‘Deserved it?’
‘Well, yes. For behaving so well.’
‘We deserve to behave badly for behaving well? Oh God, this is so ridiculous!’
‘No it’s not. It’s rather reasonable. I—’
‘Mr Finlayson . . .’ It was the maître d’. He was holding out Saul’s phone as if it was a bomb about to go off. ‘Mr Finlayson, it’s your PA. She said it’s desperately important.’
‘Desperately?’
‘Desperately.’
‘Good God,’ said Saul, ‘she hardly ever says that. It must be the Hong Kong – well, anyway. That is amazing. Excuse me, Bianca, I won’t be long . . .’
And he left the restaurant and went into the lobby.
And Bianca stood up, before she could even think any further, and picked up her coat and bag and wound her red scarf round her neck, and half ran out of the restaurant and down the street. And then she heard her name called and she turned, and he was standing on the steps waving her back and she stood there, feeling literally unable to move and with absolutely no idea of what she was going to do.
Chapter 49
‘I simply cannot imagine you can feel pleased with this. In fact, I rather hope you don’t.’ Athina’s face was disdainful as Tod finished his presentation of the perfume campaign. ‘This perfume is called Passion. Well, it was. Somehow it has become Passionate which I find far less compelling. I am aware Elizabeth Taylor has one called Passion, but I can’t believe you can have put up much of a fight to use it now. People are far more familiar with her diamonds.’
‘I assure you we did, Lady Farrell. Put up a fight, I mean. But it was no good. And Passionate is a very good substitute. In my opinion.’
Tod smiled at her. She looked back at him, her expression stony.
‘If you really think that, then you shouldn’t be in advertising. But we can discuss the name further later on. The point is, the perfume has a superb story behind it, a beautiful bottle which I found in our archives, a marvellous name – well, we did have a marvellous name – altogether an opportunity for some really superb advertising, and all we have here is a few photographs of a girl with her hair blowing about.’
That was true: Tod had to admit it. And he wasn’t that gone on the blowing about himself. What was it with photographers and wind machines?
‘Very pretty, I daresay, but conveying nothing whatsoever. Where is so much as a hint of a wonderful, romantic story? Where are the clues that this is something special? Where is the passion indeed? Nowhere. I’m extremely disappointed.’
They were all at the agency; Bianca looking exhausted, Lara, her usual vitality somewhat depleted, and a wan, pale Florence whom Athina had insisted on being present. The only person who appeared to have any energy at all was Athina, and she had it in spades. Dressed in a scarlet shift dress, higher heels even than Lara’s, and her green eyes sparkling dangerously, she looked – and arguably was – in charge of the meeting.
It was a politically complex affair. And the important thing, as Bianca had stressed to Tod, was that the online scheme was not even mentioned. ‘We cannot afford for her to get even a hint of it.’
Nevertheless, she did feel Athina had a point. Clearly, all the creative endeavour the agency possessed had gone into what was codenamed ‘global’ and their ideas for the perfume ad were very lacklustre. And lustre was the essential ingredient in every aspect of the new brand, Bianca was fond of saying.
‘We need a man in this for a start,’ Athina was saying, ‘and I don’t want to hear that’s unfashionable, and we need a sense of time and place. When I presented that perfume at the sales conference, people were on their feet, they were so inspired by it, as you saw for yourselves. I am simply not prepared to present them with this; they’d feel horribly let down.’
Ignoring the ‘I’ Bianca looked at Tod. ‘I do feel Lady Farrell has a point,’ she said, and her voice was very firm. ‘This ad doesn’t say passion or even romance. And while I’m not sure that just putting a man into the mix would particularly improve it, I do think we want a real idea. You saw the reaction to Lady Farrell’s presentation at the conference so that’s what we want to evoke with this ad. It’s got to go on counter cards, as well as in the press and online of course. It needs to be very hard-hitting.’
‘Now, I have something to show you,’ said Athina, and she produced a large envelope from the Asprey briefcase that had attended half a century of board meetings. ‘I would suggest you look at it very carefully.’
