Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘Oh – yes – I’m looking for a mackintosh cape to wear when cycling in wet weather,’ she said, knowing full well that she would not find one there.

  ‘I’m sorry, madam. You’ll have to go down to Ladies’ Outerwear.’

  ‘Really? Well, do you do tennis blouses?’

  The youth looked nonplussed. ‘Er – no – that would be the ladies’ department as well.’

  ‘Outerwear?’

  ‘Well – no – Daywear, I think –’

  By this time, the floorwalker had spotted her and come over. He gave the unfortunate youth a withering look.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Packard. I’m afraid Briggs is new to the job. How can I help you?’

  ‘Briggs is doing very well,’ Amelie said quickly. One dismissal on her conscience was enough for one morning. ‘I was just wondering why clothing for sport was not sold in this department.’

  ‘That’s the way it has always been arranged, Miss Packard. We sell the equipment here. The clothing is elsewhere.’

  ‘Yes –’ Amelie could feel an idea brewing. ‘Thank you. Good day to you. You have been most helpful.’

  She walked on, frowning to herself as the idea took shape. What if she wanted to take up, say, golf? She would have to go to Ladies’ Tailoring for a tweed skirt and jacket, then to Gloves, and Footwear, and Millinery, and finally here to Sports and Games to buy a set of clubs. And even here there was not such a wide selection for ladies as there was for men. It was the same for other pursuits – archery, for instance, or cycling. For cycling one needed good strong knickers as well as a veiled hat for dry weather and waterproofs for rain. A knot of excitement gathered inside her. This was it, the idea to present to her grandfather. She just knew it was right, and that she could make it work. All she needed to do was to put it to him the right way.

  3

  THOMAS JAMES PACKARD sat behind his vast mahogany desk and stared at the drawings on the green papered wall opposite. He knew every detail by heart, but he never tired of looking at them, for they were the floor plans of the store that bore his name, showing the position and size of every department. Mostly they gave him a great sense of satisfaction. Not bad for one man’s life’s work. Pretty good, in fact, considering that that man had arrived in London at the age of fifteen with just three shillings in his pocket. Three shillings, and the dream of becoming a Somebody. He certainly was a Somebody now. His was a household name. Every day, hundreds of people said, ‘We could get it at Packards,’ whatever ‘it’ might be. People arranged to meet at Packards. People gave directions with Packards as a reference point. The store was an essential part of the London scene.

  Today, as he looked at the plans, niggling doubts in his mind subsided. His store was more than a match for this man Selfridge. Thomas was certain that Packards was superior to any other London establishment. It was brighter and more attractive than the Army and Navy, catered for a wider range of customers than Harrods, had more departments than Marshall and Snelgrove or Debenham and Freebody. Nothing this American upstart could build could possibly be superior. And besides, whoever heard of anyone building a large store straight off like Selfridge was doing? All the other big names had started the same way as he had, with one small shop. Harrods had been a grocers, John Lewis started with a job lot of silks, Dickens and Jones were linen drapers. Packards had begun as a tiny place selling a bargain line in fire-damaged mourning apparel. It had been a daring investment at the time. He had put all his savings into the enterprise and taken out a loan. But it had paid off. Hard work, an ability to forecast what people wanted and the courage to take risks had turned that one shop into a row of seven in just six years.

  Looking back, even the hard times seemed exciting. The years after he moved the store to its present site in Oxford Street were the most knife-edge of all. Several times he had been on the verge of bankruptcy, but always he had succeeded in turning things around, often at the very last minute. It was a good thing he had been able to keep the real state of affairs from his wife. If there was one thing that Margaret liked, it was security. If she had known what risks he was taking, how close they often were to ruin, his home life would not have been worth living.

  All the time this was going on, he had been buying the properties adjacent to the store, his mind fixed on acquiring the entire island site. And just when he had signed the deal on the last row of houses, disaster struck. A fire started in the drapery department and gutted the entire shop. Thomas turned to the side wall of the office, where a print from the Illustrated London News showed the spectacular blaze. New visitors to his room often asked why he should want to keep a souvenir of such a terrible event.

  ‘To remind me not to get above myself,’ he invariably answered.

  It was a complete lie. Thomas Packard had always aimed to get above himself, and still did. The truth was that the old, piecemeal store had been very well insured. So well, in fact, that there had been suspicious whispers at the time. Thomas ignored them all. Let lesser folk say what they liked about arson. He had great plans. A new, magnificent, purpose-built store rose phoenix-like from the ashes, and Packards was on the way to spectacular success.

  Success still had to be fuelled, though. Thomas took up the copy of the last six months’ sales figures, covering the late summer and autumn of 1907 through to the start of 1908. He looked through them again, though he knew the various totals off by heart. Not as good as he expected. Something had to be done. And even though he was not afraid of this Selfridge man setting up just a few blocks down Oxford Street, still he did have to be taken into consideration. By next year, Selfridge’s store would be yet another rival for custom.

