by Rosa Temple
I’d thought a lot about what Nana Clementine had intended with this clause in her will. She wanted me to make something of myself and I didn’t want to let her down. I loved and respected that woman and she’d always been there for me. She was there before Anthony and she was there way after Hugo left me with a broken heart.
In fact, Nana Clementine had made it her mission to toughen me up. I was the whimsical airhead of the family and I needed her guidance. I’d be too late to show her I could be a businesswoman to be reckoned with but I’d be that person in her memory and hope that somehow she’d know and be proud of me.
Anthony must have sensed a new hard-nosed Magenta that morning and didn’t dare push for an explanation about my outburst or the phone call I’d received.
‘So what is this brilliant idea?’ he asked.
‘Well it seems to me that selling the man bags isn’t enough on its own. I mean we’re not the only ones doing it so we need to give our product a sense of uniqueness. People love a story, a human story to connect with, and they become interested in you for that reason.’
‘Sounds plausible. But a human story? What would that be and how would that work?’
‘We sell them you, Anthony.’
‘Me? But how? Who’d be interested in me?’
‘Millions of women who can’t wait to buy man bags for their husbands and boyfriends because they all want them to be like you.’
Anthony blushed, stood up and loosened his tie.
‘You’ve lost me, Magenta.’
‘It’s so obvious. I don’t know why I didn’t latch on to this in the first place. The bags would have been flying off the factory shelves.’
‘But we’re doing quite well. The finance people are smiling these days.’
‘Yes but I know only too well how quickly new lines and rebrands lose their flavour – trust me on that. Half of my walk-in wardrobe is testament to how fickle shoppers can be. Like I said, I had this idea of staging a fashion show – but with a difference. I’m going to speak to Ebony and see if we can’t do something at Harrods.’
‘Harrods? Really?’
‘Why not? Or maybe something more down to earth. I was thinking about looking up some old art school friends who did fashion with me, see if any of them are in men’s fashion.’
‘But I’m no fashion icon. How is this going to be about me?’ Anthony sat at his desk again.
‘We set you up as the artist, living in Italy, struggling to sell his paintings but called to rescue the family business. We show your transition from artist to businessman via the bags and accessories you used as you transitioned from the rugged artist and his leather pouches for carrying materials to the city guy who is now into a more formal man bag for work. But we also show the casual sides of you, what you’re like on your days off, a bag of some description for those weekend trips to the art galleries you can’t resist. You become this Everyman figure that all men aspire to be and that women want their men to be. But we big up your artistic side and we talk about how art was what inspired you to take Shearman Leather Designs to the new-look Shearman, which caters for the ever-changing face of the man of today. I’ll iron out the finer points but you see where I’m going with this?’
‘Magenta.’ Anthony sat back in his chair.
‘Yes?’
‘You thought this all up yourself?’
‘Well, yes.’ I bit my bottom lip. ‘Do you hate it?’
‘No! It’s marvellous.’
‘Really?’ I said ‘That’s great!’ I jumped from my chair and started strutting around the office. ‘I’ve got a couple of journalist friends I can call on to get this out there and I was thinking it would be great to show some of your art at the fashion show. I thought we could even try doing a show in Italy at some stage, too. You know, near where you used to live.’
‘Magenta, wait.’ Anthony stood and tried to slow me down with a gesture of his hands. ‘You’re forgetting something.’
‘What’s that? You think your father will disapprove?’
‘No he’s on the phone all the time; he’s loving the changes. But the fact is, they’re not my changes, Magenta. They’re yours. All of them. Surely the human interest story should be about you.’
‘Don’t be silly, Anthony. I’m not Shearman, you are.’
‘But –’
‘Trust me, Anthony, no one will care about what the PA thinks. You’re the boss and therefore the brains behind this.’
‘It doesn’t seem right, somehow.’
‘Just tell me you see the logic behind it and I’ll get the ball rolling. I’ll start by organising the fashion show. We could do something big before Christmas so that Shearman will be top of the Christmas shopping lists nationwide, and who knows, very soon, worldwide.’
‘Won’t we have to expand the factory? More staff? That’ll cost us.’
‘True, but I’ll set up a strategy meeting with the others and we’ll see how far we can take it.’
‘Magenta, I’m totally blown away by you … by this, your ideas I mean.’
‘Thank you. At least someone has faith in me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mother called. She wants me to come around for dinner, just me and her.’
‘What’s so bad about that?’
‘She hinted that she’s expecting me to fall flat on my face soon and this might be her attempt at a pep talk.’
‘I don’t get why your family has so little faith in you, Magenta.’
‘That’s because they know me.’ I smiled and went to leave. I didn’t want the conversation to get anywhere close to personal. Business only, that’s what I told myself – so that I could shut down any emotions I had left for Anthony. I had several months of work to go and I had to come out unscathed, not having made a fool of myself, which basically meant as far as men were concerned.
I escaped Anthony’s office and could hear my mobile ringing from my office. I rushed to pick up. I thought it might be Anya wondering how I was or Mother, calling to cancel – hopefully.
The number wasn’t a familiar one. I assumed it was someone who’d taken my business card at the launch party so I answered with gusto.
‘Good morning, this is Magenta Bright, Anthony Shearman’s PA.’
‘Don’t hang up,’ the caller said and I recognised Hugo’s voice straight away.
‘How did you get this number?’ I demanded.
