Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Full page. I heard they were spending a fortune on press advertising.’

  ‘A fortune,’ repeated Jerry Mitchell.

  ‘But it’s effective, isn’t it? There are advertisements like this in all the major newspapers and journals. People will stop and read them, and then they’ll go and see what it’s all about,’ Amelie said.

  ‘They’ll run after anything new. As for effective – do you know how much is being spent on these pretty pages?’ Mr Carpenter asked.

  Amelie didn’t, but she was not going to admit as much to this patronising man.

  ‘Money used in good advertising is money well spent,’ she said.

  ‘You tell that to Mr Packard then, and while you’re about it, ask him to increase our budget tenfold, to bring it up to what Mr Selfridge is laying out.’

  ‘Yes, tenfold,’ said Jerry.

  Amelie swallowed. She had not realised that Gordon Selfridge had spent that much. It was beyond anything Packards even dreamt of, and they were considered advanced in London store circles for having an advertising department at all. Most stores relied on the buyers to write advertisements for their own departments.

  ‘I’ve seen the power of advertising in the United States. It works. People take notice of it. We ought to be doing much more exciting things to draw more customers into Packards,’ she insisted.

  Mr Carpenter gave a smile that showed plainly he was being very patient with the boss’s granddaughter. Beside him, Jerry Mitchell grinned, anticipating a put-down. Amelie resisted the urge to hit his nasty spotty face.

  ‘With respect, Miss Packard, how long have you been in this department?’

  ‘A week,’ Amelie admitted, ‘but –’

  Mr Carpenter did not let her go on. ‘I’ve been in the newspaper business for thirty years and with Packards for ten. I think during that time you’ll find that more people have come to the store every year.’

  ‘Every year,’ said his faithful assistant.

  ‘Except for last year,’ Amelie retorted. ‘Or if they came in, they did not buy so much. Our sales were down for the first time last year, and it looks as if they will be down even more this year, with Selfridges competing in this way. We have to bring more paying customers in, and the way to do it is with advertisements like this.’ She nodded at the one on the desk.

  For the past week, she had watched what was being done in the advertising office, asked a lot of questions and made some calculations. Now she was moving into the offensive.

  Mr Carpenter sighed. He spoke slowly, as if to a backward child.

  ‘Miss Packard, Selfridges is opening up. They have to tell everyone that they are there. It was not the same for Packards. Our customers know we are here. We merely have to remind them every now and again, and tell them when we have something special we want them to know about.’

  Amelie made an effort to remain calm. She knew she was not wanted in the advertising office. She knew that Mr Carpenter and the revolting Jerry resented her and guessed that they thought she was spying for her grandfather. So she had to tread carefully.

  ‘I am aware of that, Mr Carpenter. I am also aware of the fact that what we have to tell our customers at the moment is that however wonderful Selfridges might sound, and whatever offers they might have, Packards is still the best department store in Oxford Street, indeed the best in London.’

  ‘Which is just what we are doing.’

  ‘Yes, we sent out some copy only yesterday,’ Jerry agreed.

  ‘And very boring it was, too,’ Amelie said, forgetting to be tactful.

  Mr Carpenter sat down in his chair and leant back with his arms folded.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to show us how you would do it.’

  It was obvious that he thought this was a knockout blow.

  ‘Since you ask, I have been making some rough layouts,’ Amelie said.

  She opened her bag and produced a sketchbook. Mr Carpenter looked pained, as if the effort at patience was getting too much for him. Jerry grinned in anticipation of a truly dreadful piece of work. Amelie took a long calming breath. She turned to the first sheet. Across the top was PACKARDS in curly capitals, the P twice the size of the other letters, and underneath it, on an unfurled scroll, ‘The Best Range of Goods at the Most Favourable Prices.’ Beneath that was a smaller heading, ‘A Department for Everyone.’ Then there were two columns of lines. The whole thing was enclosed with fashionable Art-Nouveau swirls.

