Old Sins

by Penny Vincenzi

  ‘I have to go quite soon,’ he said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘My plane leaves Los Angeles for New York at nine. I’ve ordered a car for six.’

  ‘Let me come with you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said and she knew it was a lie.

  She knew what he wanted. He wanted her to stay with Dean, and to be there when he needed her. It was a hard bargain. But she knew she had to settle for it. She had no choice. It was that or absolutely nothing at all.

  In time, she could see, she would grow angry, resentful, but now, so filled with him, filled with pleasure and love, she could accept it easily and gracefully.

  ‘I’ll come to the airport with you,’ she said quietly, and was rewarded by seeing the respect in his eyes.

  Chapter Four

  New York and London, 1956–9

  WHENEVER JULIAN MORELL was asked by the press, or eager young men with visions of following in his footsteps, how he had conceived each stage of his empire, he gave the same answer: ‘It’s all there,’ he would say, tapping his head gently, smiling (most charmingly at the journalists, slightly more coldly at the eager young men), ‘in your mind, maturing, honing down. All you have to do is release it. And know when to do so, of course.’

  He did sincerely believe this; he had never consciously sat down and thought anything through, worked anything out; he had immense respect for the power of experience, instinct and logic to merge into something original, desirable and commercially sound and in his own case at any rate, the respect was totally justified. Certainly the phase of his empire that occupied much of his attention for much of the late fifties was not something that sprang from any brainstorming session or carefully formulated marketing plan. Nevertheless it was absolutely right for its time, with that perfect blend of the original and the familiar that leads the onlooker to believe that it was precisely what he or she had been waiting for and wanting for quite some time.

  He was wandering through Harrods when the idea actually surfaced, looking at the cosmetic counters, chatting to the Juliana consultants and reflecting on their very pleasing sales figures; he suddenly had a vision of a very different kind of establishment: rather more than a beauty salon, a little less than a store: something small, intimate and totally extravagant. It should be, he thought, about the size of a large house, on two or three floors, rather like that of an infinitely luxurious hotel in feel, supplying his perfume and cosmetics and all the allied beauty business paraphernalia – treatment rooms, masseurs, steam baths, saunas, beauty therapists, hair stylists – that had become a most necessary accessory to well-heeled life on both sides of the Atlantic. But it would offer other things too, things to buy, all compatible with a mood of self-indulgence, the atmosphere rich and rare, a place that enticed, beguiled, encouraged women into extravagance.

  Each department should be small and exclusive, leading from one mood and set of desires to the next: logically extending from cosmetics to lingerie, dresses to furs, hats to shoes. Shopping there would not be a chore, or even a business, it would be a beautiful experience and his establishment would provide a series of different settings for the experiences, a world apart, an excursion into a charmed life; and it would not consist of departments and counters and salesgirls and tills, it would be carefully designed into spaces and areas and moods.

  Women would come in initially for the cosmetics and the beauty treatments, that would be the lure; but then they would stay; and it would be the beautiful things they could acquire that kept them there: it would all be glittering, and unashamed luxury, outrageously expensive, and totally unique, so that a customer, should she only have bought a silk scarf, a leather belt, would feel she had acquired just a tiny portion of that charmed and charming life.

  All these things Julian thought almost without realizing he had thought them; later, talking to Philip Mainwaring (the marketing manager for Juliana he had decided with some misgivings to employ) he found himself describing them in the finest detail. Philip listened politely, as he was paid to do, found himself more impressed than he really wanted to be – he found Julian’s capacity for creativity made his job pattern more complex and difficult than he had ever envisaged when he took it on – and tried, like the good businessman he was, to talk him out of it.

  ‘I can’t see it working here,’ he said, ‘not yet. London has come a long way in the last three or four years, but I don’t know that it’s ready for that kind of concept.’

  ‘It’s not that new a concept,’ said Julian, ‘I mean it’s not that far removed from the Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door idea, but I see it as being much nearer a store. With a wider range of merchandise perhaps.’

  ‘Your other retail outlets wouldn’t like it,’ said Philip gloomily, ‘have you thought of that?’

  ‘Can’t see why not. I mean yes, we’ll be in competition with them in a way, but it doesn’t make Juliana less good a selling proposition. Arden still sells everywhere, after all. And the salon side of the business would provide a perfect cover, if you like, so that we’re not actually trying to beat the stores at their own game. We’re just giving women what they want, and a lot more besides.’

  Philip looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I still don’t feel it’s right for London. Not yet. Have you thought about doing it anywhere else?’

  ‘No, not really. You mean somewhere like Paris?’

  ‘No, New York. It’s so busy over there at the moment. There’s so much money about. And there’s nothing they like more than a new idea.’

  ‘Well,’ said Julian, ‘I don’t know New York at all. But I’m ready to have a look at it. You could be right.’

  ‘How would you stock it?’

  ‘Obviously we’d have to employ buyers. Who’d buy stuff from designers and so on in the normal way. And we could have our own designers as well. Exclusive to us. Sign them up.’

  Philip shuddered. ‘It sounds horrendously expensive.’

