The technical team turned to Bianca and grinned.
‘And this was your idea?’
‘It was.’
‘It’s fu— bloody brilliant.’
‘Well, thank you. I thought so too. Excuse my modesty. It wasn’t actually entirely my idea. Well, it sort of was, but Jay-Z, you know, the rock star—’
‘Yeah, I know, course I do!’
‘Sorry. Anyway, he did something a bit similar, you might even know about it?’
The technical team shook its head.
‘Well, he published every single page of his autobiography separately, but simultaneously, somewhere in the world, sides of trucks, posters, subways, so in theory people could download the whole book and read it. And I thought: how amazing to have all these people sitting by their computers, waiting for whatever time it is where they are, to be first in line, as all the little virtual shops open—’
‘Oh my God,’ said Lara interrupting, ‘are we doing lots of shops now?’
‘Yes, we absolutely are. We’ll have the shops because we’re going to do a franchise operation. How clever is that? Not my idea, that one. Had a bit of a time getting Mike and Hugh on side, and I’m not sure they believe in it even now, but they’re doing their bit, putting feelers out to their contacts where I don’t have any. No joy yet, but – well, it’s going to work, it’s got to.’
‘And – sorry to be negative – can we do it in the time?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Bianca airily. ‘Same reason, because we’ve got to. There is simply no room for failure And there won’t be.’
She smiled round the room. ‘So what do you think?’
‘I still think it’s amazing,’ said Tod. ‘Amazing.’ He smiled back at Bianca.
She was changed, Lara thought, from the humiliated, half-defeated woman of the conference and the following week; she had her confidence back, her sheen, her sure touch; she knew absolutely what she was doing.
‘Well, the first thing we have to do is build a microsite,’ Tod said, ‘with a link to the main Farrell one. Built-in HTML5, I would say. Agree, Jules?’
‘Yeah, probably. There’d be animation in it obviously, movement within the site, interactive techniques – all kinds of fun.’
‘And timing?’ said Bianca. ‘I imagine it won’t be exactly easy.’
‘No, it won’t. But Bianca, it can be done,’ said Tod. ‘Trust us.’
‘OK. I have to, don’t I?’
‘You do,’ said Tod with a grin.
‘And the other thing I thought was: suppose it broke down under all the hits – millions, hopefully – how totally awful that would be?’
‘Totally,’ said Jules, ‘so the next thing we do is run a beta version of the site on a server which is not accessible to the public, and basically try to break the site. Throw as much as we can at it. So we know it’ll be all right.’
‘So there we are,’ said Tod, ‘lots of pretty little shops, fantastic website, excited public – how do we tell them about it in the first place?’
‘Well,’ said Susie, ‘press is too slow, really, although I’ve got some ideas for them. But in the immediate build-up, bloggers, the dailies, TV. I have a feeling that we need an event too. On launch day. Something simple, like totally stopping London’s traffic? No, seriously, I’ll think of something. And of course online, banners, that sort of thing. And a teaser campaign, that’s a must.’
‘Yeah, and we’ve got a line for you,’ said Tod. ‘See if you like it. It’s “Something beautiful is going to happen”. It will appear wherever the Farrell logo is. Just that, to begin with, nothing more.’
‘I like it very much,’ said Bianca.
‘Good. Then after a month or so we’ll add “June 1st” and anything else that we think necessary. It’s intriguing, and wherever they go, they’ll find it, in magazines, online, possibly even radio, on the website and the Farrell Facebook page and Twitter, of course. Those eight little words. No more.’
‘Great,’ said Susie. ‘Really really great.’
‘Good. Oh, and we think you should have a Face of Farrell,’ said Tod, ‘a supermodel or, better still, an actress, plugging Farrell’s with their every breath.’
‘Now that we can’t afford,’ said Bianca. ‘Totally impossible.’
‘Bianca,’ said Susie slowly, ‘I like that idea. Can I have a go at finding someone?’
‘Yes, if you really think you can. But it absolutely mustn’t cost anything. Well, hardly anything.’
