A Perfect Heritage (65 page)

Mike and Hugh were in their respective offices when she walked back into Porter Bingham. They suggested the boardroom, but she said what she had to say wouldn’t take long and she would then leave it to them to tell the landlords that they were not renewing the lease.

‘I don’t suppose that will take very long either.’

‘Probably not,’ said Mike.

He looked at her; she could see he read defeat, knew what her answer would be.

‘You want out? Or rather out for Farrell’s?’

‘I don’t want it, but yes. I think that’s what we should do. It’s the only thing to do. Exactly how is clearly your decision.’

‘Of course. But I would like to say I do think that’s the right decision.’

‘I think so. Might you sell it on? To some huge company? I wonder which. I don’t see a large queue of bidders. The Lauders certainly won’t want it.’

‘They might.’

‘Oh, come on, Hugh. A failing brand, with no image, haemorrhaging money, as you are so fond of putting it. What’s in that for them?’

‘They might like the Englishness,’ said Mike, ‘just as you do.’

‘They might. But I very much doubt it.’

‘With your campaign . . .’

‘Oh please! That’s mine. Not for sale.’

‘Really? No copyright on ideas, Bianca.’

‘Is that so? I think you might find a really hot IP lawyer and check that out. I cannot believe you could even consider flogging my campaign. Anyway, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Do you need me to sign anything? I will if you do. Then I’d like to go home – it’s been a pig of a day.’

‘Possibly.’ Hugh was looking uncomfortable. ‘But there’s no rush, Bianca. Next week will do to start the winding-up process. As long as we can get shot of that lease. We can’t afford to mess about with that for more than a day. Literally. I’ll get on to that immediately, and yes, I will need a signature for that. Oh Bianca, this is very sad. The end of this particular affair. Well, we’ve had fun. And hopefully there’ll be another.’

‘Will there?’ she said, meeting his eyes steadily. She could see there wouldn’t. She had let them down, as they would see it. Such behaviour was not easily forgiven.

She’d let everyone down, she reflected wretchedly, professionally and personally. Her colleagues, her investors, her children – and her husband.

Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her bag.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’ll just kill this—’ And then saw who the call was from. Florence. Ringing, no doubt, to say the whole thing had been a great fuss over nothing and she couldn’t help after all. She almost decided to ignore it, ring her back later, but then she thought that would be unkind. Florence had been so excited about the prospect of – possibly – saving Farrell’s. The least she could do was show her a little courtesy.

‘Hello, Florence,’ she said.

‘Hello, Bianca. Look, this is incredible. I—’

‘Just hang on a moment while I go out into the corridor. Right, go ahead. What news, what’s incredible?’

‘Where are you?’

‘At Porter Bingham, with Mike and Hugh.’

‘And how do things look?’

‘Pretty bad,’

‘Well, I think I can make them look quite a lot better!’

‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely sure.’ Her voice had a self-satisfied note to it. ‘Completely, absolutely sure.’

‘But – how? I don’t understand. Cornelius didn’t leave you two million pounds, did he? Because that’s the only thing I can think of—’

‘Almost as good. Now listen, Bianca. Are you sitting down?’

‘No, but I’m leaning against a wall.’

‘That will do. Now listen . . .’

Less than five minutes later she walked back into Mike’s office. They looked at her awkwardly. They clearly did feel a little bad at least.

She smiled at them; she could tell from their reaction that they could see she was in a different mood altogether. Their body language was interesting; they had instinctively moved closer together.

‘Right,’ she said, ‘I have some news.’

‘Ye-es?’ said Mike warily.

‘Mike, don’t look so scared. It’s good news. Commercially sound news. Listen. You –
we
– have the facility to borrow that two million pounds.’

‘Oh Bianca, please! Not again. On what security?’

‘Oh, well, I don’t know quite how you might view this, but it seems pretty good to me. Against the freehold of the whole of the Berkeley Arcade. How does that sound to you? And I’m here to tell you, if you won’t do it, I will.’

Chapter 54

‘It’s awfully nice here.’

