseball cap to hide her filthy hair, baggy jeans, and fleece thrown on in haste after a morning (and most of the night before) spent slaving over hot wax and lavender oil, was a far cry from her normal sartorial elegance and it wasn’t lost on Sue. She seemed nonplussed.
“I’m itching to try some of your cream stuff,” she said, unconscious of the irony. “It sounds intriguing. Linda says she put some on Alasdair’s eczema and it’s made the world of difference.”
“Well,” replied Maddy, fervently encouraging the children into the car and fastening their seat belts, “you can’t beat nature and natural products.”
“Mum,” yelled Will from the backseat, “can we go to McDonald’s?”
“No, darling,” said Maddy through her teeth. “I’ve made some lovely fresh soup at home.”
“But we always go at the end of ter—”
“Come on, everyone,” she added hastily, slamming the car door. “Got to get back. Lovely to see you, Sue. I’ll be in touch.” And she was out of the car park like Damon Hill on speed.
Despite the hours they had put in during the last few days of term, and the help offered by Crispin and the ever-wonderful Janet, they were way behind with orders, and requests were still pouring in. The biggest problem was space. Izzie’s house was really not big enough to accommodate the mixing operation, though it would have been ideal without her children there, and now that Maddy’s children were under their feet demanding biscuits and juice every few minutes, Maddy’s kitchen was beginning to resemble a Victorian sweatshop.
Breaking point came one sunny morning a few days later, while Izzie and Maddy were up in Maddy’s bedroom checking labels for printing quality. The floor was strewn with sheets over which they were poring, when there was a knock at the window. Maddy looked up.
“The gutter,” Crispin shouted and gesticulated through the glass. “It’s finally come down. I’ll just go off to the merchant’s and get another. It’s going to rain tomorrow and you’ll need it.” Maddy gave him the thumbs-up and as he disappeared down the ladder went back to her checking. Several labels were faded where the ink had started to run out and she was marking these with a red pen, when she heard another knock. She looked up. There, face pressed to the glass, was Florence.
“Mummy, look! I’m up the ladder.”
“Oh, Christ, Izzzzie!” They both jumped up like greyhounds out of the trap. “Get downstairs to the bottom quick. I’ll try and get her through the window. Now, Florence, darling, just hold onto the top of the ladder—tight.” She tried to ease up the sash, but it had stuck, and as she tried to force it, she could see Florence’s initial delight at her adventure turning into sheer terror.
“Mummy, it’s wobbling.” Her bottom lip was wobbling even more.
“It’s okay, darling. Mummy’s here,” she shouted, “and Izzie will be right behind you any minute.” She took off her shoe and tried to nudge the top of the frame, chipping off the paint as she did so.
“Mummy, I’m scaaaared.” Florence was wailing now.
“Don’t panic. We’ll have you down in no time, and then we’ll all have ice cream.” What the hell use is Ben & Jerry’s at a time like this? she thought desperately as she abandoned the shoe and bashed the frame with the heel of her hand.
“It’s all right, sweetheart, I’m here.” Maddy could hear Izzie’s gently reassuring voice and saw her head appearing behind Florence on the ladder. “Now just do as I say, and it’ll be fine.” She watched as, carefully and slowly, Izzie helped Florence take each rung, one at a time, until they were out of sight.
Legging it downstairs, she shrieked, “Lillian, here quick! We’ve got a problem.” Lillian came rushing out as Maddy intercepted Izzie at the front door and took the howling Florence in her arms. “It’s over. You’re safe now.” She turned to them both. “That’s it. This is crazy,” she barked in her terror and relief. “We can’t do this here anymore. Lillian, can you put together a list of commercial estate agents and phone them up? We need premises and we need them now.”
Looking at house details had been one thing. Industrial units was something else altogether. The agents Lillian contacted all talked in square meterage, and both Izzie and Maddy were as clueless as each other about what 300 sq. m. looked like, despite the pile of details spread across the kitchen table. Nor were they exactly sure just how much they needed.
