Florence was feeling increasingly bewildered.
‘Well now – ah, our coffee. Thank you so much, Mrs Graves.’
Florence had been expecting, given the difficulty with which it had been obtained, that the coffee would be served in fine bone china, on a tray complete with sugar basin and milk jug. She was wrong. Mrs Graves – and how did such an unattractive person manage to become Mrs anything, she wondered – slammed down on the low table beside her a polystyrene cup of what she presumed to be coffee; a cup of water complete with teabag was offered to Mr Smythe with the same graciousness.
‘Thank you,’ said Florence, ‘most kind.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Graves,’ said Mr Smythe again. ‘Most welcome.’
Mrs Graves left, slamming the door behind her.
‘Now, if we might continue . . .’ said Mr Smythe.
‘OK,’ said Hugh, ‘we need to get this over, Bianca. I would stress that, at this stage, the original investment still stands. We are not pulling out of the deal; rather holding to it, as it was originally set up. I do hope that’s clear.’
‘It is,’ said Bianca, ‘but, you see . . .’
She looked at them; they looked back, their faces more than usually blank. Was it something venture capitalists developed, she wondered, that expression and the ability to switch it on at will, or was it there in the first place, a requirement of the job?
‘. . . you see, it just isn’t going to work without the global launch idea, the franchises, the—’
‘Really?’ Mike’s expression was now one of intense surprise. ‘But until a very few weeks ago, you assured us it would. Has something changed?’
‘In a way, yes. The franchises have been taken, and replicas of our shop are being created all over the world. With your help, of course. I don’t discount that for a moment. The entire advertising budget, perfume apart, has been appropriated to that. It’s far too late to develop another one. The heritage idea, the link with the Jubilee, the whole platform we’ve now built the relaunch on, needs the global launch.’
‘But why? We genuinely don’t understand. Admittedly your latest idea was far more ambitious, and it must be said, exciting, but the original had much to commend it. At far lower cost . . .’
‘No,’ said Bianca staunchly, ‘the advertising budget hasn’t changed. Merely the way we are spending it. Far, far more efficiently, as I see it. We’ve said all along that we couldn’t possibly compete with the Lauders and the L’Oréals.’
‘I don’t recall your exactly saying that,’ said Hugh. ‘You assured us the campaign would be so clever, with such a strong premise, that it would stand up very well.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘But . . . ?’
‘That was before I had this idea. This brilliant idea which hangs on our having the shops. We can’t do it without it. In fact, that could be said for the original idea,’ she added, ‘given the heritage angle. It’s given it all so much credence.’
‘Well, it’s going to have to manage without it,’ said Mike. ‘We cannot conjure another two million out of the air, Bianca. I’m sorry.’
She was silent.
‘And,’ Hugh said, ‘we have to move out of that shop, pronto. Every day there is costing us mega bucks. Which will have to be found out of the budget,’ he added.
‘Oh what?’
‘Well, of course. I do begin to wonder what’s happened to your commercial sense, Bianca. Perhaps you might take a little time to read through the contract again.’
She said nothing.
‘So – what suggestions do you have?’
‘I – I don’t know. None, really. Everything is linked to everything else. The new range, the packaging, the concept, the PR, the advertising – it’s all tied up in The Shop. And the other shops. I can’t see how we can do it without.’
‘Well, you’ll have to try. Unless you want to pull out altogether, of course, and we can call in the receivers, call it a day. That way we at least won’t lose any more—’
‘You can’t do that!’ Panic flooded her. ‘You can’t.’
‘From what you say, we might as well. Your other way isn’t going to work, or so you seem to have suddenly discovered.’
‘That’s not fair. The other way still needs The Shop.’
‘Sadly, that cannot be. The Shop has to go. Look, why don’t you go and have a think. Come back in an hour. Ask Mark Rawlins, if you like. He’s the only person who knows about this and he’s very discreet and very sound.’
‘I – might,’ she said, but she knew she wouldn’t. What did Mark know about interactive advertising campaigns and creative concepts and PR build-up and consumer awareness? She suddenly felt very tired and unbearably sad. She needed to get out of here before she actually started crying. That really would spell the end for her, as well as the House of Farrell.
‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now then,’ said Mr Smythe, ‘what Sir Cornelius himself failed to recognise, and his father before him – I don’t suppose you ever met his father?’ He had a way of interrupting himself, and going off into what seemed to Florence in her agony of impatience, time-wasting tangents. She shook her head.
‘Ah. Well, he was very unlike Cornelius, it must be said; he seems to have been a rather unworldly character, an academic, whose needs were simple and his interests scholastic. He lived alone, after his wife, Cornelius’s mother, ran off, and was writing a book about medieval map-making which, between the two of us, I consider would have been unpublishable.’
‘I certainly won’t tell anyone,’ said Florence carefully, ‘but what was it that he – Cornelius’s father – didn’t realise?’
‘I thought I had explained that,’ said Mr Smythe.
‘Not – not quite.’
‘Dear me. Well, that his father was the last surviving member of the tontine.’
Florence was experiencing a rather odd sensation; her skin felt very cold, almost clammy and she was finding breathing a little difficult.
