‘You know very well when it is, Edward, since Mother has made such a fuss about it. That isn’t the reason I have come to see you. What is the problem with my Miss Brand?’
‘There is no problem.’
Amelie stared. ‘But you said –’
‘I merely telephoned you to inform you of what had happened, and to ask you not to take on staff by yourself in future. As far as I am concerned, that is the end of the matter. Naturally, I have dismissed the girl in question.’
‘You have done what?’ Amelie cried.
‘I have –’
‘Yes, I heard you the first time, thank you. How dare you dismiss her without asking me! Miss Brand is the only shopgirl in my department who knows the slightest thing about sport. And besides, you can’t just dismiss her out of hand like that.’
Edward remained irritatingly calm. ‘On the contrary, I can and I have. The girl was a liability. She had to go. I shall speak to the staffing department and they will find somebody else for you.’
Amelie jumped up. ‘You will do no such thing! I want Miss Brand back. Where is she now?’
‘I have no idea. Now just take a deep breath, Mel, and consider for a moment. We really cannot have shopgirls at Packards who bring trouble with them –’
‘But what about her?’ Amelie interrupted. ‘What about Miss Brand?’
Edward looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean?’
‘You can’t just throw her out on her ear. Where will she go?’
‘She can stay at Trent Street until the end of the week, which is very generous of us, considering.’
‘Considering what? It’s not her fault that someone came making trouble.’
‘Giving a false name was entirely her fault. No, I’m sorry, Mel, but we cannot afford sentimentality here. Your feelings do you credit, but we are running a business. That is what you fail to understand. Now, you just leave it with me, and I’ll see that you have a suitable replacement in your department.’
‘You’ll do no such thing! You had no right to go dismissing my staff without consulting me first.’
For the second time that day, Amelie jumped up and walked out. In the corridor outside Edward’s office, she hesitated. The obvious thing to do was to go and see her grandfather. Ten minutes’ wheedling and she would get what she wanted. But that would be admitting that she could not deal with it herself. Instead, she squared her shoulders, marched along to the staffing department and straight in to the manager’s office.
‘Good morning, Mr Mason. How are you today?’
The manager was distinctly taken aback. ‘Er – very well, thanking you, Miss Packard.’
‘I’m so glad to hear it,’ Amelie seated herself in front of his desk and leant forward confidingly. ‘Now, Mr Mason, I’m afraid there’s been a little misunderstanding.’
The man looked anxious. ‘A misunderstanding. Miss Packard?’
‘Yes. Just a small matter, and I’m sure we can clear it up in no time at all. My Miss Brand should not have been dismissed. She is to be reinstated straight away.’
‘I – er – but – Mr Edward Packard said –’
‘Mr Edward Packard was misinformed.’
‘But Miss Packard, I really cannot countermand his orders. You must understand –’
Amelie understood very well. Edward was a force to be reckoned with within the store. He was heir apparent to the whole organisation, whereas she was just his little sister, who was playing at shops for her own amusement.
‘It is not countermanding his orders. I’ve just been speaking with him, and he agrees with me entirely. I simply offered to come along and inform you, to save him the trouble.’
Mr Mason opened his mouth and shut it again. ‘I really feel –’
She felt quite sorry for him. He couldn’t call her a liar to her face, but he could not believe that his superior had changed his mind in so short a time. She turned her most brilliant smile on him.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Mason, everything is sorted out. All you need to do is to make sure that Miss Brand is officially back in the fold again. Mr Edward knows all about it.’
Still the man did not look happy. Amelie was forced to produce her reserve argument. ‘And of course Mr Thomas Packard agrees with me.’
The manager knew family politics when he saw it.
‘Very well, Miss Packard.’
‘Thank you, Mr Mason. I knew we would see eye to eye. Good morning.’
With which she swept out. This time when she reached the corridor she laughed. That had put a stop to Edward. He couldn’t change the order again without looking an idiot. And if he did not like it, which he most certainly wouldn’t, then that was hard cheese for him. With a skip in her step, she set off for the first floor and Ladies’ Sportswear.
As she passed under the archway, she felt the familiar lift of pleasure. Her department. Her creation. And surprisingly busy for this hour of the morning. The three girls were all busy with customers and Daisy Phipps was in the act of wrapping what looked like a large purchase. Miss Higgs hurried forward to greet her. Amelie cut short her effusive welcome.
‘You’ll be glad to know, Miss Higgs, that I have managed to sort out the difficulty over Miss Brand. She is to be reinstated immediately.’
‘Oh – er – that is good news, Miss Packard.’
The woman did not sound overcome with pleasure, but Amelie decided to ignore this.
‘Should there be any problems in future, Miss Higgs, you are to inform me immediately. Telephone me at home, if necessary.’
Miss Higgs looked horrified. ‘T-Telephone you, Miss Packard?’
‘Of course. It’s not difficult. Leave a message for me if I’m not at home. Now, I want Miss Brand sent for. She is to come back to work at once.’
‘But –’
‘Send one of the other girls. I shall take a turn behind the counter until they return.’
‘Yes, Miss Packard.’
