Thomas sat in a deck chair and helped himself to a glass of lemonade. He knew little about the subtleties of tennis, but even so it did not take him long to realise that Hugo and Amelie were outplaying the others, and that Edward in particular did not like it, however well he was managing to hide the fact. Thomas diplomatically applauded points gained by each side while mentally approving both his grandchildren’s choice of partner. If they succeeded in making them partners for life, he would be well pleased. Sylvia Forbes was a reserved sort of girl, certainly. Thomas had never succeeded in getting more than polite conversation out of her. But then Edward was a cold fish as well, and she would make him an ideal wife, managing his home and hostessing his social life with frightening efficiency. Thomas had watched her the evening before as she chatted to the business friends he had invited down for the weekend. She was just as gracious to them as she was to Winifred’s Society folk. Yes, she would do very well.
He turned his attention to Hugo Rutherford. Now there was an interesting young man, clever as well as a splendid physical specimen. Thomas watched as he ran to slam a difficult ball back across the net. They made a fine pair, he and Amelie, both of them tall and fair with a glow of good health about them. Hugo seemed genuinely interested in the store, in contrast to Sylvia Forbes, who simply accepted it as the source of family wealth. Thomas wondered if he was interested in politics. Some of the questions he asked and opinions he expressed showed a belief in the need for the nation’s improvement. That would be good for Amelie, who needed something to get her teeth into. He wondered how serious the young man was, for it was obvious to him that his granddaughter was head over heels in love.
It was not until tea time that he had the chance to speak to her. Tea was carried down to the lakeside and laid out under a copper beech. Servants dispensed dainty sandwiches, scones and jam and three kinds of cake with either Indian or China tea to house guests, who sprawled elegantly on rugs, deck chairs, chaises longues and hammocks. Thomas chose an upright folding chair and Indian tea. Amelie came to sit beside him on a tartan rug.
‘Enjoying the party?’ he asked her, though the answer was written clearly on her face.
‘Oh yes! This is such a lovely place, isn’t it? I have to admit it, Mother was right. It is nice to be able to get out of Town.’
She took a smoked salmon, an egg and a cucumber sandwich from the plates offered to her.
‘Mmm, delicious. I’m as hungry as a hunter. We’ve been playing tennis all afternoon.’
‘Did you win?’
‘Mostly. But, Grandpa, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s about Monsieur Blériot’s aeroplane.’
Thomas had been wondering when she was going to bring that up.
‘Yes, bit of a blow, that, wasn’t it? A Frenchman the first to fly the Channel! I should imagine young Rutherford had a thing or two to say about it,’ he said, deliberately sidestepping what he knew to be the real issue.
‘Yes, yes, he did. But, Grandfather, that was not what I meant and you know it. Mr Selfridge really stole a march on us. Hundreds, no, thousands of people have been to see the aeroplane at his store. There was a queue there the other day when I went by! That is just what we ought to be doing to attract people into Packards.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Thomas said.
‘I know what you’re going to say, that they only go to see the aeroplane and don’t stay to shop, but –’ Amelie broke off as she realised just what he said. ‘You mean – you agree with me?’
‘To a certain extent, yes.’
Sales had in fact been slightly up in smaller, cheaper goods during the time in which Louis Blériot’s famous machine had been on display at Selfridges, but his overhearings in the restaurant had told him why – it had been so crowded in the store that people desperate for a meal or just for a cup of tea had stepped along the road to Packards instead. Once refreshed, they had probably been tempted to make the odd purchase of stationery or stockings or handkerchiefs.
‘I think possibly your theory of getting them inside the store on any pretext and trusting to them buying something once they’re there might well work with the smaller items,’ he admitted. ‘It’s different with larger or more expensive purchases. People don’t buy them on the off chance, but the ground-floor goods they do pick up on impulse.’
