by Ali Harris
Last night at our flat was the same sleepless affair. Sam had gone up to bed at 11pm as he had an early start for a shoot this morning – he left me kneeling on the floor, curled over various bits of paper and plans, scribbling ideas, drawing layouts, surrounded by cut outs from fashion and interior magazines, and layouts of the shoe department. I knew that in order for David’s designs to have the maximum impact, I’d need to pull together a display idea to show Rupert at our buying meeting this morning.
Sam had found me in pretty much the same position when he came down the stairs fully dressed at 5am. ‘Evie,’ he’d chastised, handing me a cup of black coffee. ‘Not another all-nighter?’
‘I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep,’ I answer contritely. ‘I feel fine though! Look!’ And I’d stared at him, eyes glassy with caffeine.
He’d laughed, knelt down and kissed me. ‘Go easy on yourself, Evie. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
‘But a shoe department could be!’ I’d quipped with a smile.
He’d slung his satchel across his body and stood up, shaking his head.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ he’d said.
‘Anything you like...’ I’d called out. ‘As soon as the new season stock is all in and David and I have finished his collection, I’m all yours.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ he’d replied. ‘See you later!’
‘Have a good day!’ I’d called, but the door had already closed.
I look lovingly now at my most recent window display as I dismount and lock up my bike. I made them I think proudly. I’m sure it must be similar to what my sister Delilah feels when she gazes upon her children’s faces. And how Sam feels about Sophie. Sometimes I wonder if I should tell him how I honestly feel that my work is similar to being a parent. Sometimes when he’s telling me to take it easy I imagine saying to him: “You’ve always told me that the baby years are hard, well Sam, I know that because my career is still a baby!”
I walk into Hardy’s atrium and look around. I can scarcely believe that a mere 18 months ago I was the stockroom girl, waiting for her life to start. I have so much to be thankful for, but sometimes I feel like I could lose it all as fast as I got it. My job, Sam – I don’t know what I’d do without either of them. And that thought really scares me.
I run my hand lovingly across the mahogany wood-panelled walls and walk over to the grand central staircase. The banisters are gleaming with a tawny shine that tells me Velna has already worked her magic around this floor. The delicate glass teardrops of the ornate chandeliers above me are moving, as if in time with the rather tuneless singing voice floating down Hardy’s beautiful staircase, confirming my suspicions. I smile and go to call out a good morning to Velna – and to Justyna and Jan Baptysta who I’m sure are squirrelling around the store somewhere, but I decide against it for once. I can’t face telling them about Sam and I. Since Jan and Justyna got married last Christmas they have been the most vociferous converts to the institution and seem unable to fathom why anyone would choose not to instantly leg it down the aisle as soon as they get together. I’ve lost count of the amount of times Justyna has raised her monobrow at me and said “You vill be next” in her slightly threatening Arnold Schwarzenegger type voice.
I fold my arms as I look around the store. Even though my new job doesn’t strictly require it, coming in early is a habit I haven’t been able to lose since working in the stockroom. Early mornings are still when I have my best ideas. Old habits die hard and it is only when I see the store so devoid of people that new ideas for displays come to life in my mind. Ideas that will hopefully continue to draw the crowds to the store. I can only compare it to having a tidy desk, or a blank piece of paper in front of you. The store is a frame in which I can create my masterpiece.
At the moment, we still have the sale on, which is always a tricky time in a retail merchandiser’s calendar. Everything tends to look a mess on the shop floor, which is a pet hate of mine, and no retailer seems to care how to display the goods in order to best attract customers. I’ve never understood this, I mean, visual merchandising is all about helping to display goods in a way that makes people want to take them off the rails or shelves. So surely, we need brilliantly enticing displays even more during Sale periods, when we’re desperately trying to get rid of last season’s (or even older) stock, as well as anything we’ve bought that just didn’t fly off the shelves like we wanted it to.