As usual Lillian came to their rescue. “Well, Maddy, if it’s any help, Workflow Systems was about two hundred and fifty, and you know how much that was because you visited us once.”
“I can hardly remember, and it was just when you moved in so you couldn’t see the floor for PC boxes and desks.” Maddy sighed. How proud Simon had been when he showed her round. “My little baby” he’d called it, and she’d tried very hard to feign interest. “It was only once, wasn’t it, Lillian? Do you think I should have visited more often?”
Lillian hesitated a fraction too long. “I don’t think so, Maddy. It wasn’t always a very happy ship. Pretty stressful actually.” And she changed the subject by picking out a rather dark photograph of a brick barn in a village just outside Ringford which looked unusual. “This one’s pretty cheap—they are offering them at reduced introductory rates to get people in as it’s just been converted. Shall I tell them you’ll go and have a look?”
The young agent from Griggs, Staples & Davis, in his light-brown suit, button-down shirt, cheap tie, and narrow shoes, didn’t seem to be quite sure how to deal with the two women who rolled up outside Blackcote Farm Business Park the following afternoon. He was even less sure about the five children who poured out of the two cars and ran as though possessed through the barn doors, screaming and shouting in the echoey space. It was a child’s heaven. A giant nothingness, just vast concrete floor and bare walls, around which Charlie and Will pretended to be planes, and Jess skipped, with Florence stuck like glue in admiration not far behind. A wooden staircase led up to a mezzanine above, with a balustrade overlooking the space below, so, Maddy presumed, the management could check up that the workforce were hard at it.
They looked around in wonder. “It’s a bit grown up,” said Izzie uncertainly. “Are we really going to be making enough of the stuff to need all this?”
“If the orders waiting to be done already are anything to go by, we certainly are.”
The agent seemed keen to hustle them out as quickly as possible, and once they had confirmed the rental, arranged to come to the house for them to sign for the barn the next day—he wasn’t going to risk a similar invasion of the office. When they finally got back to Huntingford House and dug out pizza from Maddy’s freezer, Lillian was ready to go home for the night.
“Have you got time for a cup of tea before you go?” Maddy asked, taking the wrappers off the margheritas.
“I really ought to get going. It’s salsa night tonight and I’ll need to change.”
“Lillian, you dark horse.” Izzie laughed incredulously. “I didn’t know you were a dancer!”
“Oh it’s just a bit of fun with some girlfriends, really.” She blushed, a mistake with her hair color. “We used to do line dancing, but I got fed up with the men there slapping my bottom and yelling yee-ha!” She giggled. “Anyway the phone has been red hot. Pru called to say one of the women’s weeklies is keen to do something on you as soon as you can. I said you’d call her tomorrow. Sue Templeton wants to fix a date for Josh—is it?—to come and play because they are off to Twois Valleys or somewhere over Easter. Now there’s a forceful woman, and Pru called again and said could you ring her about something else first thing. Oh and Peter called. What a lovely voice that man has—he was very enigmatic, but just said to tell Izzie ‘it’s all fine.’”
Just how fine didn’t become clear until Maddy had time later in the evening to call him back. “I’ve been a little underhand I’m afraid,” Peter explained. That would take some believing. “I didn’t pry, but the bank wanted confirmation that your business w
as going to be solvent enough that it wouldn’t put any strain on Izzie’s personal account, so . . .” He paused. “I have made a deposit into your business account as a sign of goodwill.” He heard Maddy’s intake of breath. “Now before you say anything, darling, it’s just a small sum to show confidence in your venture, and you can pay me back. From what Giselle has told me from her cuttings, that won’t take long.”
“Peter, I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, don’t say anything. Now we have both been thinking. What about the children? How are you going to cope over the holidays?”
“I don’t know frankly.” She explained about the unit and the need to get into serious production as soon as possible. “We could always employ them packing pots, I suppose, but I think Health and Safety might not approve.”