  Thomas’s eyes focused on the hands that held the papers, hands that were swelling with the onset of arthritis. That was another thing. He was not getting any younger. He had tried to ignore this fact, but increasingly it was brought home to him that his body was not as reliable as it used to be. His brain was still as sharp as ever, thank God, but he ached and creaked and got tired so quickly. No longer could he work a sixteen-hour day and keep a wife and a succession of mistresses happy. Just six hours at the store now and he was near to his limit. And what was more, young Edward knew this.

  There was a knock at the door, and his secretary put his head round the door.

  ‘Mr Edward to see you, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Archer. Show him in.’

  Thomas was immediately every inch the captain of his ship. He waved his grandson to a seat across the desk from him.

  ‘Ah – Edward – you’re good and prompt. Sit down.’

  Edward folded his powerful frame onto the upright chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas got in first, keeping control of the interview.

  ‘I’ve been reading these figures. I’m not very happy.’

  The inference was: I’m not very happy with your performance. Edward did not rise to it.

  ‘I agree with you, sir. Christmas was reasonable and the Sales showed a fairly healthy return, but the percentage increase month by month over last year is very low. Very low indeed, in some cases. In fact, in the furniture department –’

  ‘Thank you. I can see that for myself. The question is, what are we going to do about it? I take it you have some views?’

  ‘I do, sir. I think we need to take some action.’

  Thomas sat back and laced his fingers over his stomach. ‘And what action would you propose, then?’ he asked, carefully bland.

  ‘I think it is time to review just how we use our space. We’re all going to have our ideas shaken up when Selfridge opens with his American ways of doing things. Why not be prepared here at Packards, be one jump ahead of him?’

  It was resonable enough, but Thomas merely nodded.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I’ve been comparing the sales figures not only with this time last year but with the previous five years. And one department stands out as consistently under-performing. Furniture.’

  Edward paused for
a reaction. Thomas gave none.

  Edward continued, ‘When you consider the amount of square yardage taken by Furniture, that space could be far more profitably used for departments that show a higher turnover.’

  ‘So your solution is to scrap Furniture altogether?’

  ‘At its most extreme, yes. At the very least, we should go through the figures in detail and see whether a contracted department might work.’

  ‘Either we have a furniture department, or we don’t. Packards always stock the best selection of everything. A small department would not be able to do that.’

  ‘In that case I think we should do away with it. That way we would have almost three-quarters of a floor to devote to other goods.’

  ‘And what about our claim to provide everything the British family needs?’

  Edward gave a slight shrug, brushing aside the reputation that Thomas had spent so many years building. Whatever it is – you’ll find it at Packards. That had been the store’s claim since the new building opened, and he had always made sure that it was true. Nobody went away from Packards unsatisfied.

  ‘I hardly think that’s important.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  A slight flush crept up Edward’s neck. When he spoke, it was with only partly disguised patience.

  ‘No, sir, I don’t. What matters is that the store should show a growing level of profit from year to year. Anything –’

  It had gone quite far enough. Thomas slammed his fist down on the desktop, making the gold pens quiver.

  ‘What matters is service! First, last and foremost. Service to our customers. That is what a department store is about, providing what our customers need, and one of the things they need is furniture for their homes. Packards is not merely a machine to make money.’

  Edward’s voice rose as well, and took on an edge of contempt. ‘If it ceases to make money, then it ceases to exist. We are not running a charity.’

  ‘We are not running anything. I am,’ Thomas shouted. He watched the frustration show in his grandson’s eyes. He might be getting old, but he was not done yet, and the boy had better realise it. He brought his anger under control.

  ‘If the furniture department is not performing well enough, then it must be improved. Is the stock the type and design that people want? Are the prices competitive? Is the advertising effective?’ He looked at Edward from under his bushy eyebrows. ‘That can be your special responsibility. Look into it and report back to me this time next week. I shall want a full plan of action, ready to be implemented immediately.’

  Edward stood up. He planted his knuckles on the desktop and leant forward. To anyone but Thomas the effect would have been intimidating.

  ‘I think you’re making an expensive mistake,’ he stated.

  Thomas continued to look steadily back at him. ‘No, it is you who is making the mistake. I suggest you go and set about your new task. Now.’

  With extreme reluctance, Edward straightened up. He turned and marched out of the office without a further word, leaving the door swinging open behind him. Thomas was left savouring a painful victory.

  A bald head appeared round the door, attached to a birdlike man of indeterminate age.

  ‘Cup of tea, sir? Or can I pour you a whisky?’

  For a moment, Thomas hesitated. He would really have liked a whisky, but to have one would be to admit that his grandson had upset him.

  ‘Tea, please, Archer.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  Thomas still employed a male secretary. Not that he was prejudiced against women in offices. Far from it. The typists employed by Packards were all female. He would dearly have liked to have an attractive young woman to stand guard over his outer office and be his personal assistant. But Archer had been with him for twenty-four years now and was loyal right to his back teeth. With Thomas, loyalty counted for a lot. He would not get rid of Archer even for the pleasure of having a pretty girl bringing him his tea.

  Tea arrived, best Assam as available from Grocery, served in porcelain as sold in Glass and China.

