Nevertheless, even as she smiled at Patrick and said that of course he must do it, that she was extremely happy for him, as she watched him so clearly relieved to have her blessing, opening a bottle of champagne, as she raised her glass to him and kissed him, she was filled with a sense of foreboding such as she seldom knew.
‘You what?’
‘I’ve – I’ve accepted it.’
‘That job?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, really. I thought you had at least a little common sense left. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous. What makes you think you can do it?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s my decision. It’s hers.’
‘Well, I suppose so. Have you told Caro?’
‘No. I thought I would tell you first. And she did resign. It’s not as if Bianca fired her in my favour.’
Athina considered this. ‘I suppose not. Well, Bertie, I really don’t know what is happening to this company. It seems to be in the hands of a madwoman.’
‘Thank you for that, Mother,’ said Bertie, in a rare surge of defiance, ‘thank you for the vote of confidence.’
He walked out of the room.
Priscilla’s attitude had been not a lot more encouraging; he had told her and Lucy at dinner the evening before. She had stared at him for a clearly baffled moment and then said, ‘Well, I hope it’s a success, but I have to say I doubt it.’
‘Mummy!’ Lucy had jumped up from her chair, put her arms round her father’s neck and kissed his cheek. ‘That just so isn’t fair. Congratulations, Daddy, I’m really pleased. It just shows Bianca Bailey is aware of how versatile Daddy can be, and I think it’s wonderful.’
Bertie took the coward’s way out and called Caro. He couldn’t face another session of face-to-face disbelief. There was the predictable silence, then she said in a stiff voice, ‘Well, congratulations Bertie. That’s – that’s very good. Of course it’s the most ghastly job. That’s why I resigned. I wish you well in it, but I don’t think you’re going to enjoy it in the least and it will be virtually impossible to function under Bianca Bailey. She has to have her own way in everything.’
‘I wouldn’t say that’s been my experience,’ said Bertie.
‘Because you haven’t worked under her. But it’s a very good move for you. Who will be in your erstwhile job? Someone more au fait with modern accounting methods and so on, I imagine. That’s what Martin said was needed.’
‘I imagine so, yes,’ said Bertie.
He decided he needed some fresh air, and walked out of his office and down the stairs; someone was running up them.
It was Lara Clements.
‘Bertie, hello. I’ve been meaning to call you and say thank you. I’m sure you had quite a lot to do with me getting this job. Now I can do it in person. I’m thrilled, I really am.’
‘Oh – well, you know. All in the day’s work,’ said Bertie. He could feel himself blushing. ‘Very glad you’re joining us.’
‘Me too. You must let me buy you a drink one night. I’ll email you with some dates.’
She smiled at Bertie and continued on her upward journey; he had two thoughts. One was that she really was a very attractive woman, with her small neat figure and rather amazingly coloured hair – strawberry-blond someone had described it; the other was to wonder how anybody could possibly run in those incredibly high spiky heels. He looked after her, smiling, and then continued downwards, thinking how really his life seemed to be improving day by day.
‘Saul Finlayson’s asked me if I’d like to go up to his yard near Newbury one Saturday morning and see some of his horses,’ said Patrick. They were sitting at the kitchen table, she with her iPad switched on, trying to work out some of the newly complex report lines at Farrell’s. ‘He said if you wanted to, you could come too.’
‘Oh, I don’t think . . .’ said Bianca and saw a fleeting look of disappointment on Patrick’s face. ‘I mean, horses really aren’t my thing, and—’
‘I think I’d like you to come,’ said Patrick. ‘It was a friendly gesture and he is about to be my boss.’
‘Of course. Sorry. No darling, of course I’ll come and be a good corporate wife.’
‘Well, it would be nice,’ said Patrick, and there was an edge to his voice. ‘I haven’t made many demands of that sort on you over the years.’
‘No,’ she said, and felt a flash of remorse, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘No, I know you haven’t. Sorry. When will you leave BCB?’
