Everyone remarked upon the greatly increased simplicity of their daily lives and work, and how much more they were enjoying both; and indeed, when Cornelius ended one meeting with the announcement that Athina would shortly be returning to Farrell’s, albeit only for half-days initially, there was a lack of enthusiasm so distinct that it was hard to imagine how Athina might ever recapture her authority. Indeed, it was only a day later, when Florence heard two of the younger members of the company chatting over their lunchtime sandwiches about how much more pleasant life had become and they wished Miss Hamilton could carry on running things, that she realised just how much she was, albeit unwittingly, playing with fire.
There were further repercussions from the Soft-Hearted lipstick affair, too; the women’s editor of the Sketch, Thea Grantly, a sharply intuitive journalist, decided there might be more to the story than lipstick formulation and telephoned Florence and asked her if she might interview her about her work at Farrell’s.
‘I know your primary role is running that lovely shop,’ she said, never having visited it, but having been carefully briefed by her assistant, ‘but clearly you do a lot more, and it would make such a nice piece for our readers to hear about how you have become involved in other, perhaps more crucial issues, in the company.’
Florence’s first instinct was to say no, recognising the huge potential for trouble if she said yes, but Soft-Hearted lipstick was doing rather well, better than any other product launch for years, she was hugely proud of it, and in spite of Cornelius’s lavish remorse, she was still smarting from Athina’s original denial of her involvement.
And so she invited Thea Grantly to The Shop, took her upstairs to her parlour, where she plied her with pastries from Fortnum’s and Earl Grey tea and, as lunchtime approached, a glass of champagne, and talked lucidly and amusingly for over an hour about the brand and her work, mainly in the past, but touching more than once on her present involvement in Athina’s absence. Thea Grantly, who had interviewed Athina a couple of years earlier and disliked her intensely, was charmed by Florence and asked if she might send a photographer down to The Shop; Florence, faced with a temptation beyond endurance, said of course she might but that the next day might be better.
She spent the rest of the afternoon at Leonard of Mayfair, having her hair carved into a thirties-style bob, and the evening sorting through her wardrobe. She was aware that, under the circumstances, a Chanel suit seemed a little dangerous, not something an employee could possibly afford, but having tried it on three times, alternating with more modest labels, more in tune with her supposed situation, she decided a black-trimmed white bouclé jacket, adorned with a gardenia brooch, and a simple swinging jersey skirt of exactly the right length to show her still-perfect legs, were unbeatably flattering and wore them. The resulting photographs of her, smiling at the door of The Shop, captioned The stylish new face at the House of Farrell, occupied, together with Thea Grantly’s interview, a double-page spread in the Sketch and caused a great stir in the industry, leading among other things to conjecture that in the light of Athina Farrell’s illness, Florence might be taking her place.
Cornelius, now quite literally shaking with terror that a copy of the Sketch might find its way into Athina’s sick room, went to see Florence and begged her not to give any more interviews. Florence, enjoying her brief sojourn in the sun, smiled at him sweetly and said she was sorry, but she had imagined it would be helpful to keep the House of Farrell in the public awareness, in Athina’s absence. ‘And don’t forget, Cornelius, we all agreed that there was a danger that the trade might regard her illness as a serious threat to the brand itself.’
‘Of course, of course, but I need hardly tell you how important it is that her own profile remains unchanged. I fear she might regard this as something of a – a takeover bid.’
‘Oh Cornelius, don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Florence, her smile sweetly innocent. ‘How could one article in one newspaper possibly change the public’s perception of Athina and her place at Farrell’s? And besides, I did mention her many times and how she had given me my job all those years ago and therefore how much I owed her and indeed what a legend she was in the industry.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said distractedly, ‘it’s just that she is particularly vulnerable at the moment.’
‘Of course. And I should have thought to ask you before agreeing. I’m sorry. But it’s all wonderful extra publicity for Soft-Hearted lipstick and sales are reflecting that. So it’s not entirely bad, surely?’
‘Of course not,’ said Cornelius.
But this was not the end of it either; Thea Grantly was not the only journalist to recognise Florence’s extraordinary grasp of the industry, and indeed her overview of several decades of it, and this, combined with her charm and undoubted style, led to requests for further interviews; Florence sweetly but firmly turned them down, but was to be persuaded – without too much difficulty, it must be said – into giving quotes over the telephone on such disparate matters as Princess Diana’s make up and the change in women’s attitude towards their own bodies since the fifties: thoughtful, to the point, and often amusing – usually accompanied by the picture from the Sketch. Cornelius was beside himself, and when the final crunch came, in the form of an invitation to be interviewed on Woman’s Hour, he went to see Florence again and, visibly angry, told her the whole thing must stop.
‘I’m sorry, Cornelius, that is all very well for you to say, but they all have this number and I will not be rude to them. And short of sending me on a six-month holiday, I cannot imagine how I am to obey you.’
Cornelius glared at her. ‘I would not have believed this of you, Florence.’
