‘So,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘this brings me to what I know we should do and I’m extremely excited about it.’
She drew a picture for them: of a brand transformed from within itself – of a small, exclusive range, with a face that was younger, and more fashionable but still in possession of the same class and quality and grace that had long been its greatest strength.
‘This range will sit beside the original one, on the counters; it will feature in the advertising, it will be an ambassador, if you like, for the rest. New people will see it, try it, people who would not have come to Farrell’s before, or perhaps have ceased to come. The packaging will echo the present style, but it will look cleaner, more modern, more luxurious. I had hoped to have something to show you today, but I’m not satisfied I have the answer. When I am, you shall all see it.
‘But there is more, much more. We are fortunate that at this time, while fashion has never moved faster, the higher end still looks backward and draws with great success from the past. Nostalgia was never so valued a currency, delivering as it does a sense of security and quality in so uncertain a world. And among the Diors and the Chanels, and the Ralph Laurens, consider the great classic English names who have brought themselves into today, while still harvesting from their past glories: the fashion houses – Burberry, Mulberry, Pringle; the stores – Selfridges, Harvey Nichols; the hotels – the Savoy, Claridge’s, The Ritz. I intend that we shall do the same for the House of Farrell; it will be a brand for today and tomorrow, but its strength and its legacy will come from its past.
‘Hugely expensive advertising campaigns are out of reach, but the new weapons at our disposal, the social media, can work with incredible power. Providing we have enough that is interesting and original to say – and we will – I believe that the ripples we create at our launch will spread with a speed and efficiency unimaginable before now.
‘And now I would like to talk about The Shop . . .’ She paused and looked at Florence, whose face was impassive, who was clearly preparing herself for some mortal blow, and smiled at her. ‘The Shop is perhaps the most exciting thing of all, to me. I think we have an absolute treasure there in the Berkeley Arcade, in the heart of expensive, exclusive London, a stone’s throw from Bond Street. So,’ she looked round the room and smiled, ‘so I have decided that, in time, we should have more of these treasures of ours. Not in London, of course, but in other great shopping centres of the world, replicas of the Berkeley Arcade. We would have to start slowly – they will not be cheap – but in Paris, for a start, possibly Milan. There they will be tiny little jewels of places, telling the world that this is what we’re about. Exclusive, beautiful, luxurious – and unique. They’ll be our equivalent of the Elizabeth Arden red door salons. They can be small, in fact they should be, the opposite of Selfridges’ cosmetic hall, something intimate and luxurious and personal, the places to buy not only the products, but incredibly luxurious and exclusive treatments. And they will give us our branding. They’ll set a style, a tone. I want the packaging, the advertising, everything, to echo them, and vice versa.’
She looked at Florence again, who was flushed now, her eyes brilliant, and the smile she gave Bianca, swift, almost imperceptible, was one of excitement as well as relief.
‘And finally,’ Bianca said, returning the smile as swiftly, ‘we have two great national events on our side too, next year: the Olympics, of course, which will focus the eyes of the world on this country, and still more relevantly, the Diamond Jubilee. The House of Farrell was founded in coronation year: how wonderfully serendipitous that it can be relaunched at the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, in the same spirit of pride and delight in our country and its heritage. We will be the envy of the cosmetic world.’ She paused for a long moment, then, ‘And that, for now, is all I have to say.’
There was a complete silence. But she had done it, she knew. She had carried them with her, albeit briefly, had shown them her vision and persuaded them to share it. Even Athina’s face was on hers, intent, intrigued. And Mike and Hugh had the slightly complacent expressions that she had seen before when she had presented well: we chose her, their expression said, we found her, she would not be here without us.
The Shop idea was, she knew, brilliant. She’d been so excited she’d practically choked on her bedtime hot chocolate. And unable to sleep then, had lain, envisaging them, a chain of shops, a bejewelled girdle around the world, encircling the big cities, shaping the image of the brand, presenting it in all its unique, upper crust high quality, changing how people thought about the House of Farrell . . .