“Now you’re a bit more liquid financially, why don’t you look into a nanny again? Your previous one is probably tied up, but you are going to need someone—and, Maddy, take care of yourself. We both worry about you.” Maddy could feel the tears well up and she sniffed inelegantly. “You know,” he added gently, “Simon would be proud as hell of you.”
She said her good-byes as fast as she could before she collapsed completely, and poured a glass of wine from the open bottle in the fridge to ease the pain. Everything that had happened over the last couple of months had been so fast, so exhilarating, so exciting, and she realized how much she ached to share it with Simon. It would have been fun to chat about it to him over dinner, ask his advice, laugh with him about the press interviews, the meeting at the bank and with the estate agent. Who else would want to know? Who’d be interested enough to listen? She realized how tired she was, and sitting down at the table she laid her head in her arms. Almost every night recently she had woken to find either Will or Florence (usually wet) in her bed. It was comforting to feel their warm sleeping bodies next to hers, but she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep for as long as she could remember, and there was no one to take over in the morning, no one to ask first thing, “Please make me a cup of tea. I can’t move.”
Everything, she realized, from making sure there were clean pants to paying the phone bill was down to her. If she didn’t see to it, it wouldn’t happen. Peter was right: she had to get help. She looked at the clock. Nine fifteen, not too late to call. She pulled out her leather organizer, turned the pages, and found Colette’s forwarding address and phone number. Her finger hovered over the digits. Was it a viable proposition?
“Maddeee!” Colette sounded reassuringly thrilled to hear from her. “How is everything and those gorgeous children? Listen. I saw something about you in the paper.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “This beetch I work for has the Mail rag lying around. What are you doing? You looked wonderful but so theen.”
Maddy couldn’t keep the weariness from her voice. “Izzie and I had this mad idea and it’s rather run away with us. I have a study full of requests for pots of this gunk we’ve come up with, and we’re in danger of screwing the whole thing up because we can’t get the orders out.”
“What about the children? How will you cope with them?”
“Exactly.”
There was a temporary silence at the end of the phone. Maddy took a sip of wine and a long drag of her cigarette.
“Well,” Colette said finally, giving the word several syllables, “I would need to give a few days’ notice, of course.”
Maddy smiled to herself and felt her heart lift. “Oh, Colette, would you? I don’t even know about money. But it’s coming in, because I have a roomful of checks next door . . . but your bedroom is just the same, just needs a bit of a dust and Florence has made a little camp up there with a table and a tablecloth—it was the vicar’s wife who gave her the idea—but it’s all still the same. There’s no cleaner now but I’m a dab hand with the duster, you’ll be amazed, and Pasco’s walking, and Will’s lost three teeth, and—”
“Maddy, arrête!” Colette laughed, exasperated. “I’ll come up as soon as I can, and you can tell me all about it then.”
The following morning, over an orgy of toast and Pop-Tarts (which she’d always thought would make a great name for a girl band), Maddy played her ace and told the children about Colette’s imminent return. Will and Florence squealed with delight at the prospect of having their beloved nanny back, though Maddy was fairly certain anyone would have sufficed so long as it wasn’t their frequently absent and otherwise distracted mother. They piled onto her knee with glee, and in celebration she let them have a Fruit Winder. Now she knew she had really lost her grip on parenthood.
As they wandered off to watch CBBC, she finally located the ringing phone under the breakfast debris.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cosmetics Magnate,” Pru said warmly when she answered. “I hope you’re not playing mumsy today ’cos I bear good tidings. Lillian may have told you that Country Life want to talk to you both and I’m in discussions with OK! who want to do a little piece on their beauty page. Can I tell them next week sometime?”
“Er, sure.” Maddy absentmindedly nibbled a piece of leftover toast. “So long as they don’t mind picking their way through cooking vats, children’s toys, and dirty laundry.”