‘OK,’ said Jules. ‘Now, do you want to be involved in building the site?’
‘Only on the visual side – I wouldn’t understand most of it.’
‘Of course. But that would come a bit later. Let’s get the technicalities out of the way, and you say there’ll be a dozen shops minimum?’
‘Maximum,’ said Bianca. ‘Minimum two. But there will be. Don’t look at me like that, Tod! It’s just that I really am dependent on finding people to put their money into us, and until they do . . .’
‘Of course.’
‘The minute there’s one, they’ll all come tumbling in. It’s that first in the bag that does it.’
‘I had to sell ad space once,’ said Lara, ‘for a new magazine. Total nightmare, no one would risk it. Then, finally, Revlon took a page and bingo! They were fighting each other off.’
‘I bet. So all we need is a Revlon. Notionally speaking. But – I’ll keep you posted.’ For the first time that morning she looked less confident, less positive even.
‘Right,’ said Tod, ‘one more thing. We wondered about having a countdown device, ticking away on the site, like a digital clock, marking every second till June 1st. I know it’s a bit corny, but it’s very intriguing, just the same. But we need to make it different, memorable – we don’t want it to look like the Olympic clock.’
‘How about,’ said Lara slowly, ‘some sort of device that starts as the tiniest dot in the corner of the page – I mean screen – getting bigger and bigger and then more and more recognisable as a face by June 1st. Just think of her, coming into focus, starting with a fleck of eye colour or a scrap of eyelash.’
‘That’s genius,’ said Tod, staring at her. ‘I love it! It could be part of the teaser campaign. She could be our supermodel. How about that?’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ said Bianca. ‘Goodness, this has turned into some brainstorm. Fantastic work, everybody. Thank you so much. Now—’
Jemima appeared looking as near to flustered as she was capable of.
‘I’m so sorry, Bianca, but it’s – well, it’s Saul Finlayson. He says he has to talk to you right now, that it’s really, really urgent. I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Bianca. She was struggling to look cool, Lara thought: interesting. ‘I’ll – I’ll take it in there.’
Jemima followed her out of the room, closing the door with an apologetic smile to everyone. They all tried to appear not to be listening but it was difficult, because Bianca’s voice was getting increasingly loud, saying, ‘What? Oh what? I don’t – you can’t – Oh. My. God! That is just so incredibly amazing! Yes. Yes, of course. Yes. Fantastic! Just – just hold on a minute, would you?’
And she appeared back in her own office, flushed and brilliant-eyed and clearly near to tears.
‘We’ve found our Revlon,’ she said, her voice shaking slightly, ‘resident in Singapore. Wants to open a Farrell shop like yesterday – well, on June 1st of course. Just try and stop us now!’
Susie was horribly aware of not having been very impressive at the meeting; she was so terrified about the imminent meeting with Henk and what she was going to do about it, not just this evening but longer term, that she could hardly have told Bianca her name, never mind come up with some brilliant idea. She simply couldn’t go on with this; it was too much for her to handle and she found it difficult to think of anything else. More than once she’d seen Bianca looking at her with a particular expression of hers, a kind of watchful impatience that ever
yone was afraid of, far more than open criticism. She knew she already wasn’t performing up to standard, and it could only get worse as time went on.
She had suggested a wine bar midway between Farrell’s and Jemima’s college to Henk, which he agreed to and Jemima had promised to be there within ten minutes of getting an SOS. Just the same, she got ready in a state approaching terror, and when Bianca’s face appeared behind her in the mirror of the ladies’, she started shaking and had to make an excuse to rush out of the room.
Henk was late; over half an hour, and she was just about to give up on him when he finally appeared, looking rather sheepish, saying he was sorry, he’d been held up.
‘You could have called me,’ she said almost crossly, and then remembered she wasn’t dealing with someone in a normal state of mind, and apologised.
‘It’s OK. You got a drink?’
‘Yes thank you.’
He looked at her spritzer, then said, ‘Shall I get a bottle of the house white?’
God, Susie thought, he was clearly envisaging a long evening.