Oh, God no, Bianca thought; and This is asking too much of us, thought Tod; and God, she can’t be doing this, thought Lara – but she was.
‘It is only rough, of course but it does at least contain an idea. As does the copyline. Here, you can each have one, I’ve made several copies . . . Florence, perhaps you would distribute them.’
They all took them obediently, sat looking down at them.
And, Lord, this is really good, thought Bianca; and, Maybe she does have something we can work on, thought Tod; and, God, she understands this business, thought Lara.
And Florence sat watching them, their carefully controlled, polite expressions changing slowly as they studied them and was reminded why, in spite of everything, she admired Athina so intensely, and had continued to work with her for what sometimes seemed an unbearably long time.
She had admired the ad the evening before, of course, when Athina brought them to her house to show her ‘and just in case you have any comments or indeed possible input. I would not imagine so, but of course I will consider them.’
Florence had no input to make – her creative talents lay in different areas; but sitting now, observing the switch in the room’s mood from tight-lipped tolerance to grudging admiration and indeed, in Lara Clements’ case, clear excitement, she felt proud herself to be associated with it.
The visual was crude but compelling: a rough sketch by Athina in black and white, showing a couple standing and staring at one another on either side of a very grand fireplace. The copyline beneath it read Passion: on and on. (or Passion Lasts. Passion Endures.)
Bianca spoke first, looking almost dazed. ‘Lady Farrell,’ she said, ‘I have to say this is a very good copyline. Very good indeed. Don’t you think so, Tod?’
‘I – yes, I do.’ Tod was looking almost shocked. ‘Er – what about you, Jack?’
‘Yes,’ Jack’s voice was almost amused. ‘I think it’s great.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Mrs Clements, you haven’t said anything yet. Do you wish to comment?’
‘Lady Farrell,’ said Lara simply, ‘I think it’s one of the best copylines for perfume I can ever remember.’
Athina smiled at her graciously. ‘How kind. I presume you’ve all recognised the double entendre. That the perfume itself is exceptionally long-lasting, as of course is the passion conveyed in the photograph. I struggled a little with the visual, wondering how we would best convey the heritage element we are looking for; the fireplace would evoke grandeur and style, of course, but I think what we really want is something unmistakably English, which would mean ideally it would be shot outside. Perhaps a formal Capability Brown garden, or a small classical bridge – I would hope you could manage some suggestions along those lines?
‘I’m sure we could,’ said Tod weakly.
‘I like the fireplace,’ said Lara, ‘I think it says it all.’
Lady Farrell looked at her as if she was seeing her for the first time.
‘Indeed?’ she said, and her voice was almost friendly. ‘Well, I’m delighted.’
She addressed the room. ‘Mrs Clements, of course, is at the sharp end of marketing cosmetics. She knows there has to be a hard-selling message. She can’t afford the luxury of hoping a pretty picture is all that is needed. I could see this making a very good counter card, and I imagine you recognise that, Mrs Clements?’
‘I do. And can I just say one thing?’
‘Of course.’ Athina inclined her head graciously.
/> ‘I think it would be marvellous if the ads were shot in black and white. As in your visual. It looks so much more – classy. And moody.’
‘Well, I would obviously prefer that myself. How perceptive of you. Mrs Bailey, what do you feel about colour versus black and white?’
‘I love black and white,’ said Bianca, ‘the Eternity ads were shot that way and it didn’t do them any harm. Jack, Tod, what do you think?’
‘We should shoot it both ways,’ said Jack in a clear bid for regaining at least some control. ‘You never quite know what you’re going to get until you’ve got it. We can decide when we’re looking at the ads themselves.’
‘Very well,’ said Athina. She was now totally in charge of the meeting. ‘So shall we meet again in a week, and see what you have for us? Oh, and do try to find a male model with a little class. Most of them look so extremely common.’
‘Of course,’ said Tod, ‘and this is only a starting point, wonderful as it is. I think you can rely on us to produce something very interesting now.’
‘I would have hoped so,’ said Athina.