  ‘The motto is my grandfather’s idea,’ Amelie explained. ‘And the lines there represent a list of our departments.’

  ‘I see,’ Mr Carpenter said. ‘And what exactly is the point of this advertisement?’

  ‘It reminds people that we are more than a match for Selfridges. Then subsequent ones, smaller perhaps, will tell them of particular departments – like this.’

  She turned the page and showed the same heading, but this time with ‘Ladies’ Sportswear’ underneath it, and ‘Everything for the active lady,’ and a selection of goods from the department with accompanying sketches.

  ‘We could do the same for other departments, and for the restaurant – so,’ Amelie said. ‘And of course we’d employ a good artist. Selfridges have used the very best black-and-white illustrators, and it shows.’

  ‘So does the price,’ said Mr Carpenter. He looked totally unimpressed. ‘It’s an interesting idea, Miss Packard, and I’m sure it’s all the thing in Chicago or New York or whatever, but it’s not the way we work in this department.’

  Amelie argued her case for a while longer, but she could see that she was getting nowhere.

  ‘I think you’re being very short-sighted. Mr Selfridge is bringing American ideas here and we can’t ignore them. Better by far to start competing now.’

  ‘So you said before, Miss Packard. Now, we do have work to do today. Jerry, fetch those proofs from the Ladies Home Journal. They’ve got to be corrected and sent off today.’

  Amelie fumed. She was being treated like a child. She was tempted simply to walk out. After all, Mr Carpenter was not going to listen to any of her ideas. But if she did that she would be falling in with all the horrible man’s expectations of her. He was certainly hoping she would go. And beside that, she really did want to learn more about how the advertisements were put together and costed and sent out and which journals were thought to be the best for addressing their customers.

  ‘Perhaps I can do that,’ she offered. ‘I can spot a spelling mistake when I see one.’

  Mr Carpenter gave her a long-suffering look. ‘Very well. But show me before you send them back.’

  In the days that followed, Amelie did not give up on her campaign for more exciting advertisements, and Mr Carpenter did not move from his conviction that he knew best. It was a most frustrating time. But she did find out about the workings of the department, and she did keep out of her mother’s way. That was a huge blessing, since she was subjected to a lecture over the dinner table every evening.

  Then one day her mother came into the dining room looking positively radiant. It was just a family dinner, but for once they were all there, even Edward. There were the usual enquiries after everyone’s day, in reply to which Amelie lied and said she had had a most enjoyable time. That took them through the first course. It was not until the vegetables had been served that Winifred allowed herself the pleasure of announcing her news.

  ‘It seems my father has come to his senses at last,’ she said.

  Amelie had a sinking feeling of approaching disappointment.

  ‘One thing you can’t accuse Grandfather of is lack of sense, Mother,’ Edward said, but Amelie could see a sharpening of interest in his eyes.

  ‘I am speaking of social sense, Edward – something which you should spend more time cultivating.’

  ‘What has Grandfather done to earn your approval, then, Mother?’ Perry asked.

  ‘He has purchased an estate.’ Winifred paused for effect, smiling round at all of them, making sure they all appreci
ated her triumph. Perry obligingly asked her for the details.

  ‘Tatwell Court, in Hertfordshire. A charming eighteenth-century house with extensive parkland and farms.’

  ‘Oh, the Cunninghams’ place, you mean. Yes, very nice,’ Perry said.

  Between them they canvassed all the advantages of the house and the estate, from the size of the dining room to the number of guns that could be taken out. Amelie listened with a growing sense of betrayal. So her grandfather really was going to retire. Somehow, she had thought he would always be there, a solid pillar holding up the great edifice of Packards, giving her time to prove that she was just as capable of running the store as Edward. She glanced at her brother. Edward was sitting with a small smile of satisfaction on his face, listening politely to what his mother and Perry were saying.

  ‘The decoration was in a sorry state of repair last time I saw it,’ Perry said.