‘I – that sounds rather a lot. I’m not supposed to be drinking at all, I’m on antibiotics.’
He shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll just get a beer.’
When he sat down next to her he said, ‘Good day?’
‘Yes, thanks. Yours?’
‘Lousy. Susie, let’s not play games, it’s too important. I told you how bad I was feeling.’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. Henk, did you think about what I suggested, you know, about – about seeing someone? Someone professional who could—’
‘Not really. I just don’t see the point. Only one thing’s going to make me feel better and that’s being with you again. I told you.’
‘Yes, but Henk, you’ve just got to – got to—’ Go on Susie, say it, ‘Got to understand that – well, that isn’t going to – to happen.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t understand. It has to happen, Susie, we were so good together and I don’t see the problem. You’re not with anyone else now and . . .’
Susie suddenly felt she was going to scream. This was Groundhog Day, playing for real, the conversation going round and round in the same setting, even to the half-drunk white wine spritzer on the table in front of them. Was she ever going to get away? Was she going to have to spend the rest of her life in a wine bar with Henk?
‘Excuse me,’ she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking, ‘I just need to go to the loo.’ And sat there, crying frantically, texting Jemima: Please please come, please as soon as you can.
Poor Jemima, she thought, trying to clean off the streams of mascara – how come tears made it dissolve so easily and tap water didn’t? – she was probably in the middle of a lecture. But she had promised . . .
It took her quite a long time to calm down, to get back in control, and when she finally got back to Henk he was staring moodily across the room.
‘You took your time,’ he said. ‘Trying to get away from me, are you?’
‘No, Henk, of course not. I’m sorry.’
‘OK. So, what are we going to do? Stay here, find something to eat?’
‘I – well, I can’t be—’
‘Can’t be what? Don’t tell me you’ve got some important meeting to go to, Susie, it’s getting a bit monotonous. We need time together, to sort things out, to get to know each other again. Come on!’
The panic was rising again; she felt sick, shaky, sat staring at him, trying desperately to think of what to say.
‘Babe! Hello? I’m here. Come on, what shall it be, stay here a bit longer, maybe they do food.’
‘I – I’m not—’ Not hungry she was going to say, while hopelessly aware that it was no excuse at all, certainly wouldn’t satisfy him. Then . . .
‘Susie! Oh my God, it’s so great to see you. How are you?’
Jemima! Lovely, lovely Jemima, standing in front of them, smiling at them. She could have hugged her – and actually did. Picking up on Jemima’s script, she stood up, hurled her arms round her, said, ‘What a coincidence! You look amazing! How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Working at the same old thing, medical secretary.’
That was clever, Susie thought, giving her background.
‘And you? How’s the PR business going? Bit more interesting than hearing about people’s bones – was I working for the orthopaedic surgeon last time we met?’
‘No, I think whoever it was then was in stomachs,’ said Susie, and then giggled, partly with relief, partly at her own turn of phrase.
Jemima smiled back, then said to Henk, ‘I’m so sorry, you must think I’m terribly rude, but I just had to say hello to Susie, we haven’t met for yonks – must be three years, Susie, yes?’
‘At least. Henk, this is Jemima, Jemima Pendleton. Jemima, Henk Martin.’
‘Hi, Henk. I do hope I’m not ruining your nice quiet evening – I know how annoying that could be.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said, managing to smile, clearly with a great effort. ‘You go ahead. Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, thank you, I’ve probably had one too many already. Husband’s away on business and I’m out on the razz with another girlfriend – well you know – actually just going home.’
‘Well, we’re about to go and have a meal,’ said Henk, ‘so—’
‘A meal!’ said Jemima, smiling at him ecstatically. ‘Oh my goodness, now that does sound tempting. Soak up some of this alcohol. But are you sure? I don’t want to gatecrash?’
God, she was a good actresss, Lucy thought. She had got it to perfection, her role, and how clever to choose the thick-skinned friend, misunderstanding, imposing herself where she was so clearly not welcome.