‘Oh really? You mean after thirty years of absolute discretion, of obedience to your rules, of unswerving loyalty, not only to you, but to Athina, and really, if we were to be honest, very little benefit accruing to me, I am expected to step back once again into the invisibility that suits you both so well?’
‘That is grotesquely unfair,’ he said, ‘and you know it. You have always said you loved me, as I love you; you have always known I could never leave Athina or acknowledge our relationship; I’ve been fair and honest, and done everything I could for you that was within my powers.’
‘Is that really so, Cornelius? Did you never stop to think of what I might have liked, beyond the usual baubles handed to the mistress?’
‘Be careful,’ he said, ‘be very careful.’
‘Cornelius, the truth is not always a careful commodity. Yes, of course I love you, and I do not resent devoting my entire life to that, hard as it has often been. But there are other things that might have consoled me in my loneliness, in Athina’s arrogance, in your complacency that I would always be there when required . . . and it hurts me very much that this has never occurred to you. You should really be able to see how sweet these last weeks have been to me, to be valued, listened to, even admired. And I find I do not want to give that up. Not entirely. And I also find I don’t intend to.’
‘This is outrageous of you,’ said Cornelius, ‘and I would not have believed it.’
‘Actually,’ said Florence, ‘I think it is your attitude that is outrageous. Outrageously blind, outrageously arrogant. And suddenly I don’t like that. I think I am worthy of more. And I want you to give it to me.’
‘And what do you mean by that, for Christ’s sake?’
‘I mean I want some kind of increased status at Farrell. I want people to know I am more than the wonderful middle-aged lady who runs The Shop. If I can’t have more of you – and I accept that I can’t – I want more of a career. It’s a little late in my life, but I’m sure you can think of something.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then the articles will start again with a vengeance. I’m sorry.’
‘This is blackmail!’ he said.
Florence looked at him, seeing him suddenly rather clearly, almost as if for the first time, a handsome and charming, but undoubtedly weak ma
n, and smiled at him very sweetly.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you’re right. I’m sorry, but it is.’
Two weeks later an internal memo went round the company, announcing the promotion of Florence Hamilton to the board of the company, with particular responsibility for retail outlets.
Bianca was sitting at her desk one early evening, the offices empty around her – and even that seemed to symbolise her overall situation, the phones silent, the emails stopped, desperately trying to summon the energy even to stand up and walk out of it, when her mobile rang. It was Saul. She didn’t answer it, left it to tell him that she was unavailable; almost at once a text came through saying Bianca, please call me. I’ve had an idea.
She waited for a moment or two, then unable to resist, called him; he sounded most unusually animated.
‘Hi, I’d like to talk to you. About your project. What are you doing right now?’
‘I’m about to go home to my fatherless children,’ she said briskly.
‘I’m sorry? Oh, you mean without Patrick.’
‘He is generally accepted as their father, yes.’
‘Sorry. And sorrier about Hong Kong. If it’s any comfort to you, he was keener about going than I was. He could perfectly well have done it from here.’
‘Not a great comfort, no,’ said Bianca. ‘Rather the reverse.’
There was a silence; then, ‘Well, anyway, what’s important now is this project of yours. It’s too clever an idea to waste, Bianca, you have to do it.’
‘That’s all very well, Saul, but there’s no more money in the pot, the VCs have closed the lid, and everyone, including you, has told me it won’t work without a full complement of outlets, in the most expensive pieces of real estate in the world.’
‘There’s another way. I just thought of it this afternoon.’
‘And?’ Bianca said, torn between irritation and intense gratitude that anyone, and Saul of all people, should be thinking about her problem.
‘Franchises.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Franchises. Look, we should meet. Do you have even half an hour? It’s so important. And I’m very pleased with my idea. You still in the office? I could come there.’
‘Yes, I am. But—’
‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’
He walked in, in his impatient, swift way, said hello, sat down in the chair opposite her desk.
‘Now, this is what you do—’
She laughed, in spite of herself. He looked at her, clearly mildly hurt.
‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing, Saul. I’m sorry. Very rude of me after you’ve been so kind. Go on, I really want to hear.’
‘OK. You go to your VCs and you tell them you’re going to open shops in every shopping capital of the world and if they won’t give you the money, you’re going to franchise them.’
She felt a stirring of excitement so strong it was almost sexual. ‘God. That is – well, it’s clever.’
‘I know,’ he said, looking like a small child who had just been praised for a piece of good behaviour.
‘But can I do that? Under my contract with them?’
‘I should think so. I’ll have a look at it for you. But the point is, you tell them what’s in it for them.’
‘Which is?’
‘Money,’ said Saul, ‘only thing they’ll care about.’
Mike and Hugh looked at Bianca. Their faces wore identical expressions: irritation.
‘Bianca, we’ve told you too many times. There is no more money. The rent on half a dozen or so shops, in the top shopping cities of the world, would run into millions. Let alone fitting them out, stocking and staffing them. It’s too much of a risk. Sorry.’
