by Emma Davies
‘And for Sir?’
‘Just coffee please. Black.’
‘Excellent, right away. And if you’d like to take a look at the card on the table, we’ll soon be serving from the breakfast menu. If you’d care to make your choices I will be back shortly to take your orders.’
The steward nodded, smiled and slipped away, leaving Daisy looking nervously at Lawrence. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should never—’
Lawrence held up a hand. ‘Please… I ought to apologise. Perhaps I’ve been approaching this in an… inconsiderate manner. I can see how it could have come across as unfeeling and maybe we ought to start again. We could be in for rather a long day otherwise.’
The same thought had been occupying Daisy’s head almost constantly. She nodded. ‘Should we start with breakfast? I had no idea they did this sort of thing on trains.’ She handed Lawrence the card.
‘I believe it’s just in first class,’ he replied, bending his head to see what was on offer. ‘Ah, excellent. You wouldn’t think so, but the eggs Benedict is surprisingly good.’ He tapped the card. ‘I can recommend it.’ His eyebrows were raised in enquiry.
‘I don’t even know what that is,’ admitted Daisy. There was no point trying to pretend. ‘I always have Weetabix.’
Lawrence smiled, a sideways twitch of his lips. ‘Eggs Benedict is a breakfast muffin served with a poached egg on top, bacon, and hollandaise sauce.’
Daisy was still none the wiser. ‘Um…’ She scanned the menu, looking for something that would satisfy her simple palate.
‘Why don’t you try it?’ suggested Lawrence. ‘I doubt they do Weetabix.’
She looked up at his comment, but his expression hadn’t changed. She thought back to her day out with Bertie. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll give it a go.’ She slid the card back into its holder on the table and looked around her again. ‘Is it always this quiet in first class? We’re the only ones here.’
‘Not usually. I would imagine that other people will get on. It’s quite a long journey.’ He gave a brief smile. ‘We should make London by half eleven though and I’ve arranged transport at the other end. We’ll arrive at our destination soon after.’
‘So where are we going then?’ she asked. ‘You still haven’t told me.’
Lawrence’s face brightened. ‘Where every woman wants to go. To Harrods, of course.’ He sat back in his seat, a triumphant expression on his face. ‘And not only that but we have the services of a personal shopper for the entire day. Monique is wonderful. We wouldn’t ordinarily be able to do this of course, but she knows why we’ll be there and won’t expect us to buy anything. Extraordinarily generous of her, particularly at this time of year.’
Daisy kept the smile plastered on her face, but her heart sank. She couldn’t think of anywhere she’d less rather be than a swanky department store, being waited on hand and foot. It was Buchanans multiplied one hundredfold. She swallowed her dismay. ‘Oh, I’ve never been before,’ she replied.
‘Well I know what you ladies are like,’ said Lawrence. ‘And I thought that taking you shopping would be the best way to get to know what you do and don’t like.’
Daisy wanted to reply that she didn’t like shopping, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She was well aware that she wasn’t like most women, but Lawrence wouldn’t know that.
Moments later the steward arrived with their drinks and she was saved from having to make any further comment.
‘Thank you,’ said Lawrence. ‘And we’ll both go for the eggs Benedict, please.’
‘Of course, Sir, an excellent choice.’
‘May I ask you a question?’ said Lawrence, as soon as the steward had retreated.
‘As long as it’s not one off your list.’
He grimaced. ‘It’s not. I just was wondering about what you said earlier. And you’re right, I didn’t consider that come the new year things could be very difficult for you… So, if you’re not able to carry on working at Buchanans, what will you do?’
It was a question that was beginning to fill more and more of Daisy’s head space as time went on. It would be so wonderful to confide in one of the brothers about her dreams of running a business of her own but, out of them all, Lawrence was probably least likely to understand. Besides, how could she possibly convince him she could make it work when she hadn’t yet managed to convince herself?