  ‘Used to be wonderful in old Sophy Cunningham’s day. Now she really did know how to entertain,’ his father put in.

  ‘Your grandfather did say that there would need to be some improvements made. Of course, poor Mother cannot be expected to undertake the entire redecoration of a house that size. She will need my help,’ Winifred said happily.

  The rest of the meal was taken up with Winifred and Perry discussing what could be done, while Bertie reminisced over past parties and Edward put in the odd question to keep them going. Amelie could see just what was going on in his head. He thought he was home and dry. Grandfather was retiring and the house would keep his only possible rival, herself, nicely out of the way for the greater part of the year until such time as she got married and was eliminated from the running. She could have wept with frustration. Just as she was beginning to persuade her grandfather to let her try her hand at more things about the store, he chose to retire.

  ‘– Amelie?’

  She realised that her mother was speaking to her.

  ‘You haven’t expressed any opinion.’

  ‘Oh – it all sounds very nice,’ she said lamely.

  ‘Nice? Is that all you can say? It will be a simply splendid thing for you, child. Now, your grandfather takes possession the day after tomorrow, and we have a dinner to go to the day after that, but then we can all go down there and stay for a few days. Then I can begin to make some real plans.’

  ‘Yes, that’s all right,’ Amelie said, thinking aloud.

  ‘What do you mean, it’s all right?’ Winifred asked.

  ‘It’s the day after the Selfridges’ opening. Amelie thinks Packards will go bankrupt the day the new store opens if she is not here to defend it,’ Edward explained.

  Winifred frowned over this, but nothing could really dent her pleasure in her new toy. She spent the rest of the evening discussing colour schemes and questioning Edward and even Amelie on whether this or that fabric or carpet or piece of furniture was available at the store. The one advantage Amelie could find in the situation was that not one reference was made to the Teignmeretons.

  The much-trumpeted day of the grand opening of Selfridges arrived. Mr Carpenter made no pretence of regret when she announced that she had to go and see what all the fuss was about.

  Packards seemed very empty as she walked through the store, and as soon as she arrived outside, she could see why. The pavements around Selfridges were crowded. Determined to find out the worst, since to know your enemy is to be prepared, she set off to join the throng, her businesslike mood of serious enquiry spiced with the novelty of being out on her own. She hardly ever managed to get out without a member of the family or a servant to accompany her. The simple freedom was intoxicating.

  She was soon part of the crush of people gazing at the windows. It was just as she had warned her grandfather. They were spectacular. Gordon Selfridge had hired Mr Goldman, Marshall Field’s head windowdresser, to design the displays and he had summoned up a series of set pieces, each one more eye-catching than the last. Londoners had never seen anything like it.

  ‘So artistic,’ a woman in front of Amelie was saying.

  ‘They’re like stage sets. I could look at them for hours.’

  ‘Oh, but we must go into the shop, dear. If the outside is like this, just think how beautiful the inside must be.’

  Amelie wished her grandfather could hear them. It was just the reaction she had had when she first saw Marshall Field’s windows. You just had to see what else the store had to offer.

  With some difficulty, she made her way inside. What she found held her suspended between admiration and gloom. The store was a wonder. Instead of being tucked away inside drawers and under counters, the goods were displayed like an exhibition of all the very best that modern manufacturing could produce, and it was done with dignity and taste. Gordon Selfridge had not imported an American store, he had brought all the best ideas and made an entirely new British one. Amelie could have wept. It was just what they should have done to Packards. If her grandfather had been convinced, they could have led the way. As it was, Packards and the rest of the London stores would have to stumble after.