  ‘That’s not an argument against it. We can raise the money easily. Morell is on an extremely sound footing. OK. I’ll have a look at New York. I’m going over next week anyway, to see how much headway we’re making with Juliana. Come with me. I need your opinion on some of those people over there anyway. There’s a new woman on the scene called Estee Lauder. She has some interesting products, and her marketing is just extraordinary.’

  ‘OK,’ said Philip. ‘I’d like to come. Thanks.’ He looked at Julian and grinned. ‘What does our financial director have to say about all this?’

  ‘Haven’t told her,’ said Julian shortly. ‘I think I’ll sort out the money first.’ He returned Philip’s look a little coldly. He found the attitude of his younger staff towards Letitia’s position in the company (that she must only be there out of some kind of misguided family feeling, that he must have a relationship with her that was odd to put it mildly) at best irritating and at worst insulting. It seemed to him patently obvious that a company as successful as Morell’s was clearly in excellent financial hands and there was no more to the matter than that. Letitia now had a department of five which she ran with crushing efficiency; she was an innovative and exacting force in the business, and Julian’s only anxiety about her was that she was nearly sixty now and could surely not work on into the unforeseeable future. He said as much to Susan Johns one day over lunch at the Caprice; Susan laughed and said she was quite sure that Letitia would outlive them all.

  ‘Including you,’ said Julian, watching her happily devouring a double portion of profiteroles. ‘You’ll have a heart attack any day now. Do you want some more of those?’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind. Do you think they know about second helpings here?’

  ‘They should if they don’t. Have you ever put on any weight, Susan?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘You’re very fortunate,’ said Julian with a sigh, looking at the dozen or so outrageously expensive grapes which he was eating for his o
wn dessert. ‘I have to be extremely careful what I eat these days. Middle-age coming on, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Anyway if you’re middle-aged so am I.’

  ‘How old are you, Susan?’

  ‘Thirty-five.’

  ‘You really were a child bride, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was. Seventeen years old. Criminal really.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Julian, looking sombre. ‘It’s too young.’

  Susan, reflecting on the fact that Eliza had only been eighteen when Julian had married her, decided they were on slightly dangerous ground and briskly changed the subject. She had gathered from the occasional remark of Letitia’s that the Morell marriage was not quite as idyllically perfect as it had promised to be and it was a subject she preferred to keep not only from talking, but also thinking, about.

  ‘I hear you’re going to New York.’

  ‘Yes. Do you know why?’

  ‘I imagine to sell Juliana into the stores there.’

  ‘Yes. And I have another project too.’

  ‘Am I allowed to hear about it?’

  ‘Well,’ said Julian, signalling to the waiter to bring some more profiteroles, ‘I suppose as a director of the company you have a right to hear about it. But there is a condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You don’t tell my mother.’

  Susan looked at him and shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘My goodness. It must be bad.’

  ‘Not bad. A bit risky, perhaps.’

  ‘All right, I promise. You need one sensible opinion. Come on, tell me.’

  He told her. Of his vision; of how he saw it adding breadth and quality to Juliana’s image; of the kind of feel it would have; the sort of women who would be attracted to it; the people he would hope to have working on it and designing for it; where it might be, how it might look. Eliza would have given all she owned to be entrusted with half, a quarter of such a confidence.

  ‘It’s a new phase altogether, a new venture. I feel I need one.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, you know, boredom, restlessness. I always want to be on to the next thing. What do you think, anyway?’

  ‘I like it. I think it’s terrific.’

  ‘Good God.’ He was surprised.

  ‘Didn’t you think I would?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Why not? Not my style, I suppose. Too upmarket.’

  ‘Now don’t start getting touchy, Susan.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just teasing you.’

  ‘Good. No, but seriously, I’d have thought it was a bit out of order, from your point of view. Expensive. For the company, I mean, new ground. All that sort of thing.’

  ‘New ground is its lifeblood. But it will be expensive, won’t it? How are you going to finance it?’

  ‘I think I can get the money in New York. If not, I’ll raise it here. I’m sure I can.’

  ‘What does Eliza – Mrs Morell think about it?’

  ‘I haven’t talked to her about it,’ said Julian shortly.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m going to have a brandy. Do you want anything?’

  ‘Of course not. I never drink at lunch time.’

  ‘Or any other time, I know. Except Bucks Fizz of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said smiling at him, able at last to remember that evening with pleasure rather than pain. ‘But not at lunch time. Anyway, you go ahead. I’ll have a cup of tea.’

  ‘Now that really will upset the Caprice. How’s the Labour Party?’

  ‘It’s fine. I – I hear Mrs Morell is taking an interest in it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Julian lightly, ‘only its politicians. She likes having them at her dinner table.’

  ‘What is Foot really like?’

  ‘Absolutely charming.’ He was clearly impatient of Eliza’s political leanings. ‘What about you? Are you going to end up an MP, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said very seriously. ‘I’d like to, I really would. I do love politics, and I’d enjoy getting something done about some of the things I care about. But I don’t know if I’d ever manage it, they’re not too keen on women in the Labour Party, you know, although they certainly ought to be. It would be such a huge struggle to get adopted even, years of fighting and in-fighting, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. And it would mean my giving up my job, probably, and I certainly don’t know if I could face that.’