Surely, surely, this didn’t mean – it couldn’t mean – no, of course it couldn’t. It couldn’t. She took another sip of her disgusting coffee and said, mostly by way of avoiding the huge, the terrifying, the incredible conclusion, ‘But how could he not have done?’
‘Oh, very easily. If he wasn’t giving it proper attention.’ He looked at Florence rather irritably; he clearly felt she could also do better in this department. ‘His father, Cornelius’s grandfather, died rather suddenly and his will simply stated that he left all his worldly possessions to his only son. There was no time for deathbed conversations, or anything like that. And in turn, Cornelius’s father left all his worldly possessions to Cornelius, the will identically worded. Neither of them took any interest in the Berkeley Arcade, especially as it didn’t yield any income as such, the profits having to be ploughed back into the arcade – indeed, just recently the charter company have increased the rents of all the shops there to a properly commercial level to take care of some necessary refurbishment on the fabric of the entire arcade. That is one of the things I felt you should be aware of, but as it contradicted Sir Cornelius’s instruction . . .’
‘But – I still don’t quite understand what all this means.’
Mr Smythe sighed once again.
‘Dear me. What it means is that Cornelius did not merely inherit the freehold of Number 62. He inherited the freehold of the entire arcade. And that is what he has gifted to you.’
‘Oh,’ said Florence. ‘Oh, I see. I – I wonder if I could have a glass of water . . .’
Bianca took far less than an hour to think about what should be done. As far as she could see, there was nothing really to think about. The House of Farrell was doomed and might as well be closed with as much dignity as possible, rather than scrabbling about struggling to keep its head above the water for another six months or so. Unless she could produce two million pounds, The Shop would have to go and if The Shop was gone, so
was her campaign. Even the more modest version, as she had pointed out to Mike and Hugh. She did wonder wildly if they could build it on the global line-up of shops without the one in the arcade but as it was the cornerstone of everything they were doing – The Shop opening on almost the very day the Queen was crowned, the society ladies and famous models of their day all shopping there and Susie had some wonderful interviews with a few of them – it would all ring horribly false. She felt very angry suddenly; it was all so unfair. And there had been nothing from Florence; obviously her legacy wasn’t going to help any. She wondered what on earth Cornelius could have been thinking of, bequeathing his mistress, in this flamboyantly romantic gesture, something that was clearly going to cost her, rather than provide her with, a great deal of money. The more she knew of him, the more she found Cornelius irritating.
Mike and Hugh were in their respective offices when she walked back into Porter Bingham. They suggested the boardroom, but she said what she had to say wouldn’t take long and she would then leave it to them to tell the landlords that they were not renewing the lease.
‘I don’t suppose that will take very long either.’
‘Probably not,’ said Mike.
He looked at her; she could see he read defeat, knew what her answer would be.
‘You want out? Or rather out for Farrell’s?’
‘I don’t want it, but yes. I think that’s what we should do. It’s the only thing to do. Exactly how is clearly your decision.’
‘Of course. But I would like to say I do think that’s the right decision.’
‘I think so. Might you sell it on? To some huge company? I wonder which. I don’t see a large queue of bidders. The Lauders certainly won’t want it.’
‘They might.’
‘Oh, come on, Hugh. A failing brand, with no image, haemorrhaging money, as you are so fond of putting it. What’s in that for them?’
‘They might like the Englishness,’ said Mike, ‘just as you do.’
‘They might. But I very much doubt it.’
‘With your campaign . . .’
‘Oh please! That’s mine. Not for sale.’
‘Really? No copyright on ideas, Bianca.’
‘Is that so? I think you might find a really hot IP lawyer and check that out. I cannot believe you could even consider flogging my campaign. Anyway, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Do you need me to sign anything? I will if you do. Then I’d like to go home – it’s been a pig of a day.’
‘Possibly.’ Hugh was looking uncomfortable. ‘But there’s no rush, Bianca. Next week will do to start the winding-up process. As long as we can get shot of that lease. We can’t afford to mess about with that for more than a day. Literally. I’ll get on to that immediately, and yes, I will need a signature for that. Oh Bianca, this is very sad. The end of this particular affair. Well, we’ve had fun. And hopefully there’ll be another.’
‘Will there?’ she said, meeting his eyes steadily. She could see there wouldn’t. She had let them down, as they would see it. Such behaviour was not easily forgiven.
She’d let everyone down, she reflected wretchedly, professionally and personally. Her colleagues, her investors, her children – and her husband.
Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her bag.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’ll just kill this—’ And then saw who the call was from. Florence. Ringing, no doubt, to say the whole thing had been a great fuss over nothing and she couldn’t help after all. She almost decided to ignore it, ring her back later, but then she thought that would be unkind. Florence had been so excited about the prospect of – possibly – saving Farrell’s. The least she could do was show her a little courtesy.
‘Hello, Florence,’ she said.
‘Hello, Bianca. Look, this is incredible. I—’
‘Just hang on a moment while I go out into the corridor. Right, go ahead. What news, what’s incredible?’
‘Where are you?’
‘At Porter Bingham, with Mike and Hugh.’