‘No, that wasn’t what—’ But Henk stopped, floored by the impossibility of not sounding rude, and looking at Susie for a possible escape.
And she, aware that she must tread carefully, not overplay the situation, said ‘Well, the thing is, Jemima, we’ve got a lot to talk about, me and Henk, and—’
‘Well, look, why don’t I just have a starter or something and then leave you to it. But it would be so nice to have just half an hour catch-up, Susie. Gosh, what a bit of luck spotting you! So, Henk, what do you do? It must be something creative if you know Susie. Let me guess, something creative – you have such a creative aura! I know, advertising. I can just see you dreaming up some wonderful campaign!’
‘No,’ said Henk, scowling at her. He was getting really pissed off, Susie could see.
‘OK. So what?’
‘I’m a photographer,’ he said.
‘A photographer! Oh, how exciting! What, fashion photos for Vogue and Tatler, that sort of thing? Or do you do celebrity pictures, people like George Clooney and David Beckham? Anyway, you can tell me about it over our meal. Where should we go? Do you fancy Greek or Italian or Indian, maybe?’
‘Look,’ said Henk, ‘count me out.’ He was looking really angry now, glaring at Jemima, avoiding Susie’s eyes. ‘You two go off and enjoy yourselves. I’ve got work to do.’
‘Oh, now I feel really terrible. Look, you two go off. Maybe you could both come round to mine one evening later in the week? That’d be fun and I could get to know you, Henk. In fact, how about tomorrow?’
‘No, no, much better this way. I’ll see you tomorrow, Susie. Call me first thing to fix something, OK? Without fail.’ It was a menacing phrase. ‘Nice to have met you,’ he said to Jemima, pulling on his coat, ‘enjoy your meal.’
And he was gone, without even kissing Susie goodbye. She looked after him, panic-stricken. ‘Jemima, that was a bit much. Poor Henk! He’s in such a state! Maybe I should follow him?’
‘Susie,’ said Jemima, ‘Henk is not in a state. He’s fine, sane as you and me.’
‘How do you know, how can you tell?’
‘Because I’ve been watching him. I got here before you texted, just in time to see you go to the loo. I stood in the doorway, watching him. Honestly Susie, the minute yo
u’d turned your back, he looked round, then got out his phone, called someone up, started laughing and chatting, totally OK. I couldn’t hear anything he said, of course, except I could see at one stage he was kissing into the phone. You were ages and he went on and on, chatting away, nodding, looked at his watch, nodded again – he was having a really nice time. Then as the loo door opened he said something very brief, switched off his phone, pushed it into his pocket, slumped down in his seat, and went all moody-looking. He’s a bastard, Susie, a good old-fashioned bastard. He’s playing games with you, and I think you should have a really serious check on him. Like go to the studio where he works, something like that—’
‘Jemima, I couldn’t!’
‘But I actually don’t think it’s necessary. I’m one hundred per cent convinced he’s just leading you on, and it’s just outrageous and so cruel. Do you have the numbers of any of his friends?’
‘Well – yes.’
‘OK, call one of them up and say you’re really worried about him, he seems so miserable or something like that.’
‘I – I don’t know,’ said Susie. ‘I’d feel dreadful if they said yes, that they were worried too . . .’
‘Well, I will then,’ said Jemima impatiently. ‘If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, switching from fun guy to depressive in the course of a nanosecond, I wouldn’t be so confident. But I am, totally. He’s a very good actor, Susie, that’s all – well, apart from being devious and sadistic and all kinds of other nice things.’
‘You’re not so bad at acting yourself,’ said Susie. She was beginning to believe Jemima, to feel a relief so intense she felt almost physically lighter, rather silly even. She giggled. ‘I was beginning to find you quite irritating myself!’
‘Yes, well, I was quite good at acting at school,’ said Jemima modestly. ‘Even played Juliet. OK, so how are you feeling now? Still want to go after him?’
‘No way!’ said Susie. ‘Tell you what, I think we should actually go off and have a meal and lots to drink, and talk about your creative aura. How about that?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Jemima. ‘God, Susie, you look so different already.’
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