  ‘Well, I certainly couldn’t,’ said Julian.

  He spoke very seriously. There was a silence.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Susan lightly, ‘it’s out of the question at the moment. The girls are still at home. Maybe when they’re grown up.’

  ‘Maybe. I must say I can’t quite adjust to the thought of you shirking a fight. You used to thrive on them.’

  ‘I know. But I’m older now. Maybe a bit wiser. Anyway, for the next two or three years my work on the South Ealing council will keep me quite busy enough. Then I’ll see.’

  Julian looked at her. She was one of those women who improve with time, who grow into their looks and their style. When she had been young, her features had been too angular, too harsh for beauty, prettiness even, and she had had neither the money nor the skill to improve upon the raw material. She was still very thin, and not classically beautiful, but she had developed an elegance, she wore clothes well; her hair hung smoothly on her shoulders, a beautifully cut bright brown. She dressed simply but with distinct style; today she was in the shirt dress so beloved of the fifties, in soft navy wool, with a full skirt that swirled almost to her ankles, and pulled in tightly at the waist with a wide, soft red leather belt, and plain red court shoes. Her skin was pale, but clear, her eyes a dazzling light blue; on her mouth, her most remarkable feature, she wore a shiny, bright pink lipstick. She looked expensive, glamorous even; what was missing, Julian thought to himself, was jewellery, she never wore any, and her look needed it, it would suit her and her stark style.

  ‘You look terrific,’ he said with perfect truth. ‘Is that the new autumn coral?’

  ‘It is. Mango, it’s called. I like it best out of the range. Mum says it’s tarty, so I know it must be good and strong.’

  ‘It’s terrific. Sarsted’s doing a good job, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘And how is Mum?’

  ‘Much the same.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have to live with her any more.’

  ‘Susan,’ said Julian suddenly. ‘Why don’t you come to New York with me? I could use your opinion, and it would be fun.’

  Susan looked at him very steadily for a long time.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said at last.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know why not.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yes you do.’

  ‘Don’t you want to come?’

  ‘Oh, Julian,’ she said, with a sigh that seemed to consume her entire body, ‘I’d love to. You know I would. But I can’t. And I do think it’s a terrific idea, your store. Now let’s get back. It’s late.’

  ‘I do hope,’ he said, half smiling, half serious, ‘you know what you’re turning down. A whole new chapter in your life.’

  ‘Julian, don’t play games with me.’

  ‘I’m not playing games,’ he said, ‘I mean what I say. I think I’ll need you there.’

  She looked at him sharply, trying to interpret his words, to disentangle his motives. It was not easy, and most people didn’t begin to try; he had a capacity to talk on two or even three levels at once, leading people deliberately to think that he was talking business when he meant pleasure, that he was serious when he was not, that he was careless when he was deeply concerned. He had brought it to a fine art; he used it to trap people, to confuse them, to disorient them; and it meant he could play cat and mouse in a business or a social or sexual context until he had manoeuvred his opponents into a posi
tion from which it was very hard for them to escape, without looking foolish. Susan was one of the very few people who was unfazed by this; she dealt with it as she did with everything: directly.

  ‘Julian, if you’re tempting me with promotion, some lofty new position, I would like it spelt out before I waste weeks of my very busy life finding out exactly what it might be, and if you’re tempting me with yourself I can resist. Just.’ She smiled at him. ‘So either way, probably we should get back to the office.’

  He sighed. ‘Will I ever get the better of you, Susan? Persuade you to do something you don’t totally approve of?’

  ‘Certainly not. Are you coming back? Or are you going to waste even more company time than you have already?’

  ‘You go on,’ he said, ‘I’ll follow.’

  When her taxi was out of sight he walked along Piccadilly, up Regent Street and into Mappin and Webb. He spent a long time there, looking, selecting, and rejecting; finally he chose a two-strand pearl necklace with a diamond clasp and a pair of pearl and gold stud earrings. When he got back to the offices he went into her room and put the box on her desk.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Thank-you present.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For liking my idea. For not coming to New York. And because you deserve it. No strings. But I shall be very offended if you don’t take it.’

  Susan opened the box, looked at the pearls in silence for a long time, and then at him. Her eyes were very bright and big, and suspiciously moist. ‘You won’t have to be offended. Of course I’ll take them. And wear them every day. They’re simply beautiful. Thank you very much, I – I just don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Well,’ said Julian lightly, ‘you are simply beautiful too. So you suit one another, you and the pearls. I’ll keep you informed about New York. Just in the hope you might change your mind.’

  But they both knew she wouldn’t.

  New York in the autumn of 1956 was a heady place. It had taken a long time to recover from the depression; in 1939 half a million people in the state were still receiving public assistance. But by the mid-forties the big business giants – IBM, Xerox, General Electric – were all becoming corporations; a new governor, Thomas Dewey, had set schemes for state universities and new highways into motion – six were built in the decade following the war – and Harriman and Rockefeller poured money into the state. In 1955 the new state thruway from New York City to Buffalo was opened, and soon after that construction began on the St Lawrence Seaway.