That’s what I told Rupert when he suggested I just use the old neon cardboard sale signs that Hardy’s had been using for years. The ones exactly like those placards people hold on Oxford St directing you to the nearest golf sale (am I the only person who looks at them and thinks Oxford St is the last place I reckon anyone would think “Oh! I must just buy some golf clubs”?) Anyway, I point blank refused. Instead I brought in a big old 1950s vintage circus sign I had come across in my travels around the vintage markets of Britain. It says “Come One, Come All to The Greatest Show on Earth!” I got Jan to suspend it from the ceiling in Hardy’s central window with flashing light bulbs all around. We framed each window with striped red and white Big Top style curtains, which Bernie and Susan in Haberdashery quickly ran up in their workshop. Since the success of Hardy’s rebirth – the much-loved Irish sisters run Make Do and Mend craft classes from this room. They are marvellous at it and the courses are incredibly popular. Their craft room is decorated with 1950s floral wallpaper, strings of vintage bunting hang above the gorgeous old black and gold Singer sewing machines.
Iris also made a beautiful circus party picnic display in one window using all the bright red and yellow outdoor furniture and Tupperware that Rupert wanted to get rid of. There are fold out enamel tables covered in a glorious spread of food. Another window has a complete vintage Playmobil Romana circus set up complete with caravans, a big top with swinging trapeze artists, clowns and acrobats riding on horseback.
In one window we’ve dressed up mannequins to look like super-chic clowns – one is wearing a stunning sequinned harlequin dress, the other a ruffled blouse with black and white geometric Sportsluxe trousers, with bright cherry-red shoes. We even have one dressed as a ringmaster in jodhpurs and a vintage jacket. Myself, Lily and Velna designed and printed some giant arrows that say things like “Step Right Up!” “This Way” “Roll Up! Roll Up!” in a classic American West style font. These are hung around the store to encourage customers to check out the sales in each department. The grand atrium has been filled with red and white helium balloons floating above shoppers’ heads.
The result: the store has been full to bursting every single day of the Sale.
But now the new season is upon us and it’s time to fill the store with Autumn/Winter treasures. I stare blankly around me – trying to picture the next displays. Slowly, surely and completely reassuringly the cogs begin to turn.
I run downstairs to menswear with my notepad and pencil and start sketching out a display for the maritime clocks and naval uniforms.
‘Well?’ I ask, as Rupert sits in his green leather and mahogany swing chair in his wood panelled office. It is 9am and we’re having our weekly merchandising meeting where I bring him all my new ideas for shop displays, as well as new stock I’ve sourced.
He is tentatively turning and appraising the shoes I saw in Angelo’s window. He places them back on the desk in front of him. This is it. My big moment. I mentally correct myself. No, it’s David Angelo’s big moment.
I’ve just finished telling Rupert a potted history of Angelo’s and its demise. I’ve laid out David’s designs and his father’s shoes on the table – and my display plans on a board. And I’ve tentatively suggested that we stock a bespoke collection designed exclusively for us.
‘Well, Evie...’ Rupert begins slowly. ‘Well... ah, yes. I can see that these have an exquisite cut, line and detail, the hand-stitching is wonderful. And I love your idea for a launch. That display really is something. But are his designs and this craftsmanship really super
ior to any other shoes, and therefore, worth such a big fanfare in Hardy’s?’ he questions thoughtfully.
I feel my heart barrel to the floor as I think of David and all the promises I made to him. I was completely unprofessional, jumping the gun like that. What right did I have to play God, to say I can save his shop without talking to Rupert and asking his opinion first? I open my mouth to try to defend myself, to sell Angelo’s to him again. Maybe I wasn’t enthusiastic enough in my pitch? I know I’m tired, that could have affected my enthusiasm...
‘My conclusion is... yes, I really think they are!’ Rupert smiles, folding his arms, looking at the shoes and then back up at me. ‘It’s a real coup to find such an exquisite craftsman who still makes his shoes the old-fashioned way. Definitely worth taking a chance on. As they say in the farming industry – fingers were made before forks!’