“Oh, I think that image will be ideal, so long as the toys are all wooden or windup. But there’s more. Wait for this. I’ve had an intriguing phone call from Elements.” For a minute Maddy was too shocked to take it in. That achingly trendy health and beauty emporium—there was no other word for it—had been one of her favorite London stomping grounds. She would spend hours in the Knightsbridge branch ogling the glass shelves, with row upon row of deliciously packaged goodies from all over the world but all equally now brands. Bath oils, creams, and lotions you wanted to sniff, feel, almost lick. What could they want with Paysage Enchanté?
“They are going softly softly, of course but want to know if you would be interested in supplying them. I played it terribly cool; you’d have been so impressed.” She was silent. “Say something, Maddy. Other clients of mine would kill for shelf space there, and you two go and get an approach!”
“How many branches have they got?” Maddy finally managed to squeak out weakly.
“Six. Three in London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and Leeds. Shall we set up a meeting?”
“You have to be joking,” squealed Izzie, when she arrived half an hour later. “Not ‘so trendy, the carrier bags are collectors items’ Elements?”
“The very same.” Maddy giggled in delight, and they practically danced around the kitchen in their excitement. “We, us, the pair, les deux are only going to be stocked by the sexiest shop on planet Earth.” She pulled down two aprons from the back of the door. “Come on, girl, we’ve got work to do.”
Chapter 12
And work they did! Easter wasn’t until the end of April. The nights were light and the days wonderfully warm—just as well, because the Blackcote Farm barn was unheated, and there was always a slight feel and smell of damp. No wonder the agent had discounted the rent!
Izzie and Maddy would arrive by seven, and the others by eight, bundled up in layers of jumpers, fleeces, Nepalese hats with earflaps, only to cast them off bit by bit into amorphous colored bundles around the walls as the sun rose higher outside. By lunchtime, they would all go and sit on the staddle stones ranged along the back wall, looking out over the swollen stream and the farmland beyond as they munched their lunch.
One of their staunchest workers proved to be Oscar Grant, who had shuffled up to Izzie one afternoon in Ringford. Looming over her in his school uniform, he’d looked vaguely menacing and at first she didn’t recognize him. His friends’ slightly timid jeers obviously unnerved him and he shifted from foot to foot, his bent head swaying like a mild-mannered dinosaur searching for tasty greens. “’Lo, Izzie,” he’d mumbled. “All right?”
“Hi! Oscar!” Izzie was relieved and went slightly over the top. “Great to see you. How’s, er, things? Been skateboarding lately?”
She wished she hadn’t ask
ed, but at least it gave him a chance to overcome his embarrassment. He waxed lyrical about Ollies and goofyfooters; and, no idea what he was talking about, she nodded enthusiastically. “Right! Gosh—really? That sounds er . . .”
“So anyway, I’m saving up for new wheels, and they’re pretty expensive, so I was wondering if you might have any work going during the Easter holidays—not full-time, ’cos I’ve got to do some revision too but—”
“Oscar, that would be tremendous. We’ve been worrying about getting all the orders ready, so any time you could give us would be welcome. Why don’t you call me?” She rummaged in her bag for a Post-it note and pencil, then wrote down both her own and Maddy’s numbers.
“You’ve pulled, Oz!” came a muffled catcall from the bus stop, but Oscar didn’t blush this time. He glanced over at the tumbling pack of teenage boys with quiet superiority. “Wrong. Got meself a holiday job.”
The assorted groans and sullen mutterings of “Jammy bastard!” were encouraging. Oscar was still hovering. “Erm, could I tell Tam that you might have some work for her too?” He glanced uncertainly at Izzie.
“Would she want to? I got the impression she thought the whole thing was too trivial for words.”
“Oh, no. Tamz is dead keen, only she . . . she doesn’t like to ask. She’s been cutting out all the stuff in the papers about you and Mrs. . . . Maddy. And she’s stopped dying her hair.” He trailed off. “She’d kill me if she knew I’d told you that . . .”
“Don’t worry, Oz.” She glanced at him mischievously. “It’ll be our secret!”
Goodbye, Jimmy Choo Page 20