‘Not for three months,’ said Patrick.
‘Three months! Darling, that’s a lifetime in your new business.’
‘Can’t help that, I’m afraid. It will take that long for them to sort out a replacement for me, juggle with the team, all that sort of thing.’
‘And how did Mr Finlayson react to that?’
‘Well, he seemed to think as you do,’ said Patrick, ‘and then asked if I could do some work for him on the q.t. and I said I didn’t think I could. Just not fair to the chaps at BCB, it’d be bound to get out and – well, I’m not prepared to do it.’
‘I see,’ said Bianca, and the wild hope came to her that Saul Finlayson would find this unacceptable, find someone else. But she crushed it. ‘Well, darling, you know best of course. Oh, Milly tells me she’s asked the new girl to tea tomorrow. She seems a bit smitten, bit of a girl crush brewing, I’d say. Have you heard much about her? Carey somebody?’
‘Mapleton,’ said Patrick. ‘Yes, a bit. Father’s the actor, Sir Andrew, and she sounds perfectly nice.’
‘Bit of a difficult background from the sound of it. Always changing countries and schools, poor little thing. Apparently she spent a year at Hollywood High, with “oh. my. God!”, some really famous people’s children but Milly couldn’t actually name any names.’
‘Maybe Carey couldn’t either,’ said Patrick. ‘Would the really famous people’s children go to Hollywood High? I wonder . . .’
Bianca stared at him. ‘Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re a sharp chap, Patrick Bailey, and no mistake.’
‘I hope I’m sharp enough,’ said Patrick, sounding anxious again.
‘Darling, of course you are. Don’t be silly. Mr Finlayson knows quality when he sees it.’
Chapter 15
Milly stood staring and staring at it, unable to believe her eyes. It had come in the post, a really grand invitation, stiff white card with a little gold crown on it, and black and white curvy writing, saying, You are invited to the marriage of Prince William of Wales and Miss Catherine Middleton on 29th April, 2011 and then she moved down a line and saw the slightly smaller writing On the personal screen of Miss Carey Mapleton, The Boltons, London, SW3 at 10.30 a.m. A wedding luncheon will be served after the ceremony, followed by a viewing of the highlights and then a disco. Dress: Formal. RSVP.
She got to school lit up with excitement, and found half the class in the same state, chattering endlessly about what they might wear and whether their mothers might agree to get them something new and how mean if they didn’t; the other half were subdued, pretending they were really busy with other things.
Even while she felt proud to be in the right half, a small part of Milly did think that if she’d been a new girl in Carey’s situation she’d have asked the whole class or just two or three of the ones she was properly friends with. It was a bit, well, random.
Susie had intended to look really glamorous and behave uber-coolly that day. Bianca had told her – and she had been hugely flattered – that she wanted her involvement in appointing a new advertising agency.
‘It always seems to me quite crazy for PR and advertising campaigns not to be at least conceived in tandem, and Lara Clements will be coming too.’
Which had spurred Susie on to further ambitions on the personal presentation front; Lara wasn’t working at Farrell’s full time for another fortnight, but she’d been in and out of the offices quite a bit, and although she wasn’t majorly glamorous,
not into designer, she was chic, and carried with her a confident gloss that was extremely attractive so it was important to impress her as well.
This was the first meeting with any of the agencies on Bianca’s shortlist and it was a bit of a wild card: Flynn Marchant was a young group, employing only twenty people, but they had done a very clever one-off campaign for a range of hair products that Bianca had admired and they had clearly been delighted with her email, saying they would like to come and see her, and adding with rather charming candour that their portfolio was a bit limited and their showreel more so, but they were certain nonetheless that she would like what they had to show her. Their offices were what they described as ‘Marylebone border country, actually more Paddington’, which Bianca had liked.
‘I so disapprove of wasting money on huge rent, when it could go on better things, like staff, for instance,’ she said, when Tod Marchant had apologised for the slightly unsmart address. ‘We’re moving ourselves as soon as we can find something clever.’