I’m too in shock to say anything at first. ‘S-so you’re happy for me to get David to design a collection exclusively for us?’ I say once I’ve found my voice, my heart thumping wildly, crossing my fingers as I wait for the line I’m hoping Rupert will say.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Rupert says waving his arms around enthusiastically. ‘I’m sure they’ll fly off the shelves and be an instant bestseller this season!’
‘Well, you see, Rupert,’ I begin carefully, ‘it’s not going to work quite like that...’
Rupert raises a gingery eyebrow. ‘The sale figures from the last period are the highest yet! Don’t stop the miracle-working now, Evie!’
‘I know volume of sales is important Rupert, but the problem is, David Angelo is a craftsman.’ I explain. ‘This isn’t someone who’s going to trot out stock like he’s in a factory. He won’t be able to make shoes on a conveyor belt – and we won’t be able to design and make an entire collection in time for the new season in September. It could take a few weeks, months even. It’s nearly August now and I think a realistic date for us to start stocking him is the beginning of December.’ I pause and take a breath before continuing. I have to make sure I play this right. ‘But my idea is that with your permission we’ll launch him just before Christmas. Give him an entire window and innovative shop-floor display that Hardy’s can be proud of. It also gives us time to get press in the monthly fashion magazines, build up a buzz about the launch.’
‘Okaaaay,’ Rupert says with a sigh. ‘If you say so, Evie. But from a business perspective I do worry that we’ll be launching him just before another sale season. What if we’re left with lots of his full price stock during the January sales? I mean, I’m presuming you want me to make a big order?’
‘Not exactly,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. ‘Because there is a small problem when it comes to stock...’
Rupert frowns, sensing his profits leave the room as fast as an intern who has brought him the wrong coffee.
‘What problem is that, Evie?’
‘That there won’t be any.’
Rupert gapes at me and I look at him desperately. ‘Please, just hear me out. David is going to make ten or so designs in each shoe size; we’ll just stock the shoes for display and to try on. We’ll take orders and David will make the shoes bespoke for each customer – and we’ll obviously run a waiting list too, to manage the orders’
Rupert immediately shakes his head. ‘This is utterly out of the question, Evie, Hardy’s is not an exclusive shop!’
‘But Mr Angelo is so talented and unique and such a rare find, I honestly think we have to make an exception for him.’
Rupert’s ruddy pallor pales significantly. ‘So, how do we make money then Evie? Hardy’s isn’t a retirement home for benevolent stock, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say patiently. This is a line Rupert trots out regularly when I try to bring in vintage stock to display, not sell. ‘Instead, our customers will be able to order their own bespoke pair from the collection. David will make them exclusively for the customer, and to their specifications. Colour, detail, cut, will all be tapered to best enhance the customer’s experience. It’s department store couture!’
‘But that will take weeks! How can we sell this stuff in bulk and make a profit, without alienating our less wealthy customers?’ Rupert asks.
‘With an affordable factory-made diffusion line...’ I smile.
‘Oh yes?’ Rupert says, sitting back in his chair and finally looking relatively relaxed. ‘Tell me more Evie...’
Chapter 5
‘... And that’s when I knew he was going to say yes!’ I finish my story and smile gleefully at my friends as I take a celebratory bite of a delicate pastry and a sip of tea.
‘You said yes?!’ shouts Iris (she’s going a bit deaf). ‘Evie, that’s fabulous news!’ Felix nudges her and shakes his head.
‘Not me, Iris,’ I explain slowly. ‘David. The shoe guy? He said yes to letting me take the vintage shoe! And now Rupert has just said yes to us stocking a collection of his. Isn’t that fantastic news?’