‘Here as in my flat or here as in my bed?’

‘Both. Obviously the bed has a certain
je ne sais quoi
, but . . .’

‘I still can’t believe it.’

‘
You
can’t believe it! How about me, all those months, thinking how much too glamorous and sophisticated you were and wanting the bright lights and all the time—’

‘All the time I was after your money and your position.’ Lara leaned over and kissed him.

‘What money, you might well ask?’ he said with a sigh. ‘What position? As it is, you’ve got yourself an impoverished divorcee with a two-bit job in Birmingham. What a disappointment.’

‘Not a disappointment at all,’ said Lara, ‘in any way.’

‘Not even . . . ?’

‘Certainly not that.’

‘God, I was absolutely petrified. Are you sure?’

‘So sure. It was . . . lovely.’

‘Hmm. Sounds bit dull, “lovely”.’

‘No, Bertie, not dull. Not in the very least dull.’

And it hadn’t been, she thought, smiling at him across the pillows. Warm and sweet and gentle, it had been, and a little bit surprising (and a little bit anxious), and caring and thoughtful and actually, in the end, really rather good. Lovely.

Of course it had been . . . difficult. He had indeed been petrified, she could see that even at the time, and she felt deeply sympathetic, but she wanted him so much and he quite clearly wanted her, so the only thing was to hurry things on a bit, persuade him she couldn’t wait for another time, as he kept suggesting, as that lovely long, absurdly happy evening wore on, and they had been saying – ‘I thought you were just incredible’ and ‘I wanted you to like me so much’ and ‘I felt so happy with you just straight away’ and ‘I couldn’t believe you could ever want to spend time with me’ and ‘They were some of the loveliest times I can ever remember’ – interspersed with kissing on Lara’s sofa in what was indeed a very nice flat she owned near Parsons Green, and drinking a bottle of champagne she had produced from the fridge.

‘I always keep one there just in case,’ she said.

‘Just in case of what?’

‘Of something to celebrate. We could do with about six of them tonight.’

From the moment he had come in and stood there, taking in her tear-drenched face, the pile of tissues flung across the desk, her dishevelled hair, her mascara-smudged eyes, she hadn’t stopped smiling. And he had shut the door very firmly behind him, and then he said, ‘My mother tells me you aren’t actually after my money and my position, but that you are genuinely fond of me.’

And she said, ‘How does she know?’

And he said, ‘Well, she assures me she is a very perceptive woman.’

And she said, ‘Well, I have to say I think she is.’

And he said, ‘Well I never,’ and stood there smiling his wonderful, lovely smile, and she had stood up and walked round the desk and up to him and put her arms round his neck, and said, ‘Very, very fond, how about you?’

‘Spectacularly fond.’

And that was it really.

She sent him back to his party for an hour or so because she said he really couldn’t just leave it the minute he got the present, whatever would everyone think? And he had looked stricken and said did she really believe that and she said well, a bit, and gave him the address of her flat where he should meet her in a couple of hours and he scuttled off back to the boardroom and she called Chris and said she wasn’t very well – she couldn’t face anything more difficult for the time being at least – and then she went to the ladies’ and repaired her face, which was seriously in need of it, and then she too went back to the party which was beginning to run down, and she wandered round the room in a haze of happiness, pausing to chat to people like Lucy and Tamsin, who was chatting up a young salesman she had taken a huge shine to at the conference – she liked a party, did Tamsin – and Marge and Trina and Hattie – all her favourites, really, and noticed that they were the people Bertie seemed to be spending most of his time with too.

And then he stood up on a chair and announced he really had to leave, which was a little uncharacteristic, and thanked everyone again for coming, and after a decent interval, she left too, having first called a cab and all the way home she kept doing whatever the emotional equivalent of pinching herself was, and when she got there, he was waiting on the doorstep, because she hadn’t thought to give him a key, looking bemused and anxious and happy all at the same time.

And after that things just got better and better . . .

