The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  Poppy exhaled loudly and they sat in silence for a moment. On the street, life shuffled on. A tourist, who struggled to protect a camera that was slung around his neck, bent over to retrieve his backpack from the rear seat of a taxi. They got a bird’s-eye view of his khaki-covered tight butt for twenty seconds. With raised eyebrows, they looked at each and started to laugh.

  “Dirty bitch,” Helen grinned.

  “I said nothing.” Poppy was wearing her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth face.

  “You didn’t have to – I know what you were thinking about that poor innocent traveller.”

  “I’d say the pot is calling the kettle black!” Poppy laughed. “Maybe it’s karma that we didn’t make that boat – perhaps it’ll sink or something.” Poppy brightened.

  “To karma!” Helen raised her cup.

  “To Halong Bay! Who knows, maybe we’ll meet our soul mates on our re-scheduled junk. Here’s to destiny!” Poppy was suddenly excited at the prospect. Her vivaciousness was back.

  Helen enjoyed watching her friend daydream. But she knew better – there was no such thing as a soul mate, no such thing as destiny. Such thoughts were for dreamers.

  Chapter 41

  The taxi dropped Poppy off at the monastery first. It was hidden behind large wooden gates in the middle of a shanty town. Barefoot children with dirty little faces stopped kicking their ball around so they could stare at the foreigners, who were unusual to see in their part of town. Shy, they giggled and watched from a distance.

  “How on earth did you find this place?” Helen asked.

  “Google. I’m delighted now that I contacted the nuns, even though I didn’t think I’d have time to visit. I can’t tempt you?”

  “I’ll leave the spiritual stuff to you, thanks. See you in a few hours and try not to bonk any monks – Ryvita might get jealous.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes and closed the car door.

  Helen rolled down the window as the taxi pulled away. “And don’t forget your halo!”

  Poppy stuck her tongue out just as the brown-robed nun cracked open a small side gate.

  Helen watched through the rear window as Poppy disappeared from sight. She chuckled to herself as she sat back into the seat. She checked her phone: the screen remained annoyingly clear. She considered calling the office until she did a mental check on the time difference. Realising it was still night-time in London made her yawn. Thankfully, the taxi driver was the silent type who drove quickly, the fare being a negotiated flat rate. Helen closed her eyes for what only felt like a moment but soon the driver announced she’d arrived at Van Phuc silk village.

  One silk shop after another blazed with colour, heaven on earth for the lingerie designer. She ran her hand along the smooth textures, studying the fine jacquard weaving. She found the coveted shade of red that she’d transform from classic Vietnamese styling to an Eden classic – the Santa Claus babydoll. They wouldn’t be able to afford real silk for the Eden price points but her head was racing with thoughts for a diffusion range. A high-class silk collection to capture the beauty of Vietnam, transforming it into a luxury lingerie anthology that not only looked beautiful but also felt so provocative to wear it released a woman’s sensuality as it touched her skin.

  It’s do-able, Helen, if you can find the right supplier.

  Helen stood in a narrow little shop lost in thought as she tried to figure out how she could make this work. She gazed out onto the street. The answer came to her as a man strode by holding a straw briefcase.

  She put down the fabric and ran after him. The street was packed but she was determined this time he wouldn’t get away. The fact it was daylight also helped. She remained focused on his briefcase.

  “Excuse me!” she called out when she was within earshot. “Hello, you with the briefcase!”

  The man’s head tweaked slightly and, mercifully, he stopped and turned around.

  Helen jogged up to him. She put her hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. The man simply looked at her, puzzled.

  “I really need to work on my cardio,” she panted and this seemed to amuse him somewhat. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Heathrow. You recommended I buy a book on synchronicity.” Her breathing began to normalise as she saw a light go on in his face.

  “Yes, I remember you now, what a coincidence!” he said, in elegant BBC English.

  “No, that’s not all – I then saw you in Hong Kong – actually I saw your straw briefcase.”

  “It’s bamboo.”

  “Oh, okay, your bamboo briefcase. And now weeks later I see you in Vietnam. What do you think the odds of that are?”

  He paused and appeared to be considering her question. “Are you involved in the garment industry?” he said then.

  “Yes, but what has that got to do with it?”

  “It’s the time of year for trade fairs and contract placement. Hong Kong is the meeting point for Asia and, well, look around you.” He swept his hand at the street where they stood, surrounded by fabric. “I’ll admit, Vietnam adds intrigue to your theory but if it wasn’t for my briefcase, the chances are we’d have passed each other by – without noticing.”

  His eyes were deep brown with a distinctive slant but he wasn’t Asian. Mixed race, Helen guessed.

  “True, I’m sorry to disturb you. I guess that book had me thinking there was something more to it than just the fact the world is a small place. And even smaller when you start talking in terms of the rag trade.” Helen hunched her shoulders in jest, now feeling a little foolish. She cocked her thumb. “I’d better get back to buying silk – I’ve left a very disappointed trader back there.” With a smile she walked away.

  “Wait!” He caught up with her.

  “Yes?”

  He held out his hand. “I’m David Strong.”