‘Is that Freddie Alexander?’
‘Yes. Yes it is.’
‘Hello. My name’s Susie Harding. I’m the publicity director of the cosmetic company, the House of Farrell.’
‘Oh yes?’
God, she was sick of making this call. She forced herself to do five a day; it had been all right at first, quite exciting just talking to people who represented people like Keira Knightley and Carey Mulligan – not that she’d get anyone that famous obviously, whatever she was offering – making her pitch, believing them when they said they’d get back to her. Now, after ten days of it, she could hardly bear to pick up the phone to yet another on her list, and start all over again. But it had to be done, she had to find someone; she’d told Bianca she would and she was going to, or die in the attempt.
Which it was beginning to look as if she would.
‘We are relaunching in a really big exciting way this June – timed to coincide with the Jubilee and we’re looking for a young actress to front it. Or some of it. To be our face so to speak. We’ve got an incredibly exciting campaign planned—’
‘I’m sorry, Susie. I think it’s unlikely. None of our clients usually does that sort of thing, I will put it to a couple of course, but we find it almost always diminishes them as actors. Of course, I don’t know what sort of fee you’re looking at.’
‘I’m afraid the fee wouldn’t be very high at all,’ said Susie. She knew she should have said actors, that they all felt being called actresses was demeaning, but it was difficult, because she then had to explain it was a female they were looking for. ‘But the publicity would be amazing.’
‘I’m sure, but as I said, our clients are actors, not models.’ She made the word model akin to prostitute.
‘So are Keira Knightley and Kate Winslet,’ said Susie. She knew that was silly, but she couldn’t help it. This girl was so rude.
‘I daresay, but representing Chanel and Lancôme – rather different from – who did you say? Oh yes, Farrell. Certainly not in the same league. But I’ll get back to you. Perhaps you could give me a few more details about this campaign. You say it’s very exciting. I would need to know in what way . . .’
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you many details unless you have someone seriously interested,’ said Susie. ‘It is extremely original and therefore highly confidential.’
‘Then I doubt if I shall be able even to interest anyone. You must see that. But I’ll do my best.’
Susie thanked her effusively, and put the phone down. She decided she couldn’t face another call without a really strong espresso, which meant going out to the coffee shop. Which could be regarded as a waste of time but meant she could carry on addressing her main preoccupation, which was whether or not she should call Jonjo. Or text him, or email him.
That would be less terrifying. A phone put down on you, or worse, not answered, was particularly humiliating. Anyway, she did feel it would be worth risking a bit of humiliation. They might not have been together for more than a few days, she and Jonjo, but it had been so extremely special, unlike anything she had known before, ever. And the sex had been amazing.
Although actually, she did feel his rejection of her had been just a little – harsh, his judgment a trifle swift. He hadn’t even allowed her to try to explain. And he hadn’t actually seen her with another man, so a lot of it was assumption on his part. Clearly he was seriously damaged both by his own unhappy marriage and that of his parents, and was emotionally very vulnerable – but that made him the special person he was. Very, very special. Worth fighting for.
But somehow, she couldn’t quite find the courage to do it. And as time went by, she felt less and less inclined to fight.
So she had been playing the field, going out with anyone who asked her, having fun, going to nice restaurants, bars, clubs – and mostly not enjoying any of it. Occasionally, if someone was really nice, really sexy, she would tell herself she was having a great time, that it was more fun this way, not getting over-involved – but then she would remember those few lovely days, when she and Jonjo had been together, and wonder if she would ever find anyone as special as he was again. It was all so very sad.
Jonjo spent quite a lot of time wondering if he should call Susie. Or text or email her. That would be less scary. Of course she might put the phone down on him, or not answer the emails. But surely she was worth risking quite a lot for? They might not have been together for more than a few days, but it had been so extremely special – exciting, tender, fun. And the sex had been amazing. And perhaps his rejection of her had been a little – harsh. He could have given her the benefit of the doubt, allowed her to try to explain. But the fact remained, she had been on the phone to another bloke, and not just in his apartment, but in his bed for God’s sake. If it had been only that, he might have listened to her explanations – but then he had seen her with this bloke, whoever he was, and the very same day as they had woken up together, after a long, wonderful day and night, walking along arm in arm with him, chatting, laughing, kissing him goodnight even.