‘Oh Grandpa! I’m sure you’re right. Now what do you think we could do? What do people want to see? It’s not every day that someone flies the Channel for the first time. How about somebody they want to see? Like – like – oh yes! Gaiety girls. Look at the crowd they had round them all the time at Henley. People were pushing and shoving to get a peep at them.’
The thought of a Gaiety girl in his store was a breathtaking idea. They did sometimes come and shop there, and twice he had managed to be on hand when one of the exotic creatures was purchasing gloves or hairpins. They had certainly turned heads and caused excitement once it became known who they were. But to have one on display? Reluctantly, he shook his head.
‘No, my dear, it would be too much like a slave market, or a zoo, even supposing I could come to some agreement with the theatre, which I doubt.’
‘Oh – well – I suppose so,’ Amelie agreed. ‘But I’ll think of something, don’t you worry. It has to be something in the news, so when it comes up, we must move to get in first before Mr Selfridge. And in the meantime –’
She broke off, completely distracted from the conversation that just half a second ago had absorbed her. Thomas followed her gaze. Hugo Rutherford was standing by a hammock in which reclined a lovely dark girl with a languorous smile, the daughter, Thomas recalled, of one of his business friends who had married a South American beauty. They were deep in conversation. Thomas looked at his granddaughter’s face. It was blazing with such naked jealousy that he was quite shocked with the force of emotion. He had to protect her.
‘In the meantime, how about the windows?’ he said.
It took several moments for Amelie to answer.
‘The windows?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘Yes, you’ve been talking about them ever since you got back from Chicago. Perhaps you’d like to take them on,’ Thomas said.
It was, after all, a plan with possibilities. It would annoy Winifred, it would give Amelie something she wanted, it would make the Rutherford boy try harder if she was less available, and it might even work as a commercial move.
‘But – you – I –’ Amelie floundered, caught between the intensity of her need to break up any connection whatsoever between Hugo and that girl, and her amazement at her grandfather’s capitulation. ‘You always said –’
‘I know what I always said. I’ve admitted that I might have been wrong in one instance so while I’m about it I’m willing to see whether I might have been wrong in another. So what do you say, my dear? Would you like to be in charge of window decoration?’
‘Would I? You know I would! Oh Gramps, I’ll make our windows the talk of the town, I promise I will. I’ve so many ideas I want to try out. I shall need, let me see, probably a couple of assistants, and I shall have to employ a designer. It would be wonderful if we could get someone who’s already done window dressing in America, but maybe I could find a stage set designer, in fact that might even be better because they might have more original ideas. How big a budget shall I have to use?’
Thomas had not been thinking in terms of any budget at all. At present, the shop men and girls arranged the windows as part of their everyday duties.
‘I haven’t done any costings yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you when I have. I think we’ll start with just the windows on Oxford Street, for a six-month period, to see how it works.’
‘Splendid, that will include Christmas. I’m sure I can produce something really breathtaking for that. And, Grandpa, while you’re working out my budget, you won’t forget my salary, will you?’
‘Your salary?’
‘Yes of course. Dressing the windows will be a pro
per job, so I should be paid a proper salary, just like Edward.’
Thomas laughed so much that he almost spilt his tea.
‘My word – you’re a chip off the old block and no mistake,’ he said, when he could speak. ‘Very well, I shall put you on a Scale Five, but it will be pro rata, mind. You must keep a strict note of the hours you work and give it in at the end of each week.’
‘Gramps, you’re wonderful!’ Amelie jumped up and hugged him. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased, I must go and tell Hugo.’
Thomas watched her as she hurried over to interrupt the tête-à-tête between her young man and the dark beauty. It was worth it, just to see her happy.
Edward was far from happy when he heard about it. But he had more sense than to complain to Thomas. Instead he congratulated Amelie and told her to let him know if she needed any help. He was just about to go upstairs to dress for dinner when he was accosted by Perry.
‘Mel looks happy,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Edward agreed, knowing just what was coming next. ‘But she’s not engaged to him yet.’