Over Miss Higgs’s shoulder, she could see two of the shopgirls smirking, and guessed that they were as pleased at seeing their superior overridden as she had been in getting Edward’s orders reversed. She only just stopped herself from giving them a conspiratorial grin.
When Daisy Phipps returned with Isobel Brand, it was obvious that the dismissed girl had been crying. Her face was still slightly blotchy and her eyelids swollen. Amelie wanted to speak to her in private, and realised not for the first time that she needed an office. Instead, she had to use the changing room.
Miss Brand was haltingly grateful. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Miss Packard. I – I – don’t know what I would have done if I really had been dismissed.’
Amelie waved her thanks away. ‘I was very angry when I heard what had happened. It was grossly unfair. Now, Miss Brand, I don’t wish to pry into your private life, but is there any danger that this person might come back?’
Isobel bit her lip and looked down at her clasped hands. ‘I – I don’t know. He knows where I am living.’
‘If he does, you are to call the police, and then me.’
She was not at all sure what she would do, but she was certain that she would do something.
‘Thank you, Miss Packard. I –’ Isobel hesitated.
‘Yes?’ Amelie asked.
‘There is something that this – this – episode has taught me. A silver lining, I suppose.’ Isobel gave a shadow of a smile. ‘I would never have thought that there could be one, but – it has made me see that I have real friends here at Packards. When I thought I was to be dismissed, it was like – like – well, being cast out into the darkness.’
Amelie looked at her, a young woman only two or three years older than herself, gently reared, although not of the set of people who made up Society, and there she was earning her own living independently of her family and boasting of real friends at Packards. Isobel had a place in the store. She might only be a shopgirl, but she was part of the organisation. Amelie, on the other hand, was mere
ly allowed to play at it, and then only because she had got round her grandfather and it was he who held the family purse strings.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘you’re very lucky. I wish I could say the same.’
Isobel stared at her. ‘Oh Miss Packard, how can you say that, when you’re about to be presented at court? Such an honour –’ She stopped suddenly, blushing, and looked down at her hands. ‘I do beg your pardon, it was not my place to give an opinion.’
She was quite right. She was merely an employee, and a lowly one at that, while Amelie was the granddaughter of the store’s owner. Amelie knew she should put her sharply in her place. Instead she smiled.
‘Perhaps we should change places, you and I. But as we can’t, I suppose we had better get on with what we are supposed to be doing. Are you sure you feel well enough to work today?’
Isobel took a deep breath and gave a brave little nod. ‘Of course.’
There were three customers in the department as she left. She had a last quick word with Miss Higgs and reluctantly left them to it. Now, she supposed, she must go home and face her mother’s wrath. As she walked through the store, nodding to floorwalkers and senior salesmen, the remark she had made to Isobel Brand kept floating through her head. Perhaps we should change places. Isobel would enjoy the round of calls and parties and dress fittings, and she would probably be good at it as well, better than she was at being a shopgirl. Her sales were the lowest in the department. Amelie, on the other hand, was always doing and saying the wrong thing at dinners but was good at selling. Not that she wanted to be a shopgirl, she wanted some proper responsibility at the store.
The footman was waiting for her outside the main entrance, and fell in two paces behind her as she walked along Oxford Street. It was still quite early by Society’s standards, but lesser people were out looking at the windows and making purchases. Reluctant to go directly home, she walked along to where Gordon Selfridge’s new store was being built. The walls of the building were rising rapidly now, the skeleton of girders showing what the final shape of the building would be. A band, specially hired by Mr Selfridge to help the work along, was playing cheerful marches. Amelie had heard tales of Mr Selfridge’s brilliance at retailing when she was in Chicago, and she had seen the wonderful American stores. Her grandfather was going to have a nasty shock when this store opened just along the road from Packards. What they needed to do was to start using some American ideas now, not wait until Selfridges opened and stole half their customers away. If she could only persuade her grandfather to let her try some new methods of display, she was sure it would make people come to Packards. Then she would have some real power to ask for a title and office and real staff of her own.
Then it struck her that she should show him just what she meant. She would write to the family she stayed with in Chicago and ask them to send her some photographs of Marshall Field’s windows. That surely would persuade him. With a new spring in her step, she turned for home and the inevitable roasting awaiting her there.
13
THOMAS PACKARD ALWAYS made a tour of his store from eleven to twelve each day. His staff knew he was coming, but not exactly the time he might appear, since he varied his route and could arrive on any floor at any time during that hour. Sometimes he merely processed through, nodding and passing the odd word of praise or criticism, sometimes he decided to look into a particular department or office in more detail. Either way it was woe betide any person found to be lacking in any way, but similarly, credit was always given where it was due. Thomas was respected as a fair employer.
