She walked down Haverstock Hill and then along Adelaide Road to Swiss Cottage and into the shopping mall where she and Jayce had spent so many hours, and settled herself into the coffee shop.
‘These are – lovely, Lady Farrell. Really beautiful.’
Only God would ever know what that had cost her to admire the prototypes for the perfume packaging Athina had had mocked up. It was truly beautiful: dark, dark red lettering on white, the word Passion scrawled recklessly across the box.
‘I’m so pleased you like it. The bottle is one you found, reminiscent of the Arpège design. Of course we really should do something original. It’s a crime to cheapen the whole thing with stock packaging.’
‘Unfortunately, that would treble the cost.’
‘In our day, that would have been seen as an investment. However . . . Now, you must excuse me, I have a meeting in the lab.’
Which you shouldn’t be having, Bianca thought, as I’ve made so plain so many times. But might as well tell lightning not to strike. She smiled feebly at Athina and went back to her office. Susie had asked to see her, and Mike and Hugh were due in fifteen minutes.
‘Hello.’
Milly jumped and looked up from her phone. A policewoman stood in front of her. A second one stood a few yards away.
‘Hello,’ she said carefully.
‘No school today?’ said the woman.
‘Um – yes. Yes, of course. But I’ve been to the dentist.’
‘Right. Where do you go to school?’
‘St Catherine’s, Chelsea.’
‘That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?’
‘Well – yes,’ said Milly, ‘but girls go there from all over London.’
‘So, if you’ve been to the dentist, shouldn’t you be getting along there now?’
It was beginning to dawn on Milly why she was being questioned. The policewomen thought she was playing truant.
‘I’m – I’m waiting for my mother,’ she said, inspiration striking. ‘She’s driving me to school.’
‘And where is she now? Didn’t she go to the dentist with you?’
‘Well . . . no. She’s busy.’
‘I see. Right. Well, what time are you meeting her?’
Milly looked at her watch. It was half past eleven.
‘Midday,’ she said.
‘So where do you live?’
‘Oh, P-Primrose Hill,’ said Milly.
She was beginning to feel a bit sick. Inspiration struck her.
‘I need to go to the toilet,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’ She could give her the slip surely, then head off to school.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said the woman, ‘if you don’t mind.’
‘Lucy! Hello. What are you doing, loitering in the corridor? Looking for your dad?’
Bianca really liked Lucy; she had met her for the first time at the sales conference and thought she had a real talent as a make-up artist. She was also touched by her clear devotion and loyalty to her father, and OK, so she clearly also adored her grandmother, but nobody was perfect.
‘Oh, good morning, Mrs Bailey.’
‘Please, call me Bianca. Mrs Bailey is a very old person. Which is what I daresay you think I am.’
‘Of course not! I hope you don’t mind me being here. I’m looking for Dad, but I’m also killing a bit of time, waiting for Grandy. She’s in a meeting, apparently, and her office is locked. She’s taking me out to lunch. To – to celebrate something.’
‘Which is? Oh, sorry, maybe I shouldn’t ask.’
‘Oh, no, of course you should. I’ve just got two days’ work doing make up at London Fashion Week in April. And I can’t believe it! It came through a big charity show I did – I’ve managed to get on that circuit – and word’s got round, I suppose.’
‘Lucy, that’s fantastic! People would kill for that gig! Very well done. Lovely to talk to you, and enjoy your lunch. Your dad’s definitely around because I just left him. If you can’t find him, come and sit in Jemima’s office and have a coffee.’
‘Oh, cool. Thank you. Lovely to talk to you, Mrs – er – Bianca. And I did enjoy the conference. I thought it was really cool.’
Bianca went into her office, smiling; if Milly turned out that charming and easy she would be very pleased.
‘I’ve been thinking some more about your idea,’ said Susie. ‘In fact, I can’t stop. And thinking about the launch – it’s going to be amazing. I’ve got so many ideas already. I do have one question, though.’
‘Yes?’
‘How many shops are we talking about?’
