Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  His shoulders started to shake and his voice trailed off. The burning indignation she’d felt when he’d first told her his pathetic tale had gradually ebbed away and she felt empty and confused. She glanced at him but moved no closer. Suddenly, she had to get away and let this revelation sink in.

  “Look, Marcus, I’ve got to think about what you’ve told me. I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore. One thing I do know is that I can’t trust you right now, and I really can’t see how we can stay together after this. I think you’d better move out of the house for a while till I decide what I want to do.”

  Tears were running down his cheeks now, and Izzie had to turn away. His voice was hoarse and trembling. “I didn’t want to lose you! I thought you’d despise me for what I did. I couldn’t think of anything else to do!”

  The anger and indignation returned all at once, and she swung back toward him, eyes blazing. “You could have trusted me! You could have shared this with me! But you chose to run away instead—and we’ve all suffered the consequences. I loved you so much, Marcus. I’d have done anything for you.” Suddenly she was crying too, hot tears that burned her eyes and thickened her voice. “We could have faced this together, like the team I thought we were. But you couldn’t bring yourself to share your problem, and you can’t bring yourself to share my success now, because you’ve been out on your own all this time. You don’t even think of yourself as part of a couple anymore. You’ve been moving further and further away with every lie you’ve told me. Face it, the last few years have all been based on pretense. I’d rather be alone than go on being lied to. I’m going home with the children, and I want you to move your stuff out by the end of the week.”

  Izzie stumbled back down to the kissing gate, and fell heavily against it, bruising her hip. The sharp pain acted like a bucket of cold water, and she felt suddenly clearer. She needed to be alone and drove straight back to Hoxley.

  Letting herself back into the quiet house, she braced herself for what she’d find—the carnage of a man left alone for a few days—but it seemed unnaturally tidy. He’d even remembered to put the bin out in an effort to please her. Perhaps he’d imagined they’d walk back in together—everything forgiven and forgotten.

  She walked from room to room and shivered as she recalled all the moments they’d shared there, all the lies he must have told. How frightened he must have been, day after day, thinking he was going to be found out. Compared with that deep heartfelt dread, her worries about the company seemed trivial. But Izzie had Maddy to help her through, while Marcus had—no one. “Poor Marcus,” she sighed, sorting through the post. “You’re like Humpty Dumpty—I wonder if we’ll ever be able to put you together again.”

  When she pulled up outside the school gate, half an hour later, she felt a surge of anger to see Marcus was already standing there. What the hell was he up to? There was no time to say anything as the children rushed over, delighted that both Mummy and Daddy had turned up in the playground to collect them. Their obvious pleasure at seeing him and the prospect of going home again to Hoxley all together threw her. Jess and Charlie debated hotly whose car to go in, until Marcus stepped in, speaking to them, his eyes fixed questioningly on Izzie. “Go with Mummy. I’ve got to do some shopping. I might not be back until later.”

  She looked at him stonily. This was a cheap trick, using the children to sway her, but as she watched them hanging from his sleeves and competing to tell him their news, her resolve faltered. She may not want to be with him, but what right had she to keep them from their father? She took a deep breath. “Okay, get something for the children’s supper, and we’ll talk later.”

  His face lit up and he nodded fast in agreement. “Yes, yes! I’ll be back as soon as I can. Well, see you in a bit, back at home.” And he ran to his car, turning to blow them all a kiss before he slid behind the wheel.

  It was a long night after they’d finally got the children to bed. When she came down, Marcus laid an omelet on the table in front of her and poured a glass of wine. A bottle later they were still talking in angry bursts, interspersed with tears from both of them. It must have been well after midnight when he finally persuaded her to give the relationship another chance, but Izzie knew she was less enthusiastic than he was. It was the children who had been her prime motivation. She was still so angry that, if it hadn’t been for them, she’d have kicked him into touch.

  The next day, she felt hollowed out and limp with exhaustion. Her car was due for a service, so Marcus, after a night on the sofa, followed her to the garage first thing, then dropped her at the barn before taking the children to school. She carefully avoided kissing him. It was too soon for that.