Tod Marchant felt immediately more positive about the outcome of what he described as a chemistry meeting – ‘the most important thing is that we all feel we can work together, that the chemistry’s right, otherwise we’ll never get off the starting blocks.’
Bianca was very taken with the idea of a chemistry meeting.
Susie got up very early on the day of the meeting, partly so she had plenty of time for things like her hair and make up but also to listen to the radio while she did it – Bianca was very hot on current affairs, particularly politics, said it was as important as fashion when it came to selling things. Susie really didn’t think the girls who flocked to the Mac counters gave more than a moment’s thought to the effectiveness of the coalition, but so far Bianca had been right about pretty well everything.
She was easing out of bed as quietly as she could when Henk put out a hand and tried to pull her back in.
‘Babe! What are you doing? It’s fucking six o’clock.’
‘No, it’s six thirty,’ said Susie, ‘and I’ve got an early meeting.’
‘Fuck that. Come here, I don’t want you leaving me. I hate being alone in bed. And you know what, I could get to feel a bit horny, if I really tried . . .’
‘Henk, I’m glad to hear that,’ said Susie briskly, ‘but it’ll have to wait.’
‘That’s what you said last night.’ His tone was plaintive.
‘Well, I’m sorry about that too. But there are other things in life and it’s a work day.’
‘So I’m relegated right down below the work, is that right?’
‘Actually, yes,’ said Susie. ‘Henk, I have a job to do, money to earn, that sort of thing, OK?’
‘Oh, and don’t I just know it. You never stop reminding me that you’re the breadwinner, that I’m just a hanger on, doing nothing.’
‘And maybe I could do a little more reminding? Like you turned down at least three jobs over the last month because you said they were crap, or you didn’t do weddings, or you couldn’t work for the guy who wanted you as his assistant, you had no respect for him. I’m surprised your agent keeps you on, I really am. Do you think I enjoy every single thing I have to do?’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Susie. I’ve had just about enough of your critical attitude.’
‘Well, in that case, maybe you should consider your options. I don’t have time for this. Just go back to sleep, or get up yourself, but leave me alone. OK?’
But he had sat up in bed and was glaring at her.
‘Does it ever enter that narrow little mind of yours that I slave my guts out most days, trying to find the perfect shot, to catch the right moment, just improving my skills and my portfolio? And how much encouragement do I get about that? Fucking none, just a load of nagging about couldn’t I have done some shopping or made the bed. Could I just remind you that it’s a tough world I’m trying to get into, it takes time and a whole lot of effort—’
‘Henk, I said I don’t have time for this!’
But an over-familiar panic was beginning to leach into her. It was always like this; she would be angry with Henk, resentful of his behaviour, and then, confronted with the danger of losing him, go into a state of terror, she wasn’t sure why. She certainly wasn’t in love with him, she wasn’t even sure she liked him half the time. Probably it was because she’d lived the single life one time too often and knew what it meant in its bleak joylessness. Just being sexy and successful and cool and having a great job, and even a great social life, wasn’t enough. She just didn’t seem to have the strength to fight it. But why, why?
It was ridiculous to allow herself to be bullied like this. And it was bullying, no doubt about it. It was pathetic; she owed herself a lot better than this.
‘I’m sorry, Henk,’ she said, shaking off the hand that had reached out to her, slipping inside her bathrobe, caressing her breasts, ‘I absolutely don’t have time for this. I’ll see you tonight.’
‘You frigid bitch,’ he said, staring at her with such dislike that she felt literally shaken. ‘What the fuck am I doing with you? I really don’t think I can go on with this. It’s not what I call a relationship, Susie, it really isn’t.’
‘Henk, please! Please understand—’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No I don’t understand. Sorry. And I don’t like it either. I think it’s time you got your priorities—’
‘Henk, if you’d only . . .’
She tried again, very half-heartedly, to pull away; but he had sensed her hesitation by then, seen the doubt in her eyes.