‘OK,’ said Bianca, ‘but I have an alternative plan.’
‘Which is?’
‘Franchises.’
‘What?’
‘I think we should turn the shops into franchises. So they will hardly cost us anything. The franchisees will provide the cash. I know it’s feasible. And provided you agree, I’ll give you twenty-five per cent of their profits. Over and above what you’ll get when we sell Farrell’s, obviously.’
There was a very long silence: then Mike looked at Hugh and Hugh looked at Mike and Mike said, ‘Will you excuse us for a moment?’
She sat waiting for them to return, looking alternately out of the window and at her phone. A text arrived from Saul.
How’s it going?
Not sure.
Let me know.
Of course.
She just had time to press send. Hugh and Mike sat down and looked at her in silence for a long moment. Then, ‘It’s another brilliant idea,’ said Hugh, ‘but we don’t think it can work.’
She stared at them, struggling against the absolute defeat she felt. Don’t give up yet, Bianca, don’t . . .
‘Why not?’
‘Because so much is against you. Time for a start. Do you really think you can find six locations, to match your brief, in the time? And then fit them out, equip them, hire staff? Do you think you can find people with that sort of money, to do what you want?’
‘Yes,’ said Bianca firmly, ‘I absolutely do. Look: let me try. None of us will be any the worse off if I can’t find anyone. But at least we’ll know for sure instead of endless conjecturing. In which case I’ll never, ever again mention the most brilliant idea in the history of advertising – until someone else does it. Which they will. What do you say?’
‘I suppose,’ said Hugh, ‘that can’t do any harm. Mike?’
‘I suppose . . . we could think about it,’ said Mike.
Thinking about it was good. Better than – well, not thinking about it. But . . .
‘For how long?’ said Bianca. ‘You just said yourself, time is against us. So if you’re prepared to think about it, then you can’t think it’s an entirely bad idea.’
‘It’s not a bad idea,’ said Hugh, ‘but it can’t work in the time. And you cannot delay the launch. It has to coincide with the Jubilee; we’re all agreed on that. And that certainly isn’t going to be delayed.’
‘But if I could guarantee that, then you’d be prepared to go ahead?’
‘Possibly,’ said Hugh, after a long pause, ‘but you can’t. So—’
‘Hugh! Please! Please think about it. Just a bit longer.’
Mike sighed.
‘OK. We’ll think about that. But if it’s no—’
‘Then I still won’t give up,’ she said.
‘Jesus, Bianca,’ said Mike. ‘Look, just get out of here for a few minutes, will you?’
She left the room, pulled out her phone and texted Saul.
They’re thinking about it.
They’ll do it.
Not sure.
They will.
She knocked on the boardroom door before going in, found herself confronted by their backs. They were looking out of the window. How well they must know that view, she thought, every roof, every brick practically, of every building.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi,’ said Mike, turning round. She smiled at him; he didn’t smile back. Hugh turned too, looking equally serious. It was not a good moment.
‘Bianca,’ said Hugh, ‘we’ve considered it.’
‘And,’ said Mike, ‘we wondered if you have contacts in any of these cities?’
‘Some, of course,’ she said, determined to sound upbeat. ‘New York, Milan. Possibly LA.’
‘Sydney? Tokyo?’
‘No.’
‘Dubai?’
She shook her head.
‘That’s exactly what we thought,’ said Hugh.
‘But I’ll find them.’
‘Not easy. I mean how do you think you’re even going to begin, for God’s sake? Your name means nothing in those places, and Farrell’s certainly doesn’t and you are going to need to generate one hell of a lot of interest if you’ve any hope at all of pushing this through. You’re living in a dreamworld.�
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Suddenly she felt angry. ‘I don’t think so. And even if I am, I would like to remind you that cosmetics are a dream world in themselves. You have to think differently, you—’
‘Bianca,’ said Mike, ‘that’s crap. Money is still money. Whichever world it’s spent in.’
She was silent; looked down at her file, her notes, some stuff Saul had said would be sure to persuade them. He’d been wrong about them, about the whole thing. She felt angry with him suddenly, as well as Mike and Hugh. He clearly wasn’t quite the genius Patrick seemed to think.
‘Bianca?’ said Mike.
She looked at him, forced herself to smile.
‘I’ll find them,’ she said determinedly. ‘You can’t stop me doing that.’
‘We wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Hugh. ‘But you really can’t manage on your own. Believe us. Anyway, that’s precisely why we thought we’d help.’
‘Oh,’ she said rather dully. She felt at once too overwrought, too exhausted to take this in.
‘Well, you could sound a little more enthusiastic.’
‘Sorry. I—’ And then it hit her and she stared at each of them in turn.
‘You’ll help?’
‘Yup. Not too surprisingly, we have contacts in many of those places. To be quite honest, we don’t expect much of a response, but we’re up for sending out a few emails, see what happens. How would that be?’
‘Oh my God! That would be amazing! Oh, thank you. Thank you so much!’
A Perfect Heritage Page 50