‘Oh my God,’ said Bianca, staring at the site; ‘that is just amazing.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Tod struggled to look modest. ‘We are seriously pleased with it. But now look, here’s the final refinement, pick your shop – here’s the list, look, under outlets – scroll down . . . that’s . . . right, Paris, New York, Milan – OK, now click and there you are. Isn’t that great? God, they’ve worked fast, those franchise people of yours.’ It was indeed great, a replica of The Shop, in that lovely cobbled street in SoHo, with the tall trees, with the two steps leading up to the glass-paned front door . . . She lingered on that for rather too long, smiling, remembering that street, that day, then moved on, clicked on Sydney.

‘And then you see, we go down here, and then here it is, the inside, and then the invitation to go shop – you like?’

‘Oh, Tod, I
do
like. It’s amazing. I totally love it. It really is as good as I ever dared hope, no, much much better. Singapore? Oh, my God, that is lovely! Look, that street is just perfect, we were so lucky to get it, and the little shop too – this is just so exciting, Tod.’

‘I know. And so when we do the global switch on—’

‘The global switch on . . .’ Bianca looked at him, thinking over the past few days and how nearly there had been no global switch on, no relaunch, no shops, no House of Farrell even, and how devastated he would have been, they all would have been, and sent up a small prayer of gratitude for Florence and the fact that Cornelius Farrell had been so in love with her he had bequeathed this incredible legacy. More incredible than he realised, of course, but that was fine, it meant they could all share it.

Florence’s generosity was boundless. She had told Bianca she must regard the money, or rather the facility to borrow the money, as the company’s own. She said life would hold very little for her without the House of Farrell, and there was very little she wanted that would require a large – or even a small – loan.

‘Except perhaps a couple of Chanel jackets . . .’ And she smiled.

‘Well, tell you what,’ said Bianca, ‘two things: I shall personally ensure you have a large salary hike, if the global launch is the success it deserves to be—’

‘Not if, will be,’ said Florence firmly.

‘And then you and I will go to Paris together and to Chanel, and I will help you, if I may, choose the two most beautiful jackets in the collection.’

‘You may indeed,’ Florence said. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more – unless, of course, it was Cornelius himself. But I would still like you to be there, Bianca. My word, he would have liked and admired you.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, of course. He always said working was what made women three dimensional. The other sort were only two.’

‘That’s really nice,’ said Bianca. ‘I like that. I don’t know that Patrick would agree with him – at the moment, anyway. He’d like me very much two-dimensional, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Florence, ‘a few weeks and he’d be bored to tears.’

‘Hmm. Well, dearest, most generous Florence, I must go. I have so much to do.’

‘Of course. But there is one thing: we still have to be sure that Athina doesn’t have the first idea about any of this. That is the one condition of my doing this. Presumably we can spin some cock-and-bull story about where the money’s come from?’

‘Florence,’ said Bianca gently, ‘remember only four of us – five, if we count your Mr Smythe and he’s bound by his professional code not to reveal it – anyway, only five of us ever knew there was a problem. Athina certainly didn’t. No explanations therefore need to be given, all right?’

‘Of course,’ said Florence and the smile she gave Bianca was beatific in its happiness and relief. ‘That had not occurred to me. How wonderful! Thank you, Bianca. I was still a little worried. No,
very
worried.’

Bianca kissed her and saw her into a taxi, taking her home to Pimlico – ‘you’ve had such a traumatic day, even if the ending was so happy’ – and then made her own way in the direction of Cavendish Street.

And thought how extraordinarily sweet a person Florence must be, that she remained so completely determined that no breath of her relationship with Cornelius should ever be suspected by anyone, least of all Athina. Athina, who spent most of her life both belittling Florence and aggrandising herself at Florence’s expense.

And then had the slightly cynical thought that everyone loved Florence and considered her wonderful and that view might well change if it was known that she had been conducting an adulterous affair with Cornelius, directly under Athina’s nose, for over half a century.

And that made her love Florence even more.