  Throwing her jacket over the back of her chair, she turned on the new coffee machine and sat at her desk, trying to focus. Today was the meeting with the people from La Boîte Bleue, and she had to be on the ball. Sighing, she reached for the dossier Lillian had put together and began to read.

  The Boîte Bleue chain had taken Europe by storm, its tremendous success based on the premise that women like to be able to pick products up off the shelf and try them out without being pounced on by sales assistants. The shops were exquisite; painted a wonderful Majorelle blue with mirrors everywhere, fantastic wash lighting, and arrays of shelving with products laid out easily within reach. Perfumes lined the walls, while makeup and skin care were presented on racks running across the stores, the brands arranged in alphabetical order. They were like a sweetshop for grown-ups, and had been an instant success in Paris. Now there were branches in every major city in Europe, and Izzie and Maddy longed to be a part of it, tucked on the shelves between Nuxe and Philosophy—a fantastic position.

  Izzie picked up and leafed through the sales pitch they had prepared so painstakingly at Maddy’s kitchen table. She hoped it was convincing enough. La Boîte Bleue was the only store that they had actively gone after. And a hard nut to crack. If they could pull this off, what would it mean for the value of the company and for Tessutini’s offer? But a sales pitch was a new experience for them. Were they ready for it? Izzie looked round. The barn was certainly looking good. Maddy had clearly been there until late the previous night, aided by Donna and Angie, and they had given the place a really good going over. The dodgy posters of Robbie Williams had disappeared and a giant vase of blood-red dahlias with deep-purple foliage of cotinus stood in the middle of the “conference” table. All the surfaces gleamed, and upstairs in the office the paperwork had all been filed away. Good going, girls.

  But when Maddy arrived from the airport with Fabien and Joelle, the buyers, it was obvious that this wasn’t going to be easy, and the expression on Maddy’s face when she slipped in behind them told the whole story.

  The New Ruralist look may have swept Britain, but it obviously hadn’t reached across the Channel, or at least not as far as the Boulevard St. Germain. These two were more than chic, they were überchic. They were so now, they were actually more like the middle of next week—and, boy, they knew it! Not a hair out of place, immaculately tailored, Japanese designer suits, briefcases that an astronaut would envy, they couldn’t have looked more out of place if they’d tried. And trying was one thing they were clearly not doing. That, it rapidly became clear, was Izzie and Maddy’s job.

  Izzie tried the frontal approach, but her friendly greeting was met with coolly appraising looks and raised eyebrows. Offers of coffee were similarly brushed off. Joelle made a big deal of dusting off the chair Maddy had offered before sitting down and opening her case, and saying in such a soft voice that everyone had to crane across the table to hear her, “Let’s proceed, shall we? We have such a lot of ground to cover—the figures you e-mailed to us were not satisfactory at all.”

  On and on it went with Joelle and Fabien making notes and occasionally exchanging significant glances. Izzie kept peeking surreptitiously at her watch, longing for the moment she could suggest lunch. But after another excruciating hour, during which Maddy dropped a whole pile o
f carefully stacked printouts on the floor, and Izzie stapled her finger to a sheaf of documents, Fabien and Joelle (Izzie had secretly dubbed them Gomez and Morticia) simultaneously gathered their papers together, as though on a secret signal.

  “I think we’ve seen quite enough. We’ll go through our findings on the plane home and present them to the board tomorrow. You’ll be hearing from us. Thank you for your time. If you could return us to the airport, please?” and off they swept in a voile of tantalizing and costly smelling fragrance. Maddy complied without demur, all the stuffing knocked out of her, leaving Izzie behind feeling boneless and exhausted. She just hoped to God Maddy had remembered to scrape the children’s biscuit crumbs and fluff-encrusted jelly tots from the seats in her car.

  She was still sitting at the table when Maddy crashed in through the door, a couple of hours later. “Oh thank God you’re still here,” she called weakly. “When I didn’t see the car, I thought you’d gone. Have we got any gin? I need something to relieve the pain. It was only the vision of our product on those lovely sparkly shelves that kept me from opening the car door and shoving Fabien out onto the hard shoulder.”