During the Season, eleven to twelve was also the time when Society did its shopping. Thomas enjoyed seeing members of its gilded circle strolling round his departments. They gave Packards an air of style. The absolute confidence that came with knowing that you belong to the Top Ten Thousand gave them a gloss that could not be bought or imitated. Society people did not have their packages despatched to addresses in the suburbs, they had them taken downstairs to where uniformed footmen almost more lordly-looking than their employers waited to load them into polished carriages or motor cars. Society also brought a lot of business. Many of its purchases were made in the small and exclusive shops in and around Bond Street, but it was perfectly de rigueur to have gowns made or cards printed, or to buy any of the myriad small items needed to support fashionable life, at a department store. And where Society led, anyone else with enough money tried to follow. Any mention in the popular newspapers of a Society beauty having bought a hat or gloves or handkerchiefs at Packards always brought a number of requests for the selfsame article.
His last call this morning was to Ladies’ Gowns. At this very moment, Thomas knew, his darling Amelie was having a fitting for her court dress. He hoped the session would be done by now, so that he could have the pleasure of her company for a while.
He paused for a moment at the entrance of the department. He loved Ladies’ Gowns. To achieve just the right ambience, he had accompanied his wife, his daughter and his succession of mistresses to many top-class dressmaking establishments and spent a great deal of money on dresses for them while he looked around at the decor and amenities and found just what women wanted from such places. Then he had endeavoured to go one better at Packards. The department was decorated in tasteful peach and eau-de-Nil with touches of gold. On the walls were gilt-framed fashion sketches that were changed every week with the latest ideas. There were soft carpets, plenty of looking-glasses and potted palms, and little groups of comfortable chairs to sit on with piles of the latest ladies’ journals arranged on tables within easy reach and a selection of light refreshments available so that ladies were encouraged to come and sit around chatting until they were beguiled into ordering another dress. Beyond the velvet curtains there were spacious fitting rooms with further seats for whoever was accompanying the lady being fitted. And to one side, partially screened from the feminine domain, his very best idea, an area fitted up like a gentlemen’s club, where long-suffering husbands might smoke, eat, drink and read newspapers until their womenfolk reappeared. He knew for a fact, as Winifred had told him so, that some women could only get husbands to come with them if they bought their dresses at Packards.
Thomas looked contentedly upon it all. Amelie was not the only debutante having her court gown made here. Fifteen others were this Season, two of them girls with the very bluest of blood, so the store was almost sure to be mentioned in the fashionable papers. He ran his eyes over the groups of women arranged so elegantly on peach upholstered chairs, but Amelie was not amongst them. He was about to go when he saw someone coming through from the fitting rooms, but it was not his granddaughter, it was Winifred. With a sinking heart, he realised that she had spotted him. She raised her gloved hand in that imperious way of hers that indicated that she wished to speak to him.
Winifred brushed aside his greeting.
‘Father, I was on my way to see you. Might we go somewhere to talk?’
Which meant, he translated, that she did not wish to be seen by her Society friends chatting to her plebeian father, especially if she needed more money, which seemed likely. He escorted her upstairs to his office and sent for coffee.
His daughter came straight to the point.
‘I am highly displeased with Amelie.’
This was nothing new.
‘Dear me, I am sorry to hear that. How is the child? Does she look beautiful in her court gown? I am so looking forward to seeing her wearing it. I trust my dressmakers are giving satisfaction?’
Winifred did not bother to disguise her irritation with him. ‘Yes, yes. It looks very well, or will do when the alterations have been carried out. Amelie looks – well, I think I might almost say magnificent in it. That is the point, Father. Amelie has everything in her favour. She is being launched into Society with far more advantages than I ever enjoyed. Thanks to my pursuit of acquaintances on her behalf, our mantelpiece is crowded with cards. I wear myself to the bone arranging receptions and dances
and dinners for her so that all the hospitality might be returned, and I make sure that she is introduced to all the right people. And what do you think her reaction is?’
Thomas was not expecting to be asked a question. He was still amusing himself with the vision of Winifred the Martyr, performing the excruciating task of organising social events all for the benefit of her daughter. He realised that Winifred had paused for an answer.
‘I cannot imagine,’ he lied. He knew very well that Amelie was not in the least bit grateful. On the contrary, she wanted none of it.
‘She says she is bored,’ Winifred boomed. ‘Bored! When she has amusements arranged for her all day long –’
She continued proving her point for some while. Thomas heard her with only part of his brain. The rest of it was considering the gap between himself and his daughter with sadness. Once he had loved her as he now loved Amelie. When she was little, she used to sit on his knee and play with his pocket watch, or run up to him and put her small trusting hand in his and swing on his arm. Somewhere along the line, it had all gone wrong, and for the life of him he could not remember when. Now they regarded each other with mutual hostility, on his side carefully disguised.
‘– sitting on the stair with that dreadful Ellis boy, laughing her head off. And when I asked her why she had not danced with Lord Feiston, she said it was because he was a donkey!’
Coming down completely on Amelie’s side was sure to antagonise Winifred. Thomas attempted to smooth things over.
‘Well, she is young, and young people like to be amused. I’m sorry she seems to be a disappointment to you –’
‘Disappointment! Yes, well you should know how that feels, Father. After all, I was a disappointment to you, was I not?’
The sharp edge of childish pain and resentment shocked Thomas into giving her his full attention.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ he asked, but even as he did so he knew that she spoke the truth.
‘By not being a boy, of course,’ she said, confirming it.
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