  ‘You know, Archer, young Mr Edward Packard grows more like my late father every day.’

  ‘Is that so, sir?’

  It was, and Thomas did not like it. His father had been a tyrant. When Thomas left home, he had felt as if he were escaping from slavery. He had returned but once, to his mother’s funeral. He did not want to leave Packards to a man like that.

  And yet – what was the alternative? The one thing he had failed to do in all these years of empire-building was to procreate a dynasty from which to select a successor. His marriage to Margaret had produced just one child, Winifred. Winifred had done her duty and brought forth two boys and a girl, but nobody in their right mind would leave anything but a sleeping interest in the store to Perry. If he were to keep Packards under family control Thomas’s successor had to be Edward. He sighed, reviewing the other possibilities that had occurred to him over the years. There was plenty of talent within the management. A team of the brightest and best could be appointed to run the store. But family was family, and Packards without a Packard at the helm did not seem right. He would have to concentrate on taming Edward before he relinquished control to him.

  For a while Thomas became immersed in administration, dictating some letters and speaking to the head of staffing. That done, he allowed himself to rest his thoughts on his third grandchild: Amelie, his favourite. The dear girl had come home at last. This afternoon he would indulge himself and leave work early to pay a call at Winifred’s house. He could not wait any longer before seeing his Amelie again. It seemed like an age since he had last basked in her sparkling smile or heard her cheerful voice. The world was a dull place without her.

  As if summoned by thought, her laughter came to him from the outer office. At first he fancied he had imagined it, but then he clearly caught her words as she spoke to his secretary.

  ‘Oh come along, Archer, don’t be so stuffy. You know Mr Packard will always see me.’

  And then the door burst open and there she was, dressed in an outfit of yellow trimmed with pale green and looking like a breath of spring.

  ‘Grandpa!’

  She ran across the room, flung her arms round him and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.

  ‘How are you, you old darling? I’ve come to thank you for sending the motor for me yesterday. It was absolutely sweet of you.’

  Thomas kissed her back, then stood to hold her at arm’s length and look at her.

  ‘You look prettier than ever. How are you, my dear?’

  ‘I couldn’t be better. Oh, Grandpa, I’ve had such a marvellous time. America is an amazing place. It’s just bursting with new ideas. You would love it, I’m sure. But it’s lovely to be home again, too.’

  ‘And it’s good to see you,’ Thomas said, with wild understatement. ‘I didn’t expect you’d be here today.’

  ‘Just try to keep me away! Mama wants me to go visiting her boring friends with her later on, but I persuaded her that I should come here this morning.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ Thomas agreed.

  Archer brought more tea, and set chairs in front of the fireplace. Amelie sat on the edge of hers, telling her grandfather all about her trip. He listened avidly, interested in everything she said, just because she was saying it. But when she started talking about shops he took a professional interest as well.

  ‘You should see the stores on State Street, Grandpa! Some of them are eleven storeys high, and so beautiful, they’re like palaces. People go and spend the day at Marshall Field’s, there’s so much to see. And the windows – you should see the windows, Grandpa. They are like works of art. Instead of crowding everything in like we do, they display only a few items so that they look really inviting. People come just to see the effect.’

  ‘Ah, but do they go into the store once they’ve looked?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Oh yes. The goods look so beautiful, people just have to go in and see what else is on
offer. You should try it, Grandpa, you really should.’

  Thomas smiled, unconvinced. ‘We’ll see. And what did you think of Packards as you walked through? Is the old place still up to scratch after all these wonders you’ve seen?’

  ‘Of course it is, Grandpa. It’s still the best store in the world. Now tell me, how is everything? How did the Sales go this year? Is the new tea room a success?’

  Thomas gave her a résumé of everything that had been going on while she had been away. Amelie fixed her bright eyes on his face and drank in all he said, nodding and adding a comment or question from time to time. Thomas had not had such a receptive audience since she went away. He found himself telling her all about the disappointing sales figures and his set-to with Edward.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Amelie looked anxious. ‘That was something I wanted to speak to you about, Grandpa. Now you know I don’t like to interfere, but I was just walking through the furniture department on my way to see you, and I ran into Edward . . .’ She told the tale, ending up with, ‘So you see I just have to ask you to stop him from dismissing poor Mr Green. He’s been with us for years, and I’m sure it’s not all his fault that the sales are down in Furniture.’

  Thomas gave her a serious look. ‘You think I should countermand Edward, do you?’

  Amelie got up and sat on the arm of his chair, stroking the top of his head.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, Gramps darling, but Edward was being so beastly, I just had to stick up for poor Mr Green. You will say you’ll let him stay, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Thomas promised, deciding then and there to take steps without delay.

  ‘Darling Gramps! And now let me tell you about the wonderful idea I’ve just had. This will improve your sales figures, I’m sure. I’ve invented a whole new department, and I’m sure it could be a very successful one.’

  She outlined her plan for Ladies’ Sportswear. As she spoke, Thomas realised that she could have hit on a good original idea. He started to question her about what stock might be carried, how big she envisaged the department, where she thought would be the best place to advertise.