Mike spoke finally, cutting into the silence.
‘Thank you, Bianca. You’ve given us a great deal to think about. And to plan. We will all obviously have observations but, personally, I would like to take this away with me –’ he patted his folder ‘– and digest it further. Then we can reconvene.’
‘Of course. Thank you for listening.’
‘It was a pleasure.’
Chapter 14
‘Oh my God,’ said Susie Harding on Monday morning, hearing Bianca’s plans for the future Farrell brand, ‘that sounds just amazing. I can pick this up and run with it. It’s a brilliant concept, Bianca, it really is. The press will totally love it! That whole thing of Englishness and heritage and the brand within a brand: not just a predictable relaunch of the lot. It’s so exciting! And the shops, and next year of all years—’
‘Yes, well that was a bit of a gift,’ said Bianca, with a grin. ‘I didn’t personally arrange that. But I’m glad you think it will work. With the press at least.’
‘Totally. We need to get cracking quite soon, though: there’s only fifteen months to go to the Jubilee.’
‘Yes, and it’s a major problem,’ said Bianca, ‘I have to find a totally brilliant chemist, an utterly brilliant packaging designer, a cracking marketing and advertising campaign and a sales director who could sell not just fridges to Eskimos but freezers as well!’
‘And maybe a range of sunscreen stuff?’ said Susie. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Good,’ said Bianca, ‘and in that case I’ll tell you the other bit of news I have for you . . .’
OMG! read Susie’s text to Henk, she’s only made me f***ing publicity director!
Having formulated her strategy and got the go-ahead from the board, Bianca was on an almost impossibly tight schedule. Therefore by mid-morning on the Monday Lara Clements had received an email offering her the job of marketing director of the House of Farrell; Lawrence Ford had been summoned to Bianca’s office for a chat; Florence Hamilton had been asked if it would be convenient for Mrs Bailey to come to the arcade at four that afternoon; Lady Farrell had left Mrs Bailey’s office in a state of impotent fury on hearing that there could be no question of Marjorie Dawson being kept on; Langland Dennis & Colborne had been warned they would not be the only agency pitching with a new campaign; Mike Russell had suggested a couple of recruitment agencies who might find the financial director that Farrell’s so urgently needed; and now Bertie was being ushered into Bianca’s office by a worryingly solicitous Jemima . . .
‘Now girls, as I told you at the end of last term, we have a new member of the form – Carey Mapleton.’ Gillian Sutherland’s earnest, unmade-up face smiled briefly, as she ushered her slightly resistant charge forwards. ‘I know you’re going to make a great effort to welcome Carey – it’s not easy starting at a new school in the middle of the year, and she hasn’t even been at school in this country, she’s been at the International Academy in Paris. Carey, you’re not going to remember everyone’s name immediately, so we’ll start you off gently; I’m putting you in the care of Emily Bailey and Grace Donaldson. They’ll look after you and show you where everything is, and introduce you to everyone else in the class in due course. Now Emily and Grace, will you escort Carey into Assembly please?’
Milly smiled at Carey and walked forward with Grace to lead her and the class into Assembly. Carey smiled back
. She was very pretty indeed, small but nicely curvy, with very dark auburn hair and huge brown eyes; she seemed nervous, and indeed as they took their places in the Great Hall, Milly could feel her trembling. Poor thing, she thought, smiling at her again reassuringly, she was obviously very shy. Milly decided she must take her duties very seriously seeing Carey settled in, and that she might ask her to tea one day very soon.
‘Bertie, hello. Please sit down. Coffee?’
‘Yes, that would be very nice thank you,’ said Bertie, wondering how he was to swallow anything at all.
‘Right,’ said Bianca, smiling across the desk at him. ‘Let’s get straight to the point. I think we’re probably agreed that financial director is not a position you’re very comfortable with. Or that you’ve been entirely successful at.’