‘Ah,’ said Bianca, ‘we’re not sure yet. But – quite a few.’
‘So what’s a few?’
‘At least four, maybe more.’
She smiled at Susie; but she didn’t smile back. She looked embarrassed.
‘Bianca, that – well, that won’t be enough. This’ll only work if you have loads of them.’
‘And how would you define loads?’ Bianca’s voice had developed a cool edge.
‘Well – well at least a dozen. All over the world. Sydney, New York, Dubai, all the big shopping places. Otherwise, time-wise alone, it won’t be exciting enough. I’m sorry if it sounds rude, but I just don’t think you’ll get the interest otherwise. Get the story going.’
‘Well, I’m obviously still investigating that side of things,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll keep you posted about that as well. Meanwhile – oh, hello Mike, Hugh, come on in. Didn’t Jemima—’
‘She’s not there,’ said Mike. ‘She’s downstairs in reception and sent us on up.’
‘Oh – OK. Well, I’m just finished, so . . .’
Jemima, most unusually flushed, looked round the door. ‘Excuse me, Bianca, but there’s someone – well, that is, maybe you could – should – come outside. It’s quite important.’
‘Jemima, whatever is it? Has Lady Farrell come back?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. Although Lucy is waiting to speak to you when you’re done with Hugh and Mike. And – and she’s got Bertie with her. But this – well, it’s personal.’
‘Jemima, please tell me what’s going on.’
‘Bianca—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! All right, I’ll come out. Would you excuse me?’ she said to Hugh and Mike.
She walked into the outer office – and felt the ground heave. Milly stood there, tear-stained and defiant, a policewoman beside her. She stalked into the office, the policewoman following her.
How had this happened? Bianca wondered. How had she raised a daughter who not only played truant and had to be brought into the office by a policewoman, who was even now telling her, in distinctly disapproving tones, that children under sixteen should not be roaming shopping centres unsupervised, but who was now screaming at her dementedly.
Telling her she was a stupid, bloody, selfish cow who didn’t care about her, that if she did she’d have noticed something was wrong, gone to the school, tried to sort things out, but she’d been too busy with her stupid bloody job, hadn’t noticed what she was going through.
‘I did notice,’ Bianca kept saying helplessly. ‘I asked and asked you to tell me, but you wouldn’t—’
‘Oh, so you couldn’t notice for yourself that I never saw my friends any more, never got asked anywhere, never went out?’
She was crying so hard she was shaking violently. ‘And Daddy, he’s as bad these days, never talks to me. He’s obsessed with that stupid, stupid man, and his own stupid job. Ruby noticed, and Fergie’s been really worried, and I know he said something to you and what did you do? Nothing! I hate you, I hate you both, with your darling this and your darling that! You don’t deserve to have children! Jayce’s mother, with all the boyfriends and everything, she’s a better mother than you!’
‘Who’s Jayce?’
‘My friend. My only friend.’
‘Oh, is she the girl you were with when you met Ruby on Primrose Hill—’
‘Yes.
The fat, spotty girl, who you wouldn’t approve of, who’s kind and generous and really cares about me, who you’d never have in the house because what would your friends say, and the other mothers, Carey’s mother and Sarajane’s and Annabel’s, all those dear little girls, who speak so nicely and say “thank you for having me, Mrs Bailey” so beautifully and who’ve made me wish I was dead, and – God, your values are just so disgusting!’
Somewhere, interspersed with this monologue, the policewoman asked questions, filled in a form, asked her to sign it and left.
Milly stopped screaming.
Jemima reappeared.
‘I’m so sorry, Bianca, but Mike needs a quick word, very quick he says, then they’ll be off, but a contract needs signing and apparently it can’t wait . . .’
‘Oh God!’ Go on, Bianca, just say you can’t see him now, ask him to come back later . . . but she couldn’t. The contract was completely vital.
‘Milly, could you just give me five minutes? I have to see this person, very briefly.’
Milly shrugged. ‘Makes no difference to me,’ she said, sullen once more.