  “Helen Devine.” She shook his hand.

  “Do you know what you’re looking for, Helen?”

  Helen raised her eyebrows.

  David reddened slightly. “I mean in terms of silk – perhaps I can guide you?”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’ve managed to hunt down a particularly beautiful shade of red that I can use – but I’m looking for a factory – this area appears to be all retail.”

  “As Lady Luck would have it, there’s one not five minutes from here. I’m going that way – I can show you if you like?” David smiled at her, a sparkle in his eye. His olive skin was smooth and slightly moist in the humidity. Despite that, his clothes had a smell of just-out-of-the-dryer freshness – summer meadow, as the fabric-softener ads would have you believe.

  Helen tilted her head and smiled back. “Sure,” she said.

  “This way.”

  They began to walk side by side.

  “What’s the deal with the briefcase, David?”

  “It was my grandfather’s. I know it looks a little strange but it’s got a lot of sentimental value.”

  Helen thumbed the ring on her little finger. The ring that had belonged to her grandmother.

  There were a few moments of self-conscious silence as they walked, then David struck up a conversation.

  “My grandmother was Vietnamese. She met my grandfather when he was here working. They lived together in the UK but our family links to Vietnam were very strong, if you’ll excuse the pun. My grandfather brought as much trade here as he could – he wanted the local people to benefit from Western consumers, not just be repressed by the West.” They had walked away from the crowds of the silk market and entered an industrial-looking area. “It’s not much further, maybe two hundred metres.”

  “You were saying?” Helen coaxed him.

  “Oh yes, my briefcase. I decided to come to Vietnam, continue what he had envisaged. He was too old to travel by then, so he gave me his old briefcase, said it would bring me luck. And as luck would have it, or synchrodestiny,” he paused to look at Helen, “I met my wife here in the very same village my
grandfather had met my grandmother.”

  The needle scratched across Helen’s vinyl. Great, there’s a wife, why is it all the good ones are already taken?

  “Here we are.” David looked up at a stone building.

  “What is it that you do exactly, David?” Helen asked, her curiosity piqued despite cold water being poured on her he-must-be-my-soul-mate theory.

  “I have a garment factory – this is it!” he said with a grin as he pointed at the building.

  Helen laughed. Now that was a coincidence.

  “We were hoping to expand it,” he went on, his face again serious, “employ more people from the surrounding rural areas but I’m having difficulty getting in with the major players. I wanted to start in the UK, as it’s the market I know. But it’s all about who you know. They won’t even take a look at our offer. ‘Not currently seeking new suppliers’ appears to be the tagline.” He clamped his lips together tightly.

  Helen wondered how often she’d heard Fred use those words.

  “Could I have a look at your factory?”

  “I’d be delighted.” He hesitated. “What sector did you say you were in, Helen?” They both knew she hadn’t said.

  “I’m a designer.”

  “I guessed as much,” David laughed. “You know, when I first saw you in London, I had you written off as a career-focused business executive. You look completely different out here – you appear relaxed and much more of the designer type.”

  Helen grinned. “What exactly does a designer type look like?”

  “I’m not sure I can define it . . . probably nonconformist and less afraid of letting their personality shine through by what they wear. It was my limited perception that pigeon-holed you into just one category back in London but if I may say, Vietnam suits you, Helen.”

  “It just goes to show, David, appearances can be deceptive.”

  You better believe it.

  David’s wife sat hand-stitching a button on a prototype sample. She jumped up and started to brush rogue threads off her clothes when she realised they had company. David softly kissed her hello.

  “This is Helen, she’s a designer. I said she’s welcome to look around the factory.”

  “I’m Mai, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Helen. Would you like some tea?” Her English was as flawless as her complexion. She wore her hair tied back tight in a ponytail – a few strands hung loosely around her face and she tried to smooth them back in place.

  “No, no – don’t go to any trouble, Mai, thank you. Are these your samples?”

  “Yes, David is not long back from Britain, he was showing them there – they are still a little creased from the suitcase.” Mai brushed her hand along the silk garments as if that would iron out the creases.

  “They are gorgeous.” Helen admired a long silk dress.

  “Unfortunately, not gorgeous enough,” said David.

  Mai and David exchanged a glance. Reassuringly, she rubbed his arm.

  He opened a door and the buzz of sewing machines filled the air. He indicated to Helen and Mai to walk ahead.

  “This is the heart of the place,” he said as they walked through rows of machines, his voice raised to be heard above the collective whirling noise.

  The workers looked up with curiosity but soon turned their attention back to their seams. There were a lot of vacant machines.

  “You can see we were hoping to expand. Most of our supplies are Vietnamese, from companies we carefully vet – it also helps reduce our carbon footprint. Our staff come from the town and surrounding areas. Many of these women provide the only source of income for their family.”

  “It’s a lovely bright building. I can see you run it well.”

  “It is important to us to provide good working conditions, and source components locally. We had a vision of an ethical production plant that would benefit everyone and add to the community. Many families get split up because the main income earner has to go to the large cities to find work.”

  “Why do you say ‘had’ a vision?”

