At 5.30, she took off her apron, then changed out of the loose jeans and T-shirt she usually wore when working and into the tailored trousers and crisp white blouse she’d brought with her that morning. She replaited her hair and secured it with some jewelled clips she’d bought in Córdoba. She was wearing a simple silver ring and bracelet from her own range, but in her ears were the Adele Bluebell earrings, and around her neck was a Cascade pendant, which Gerritt Van Aelten had given her as a bonus. She’d been astonished when he’d handed her the beautiful box, and protested that she didn’t deserve it. Afterwards, when she’d told Will, he’d snorted and berated her for wrapping herself in false modesty again. He’d told her that she absolutely did deserve it. That she was a great designer. That she was unique. Will had always known the right thing to say to her. He’d brought out the best in her. And she’d made a mess of it all.
No I haven’t, she told herself as she pulled down the shutters of the workshop. I have Bijou by Bey. I’m going to make it a success. I’m already making it a success. Plus I’m doing it without anyone else’s help, so that’s a lot better than anything I achieved at Van Aelten and Schaap.
She strode along Stephen Street towards George’s Street. She enjoyed walking through town, especially when – in typical Dublin fashion – it was dry and warm after the previous day’s rain. The city was thronged with people and the hustle and bustle of life always invigorated her. But today she was conscious of a sense of anxious anticipation running through her, and her heart was beating faster than ever as she drew near the Westbury.
She was five minutes early arriving at the hotel, and she hurried up the stairs to the marble foyer, where she sidetracked into the ladies’ so that she could check how she looked. Standing in front of the big mirrors, she adjusted her clips, applied some more lip gloss and sprayed herself with a floral scent she’d bought on her last trip to Birmingham. Then she took a deep breath and made her way to the extensive lounge area. Like the city, the hotel was busy and the low tables were occupied with people finishing afternoon tea. She looked around and immediately recognised her father sitting at a table near the window, reading the newspaper, a pot of tea and two china cups in front of him.
The years had been kind to him, she thought. His fair hair was now completely grey, but it was still thick and luxuriant. His blue eyes had lost none of their piercing quality, and he had maintained the physique of a younger man. For the first time, Bey saw him as a businessman instead of her father. And for the first time she didn’t feel overwhelmed by his presence.
She walked over to him, oblivious to the fact that people glanced at her as she passed, their eyes drawn to her tall, slender figure and flaming red hair.
‘Hello,’ she said as she stood in front of him.
‘Oh. Bey. I didn’t see you arrive.’ He stood up and extended his hand.
It was seriously weird being greeted by a handshake, thought Bey as she shrugged off her light coat before sitting down. But anything warmer would have been even weirder.
‘I already ordered tea.’ Philip picked up the silver teapot and began to pour. ‘Would you like something to eat?’
She shook her head. ‘Tea is fine.’
‘So,’ he said. ‘I gather you’ve been back in Dublin for a while.’
She nodded.
‘You didn’t like London?’
‘I liked it a lot,’ she said. ‘It just seemed the right time to come home.’
Philip frowned. ‘You were chief designer at Van Aelten and Schaap,’ he said. ‘That was an amazing post for someone as young as you. And yet you gave it up. Why?’
‘Have you seriously asked me to see you for the first time in seven years so that you can quiz me on my career choices?’ She played with her earrings for a moment, then, realising what she was doing, dropped her hands to her lap.
‘I’m just trying to understand why you left such a wonderful job,’ said Philip.
‘And I’m trying to understand why you think it’s any of your business.’
‘I’m interested,’ he said.
‘ Now you’re interested in my life?’ She couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice.
‘I’d like to know why you decided that making cheap silver gewgaws was a better career choice than working with one of London’s finest jewellers,’ said Philip.
‘Are you wondering if they fired me?’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘Afraid that perhaps my light-fingered nature overcame me and I relieved them of a few polished stones?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Philip. ‘Of course I didn’t think that.’
‘You were happy enough to think of me as light fingered before.’
‘Let it go,’ he said. ‘Honestly, you and your mum both live far too much in the past.’
Bey looked startled.
‘She resents me,’ said Philip. ‘Though why she should feel that way is an eternal mystery to me. I tried to do the right thing by her. She was the one who kept secrets. Not me.’
‘She thought it was for the best.’
‘I would have given her everything,’ said Philip. ‘I loved her. But she lied to me. And she kept on lying. I can’t forgive her for that.’
Bey said nothing, and Philip sighed.
‘I didn’t ask you here to rake over old coals,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why then?’
‘I have a proposition for you.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Hear me out. Please.’
He leaned forward in the chair and started to speak.
Chapter 32
Baguette: a gemstone cut in a narrow rectangular shape
‘It was your grandmother’s birthday recently,’ he said. ‘We had a family dinner. And something came up.’
Philip hesitated and Bey waited in silence.