Bianca felt completely exalted; she felt that if she opened the window she could have flown home. As it was, she sat smiling rather foolishly at everyone who came in and she confined herself to rather mundane tasks, aware that if anyone asked her for a rise, or an increase in budget or even suggested a change in the packaging, she would agree to whatever it was. Only when everyone had gone home, did she allow herself the luxury of relishing the joy and the triumph and the sweet, sure knowledge that it was all going to happen, that Farrell’s would be safe, that the campaign would happen, and looked back on to the terror of the last week, worse than the worst of bad dreams, and consigned it to history.

She realised something else too; something that she had always known, if she was truthful, how much her work in general, but with Farrell’s in particular, meant to her; that it was indeed so intrinsic a part of her that to ask her to part with it would be like asking her to part with a limb, or indeed her voice. She didn’t know quite what that made her, clearly a dreadful mother, and quite possibly an appalling wife as well, and she could see also that once Farrell’s was safe, she should perhaps leave and do something less consuming. But for now, it was her responsibility, as much as her own children were, and she had to see it through, and to fail it and everyone who worked for it, would be dreadfully irresponsible and even wrong. She should not, perhaps, have taken it on in the first place, should have seen the dangers of what it might do to her life; but she had not known then that Patrick would be no longer absolutely behind her, and caring for the family when she could not. Such assumptions were wrong; she should have considered him more. But they were where they were, as Patrick so frequently said, and, under the present circumstances, immovable.

And she would have to tell him that, and she quailed from it. Until now, until today with all its extraordinary happenings, she had still not seen things with quite the necessary clarity. But she had told him now that she had made a proper decision and they had agreed they would talk that evening . . .

To distract herself just a little she returned to the happiness, the new happiness that was the House of Farrell. She logged on to the site, the magical site that had so nearly been wasted and made a tour of her beautiful shops, her own private global tour. Saving until last the one, set two steps up from a cobbled street, in SoHo New York, the one that would always be her favourite, and lingered there for a long time, staring at it, and remembering the time that had followed, that long, astonishing afternoon and knowing with absolute certainty that it had had no bearing on her decision whatsoever.

Afterwards, on that very special day in New York when finally it was done, when they were done, she had looked at him, and he smiled and spoke for the first time since they had entered the room.

‘I knew it would be like that,’ he said.

She had felt little guilt later; it had been so absolute an experience, removed from reality, snatched out of time, and acknowledged by both of them as such, never to be repeated, never referred to. She remembered it, of course, and she always would, but it had nothing to do with the stuff of her marriage, it trailed no responsibilities, no promises, no love, merely carnal pleasure of the most extraordinary kind. There could be no comparison with the lifelong affair between Florence and Cornelius, for example, so filled with love and loyalty which was a marriage in its own way. No comparison either, with some careless one-night stand, devoid of humour, charm, and any kind of emotional intimacy. It had come and it had gone again, never to return, a meteor hurtling through their lives, leaving only a brilliant memory. Indeed the only guilt she felt, and was amused by the observation, was that she felt none.

Milly sat gazing at the blog that Lucy’s friend Fay delivered to her thousands of followers every day and literally had to dig her nails into the palms of her hands to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. For those eyes, those wide, heavily lashed eyes were hers, and so were those lips, glossy and peachy, and the dark smouldery eyes and dark lips were Jayce’s, and what made the pictures fun, and interesting, and had persuaded Fay to use them, and Bianca to agree that they didn’t break any embargoes, was that they weren’t serious step-by-step pictures; Lucy’s friend Fenella had snapped away as she and Jayce and Lucy all worked on each other, laughing and clearly enjoying themselves hugely and Fay had written about her friend Lucy, make-up artist for the House of Farrell, and granddaughter of its founder, working with some young friends who’d volunteered as models, on some of the new looks she was creating for the brand’s relaunch in June. ‘Such a cool story,’ the blog went on. ‘The brand was launched in the Queen’s coronation year, and is relaunching almost sixty years later, as the Queen celebrates her Diamond Jubilee. I’m not giving away any more now, but believe me, you’re going to want to wear these looks. And watch this space – there’s an
amazing
story to come.’