‘Milly, if you want to come into my office, I’ve got loads of magazines.’ This from a tall pretty blonde woman, standing just behind Jemima, who had been with her mother when she arrived.
‘I’d rather stay here, thanks.’
‘Milly . . .’ It was another girl, much younger. ‘Milly, I have to wait for about half an hour too, for my grandmother. Would you like to come and have a hot chocolate with me? Would that be all right, Mrs Bailey?’
‘Oh, Lucy, how kind, I’m sure she’d like that, wouldn’t you darling?’
Milly shrugged again.
‘OK.’
She followed Lucy out of the office, feeling, for some reason, vaguely better. She supposed it was because she had now seriously embarrassed her mother. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would be good for her precious image, having a policewoman arrive in her office, with her own daughter practically handcuffed to her. She might have gone now, the policewoman, but enough people had seen her to realise why she’d been there. Well, good. It was revenge of sorts. She was beginning to wish she’d been smoking. Or had been found with a spliff on her . . .
‘I won’t ask what that was all about,’ said Lucy with a grin, as they settled at their table in Starbucks, ‘but I can imagine. How horrible for you.’
Milly shrugged. ‘Not really.’
‘I was always doing it. Playing truant, I mean. But I never got caught. Want a muffin?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Still, she’s pretty cool, your mum. I’m sure she won’t be too bad.’
‘Is she? Cool?’
‘God, yes. I met her at the conference and she was fantastic. My mother is so not cool,’ she added. ‘My Dad’s OK. He works at Farrell’s; he was in the office when you arrived.’
‘He works there too?’
‘Yup. Oh, we’re all Farrells. My grandmother, well, with my grandfather, they started it.’
‘Wow!’ Milly forgot to be cool and miserable. ‘So your grandmother is Lady Farrell? I’ve heard my mother talking about her.’
‘That’s right. Now she’s cool, even though she’s eighty-something.’
‘So do you work for them too?’
‘Yes. Not full-time, just doing make up, creating looks. I did some for the sales conference. I’m a make-up artist. And I got a really cool assignment this morning, doing the make up for something called London Fashion Week.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Milly. She felt much better suddenly. ‘What a cool thing to do.’ Make-up artist: that was the sort of job that would make sense. That would be good. Rather than a lawyer which her father was so keen on.
‘Yes, it is. Hard work but I really do enjoy it. I was at uni, and I left to go to make-up school.’ She grinned at Milly. ‘My parents acted like I’d gone on the streets.’
‘Oh what?’ said Milly. ‘That is just so pathetic.’
‘I know. But they can only think one way, parents.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You sure you don’t want a muffin?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Go on. So . . .’ She looked at Milly casually. ‘School? How’s that?’
‘Crap,’ said Milly. ‘Totally crap.’ And burst into tears.
Lucy delivered her back to Bianca’s office just before one.
A woman was there who looked rather glamorous, or would have if she wasn’t so old. She had snow-white hair and a red dress and was wearing a lot of jewellery and she looked Milly up and down as if she was something in a shop window.
‘Good morning,’ she said finally. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m Emily Bailey,’ said Milly, meeting her eyes, refusing to be cowed. ‘Bianca Bailey’s daughter.’
‘Oh, really? Shouldn’t you be at school?’
‘Grandy!’ said Lucy, shooting an embarrassed look at Milly.
‘I should, yes,’ said Milly firmly, refusing to elaborate.
‘Sorry,’ said Lucy, clearly feeling an introduction might help. ‘Milly, this is my grandmother, Lady Farrell.’
‘How do you do?’ said Milly politely.
‘OK, Grandy, I’m all set. She’s taking me out to lunch, Milly, to celebrate London Fashion Week. It’s been so nice to meet you. Don’t forget what I said. Oh, Daddy, hello again. You joining us for lunch?’
‘Absolutely not,’ the old lady said, glaring at a man who was also rather old, although not as much as her, who had put his head round the door. ‘This is an exclusive occasion, Lucy. Come along. We’ll lose our table.’