‘I honestly don’t know,’ she said. ‘Rather naive of me, but I didn’t think I’d ever need to find another job; there’s just always been Buchanans. It feels as if I’ve been there a lifetime… and I guess, in a good way, it has been.’
He tipped his head to one side and gave her a searching look. ‘Which is odd, because I always thought you hated your job.’
‘Hated it?’ She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Why would you think I hated it?’
‘I don’t know exactly. It can’t be much fun working with Kit.’
She frowned. ‘But Kit doesn’t bother me,’ she replied.
‘No, Kit doesn’t bother anyone.’
‘Well, that’s hardly surprising, is it? I mean, in between you bossing everyone around and Bertie trying to hold you all together, what space could Kit possibly occupy?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. Where had that come from?
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Lawrence. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded… It’s just that you’re each so very different, but that’s a good thing, I guess.’ She closed her mouth. There was a whole lot more she could say, but if she carried on she’d only be digging herself a deeper and deeper hole.
To her relief, however, Lawrence smiled too.
‘There seems to be something about me that brings out the worst in you,’ he said, a slight twinkling of amusement in his eyes. ‘Or perhaps it’s the best… Are you always this argumentative?’
‘No, not usually,’ she said with a chastened smile.
Lawrence shrugged. ‘Must be me then.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘But I’m curious… When I asked what my dad dying had to do with anything, you replied, “Probably everything.” What did you mean?’
Daisy groaned. ‘I don’t know… Please, just ignore me. My mouth was clearly running away with me.’
But Lawrence’s look pinned her to the chair. ‘I don’t think it was,’ he replied. ‘Come on, tell me what you meant, I’m actually interested to know.’
She picked up the spoon that was sitting on a saucer beside her drink and buried it in the foamy mountain of cream that was oozing down the glass. ‘Let’s at least have breakfast first, shall we?’
She put the spoon in her mouth, praying that the steward would appear soon. She didn’t think she would ever be more happy to see a plateful of food in her life.
13
Friday 13th December
Twelve shopping days until Christmas
Daisy’s mouth hung open and they hadn’t even got inside the shop yet.
She was standing on the pavement, trying to take in the sheer spectacle of the window displays that seemed to run the entire length of the street. The decorations at Buchanans had always been her domain – under Bea’s direction of course, with the familiar Nutcracker theme – but it was always her responsibility to interpret Bea’s ideas and ensure that the displays looked as good as they could be. And up until now she thought she’d always done a good job. But these… these were another kind of display entirely.
‘Quite something, aren’t they?’ said Lawrence, standing by her side, an amused expression on his face. ‘I’ve already seen them of course, I came to the unveiling, but they’re quite magical.’
Daisy was utterly dumbstruck.
‘Of course, when you have the kind of budget these stores do, pretty much anything goes.’
She swept her eyes along the row of windows, marvelling at the incredible imagination and talent they displayed. Glamorous, intricate and executed like the finest works of art, they were on a level she’d never seen before but she dreaded to think how much they had cost. Despite
their jaw-dropping quality, this fact made her feel slightly uneasy. It didn’t seem right somehow.
‘Shall we go inside?’ she said faintly.
Lawrence had obviously been there before, on many occasions. He dipped his head at the doorman and walked through the doors with absolute assurance while Daisy was feeling more and more like a fish out of water with every step, and struggling to keep up with Lawrence’s long stride. There was just so much to take in, so many things, all leaping out at her, shouting their availability for purchase at the top of their shiny, sparkly lungs. She trailed after him in a daze as he steered them away to the right.
Daisy saw immediately why he had taken her this way first. In front of them lay the entrance to the fine jewellery room; acres and acres of gilt and glass, gleaming gold, marble and finely detailed panelling which surrounded a series of large glass cases. She clamped her lips together, not wanting to be seen with her mouth hanging open.
‘You might begin to see some similarities,’ said Lawrence as he led them through the hall.