‘I – I suppose we should. Or rather, I should. Agree, that is.’
‘I’m already briefing a couple of headhunters.’
So – this was it. He was about to lose the job he had done for the past twenty years; the job that he struggled so hard to do effectively and efficiently and was forced to realise at every board meeting he had performed ineffectively and inefficiently.
He looked at Bianca, feeling rather sick.
‘But what I don’t want is to lose you.’
What had she just said? Surely he must have misheard?
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said we don’t want to lose you. I think you have a great deal to offer this company so, I wonder if, Bertie, you would consider what some might see as a demotion.’
Oh God. She was going to give him some awful token job. Could he cope with that? With everyone being kind and careful about what they said to him, and pretending he was doing something really useful and important.
‘It would – depend what it was,’ he said. ‘I mean obviously I would try to – to see the positives in it.’
‘What I have in mind would be a very big challenge for you,’ said Bianca. ‘Bertie, I wonder if you’d consider being human resources director? It’s a board appointment, although of course you’re on the board already, and I could match your present salary.’
Bertie sat staring at her, trying to imagine being capable of such a job, wondering if she was banking on him turning it down simply so that she could claim she had tried to find him something to do.
Finally he said, ‘But Bianca, I don’t know anything about HR. Personnel we always called it here, of course. It’s very kind of you, but—’
‘Bertie,’ said Bianca, ‘I’m not being kind. I can’t afford to be kind. I know you don’t know anything about the theory of HR but you have what I’d call a deep grasp of who could do what job. Of course that’s not all of it, but it’s the hub.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Who is responsible for Jemima being here, the one person above all who makes my life possible and moreover who knew she would be? Who headhunted Lara Clements, knew she’d fit in, knew she’d be right for the job, knew we’d get on? You did, Bertie. I think you have a very sure instinct for people. I’ve watched how everyone is always pleased to see you, how they like to tell you things, how even the secretaries and the marketing assistants tend to come to you with problems – I just know it’s worth a try.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Bertie. He wondered why Bianca’s face had suddenly become rather blurred and realised with horror his eyes had filled with tears at this tribute. Appreciation was an almost unknown quantity to him. He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose.
Bianca, reading his embarrassment, started flicking through a document on her desk.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘we have some very tricky situations personnel-wise in the offing; for instance, Marjorie Dawson, to whom your mother has given a rather rash reassurance about her future and who has an invalid husband. I mean, what on earth am I to do about her? I couldn’t be more sorry for her but we don’t need the consultants in their present guise and frankly, I can’t see that many of them will be a loss.’
‘No, I agree with you, but Marjorie is a cut above the rest and I do have one idea—’
‘Which is?’
‘Well, frankly, Francine la Croix our beautician at the arcade is a little past her sell-by date . . .’
‘So – were you thinking Marjorie might replace Francine?’
‘In due course. Francine is only part-time, anyway.’
‘I’m sorry, Bertie, but the person replacing Francine will be our prime ambassadress. Young, classy, sophisticated – everything that Marjorie is not, nice as she undoubtedly is.’
‘Yes, I see. And – and what about Florence?’
‘Florence is a gift from heaven. She is our link from the past to the future, and though not young it is difficult to think of her as old, and she is certainly very classy and extremely sophisticated. As is your mother, of course, the two of them have so much to offer, invaluable sources of knowledge, experience, instinct, and, of course, glamour. I only hope that—’ She stopped.
Bertie met her eyes.
‘There is no knowing how my mother will react to anything,’ he said. ‘Anything at all. May I speak frankly?’
‘Bertie, there’s no time for anyone to speak otherwise. Go ahead.’
‘Well, I wonder about the wisdom of there being so few consultants – they are a valuable source of information about our customers, apart from anything else.’