I’m in Hardy’s quaint tearoom, with its deep burgundy walls that are covered in a cavalcade of signed black and whites of famous old movie stars who used to shop here, and dotted with pretty, vintage crystal wall lights. The floor is a chess board of original tiles, dark mahogany wood tables are scattered around the centre of the room as well as in the corners and beamed enclaves. Each one has a little table lamp that shines out a cheery welcome as soon as you walk in to the tea room. As does the vast array of pastries and cakes on the original 1930s counter – and of course, the smiles of Lily and Iris, the wonderful patrons of the tearoom. It has recently-and deservedly – been voted one of the best places for a traditional afternoon tea in London.
I’ve just told Lily, Felix and Iris about my thrilling weekend away and exciting find but I seem to be getting a rather low watt response. I take another bite of my pastry before realising that no one has spoken yet. I look at my friends and inwardly groan as I see inquisitive smiles are being directed from their faces to mine – and then towards my (bare) wedding ring finger and I realise what the problem is. Ever since Sam and I got together Lily, Felix and Iris have been trying on hats from the Accessories department. They keep presuming each weekend or date night will precipitate the ‘big moment’, that he will ask me ‘The Question’. Their expectation is exhausting. They say they’re just excited because it’s rare for them to have an event other than a funeral to look forward to.
‘Well, that’s jolly good darling,’ Lily says at last, patting her chignon and then clasping her hands and laying them on her lap. She looks sideways at Felix and frowns at him before smiling back at me – slightly manically.
I take a sip of tea. I thought they’d be more excited, especially Lily. She loves shoes. I lean down to my bag that’s sitting on the floor. I want to see if Sam has replied to the text I sent him earlier, telling him about my successful meeting. But the screen is blank. I sigh. I’m not going to see much of him this week because he’s shooting nights. I miss him already and am regretting how little time we actually spent together this weekend. Not that he minded, I know he was fine about it all. It’s just, well... I miss him. I slip my phone back into my bag. Around me I can sense much gesticulating of arms and mouthing of words, like a silent re-enactment of that old Typhoo advert – but with OAPs instead of apes.
I hear more whispering, which stops as soon as I look up.
‘I for one can’t wait to see the shoes!’ Lily says carefully. ‘But you haven’t told us darling – did you and dear Sam have a relaxing weekend as well? I mean–’ a quick glance at her two chums ‘–it sounds like you were working for most of it! Was there any chance for any, you know, private moments, chats, declarations, any, you know, questions?’ I raise my eyebrow at her and she looks at me angelically – pale blue eyes an ocean of calm and innocence.
‘Plenty,’ I smile brightly. Lily raises her pencilled eyebrows. I can never pull the wool over her eyes. ‘Well, a few. Ok, work did take over somewhat, but Sam was fine, he totally understood. We had a nice meal t
hat night. We were both so tired we just ended up having room service... but that was kind of romantic anyway!’
I daren’t look at Lily. I haven’t convinced myself, let alone her. ‘Anyway, there’s plenty of time for all that. Sam and I have got forever to have romantic moments. But this find was a one-off. And I know you’re just going to love David Angelo.’
‘Not as much as we love Sam Arthur,’ Lily says. I narrow my eyes at her.
‘Lily Carmichael, you know I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say.
‘Just as long as Sam knows,’ she retorts in a light voice.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Male egos need constant stroking my dear. You must know that. Obviously your career is supremely important – and rightly so darling – you’re a 21st century woman – but don’t prioritise it all the time. Sam needs to feel he’s as important to you as your work. If not...’ she makes a sucking noise through her perfectly painted red lips.
‘What?’
‘Well, let’s just say work won’t keep you warm at night, darling.’
I roll my eyes and stand up. ‘Sam and I are fine, Lily,’ I say picking up my bag. ‘He understands how important my work is to me.’ She doesn’t answer. ‘I’d best be off. Busy day ahead,’ I say to the three of them. They all wave at me, poised to turn and chat as soon as I’m out of sight.
I love my friends, they’re wise, funny and eloquent. I usually listen to them, but this time, Lily is wrong. Sam is totally supportive of my work. He has no problem with it. Everything is fine.
I glance at my phone again. Still no text.