That would have taken a lot of explaining and he couldn’t imagine anything that could have made it acceptable. And as time went by, he felt less and less inclined to fight.
So he didn’t call her, didn’t text her, just retreated into himself, determined to forget her and the lovely thing he thought they had had. He went out with a few girls, pretty, sexy, good-time girls and occasionally, if one of them was specially pretty and specially sexy, he would tell himself it was much better this way, more fun, not getting involved – but then he would remember that lovely time when he and Susie had been together, just the two of them, exploring, pleasing, enjoying one another, and know that it wasn’t better, wasn’t anything of the sort, and wonder if he would find someone as special as she was ever again. It was all so very sad.
Mark Rawlins had expected his meeting with the trustees to be short and to the point, possibly unpleasant, but – manageable. In fact it was so shocking in its content, while being perfectly pleasant in its conduct, that he left feeling physically dizzy, and so appalled that he decided the only thing to do was go straight to Mike and Hugh, bypassing Bianca. He could sort out the niceties of breaking the report chain she was so bloody obsessed with later; this was too important, time was not on their side, as it wasn’t in any part of this insane venture that he had, against his better judgment, allowed himself to get involved in. And spent quite a lot of time now wishing that he hadn’t.
‘Look, aren’t they nice?’
She showed her mother the pictures on her phone.
‘Darling, really nice. Beautiful, in fact. You look gorgeous. And so different in each one. Lucy’s so clever.’
‘She is. She’s not quite there yet, she says, and then her grandmother has to approve them.’
‘Oh really? Did – did Lucy say anything about me approving them?’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes. She said she thought Lady Farrell would show them to you when she was absolutely satisfied.’
‘I shall look forward to that,’ said Bianca.
‘Anyway, Lucy wants to do some pictures of the make up being put on, step-by-steps, I think they’re called, and possibly a little film as well. And she said – well she’s going to ask you herself, of course, but I said I’d talk to you first, about using me as a model. Not for the final pictures, of course, that’ll be a proper model, but just about someone trying the looks out. Because she’s got this friend who does a beauty blog, quite a famous one, and she said she’d put them in the blog. She said it was a nice story, the relaunch, and she said she knew how important the timing was and everything and what it said about the relaunch.’
‘Right.’
‘And then she did one on Jayce.’
‘And?’
‘It was lovely, really lovely. Jayce’s face looked much thinner and her eyes much bigger. And of course, Lucy covered up her spots. And, something really exciting: she told Jayce she had an amazing look and if she improved her skin and lost a bit of weight, she could look really great. Jayce was well excited. She said no one had ever taken any notice of what she looked like before, except to tease her, so we’re going to work out a diet for her. Lucy chatted to her about what she ate and said if she cut out chips and burgers and doughnuts just for starters, her skin would improve as well as her figure. I mean, I’ve often thought that, but of course I couldn’t say it, she’d be upset, but coming from Lucy . . .’
‘Of course. And – and how was school today?’
‘Not too bad. They just ignore me now, no one speaks to me, but they’ve stopped sending me horrible texts and stuff.’
‘That’s a start. Oh, Milly, you’ve been so brave. Much braver than I could ever be. I really, really admire you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Milly, and smiled rather uncertainly at her mother.
She’d been a bit odd ever since she’d come back from her world tour, as she called it. Kind of over-excited, and whenever her father was around she talked a lot more than usual. And she was always rushing round the house, doing things, and she’d started doing ridiculous extra classes like kick boxing at the gym. Bit weird, because she had more than enough to do, really. Anyway, it was good she liked Lucy’s faces as she called them and seemed happy about the blog. Milly had been afraid she’d say no and start worrying about paedophiles or whatever. Parents were so obsessed with all that stuff . . .
A Perfect Heritage Page 61