‘I know, but we simply can’t afford them. We shall have to find a clever solution. Perhaps you’ll be able to help us with that as well. Meanwhile, please Bertie, would you put me out of my misery? Would you accept this job, please? We can put it on a three months’ trial basis and you need to get on to a course asap, learn the science of it. I’ll ask Jemima to source some. So – what’s your answer?’
‘Mrs Bailey,’ said Bertie, smiling at her and standing up, holding out his hand, ‘I accept with pleasure. I shall do my very best to justify your somewhat unfounded faith in me.’
‘Good,’ said Bianca. ‘I’m so very pleased.’
It wasn’t until he was back in his own office that Bertie realised he would be doing Caro’s erstwhile job, and began to think about the true repercussions of that.
‘Florence, hello. May I come in?’
‘Please do,’ said Florence, smiling at Bianca over the counter. ‘How very nice to see you. Can I offer you a cup of tea, perhaps? We aren’t too terribly busy and Francine is here and has only a few clients so she will come down if necessary. I cannot tell you how excited I am about your plans for The Shop.’ She paused. Athina was not the only person to wonder if she might be replaced; it seemed not only possible but probable; heritage was after all not only about the past but the future. And the wildest optimism could not regard someone of her age as that.
She was resolved to remain calm; if she lost her job that would be very dreadful, the end not only of an era, but a lifetime. But she had lived out that lifetime according to her own strict standards and rules; one of which was not to make a fuss about things.
‘Do sit down,’ she said to Bianca, ushering her into her parlour. ‘And what would you like? China tea, Indian, something herbal.’
‘I like Indian tea,’ said Bianca, smiling at her, ‘good and strong, with just a dash of milk. Thank you, Florence.’
‘Very well. And I have some excellent shortbread from Fortnum’s, or some small teacakes . . . ?’
‘Oh, no thank you. Just the tea.’
Florence made the tea, poured it into the fine china cups that Cornelius had insisted on buying when the kitchen was stocked, and sat bolt upright in her chair.
‘Now,’ she said, looking very directly at Bianca, ‘I imagine you have not come here to discuss the weather . . .’
‘I’ve seen Saul Finlayson again,’ said Patrick.
Bianca closed down her iPad. This was a conversation which required her absolute attention.
‘And?’
‘He was very – very patient with all my queries and reservations.
I – think I’d like to accept the job.’
Her heart lurched; she hadn’t realised until that moment how extremely anxious she was about the entire Finlayson scenario. Not merely how it would affect her life, but how it affected Patrick. The awe in which he held Saul worried her intensely.
‘In – what way did he reassure you?’
‘Well, first in that I won’t be working out of my depth. He seems convinced that I have all the skills he’s looking for.’
‘Well, I expect he is. He’s wouldn’t have asked you if he hadn’t thought you could do it.’
‘But being a friend of Jonjo’s, that sort of thing—’
‘Patrick Bailey, get a grip. Do you really think a man as successful as Saul Finlayson would give anyone a job to oblige a friend?’
‘Darling, don’t be impatient with me. This is a huge decision.’
She felt remorseful. ‘I’m sorry. I know it is.’
‘He is also adamant that I needn’t work the absurd hours he does, weekends and so on. I can work at my own pace, on my own, and only report to him when I’m ready.’
‘Fine.’ And thought: did pigs fly? Or water flow uphill?
‘And he’s such a nice chap, Bianca, in spite of his success. You’ve only met him for a few minutes but I know you’d get to like him.’
‘Darling, I don’t dislike him. I just want you to be quite sure you know what you’re getting into.’
‘Well, I think I do. And it’s not a chance I’m going to get again.’
‘No, I know.’
‘So – if I have your blessing, I’d like to accept it.’
She was still uneasy, but she could see it would be pointless, as well as unwise, to discourage him. He wanted to do it badly enough to experience serious discontent if he didn’t. Nevertheless – it was a huge risk. For him, his self-esteem, his very future. And – well, she wouldn’t even look at the ‘and’. They would work such things out together.
A Perfect Heritage Page 15