‘And how do things look?’
‘Pretty bad,’
‘Well, I think I can make them look quite a lot better!’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’ Her voice had a self-satisfied note to it. ‘Completely, absolutely sure.’
‘But – how? I don’t understand. Cornelius didn’t leave you two million pounds, did he? Because that’s the only thing I can think of—’
‘Almost as good. Now listen, Bianca. Are you sitting down?’
‘No, but I’m leaning against a wall.’
‘That will do. Now listen . . .’
Less than five minutes later she walked back into Mike’s office. They looked at her awkwardly. They clearly did feel a little bad at least.
She smiled at them; she could tell from their reaction that they could see she was in a different mood altogether. Their body language was interesting; they had instinctively moved closer together.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘I have some news.’
‘Ye-es?’ said Mike warily.
‘Mike, don’t look so scared. It’s good news. Commercially sound news. Listen. You – we – have the facility to borrow that two million pounds.’
‘Oh Bianca, please! Not again. On what security?’
‘Oh, well, I don’t know quite how you might view this, but it seems pretty good to me. Against the freehold of the whole of the Berkeley Arcade. How does that sound to you? And I’m here to tell you, if you won’t do it, I will.’
Chapter 54
‘It’s awfully nice here.’
‘Here as in my flat or here as in my bed?’
‘Both. Obviously the bed has a certain je ne sais quoi, but . . .’
‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘You can’t believe it! How about me, all those months, thinking how much too glamorous and sophisticated you were and wanting the bright lights and all the time—’
‘All the time I was after your money and your position.’ Lara leaned over and kissed him.
‘What money, you might well ask?’ he said with a sigh. ‘What position? As it is, you’ve got yourself an impoverished divorcee with a two-bit job in Birmingham. What a disappointment.’
‘Not a disappointment at all,’ said Lara, ‘in any way.’
‘Not even . . . ?’
‘Certainly not that.’
‘God, I was absolutely petrified. Are you sure?’
‘So sure. It was . . . lovely.’
‘Hmm. Sounds bit dull, “lovely”.’
‘No, Bertie, not dull. Not in the very least dull.’
And it hadn’t been, she thought, smiling at him across the pillows. Warm and sweet and gentle, it had been, and a little bit surprising (and a little bit anxious), and caring and thoughtful and actually, in the end, really rather good. Lovely.
Of course it had been . . . difficult. He had indeed been petrified, she could see that even at the time, and she felt deeply sympathetic, but she wanted him so much and he quite clearly wanted her, so the only thing was to hurry things on a bit, persuade him she couldn’t wait for another time, as he kept suggesting, as that lovely long, absurdly happy evening wore on, and they had been saying – ‘I thought you were just incredible’ and ‘I wanted you to like me so much’ and ‘I felt so happy with you just straight away’ and ‘I couldn’t believe you could ever want to spend time with me’ and ‘They were some of the loveliest times I can ever remember’ – interspersed with kissing on Lara’s sofa in what was indeed a very nice flat she owned near Parsons Green, and drinking a bottle of champagne she had produced from the fridge.
‘I always keep one there just in case,’ she said.
‘Just in case of what?’
‘Of something to celebrate. We could do with about six of them tonight.’
From the moment he had come in and stood there, taking in her tear-drenched face, the pile of tissues flung across the desk
, her dishevelled hair, her mascara-smudged eyes, she hadn’t stopped smiling. And he had shut the door very firmly behind him, and then he said, ‘My mother tells me you aren’t actually after my money and my position, but that you are genuinely fond of me.’
And she said, ‘How does she know?’
And he said, ‘Well, she assures me she is a very perceptive woman.’
And she said, ‘Well, I have to say I think she is.’
And he said, ‘Well I never,’ and stood there smiling his wonderful, lovely smile, and she had stood up and walked round the desk and up to him and put her arms round his neck, and said, ‘Very, very fond, how about you?’
‘Spectacularly fond.’
And that was it really.
She sent him back to his party for an hour or so because she said he really couldn’t just leave it the minute he got the present, whatever would everyone think? And he had looked stricken and said did she really believe that and she said well, a bit, and gave him the address of her flat where he should meet her in a couple of hours and he scuttled off back to the boardroom and she called Chris and said she wasn’t very well – she couldn’t face anything more difficult for the time being at least – and then she went to the ladies’ and repaired her face, which was seriously in need of it, and then she too went back to the party which was beginning to run down, and she wandered round the room in a haze of happiness, pausing to chat to people like Lucy and Tamsin, who was chatting up a young salesman she had taken a huge shine to at the conference – she liked a party, did Tamsin – and Marge and Trina and Hattie – all her favourites, really, and noticed that they were the people Bertie seemed to be spending most of his time with too.
And then he stood up on a chair and announced he really had to leave, which was a little uncharacteristic, and thanked everyone again for coming, and after a decent interval, she left too, having first called a cab and all the way home she kept doing whatever the emotional equivalent of pinching herself was, and when she got there, he was waiting on the doorstep, because she hadn’t thought to give him a key, looking bemused and anxious and happy all at the same time.
A Perfect Heritage Page 68