  “Unless I can get a foot in the door with one of the larger chains, it’ll be hard to maintain. Small stores are great, we can continue to supply them but we need an anchor. If they’d just give us a try I know I could make it work.” The muscles of David’s face showed strain as he spoke.

  “Have you considered making something other than evening dresses? That’s quite a limited market.”

  “The machinists are skilled at handling silk, which as you know is a difficult fabric to handle,” Mai replied.

  “I know, which means they’d quickly learn to work with other lightweight fabrics such as chiffon or satin.” Helen looked at the machines. “Your machines are suitable too. A few adjustments and finer needles and you could easily expand into a new market, a profitable market.”

  David and Mai looked at each other.

  “Lingerie, of course!” Helen drew up her shoulders and raised her hands.

  David took a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, we thought of that but the margins are very tight. Give a garment a lingerie label and the asking price goes down. Call it outerwear and you can increase your profit margin. Besides, we can’t compete on price with producers who save money by exploiting the workforce or dump their dye-stuffs into rivers.”

  Helen looked at him with curiosity.

  “I don’t know how much you’ve seen, Helen, but trust me, there are some bad factories out there. Workers, often under age, are forced to work long hours, seven days a week in death-traps of factories. Many clients prefer to turn a blind eye and not ask questions.”

  “They set up a model factory – the client companies only see that,” Mai added. “They keep the real workers hidden.” She handed the sample she’d been sewing to the line supervisor.

  “Mai, remember the mill in India that dumped all their toxic waste into the river?” said David. “They poisoned the whole town’s water supply. That never even made it to the news.”

  “That’s unbelievable!” Helen said.

  “When people buy throw-away clothing they rarely stop to question where it came from and what exactly they are throwing away,” Mai said, her eyes dark.

  “So are you saying to be competitive you have to act unethically?”

  “On the contrary,” David replied. “There are plenty of low-cost suppliers that are doing a terrific job. In fact, some factories producing for the well-known brands are the biggest offenders.”

  “It sounds like it’s down to people not caring,” Helen said as they started to walk back towards the office.

  “Yes, but greed also – companies profiting from the misfortunes of others. Some people are so poor they’ll do anything to put food on the table.”

  “Maybe if the end consumer knew more about it and they started to ask more questions,” said Helen, “the companies would be held accountable – no one wants bad press.”

  “Hopefully, because unless some kind of miracle drops in our laps, it looks like we may have to close up shop and move back to the UK.” He held the door open to allow Helen and Mai to walk ahead.

  In the office sat two children wearing a royal-blue school uniform. Beside them sat an elderly woman, her hands resting on her squared knees. The young children ran to Mai and David. They spoke in Vietnamese for a moment before the little boy came to Helen and said in carefully practised English, “I am very pleased to meet you.” His face split in a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

  Helen stooped slightly and shook his tiny hand.

  “Helen, this is my mother.” Mai said something to the older woman who nodded politely but looked away, bashful, then beat a hasty retreat, smiling and waving as she went. “My mother’s very shy, especially around foreigners.”

  “And don’t I know it!” David laughed. “Eight years and I think she’s only starting to warm to me now. Would you like that tea now, Helen, or do you want to get back to your fabric-selecting?”

  Helen pulled up a seat and sat down.
“I think tea would be a good option.”

  David raised an eyebrow ever so slightly but he smiled and simply said, “Certainly.”

  “What is it that you design, Helen? Lingerie?” Mai asked as she laid the children’s colouring books on the office desk. “I may be able to help you find what you need.”

  “Yes, lingerie, that’s right. Have you heard of Eden?”

  “Eden, UK?” David’s tanned complexion paled, realisation dawning on him. “They’ve nearly five hundred stores throughout the UK – rumour is they’re expanding into Europe also.”

  Their eyes now focused on Helen.

  “David, I think your grandfather’s briefcase may just deliver that miracle you’ve been waiting for,” Helen said as she reached for her business card.

  Chapter 42

  They made the three-hour trek to Halong Bay on a rickety white bus. They started out at eight. Their fellow travellers, consisting of two couples, were talking in whispers or not at all.

  Helen was happy to escape Hanoi’s endless traffic and market streets – for now. She knew it was time to exit the city when she saw Britney Spears’s Headstone, complete with picture and memoriam on Tombstone Street.

  “I think I’ll start a bucket list and make Halong Bay the first item I tick off,” Helen said, leaning forward as she pulled a notebook from her bag. Poppy was sitting in the seat in front of her as they had both wanted a window view and neither was particularly partial to morning natters.

  Poppy’s head bobbed up, and she peered over the top of the seat back. “You’re still glowing from yesterday, aren’t you?”

  Without looking up, Helen nodded. “It’s a win-win situation. I saw the factory as it really is. David, Mai and their children get to stay in their home country and Fred can take the limelight and PR for Eden’s new Ethical Sourcing Campaign.”

  “I didn’t know they had one.”

  “They do now.” Helen rested the notebook on her lap. “To be fair, they’ve always been careful about their sourcing but I think this will up the ante a notch.” She started to write again.