Her father scratched his head. They’d already got off to a prickly start and he was struggling to know how best to continue. From the moment he’d first met her, he’d never really known the right thing to say to his elder daughter. Initially it had been because he’d been unable to distance his relationship with her from the absolute fury he’d still felt with Lola; both for her refusal of his marriage proposal and her decision to keep Bey’s existence a secret. Richard had told him about his accidental meeting with her when Bey was three and confessed that he’d persuaded her to maintain that secret because of the impact it could have had on Philip’s marriage. Even though he’d been angry with his father too, Philip had agreed it had probably been the right thing to do at the time. Richard had also mentioned the sweetener he’d given Lola, although he hadn’t said anything about the more substantial financial arrangement until after the fateful Christmas. By then Philip was once again too angry with both his ex-girlfriend and his daughter to care. But as he looked at Bey sitting in front of him, her blue eyes steady and unwavering, he wished they’d all handled things differently.
‘We talked about Warren’s,’ he began again as Bey remained silent. ‘Your grandmother was concerned about our profitability.’
He grimaced as he recalled Adele’s actions and her words that day. She’d taken a sip of champagne before turning her attention to both him and Peter.
‘I was looking at the accounts,’ she’d said. ‘And I didn’t like what I saw.’
They’d stared at her in astonishment, and Peter asked how on earth she’d got her hands on them.
‘In Duke Lane,’ replied Adele. ‘A few weeks ago. When you were both off gallivanting in Basle. I wanted to see how the store looked after the most recent refit. In fairness to you all, it’s lovely, but while I was in the office I checked the accounts, and even though it’s all far more complicated than it was in my day, I’m not so senile that I couldn’t see we’ve been making losses.’
Bey could practically hear her grandmother’s clipped tones as her father repeated her words. So Will Murdoch had been right, she thought.
‘The refits were certainly costly, but we expect to s
ee the benefits,’ Philip continued.
‘That’s capital expenditure, though, isn’t it?’ said Bey. ‘What about your profit and loss?’
Philip was taken aback by her comment. Adele had said exactly the same thing. When Peter had tried to talk about the cyclical nature of business, their mother had fixed him with a steely glare and told him not to talk to her like a child. She’d reminded both of them that there had never been losses when Richard was alive and that the company was his heritage. And that they’d gone from being an iconic store to simply another jewellery shop. That there weren’t waiting lists for their Adele collections any more. And that the last one, the Pansy, had been dull.
‘It’s been a difficult few years,’ admitted Philip.
‘I’m sorry if you’re having problems,’ said Bey. ‘But I’m sure you’ll overcome them.’
‘So am I,’ Philip said. ‘Peter is too. But we’re worried that they’re a little more deep seated than we thought.’
Despite herself, Bey was interested.
‘In what way?’
‘We let Norman go when the recession started to bite,’ he said. ‘We were in the middle of the Hyacinth collection back then, so we already had a basic design. We kept David on as a consultant and he worked on the Pansy. But both the Hyacinth and the Pansy have done poorly. Peter and I think it’s because people have moved on from the vintage styles that they associate with the Adele collections. So we asked another designer, Darren Daly, to come up with a new look for us.’
‘I don’t know him,’ Bey said.
‘He’s based in Cork and we liked what he did,’ said Philip. ‘But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘But we don’t think they’re good enough for Warren’s,’ said Philip. ‘We don’t think they’ve got heart.’
It had been Peter who’d said that when Philip had shown the designs to him, and Philip had to agree that he was right. They were technically excellent. They captured the essence of the Adeles. And yet they didn’t grab you and make you long to own the jewellery. Which was a worry, Philip told Bey. Adeles were all about desirability.
She nodded in agreement. She remembered the first time she’d seen the advertisement for the Adele Tiger Lily in one of the many glossy magazines her aunt Gretta left at the farmhouse, and being enchanted by the pictures of the beautiful set. That was why she’d copied it for the beaded bracelets she’d made for Donna and Astrid. She’d been proud that she’d captured the look but disappointed that they didn’t have the same sheen of luxury. She remembered her grandfather talking about jewellery that Christmas Day, and her realisation that it made you want to be the person who could afford to wear it.
‘I’m sorry you’ve lost your way,’ she said. ‘The Adeles were aspirational for a whole generation of women. But I honestly don’t know why you needed to tell me all this.’
‘Because I want you to design for us, of course,’ he said.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’
Bey was completely taken by surprise. She’d thought perhaps that he was going to ask her if she knew anyone who was suitable for Warren’s. Or that he wanted her opinion on Darren Daly’s designs. But she hadn’t for a moment expected him to ask her to design for them herself.
It hadn’t been the first thought that had come to Philip either when he and Peter had rejected Darren’s work. As they’d sat together in the small office above the Duke Lane shop, it was Peter who’d spoken first.
‘We do have another option,’ he’d said. ‘The elephant in the room.’
‘Huh?’ Philip had looked around as though Peter was talking about an actual animal.
‘Bey, you idiot,’ said Peter. ‘Your daughter. Who was the chief designer at Van Aelten and Schaap. A company that does have waiting lists for pieces. Particularly the Cascade pendant, which she designed.’