Jemima emerged from Bianca’s office.
‘Milly, hi. Your mum says to tell you she won’t be much longer.’
‘There really is no hurry,’ said Milly. It was true; once her mother was free, she would probably take her home and really get going on her. She pulled out her phone and started texting Jayce.
Chapter 41
It was hard to imagine anything worse. More humiliating, more confusing, more totally dispiriting. Everything else: the personal disaster of the conference, the relentless downward spiral of the Farrell brand, the subversive politicking of Lady Farrell, even her relationship with Patrick, her own once-happy marriage, changing so astonishingly, but unarguably, before her eyes: what were any of these things set against failing her child, her beloved firstborn, subjecting her to a cruelty of such sophistication, such savage competence on a daily basis – and yet failing to see any of it. Sending her off every morning into that arena, where there was no hiding place, no comfort to be had of any kind, with nothing but a brief kiss, a fatuous phrase and an immediate redirection of her attention to her own affairs. Her so-important, professional affairs.
How could she have done that, been that blind, that self-obsessed? And how could it have been left to another child who she would, she knew, have dismissed as of little worth, to supply what she should have done, kindness, support, and understanding; and how ultimately shaming that it must be a professional, not a friend, who would bring to her attention Milly’s wretchedess and the danger it had led her to.
It had been a long and dreadful day, that one; and the horror of it being conducted, not only before many other people, but other people who worked for her, and who had held her in at least some esteem, had multiplied the horror. At home, no longer angry, and with her father there as well, Milly had told them everything, in a long session full of heartbreaking details, in tones that were almost matter-of-fact, her face expressionless. They were both appalled, not only at the depth of cruelty she had endured, but that she had felt there was literally nowhere to turn. When it was over, and Milly had said she would like to go to her room, they had been unable to look at each other for a while, so filled with remorse did they feel.
Patrick was as shocked and appalled as Bianca and, as she had known he would be, as ready to shoulder the blame. They sat up long after Milly had gone finally exhausted to bed, talkin
g, discussing, proposing.
They had agreed that arrangements would have to change, had tried to work out a basis for it, but so potentially explosive had that become, so dangerous in terms of blame and guilt and personal ambition that they had been afraid to continue.
And again, and yet again, Bianca wondered what had gone wrong, how they could have moved so far and so fast from where they had been a year ago. How easy and straightforward life had been then, how clear the delineation of parental and even marital duties. She wondered too if there was any escape from any of it, short of Patrick returning to a career he hated, or she renouncing one she loved. Not that she was exactly loving this one right at the moment, but abandoning it would be at best irresponsible and, at worst, legally impossible.
‘Well,’ Patrick said, refilling his whisky glass for the third time since dinner, ‘at the very least we must go to the school, talk to Mrs Blackman, and tell her exactly what vile things are going on under her complacent nose. I can hardly wait to show her how zero tolerance of bullying is conducted in her school.’
‘I agree,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll call her first thing. And tell her Milly will be staying at home for a while.’
‘And – will you stay with her?’ His voice was dangerously innocent; she met his eyes.
‘As – as much as I can.’
The discussion was not completed.
Mrs Blackman was full of charm and understanding; of course she would like to see them and as soon as possible; her policy was one of complete openness and dialogue over problems.
‘Well, that’s excellent,’ Bianca said. ‘When can we begin?’
A meeting was set for the following Monday; in the meantime, work was sent for Milly to do at home. She stayed quietly in her room, for the most part, venturing out only to meet Jayce on Saturday. Bianca suggested she asked Jayce to the house.
‘No, Mummy,’ said Milly, the new steely Milly, ‘the front door alone would petrify her. Just think about it. I’m not having our friendship wrecked now. It’s hard enough for her knowing where I live and go to school and all the other rubbish.’
Bianca thought about it and didn’t argue; but she was fairly sure that if Jayce had coped with Milly’s situation thus far, she would cope perfectly well with the rest.
A Perfect Heritage Page 47