  The opening had been managed with all the dash of a stage production. An army of shopmen and girls gave out free purse calendars and shopping notebooks. Amelie tested them on their knowledge of the store, asking a succession of them where she might find various obscure goods. They had been very well trained. They all knew just where to direct her. She walked all over the store, in and out of every one of the one hundred and thirty departments. All were well stocked and filled with people gazing and exclaiming. Then there were the other facilities. As well as restaurants and rest rooms for weary shoppers, there was a reading room, a writing room and even a post office. ‘Come to Selfridges and stay the day,’ shoppers were urged at every opportunity. Amelie could see that they might well do just that. At a leisurely pace it would take a day to see everything properly, especially if there were decisions to be made over purchases, and with so many needs catered for on the premises, there would be no call to venture out. Why walk down the road to Packards when it was all there at Selfridges?

  By three o’clock she was tired and dispirited. Her legs ached, she had had no lunch, and all around her were people who should have been in Packards, perhaps buying from her very own department. Even the pleasure of being out on her own had worn off. It would have been very nice to have someone to share her thoughts with. She made her way back to a quiet and very dull-looking Packards. She loved the place dearly, but it looked what it now was – a thing of the past. She went straight up to see her grandfather.

  As always, Thomas greeted her with pleasure.

  ‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me that we’re about to be superseded by the amazing Mr Selfridge and his performing circus,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down and tell me all about it. You look exhausted.’

  Amelie drank three cups of tea and ate her way through a plate of dainty sandwiches and two cakes, while describing the extent of the competition they faced. Thomas listened attentively. When she had finished, he put down his own teacup and leant forward.

  ‘Now then, my pet, think. Of all the throngs of people gawping at these wonders, how many of them were buying?’

  ‘Not many,’ she had to admit, ‘but next time –’

  ‘Next time they’ll come back to us. Of course they’re all at Selfridges today. It’s a novelty, and from what you say, it’s a very pretty novelty. But you underestimate people’s loyalty. We have hundreds of customers who have been buying from us for years. Women bring their daughters and they become regular customers too. They would not dream of buying anywhere else. It takes years of supplying what people really want to build up that sort of following, and that’s what Selfridge hasn’t got. Of course people will go and take a look, but they’ll come back to us when they want to make a purchase.’

  ‘Some of them won’t. They’ll go in because it’s new and attractive, they’ll see something they like and they’ll buy it and then they’ll buy something else, and then next time t
hey’ll say, “Let’s go and see what’s new at Selfridges,” and they’ll buy there again, and so it goes on,’ Amelie said.

  ‘Over a course of time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, but time is what Gordon Selfridge hasn’t got. That’s what comes of starting big instead of working your way up like the rest of us did. Do you know how much money he’s sunk in that store?’

  ‘No,’ Amelie admitted.

  ‘Nine hundred thousands pounds.’

  That did make her think.

  ‘That’s nearly a million,’ she said.

  ‘Precisely. That includes a great deal of his personal fortune, but it still means he is in hock to the banks for a tremendous amount. He has to make a success of that store quickly, or he’s going to be in considerable financial trouble. In the meantime, we may lose a few of our customers, but we can ride it out, we have a sound basis.’

  Amelie sighed. It all sounded very reassuring, and of course her grandfather has been in the business ever since he was younger than she was now, but still she was not quite convinced.

  ‘We don’t want to lose any customers, surely? Takings were down last year.’

  Thomas nodded, impressed. ‘You’ve a good head on your shoulders, my pet. But that’s not because we’re failing as a business. We are in the grip of a trade depression, you know. All the London stores are feeling the pinch. All of industry is, for that matter.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t we try even harder to get more customers in?’ Amelie asked.

  ‘Of course we should, but not to the extent of being panicked by this American upstart. Now, your idea of reminding people about why they always did come here is a good one.’

  Thomas opened a drawer in his desk and produced a sketchbook. Amelie recognised it as hers.

  ‘Those are my advertisement roughs.’

  ‘Yes. I went and had a look round Carpenter’s office last night. This is excellent. “The Best Range of Goods at the Most Favourable Prices.” I like that.’

  ‘You said that. I was simply quoting you,’ Amelie told him. She felt a glow of pleasure start. She believed in her advertising ideas. It was very sweet to have her grandfather approve them.