  “No gin, I’m afraid. How would some hot choc do?”

  “Fine, just bring it on.” It was shoulders to the wheel then, until Maddy threw down her pen. “I’m all in for the day. I’m going home for a nice hot bath and some heated-up spag bol. How are you getting home, by the way? Do you want a lift?”

  “Erm, no. Marcus is coming to pick me up. My car’s at the garage. We’re going out to eat together—it’s part of his charm offensive.”

  “Eeeow. That sounds scary. I didn’t want to ask but where are you two at the moment?”

  Izzie put the steaming mug down in front of Maddy, sighed deeply, and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t mind you asking at all. I only wish I had an answer. He revealed something truly terrible yesterday about why he left the agency. It seems our whole relationship has been based on his lies for years. It’s fundamentally rotten. So all the effort now just seems like putting a sticking plaster on gangrene. Don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Izzie, I can’t tell you that! Only you and Marcus can decide if there’s anything worth saving. If he’s come clean with you now about something in the past, you just have to start from where you are. I know it’s hard not to look back—but it’s getting you nowhere, apart from all bitter and twisted!”

  “I know, I know. I’m just so confused. In a way, I want us to be a nuclear family, but I just wonder if that’s—”

  The phone rang, and they both jumped. Maddy answered, then her eyes grew round and she gesticulated frantically at Izzie. “Hello, Fabien, how nice to hear from you again. How was your flight? . . . Yes, Izzie is here with me now. Can you hold on for a moment while I put this call on conference?”

  Izzie slid into her seat as Maddy put the call on speaker phone. She and Maddy stared at each other in anticipation. What could this be? Surely it was too early for a decision!

  His intimidatingly flawless English accent echoed abruptly around the office. “We have been going over the figures on the plane. We have concerns about your ability to supply all sixty branches. Your operation is too small at the moment. We don’t see how you can do it.” They exchanged glances. Fabien was perfectly right. In their present form they couldn’t hope to meet the demand that Bleue anticipated. The whole edifice was based on the “maybe” that Tessutini would come through and take up the reins of production. Between the two of them, they’d fine-tuned their bullshit, throwing out rash promises about expansion, unit square meterage, staff recruitment, and a new distribution deal which only had to be rubber-stamped.

  At every turn, Fabien came back with another detailed query, and they lobbed them back as fast as they came. Was he convinced? Izzie wasn’t so sure. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus come up the stairs and, seeing they were on the phone, sit down quietly to wait.

  “I can assure you, Fabien,” purred Maddy, “our stock levels will be sufficient to cover any eventuality, and no, Italy shouldn’t be the problem you envisage.”

  There was a pause, and they could almost hear him breathing. “I’m not happy with this,” he said, after what felt like an age. “I don’t think that I can recommend to my board that we go ahead.” They exchanged panicked glances. They could feel it slipping through their fingers. Izzie couldn’t stand by and let this happen, so she jumped in.

  “You don’t need to worry, Fabien. We have a deal on the table that’s going to make all the difference—”

  Like a shot, Marcus was on his feet, gesticulating wildly, pulling his hand across his throat in a chopping motion, and mouthing “no! no!” Izzie faltered and looked bewildered.

  Fabien’s voice came smartly down the line. “Really? Tell me more.”

  “Er . . .” Izzie watched as Marcus scribbled frantically on the back of an envelope in front of her. “Hold on, I have the figures here.”

  Say nothing, she read. Privileged information. Change tack. The penny dropped and she exchanged horrified looks with Maddy.

  “Er . . . the deal I mentioned is with a . . .”—warehouse in Rotterdam, Marcus scrawled—“warehouse in Rotterdam for . . .” she groped for inspiration.

  Maddy waded in. “Yes, we weren’t sure we could tell you just yet, but we’ve secured a central distribution facility for our Europe sales. The confirmation has just come through this afternoon.” She grimaced, shrugging helplessly.

  “Oh, I see.” Fabien sounded sniffy. “What a pity you couldn’t mention it earlier. This might change things. That was my main concern. We like your products very much. I will talk to you in the morning.”