Philip had looked at Peter as though he’d lost his mind. He’d reminded him that he hadn’t been in touch with Bey for years. That she was no longer with Van Aelten and Schaap and that she hadn’t turned up at any other prestige jewellery company. That there had to have been a reason for her leaving. That they didn’t know what it was.
‘Are you suggesting she left under a cloud?’ asked Peter.
‘No. Not really. It’s just . . . Bey. And Lola. And Warren’s. It’s a terrible mix.’
‘Only because we let it be,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not saying that offering Bey a job would solve our personal issues, but it might very well solve our professional ones.’
‘Like I said, though, we don’t know what she’s doing now.’
‘Actually, we do.’
Peter had showed Philip the results of his internet search. Philip had looked at her streamlined website, with its pretty range of affordable jewellery, and then at the magazine pieces about his daughter when she’d worked at Van Aelten and Schaap. There were photographs of her as well as the jewellery she’d designed. In one she was standing beside the owners of the firm. In another beside a woman named Julia Ferranti, who, the caption writer said, was known as the Contessa. And there was a truly magnificent photograph of a tiara that had been worn by a Spanish duchess on her wedding day.
‘All designed by Bey,’ said Peter. ‘All utterly fabulous. Not to mention the Cascade, which everyone knows is one of the most beautiful suites of the last decade.’
‘But she’s making trinkets now,’ said Philip. ‘And how do we know she actually designed those other pieces? She probably had an entire team working for her.’
‘Even if she had a team for the haute joaillerie, the stuff she’s doing now is really striking,’ said Peter.
‘She wouldn’t want to work for us,’ objected Philip.
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ said Peter. ‘What have you got to lose?’
My pride, thought Philip now as he watched his daughter process his request. Especially if she isn’t as good as those photographs would have us believe.
‘I don’t want to work for you.’ Bey’s voice was firm.
‘Why on earth not? It’s a dream job.’
‘I don’t even know what sort of position you’re offering,’ she said.
‘I’ve just told you. I want you to design the next Adele collection.’
‘That isn’t in my game plan at all.’
‘What is? Fooling around in a run-down garage in a laneway?’
‘It’s not a run-down garage,’ she protested. ‘It’s a proper converted business premises.’
‘In comparison to Warren’s, it’s nothing special.’
‘But you’re coming to me because Warren’s is nothing special now either.’
‘We’ve stumbled,’ said Philip. ‘We thought . . . I thought you might be interested.’
He was beginning to wish he hadn’t listened to Peter, no matter how good Bey might be. He hadn’t followed her career with Van Aelten and Schaap in great detail, but he knew the Cascade was exceptional. Seeing it now, around her neck, was mesmerising. But who was to say that even if she did accept his offer she’d be able to come up with something equally exceptional for Warren’s? Who was to say that she wouldn’t try to damage the family firm? She wasn’t part of it, after all.
‘I don’t think you really want me working for you,’ she said when he remained silent. ‘I don’t think we’d be a good team.’
‘Did you do it all yourself?’ he asked. ‘The Cascade? The Reed Flute Cave collection? That beautiful tiara? Or was it a team effort?’
‘It’s always a team effort,’ she said.
It could be a monumental mistake, thought Philip. A bigger mistake even than the Hyacinth and Pansy collections had been. He’d been persuaded to ask her, though, because unlike Darren Daly’s designs, Bey’s were full of heart. The moment you saw a piece you wanted to touch it, to own it, to have it forever. But perhaps the magic didn’t come from her at all. And yet, as he looked at her sitting in front of him, her expression serious, he knew that it did.
‘There’s no reas
on why we couldn’t make it work.’ He realised he didn’t want her to turn them down. Not because he’d lose face, but because they’d lose someone who had the potential to bring them back to where they wanted to be.
‘You, me and the Warren family? Make it work? We haven’t managed it yet and that’s only our personal lives. A business relationship would be impossible. Besides,’ she added, ‘I’m at a point where my own business is beginning to turn a profit. If I step away now, all my work over the last few months will be lost. Plus, I have orders to fill.’
‘Many?’ asked Philip.
‘The Christmas ones are coming in now,’ said Bey. ‘And they’re up significantly on last year. I know it’s a clichéd name, but the Winter Wonderland set is very popular.’
It suddenly occurred to Philip that Bijou by Bey could be making more of a profit than the Warren’s stores. She didn’t have the overheads, for one thing. The thought made him shiver.
‘Give it some consideration,’ he said. ‘Please?’
‘What does Adele have to say about it?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t said anything to Adele yet,’ replied Philip.
Bey’s laughter at his reply was genuine.
‘That settles it. There’s no way she’d want me working for you, even if I said yes.’
‘It’s not her decision to make,’ said Philip.
‘Oh please,’ said Bey. ‘She was always the power behind the throne and I’m quite sure she still is.’
‘She’s concerned about the company too,’ said Philip. ‘It’s an emotional thing with her.’
‘Emotional my arse.’ The composure that Bey had been working so hard to maintain suddenly slipped. ‘That woman doesn’t have an emotional bone in her body.’
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 33