‘I hear she’s been given the job of arranging the display windows at the store,’ Perry said. ‘It’s a good thing she’s got Rutherford around to distract her, isn’t it? Or she might end up getting Grandfather to give her a real job in the store.’
‘It’s only a toy for her to play with,’ Edward said, with more conviction than he felt.
‘All the same, if she makes as good a job of it as she has the advertisements and Ladies’ Sportswear, you’ll have to look out.’
Edward gave his brother a look of contempt. He was so transparent. Why didn’t he just come out with it and say what he was offering to do for the money he so obviously needed?
‘So what is it that you’re going to do to guarantee a ring on her finger?’
‘I could distract that girl who’s making eyes at Rutherford.’
Edward laughed. ‘That will be a real trial for you, I’m sure! She’s so repulsively plain, isn’t she? No, Perry, you’ll have to do better than that. She’s no real danger, she’s on the lookout for an earl at the very least. When Mel and Rutherford become engaged, I might just be soft enough to be touched for a loan, but until then just be glad that I’ve said nothing to Grandfather about your little adventure with Isobel Brand. You’re very lucky I didn’t mention it when the girl went missing.’
He left his brother fuming.
If only other members of the family were so easily routed. Amelie he was feeling far less worried about now, despite the latest development. As long as Rutherford came up to scratch, Amelie would be neutralised. Rutherford did not strike him as the sort of man who would want his wife working in a shop. Perry had done a good job there, though Edward had no intention of telling him so. The major problem was still his grandfather. Despite the fact that he was spending quite a lot of time and a vast amount of money on Tatwell, he was showing no signs whatsoever of relinquishing any control over the store. Edward knew what it was he had to do. He had been given a large enough hint, after all. Not so much a hint as a royal command. Between tying his tie and putting on his black jacket, he came to a decision: he would do it this evening.
It was difficult to concentrate on anything else. Throughout dinner, his eyes and his thoughts kept straying back to Sylvia. The doubts that had held him back kept recurring, to be countered by the same well-tried answers. She was too poised, too confident, too utterly English upperclass. But she was excellent wife material. She was not beautiful, not even pretty. But she was pleasant-looking, perfectly groomed and knew exactly how to behave on every occasion. She was totally unlike Isobel, the very thought of whom excited him. But he did not have to give up Isobel. He could have them both.
Several times his dinner partner had to repeat remarks to him, until, seeing who was engrossing his thoughts, she said, ‘Sylvia’s so clever, isn’t she? She always knows just what to say to everyone. Just see how she’s charming that boring old banker.’
The perfect hostess.
‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed.
‘And such an attractive girl too. So very English.’
‘Absolutely,’ Edward said.
‘The Forbeses are such pleasant people, too.’
‘Yes, they are.’
And poor enough, comparatively, to be glad of their daughter marrying into the wealthy Packard family.
The conversation gave him just the extra impetus he needed. When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after dinner, he went directly to Sylvia.
‘It’s a beautiful evening, much too nice to stay indoors. Would you care for a stroll down to the lake?’
She gave him a quick, assessing look.
‘Yes, I think that would be very pleasant.’
They slipped out quietly before anyone else could decide that they wanted to join them and make it a general expedition. Outside, it was still light, with a glow lingering in the sky though the trees were beginning to look black, as if the evening had already gathered beneath them. They walked slowly down the slope to where the lake glimmered grey.
‘I hope you’re enjoying your stay?’ Edward asked.
‘Oh yes, very much so.’
‘The place is more comfortable than the last time you came, I think.’
‘It is. Your grandfather seems to have had a vast amount of improvements done in so short a time. The grounds especially are beginning to look cared for now.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I especially asked my mother to invite you and your parents.’
‘Did you? Thank you, that was most kind.’ Sylvia took this calmly.
‘I did so because I hoped there would be an opportunity to speak to you alone.’