  Izzie and Maddy mimed a silent high five, pulling delighted faces at each other while trying to conclude the conversation in a sensible, mature way. Thank God videoconferencing hadn’t caught on!

  “Fan-bloody-tastic!” gushed Izzie as the phone went dead. “The way we finessed that thing with the distribution at the end. What a team! Wait till we launch this on Tessutini!”

  Maddy was pale but triumphant. “God, we so nearly put our foot in it big-time. If it hadn’t been for you, Marcus, we’d be screwed now. You’ve just officially saved our bacon.”

  Marcus looked at Maddy for a moment, and Izzie watched him closely, semiamused by his shyness. It wasn’t like him at all! But she was glad that she was close enough to hear his reply. “Well, it’s an easy trap to fall into—saying too much, especially when you’re trying to big yourself up a bit. You can’t be too careful when you’re talking to other companies. Everyone’s got their own agenda.”

  Yes, it had been a close one, all right. And it had nearly happened without Izzie even realizing. A moment’s lapse. Saying what you know people want to hear. And your career is in tatters. Maybe that was how it had been for Marcus.

  “This is surreal, isn’t it?” said Maddy, as she pulled into the fast lane. “I mean—less than twelve months ago we were cowering in Pru’s vast office, and now we’re off to meet the big boys at some swanky hotel.”

  “I think I’m more excited about the swanky hotel—I always fantasized about staying at the Dorchester.” Izzie was rooting through the glove box, trying to find something to put in the CD machine. “Oh, God, please not Postman Pat. I’m just about ready to post his bloody letters up his unfeasibly large nose.”

  “Do you think his nose was the same size as his . . . ?”

  “Madeleine! Come on, we have got to work out our strategy here. Are we going to play good cop, bad cop, or are we going to be the hard-nosed businesswomen we are getting so good at? It worked for Boîte Bleue.”

  “Frankly, I haven’t got a clue,” said Maddy. “I’m a bit scared, really.”

  “Have you spoken to Geoff about it?”

  “He said that we should keep quiet and let him do the talking.”

  Izzie was silent for a minute. “He is on our side, isn’t he?”

  It troubled Maddy that this was just what she
had been wondering for the last few days. “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’s just a bit too keen sometimes. For all I know he’ll whip some here’s-one-I-prepared-earlier document out of his briefcase, and it’ll all be settled before we can open our mouths.”

  Maddy kept her eyes on the road, as they sped past the exit to Princes Risborough and up the steep cutting in the hillside. “I think that’s when we have to remember who owns this company.”

  The traffic down the Edgware Road was bumper to bumper, and they were running a bit late—Geoff had called twice already—by the time they found a space in the Hyde Park car park. They dashed down through the park toward the hotel, the early autumn leaves falling about them in the sunshine, before risking their lives crossing Park Lane.

  “Right, Mrs. Stock, uniform!” and they both pulled out their shades and put them on. “I feel like the Blues Brothers.”

  Izzie braced herself. “It’s one hundred and six yards to the meeting. We’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s light, and we’re wearing sunglasses.”

  “Hit it!” cried Maddy and they stormed through the doors.

  Giving their names at the reception desk, they were escorted like royalty through the giant marble and gold hallway toward the Boardroom Suite. This was red-carpet treatment. Maddy had to remind Izzie to close her mouth as she gazed in awe around her. “Pretend you come here all the time,” she said under her breath. “You look like a five-year-old on a school outing. Think corporate, darling.”

  By the time they had taken a detour to the ladies, titivated their lipstick, and found the private suite, they were seriously late. They knocked sheepishly, and the door was ripped open by Geoff, who was decidedly hot and bothered and gave them a look of reproach, which made Maddy feel very small indeed.

  “So sorry, gentlemen,” she said, in her coolest voice. “You know how awful the traffic can be.” Stupid remark. At least two of those present lived in New York. She registered an imposing room, in Biedermeier style, awash with suits, all seated around a long rectangular table, with two places in the middle left presumably for her and Izzie. It was like being late to the wrong surprise birthday party, where no one seemed very pleased to see you. There was an uncomfortable silence, then Geoff bounded into action.