‘That’s better,’ he said and suddenly smiled, pushed her on to her knees by the bed, forcing her to take him in her mouth. ‘That’s more like it. Go on, baby, go go go . . .’
Jemima was alone in her office when Susie rushed in, pale and breathless, her hair tousled, her eye make up smudged from doing it on the bus.
‘I’m sorry, so sorry, Jemima, I—’
‘Don’t worry, they’ve only just gone in. Lara’s in there too. I’ll just let Bianca know you’re here.’ She got up, put her head into Bianca’s office, turned and said, ‘Yes, she says you’re to go in.’
Bianca nodded at her coolly. ‘Susie, hello. Sorry, we didn’t wait. This is Susie Harding, our publicity director,’ she said to the two men sitting at the coffee table. ‘Susie – Tod Marchant, Jack Flynn. They were just explaining how they work. You’ll have to pick it up from there.’
‘Yes, of course, sorry Bianca, sorry, I—’
Bianca turned from her, clearly with no wish to reassure her.
‘Tod, do go on.’
Tod Marchant was very cool in black leather jacket and black trousers, Jack Flynn less sexy, almost old-fashioned-looking in Levi 501s and a plain white shirt; they both smiled at Susie, almost embarrassed by the situation, and then Tod started talking again.
‘Yeah, like I was saying, Susie, Jack and I worked together for ten years, met in quite a large agency and went solo – no, duetted – five years ago.’
He was a charmer; funny, easy, deceptively relaxed. Jack Flynn was quieter, more serious, with an engaging way of listening very intently and then coming in every so often with an observation of considerable shrewdness.
‘We find clients really appreciate being involved in the thinking and the development of ideas, discussing things together. It makes a much more productive relationship, but it does mean the chemistry has to be right, hence this meeting. We call them chemistry meetings.’
‘Sounds marvellous,’ said Lara, clearly anxious to make a contribution. And scribbled something on the notebook she had brought with her. Susie had no notebook; she pulled out her phone and used that instead.
‘Good. So, it’s an ongoing conversation. Right, Jack?’
‘Yes. We aim for a sort of alchemy with clients, an ability on both sides to know our limitations.’
Bianca smiled.
‘I like alchemy,’ she said. ‘Alchemy is exactly what we need. So, suppose – and this is a very preliminar
y meeting – just suppose we did decide to work with you, what kind of process would we all go through?’
‘Right,’ said Tod, ‘the first thing we’d want to do is learn everything about Farrell’s. We’d go into the outlets, get to know the products—’
‘Even though,’ said Bianca, ‘they’d be pretty unlike the ones we’d be advertising?’
‘I realise that, but we have to start somewhere. There’d be a lot of meetings where we’d come down to your offices, the factory, the lab, just get immersed in the brand.’
‘Yes,’ said Jack, ‘it’s understanding not just what you do, or plan to do with the new brand but where you are right now.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tod. ‘And we’d then go away and do some insight work – that’s advertising jargon for understanding what would make people want to buy into your brand. And that would form the basis for a creative brief. Which we would work on with you. And then we give that brief to the creative team, and after that – well, we’d come back to you with what we think would work. And we’d have some more conversations.’
‘Lot of conversations then,’ said Bianca, smiling at him.
For goodness’ sake, Susie, think of something to say . . .
‘And . . . media?’ she managed. Hardly brilliant, but it was better than nothing.
‘Obviously,’ said Jack, ‘we’d look at everything.’
Obviously. Well, that had gone down like a lead balloon.
‘We don’t have a TV-sized budget, of course,’ said Bianca.
‘I appreciate that. But there are ways of squeezing money out of a campaign. What there’d undoubtedly be is a lot of online stuff because digital is the heart of everything we do these days. And it could be that the advertising would be part of the PR story, more than the other way round.’
‘That sounds absolutely fantastic,’ said Susie, and promptly felt inane again. Shit. She had really not been impressive. Bloody, bloody Henk.
A Perfect Heritage Page 16