Of course… how had she not seen it straight away? Albeit on a much smaller scale, and worlds apart in terms of grandeur, Buchanans was clearly modelled on this famous store. The deep blue cloth inside the cases was almost identical in colour, the panels beneath each of the glass cabinets was wrought with the same ornate scrollwork that looked like burnished metal, and even the gold banding set around the edge of the room was the same. It was very clever. She glanced across at Lawrence.
‘Your idea?’ she asked.
‘Of course, but with Mother’s approval, naturally. It fits with her aspirations and inclination towards the theatrical, and – you have to admit – it’s the most wonderful piece of marketing.’
Lawrence was surveying the room with undisguised pride.
‘But do you really think that any of our customers will even know that Buchanans is modelled on Harrods? I certainly didn’t.’
‘That hardly matters,’ replied Lawrence. ‘Those who do will have an appreciation of the finer things in life, and those who don’t will think, as you do presumably, that the decor is elegant and refined. Either way, if Harrods has chosen it to enhance the consumer experience and encourage sales, then it will work equally well for us.’
Daisy could see the logic, partly, but she didn’t entirely agree. It was true, she did think that the interior of Buchanans worked in some regards, but she had always assumed that it had been designed to fit the beautiful Georgian building that housed it. Now that she could see it wasn’t, she couldn’t help wishing that Buchanans had its own style, something that made it special in its own right. It could have so much more going for it – the very traditional jewels they sold were fine, but they only appealed to a particular type of shopper, and not everyone was the same. And of course there would be no room for her own jewellery in a setting like this. She suddenly felt very small; this was clearly not a world in which she belonged.
‘Pick something,’ said Lawrence, gesturing further into the room, but Daisy was rooted to the spot. She could feel the sales staff closing in.
‘No,’ said Daisy. ‘That’s cheating. I told you Bertie asked me the same thing, and I refused. The difference is that he was teasing.’
‘And I’m not?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No, I don’t believe you are. Besides, there’s nothing here I would wear.’
Lawrence stared at her. ‘How can you possibly say that when you haven’t even looked at anything? Daisy, it may have escaped your notice, but we’ve come to the finest emporium there is. If you can’t find anything here you like, you won’t find it anywhere.’
She flushed, hearing Grace’s words as loudly as if she were standing right beside her. ‘Will anything here match the beauty of dewdrops on a sunlit meadow?’ she asked. ‘Or the hoar frost that makes every blade of grass look as if it’s encrusted with diamonds?’ She watched his astonished expression.
Lawrence frowned. ‘Well, now you just sound like Kit. For goodness’ sake, am I the only one with any business sense around here?’
‘Kit? What has he got to do with it?’
He ignored her. ‘Which as far as I’m concerned is just another example of why it needs to be me that takes over Buchanans. Anyone else and the business will fail within minutes. All this romanticised tosh about greed and commercialism… It has no place within a modern business. Cold hard cash, that’s what makes the world go around. Always has done, always will do. And the only way that Buchanans will survive into the future is to have a sound business plan, some savvy buying and marketing and an eye on the finances. Who else can offer that?’
Daisy looked around her again. Perhaps he was right. It was one thing to tinker with a few bits of clay and turn them into jewellery, another thing entirely to run a business. She wouldn’t even know where to start as far as business plans were concerned, or any of the rest of it for that matter.
Lawrence softened his expression. ‘Look, I can see that this is all a bit, well, ostentatious. But just as there are people like you who disapprove of it, there are also a good many people who aspire to it. And a piece of jewellery from Buchanans is a pretty good place to start. You’re a very good salesperson, Daisy. You have an excellent rapport with customers and I’ve seen you secure sales where I thought all hope was lost. But if Buchanans goes down, you go down with it.’
He let the sentence dangle in the air for just a minute. ‘So… all I’m saying is that you might want to think about what side your bread is buttered on when it comes to this contest. You might find it changes your mind about who you want to help.’
A whoosh of heat shot up her neck, and she would have turned and walked right out of the shop, except… She hung her head. Except that Lawrence was right. There was no point having a job in a failing business, and she did still need a job, that much was certain.