This time even Sylvia’s composure was shaken.
‘Oh – really?’
He launched into the speech he had worked out beforehand.
‘I know we have not known each other for very long, but it has been quite long enough for me to come to admire and love you greatly, and for some weeks now I have been convinced that you are the one woman who could make me happy in life. Sylvia –’ he stood still and took one of her hands in both of his, a gesture he had once seen in a play ‘– I very much hope that you feel that I could make you happy too, enough to consent to be my wife.’
He had no idea what she felt for him, but he was reasonably sure that she had been hoping for this proposal. She certainly hadn’t discouraged him at all. As she stood before him, cool and self-possessed in an ice-blue evening gown, he found himself thinking of Isobel. If he could bring her here . . . the prospect threw up a vision of her running away from him towards the lake, dressed only in a shift.
‘Edward –’
With difficulty he dragged himself back to reality.
‘I am very honoured and flattered by what you have said –’
For a moment he thought she was going to refuse him, and felt a surge of resentment. After all the time and effort he had put into pursuing her.
‘And I would be very happy to be your wife.’
The relief brought a genuine smile to his face.
‘My dear Sylvia.’ He bent his head to kiss her lips. Now he had done what had been asked of him. His grandfather had better start letting go of the reins.
34
‘SO WHAT DO you think of the news, then?’ Daisy asked.
Isobel looked blankly at her. ‘What news?’ she said.
They were sitting, as usual, in the dining room of the house in Camberwell. Isobel never suggested they sat in the vulgar parlour, and even though it was a pleasant summer’s evening with a breath of warmth still in the air, she had vetoed going into the garden. She seemed afraid even to put her nose out of doors.
‘Why, about Mr Edward,’ Daisy said. ‘Surely he’s told you?’
Isobel went even paler than she was already. ‘Told me what?’
‘You mean he hasn’t? It’s all round the store. It was in the papers. Gertie went and bought The Times just so as to see it for hersel
f, and there it was. Engaged to be married, to some society lady. Miss Sylvia Forbes.’
Daisy had expected a reaction, but nothing as dramatic as the one it drew from Isobel. She gave a gasp of horror. Her hands flew to her face. Her terrified eyes gazed into Daisy’s.
‘Oh my God, what am I going to do? What will happen to me?’
Daisy could not understand her, but then she understood very little about her friend these days.
‘What do you mean, happen to you?’
‘He’ll turn me out, I’ll have nowhere to go. Whatever shall I do?’
She began rocking backwards and forwards. Daisy went and put a comforting arm around her.
‘Of course he won’t. Why ever would he do that?’
‘But he’s to be married! He won’t come here any more.’
‘You mean you want him to? I thought you hated him, and what he does to you?’ Daisy was mystified.
‘Yes, yes, but what else is there? I’ve nothing –’
That was true, Daisy realised. If Mr Edward were to drop Isobel, she had nowhere to go, and no way of making a living, except to get herself another rich gentleman to look after her, and Daisy could not see Isobel actually setting out to do that. She wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to go or what to do in order to find a protector.
‘Well, he hasn’t turned you out yet, has he?’ she pointed out. ‘When was he last here?’
‘Yesterday, and the day before and – oh this is the first day for a week he hasn’t –’
‘There you are, then. Sounds like he’s more keen than ever, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so, but once he’s actually married he’ll have to stop coming.’
‘Says who?’
‘But –’
‘Listen, mate, it’s the married ones that go to – er – er – other women the most, believe me,’ Daisy told her. She could not quite believe she was having this conversation. Time and time again she had comforted Isobel when she was weeping over the horror of her situation, and now she was reassuring her that it was going to carry on. Eventually, she managed to calm Isobel down with reassurances that if she were to be turned out, Daisy would fix something. Privately, Daisy decided that that would be the point at which she went to Miss Packard for help. It was nearly time for Daisy to go before Isobel asked what else was happening at Packards.
Packards Page 35