She cleared her throat and looked up at him. ‘I appreciate your comments,’ she said stiffly. ‘But under no circumstances am I going to cheat and pick out a piece of jewellery for you. I may be misguided in your eyes, but I do have some integrity and I’d like to retain it.’
She sighed. ‘However, I made a promise to Bea that I would help you all out and so that is what I intend to do. We’re here for the day, Lawrence, and I suggest you use it to your best advantage, not by asking me to cheat, but by doing as Bea suggested and getting to know me. Right now, that’s where your savvy comes in, Lawrence. Now, where do we find Monique?’
Monique was much older than Daisy had imagined, and ferociously chic. Her jet-black hair, cut in a sharp bob, just grazed the bottom of her sleek jawline, and a slash of bright red lipstick accentuated her angular cheekbones and bright blue eyes. It was approaching lunchtime and so presumably she had been working all morning, yet her makeup was immaculate, as were her clothes. Her tiny frame was accentuated by a nipped-in trouser suit that Daisy could tell was expensive, and a pair of eye-wateringly high shoes completed her look.
‘Lawrence… It’s so good to see you.’ Monique’s kisses, one to either side, landed several inches from his cheek. ‘And tell me, how is the darling Beatrice? I haven’t seen her in far too long.’ A strong French accent accompanied her words.
Without waiting for a reply, Monique fixed her stare on Daisy and studied her intently for what seemed like several minutes. ‘And you are Daisy,’ she said. ‘Of course, and how delightful you are.’
Daisy’s hand strayed to her hair and, spotting it, Monique laughed. ‘Beautiful… and we shall make it more so. All of you.’ She wafted a hand at Lawrence. ‘Now, I do hope you’re not going to get in the way,’ she said. ‘Because Daisy and I are going to be very busy, and we don’t need any interference.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘There are no buts, Lawrence, not with Monique; you should know that by now. Now, go and play somewhere and come back in an hour and a half, not a minute before.’
Monique waited with her hands on her hips until Lawrence had moved away befo
re turning to Daisy. ‘Ah, thank goodness. Beatrice I adore, but Lawrence… he is so dull!’ She bent her head towards Daisy. ‘Do not tell him I said that.’ And she winked. ‘Besides, he will spoil all our fun, and that is not allowed. Beatrice will not thank me at all.’
Daisy gave her a puzzled look. ‘Bea knows I’m here?’
Monique laughed, a loud bark of mirth. ‘Of course! And I know all about her wonderful little competition. In fact, I hear it twice – once, the truth from Beatrice and, twice, the not so truthful from Lawrence.’ She grinned, pointing at her chest. ‘I am the double agent,’ she said.
Daisy still didn’t grasp what she said. She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’m not completely sure I understand.’
Monique took her arm. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘We will have the little tea first, and I will tell you all about it.’
She led Daisy through into a room that would have looked like the lounge area of a swanky hotel had it not been for the mirrored walls to each side. Two big squishy sofas in a beautiful duck-egg blue faced each other over a glass coffee table, and it was to one of these that Monique led her. A silver tray stood in the middle of the table bearing two white cups, a white teapot and white plate, on which stood at least half a dozen pastel-coloured rounds of confectionary. Daisy had no idea what they were.
‘Please, sit down,’ said Monique. ‘You like the tea, yes?’
Daisy nodded, hoping it was just ordinary tea and not some strange herbal mixture. She sank into the sofa and looked around while Monique poured their drinks. Her head was twirling with thoughts.
‘And the macarons? Ah… Ladurée…’ She slid the plate towards Daisy. ‘You must have one. They are the best, naturally, from Paris, of course.’
Daisy selected one, pale green in colour, and turned it around in her hand. It was peculiarly smooth on the surface. ‘I’ve never had one of these before,’ she admitted.
‘Then you have not lived,’ said Monique, smiling. ‘Try it, I guarantee you will like it.’