‘Don’t be angry, Magenta. I called the main switchboard instead of your direct line just in case you could vet my number. The friendly woman who answered the phone gave me your mobile number.’
‘Well she shouldn’t have and I’ll talk to her about that.’
‘I don’t think she thought she was doing any harm and besides, I was a bit persuasive. Laid it on thick.’
‘But still …’
‘Magenta, when you hung up the phone on me, you never gave me a chance to –’
‘To speak? Lure me in? Make me want to see you?’
‘All of the above.’
‘How did you ever find me, anyway?’
‘It was strange how it happened. There was a magazine on the train up to Cumbria. It was on the seat opposite me, squashed in the side. I thought it was a weird way for someone to get rid of a magazine. I never pick up magazines.’
‘So?’
‘So, I sat looking at it just flapping away there. It was folded open at a page and every time I was looking out of the train window it kept catching my eye. After a while I reached forward and pulled it loose. I was about to start thumbing through to find out the name of the magazine when I saw a picture of you.’
‘Me? In a magazine?’
‘It was a fashion magazine. You were in a line-up of people at some do or other. You weren’t the main focus but I’d know you anywhere. Anyway, I read the article. Saw the name Shearman and fashionable leather bags for men and wondered what you had to do with all that.’
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‘Well now you know.’
‘Yes, I had to go to an internet café and do some research to find out your connection. The magazine never mentioned you but I did some reading online and found out you were working for this Shearman company and when I called I realised you were the PA. Strange,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘Well, that you work in an office. You were on your way to art school when we met.’
‘Things don’t always work out the way we plan. You of all people should know that. Besides, it isn’t just an office job. If you must know … oh never mind.’
‘No, please, tell me. I want to know.’
‘You want to know about my job here or you want me to sum up my life for the last ten years?’
‘Are you married?’ he asked.
‘Why would you ask that? Because I won’t see you?’ I sounded harsh but I didn’t care.
‘I’m curious.’
‘Are you married?’ I demanded.
There was a moment’s pause.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘Did you ever marry?’
Again a pause.
‘I was married for all of five minutes to a woman in Brazil.’
And then I was silent. I imagined Hugo and the image of the Girl From Ipanema. Tall and tan and young and lovely and I wanted to scream.
‘So did you have children with this Brazilian beauty?’ I sighed as if I didn’t care.
‘I don’t have children and she wasn’t a Brazilian beauty. She was Scottish. She just lived out there, like me. We saved each other’s lives and sort of ended up together. We lived in a house full of other dropouts like us and that’s why it could never have worked. In fact, it was probably only because of being with all those other misfits that she and I lasted the six months we were together. We might have killed each other if we’d stayed on our own.’
I remained silent. I wanted to appear nonchalant but the fact was I was completely mesmerised and intrigued. Hugo’s story made his life sound totally glamorous in my eyes and I wanted to know more.
‘You still there?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t hung up on me?’
‘I’m still here. And anyway, I can’t understand why you’re telling me your life story.’
‘You asked if I was married, had children. So … I have so much to tell you. I wish we could meet up. How about next week? I’ll get a train down to London, take you to dinner, anything. I wonder if that pub we met at is still there.’
‘It’s there. I pass it often. But it’s changed a lot. There’s no sticky carpet any more. It’s all wooden floors, big windows and a restaurant area. It’s run by a chain of trendy bars.’
‘Sounds awful. I liked all that spit and sawdust. Never thought I’d meet someone as classy as you there, though.’
‘Hugo, I am at work and I do need to –’
‘Look, Magenta. Can’t I just come down and see you? I won’t take up more than an hour of your time if you don’t want me to stay longer. Half an hour. Tops.’
I tried not to let him hear my stifled laugh.
‘You mean you’d come down from Cumbria, a five-hour train ride, for a half-hour meet-up in London.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Hugo, I’ve already told you, I don’t want to see you.’
‘Because I broke your heart?’
‘Because I’ve moved on.’
‘Well I haven’t. My heart won’t heal. I made a mistake when I didn’t call you but with every week, every month I let go by I found it harder and harder to call.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Anthony knocked on my door and came straight in.
‘I can make you understand,’ Hugo was saying in the background.
‘I have to go.’ I hung up on Hugo, looked up at Anthony and smiled.
‘Magenta,’ he said. ‘Inez called. She wants to take me to lunch. Would you like to join us?’
It would make Inez very unhappy if I did but I shouldn’t encourage any bad blood between them. The sooner they were married the better.
‘You go, Anthony. I’ve got some ideas to work on and calls to make.’
‘There you go again,’ he said with a smile.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well you’re a natural at this,’ he said. ‘How you’re going to turn a novice like me, who should be in his studio with a paintbrush in his hand, into a fashion savant with taste and drive I have no idea. But if anyone can pull it off it will be you, Magenta.’
He lingered by the door, smiling, before ducking his head and leaving my office.
I buried myself in work, developing ideas and making phone calls. I decided that going around to see Mother later would be a great distraction from my helter-skelter life and my messed up love life in which there were two men and absolutely no love going on at all. At least none that would do me much good.
I got out my diary and started totting up the day I finally reached day 365 as per the will. My leaving day would be 5th August 2016. I put a big red ring around it as well as a smiley face. Then I slammed it shut and tried to get on with my day.
Chapter 18
I let myself into the house. The place was in darkness and there was no sign of Mother. I stood in the hallway and thought I could detect the scent of incense coming from somewhere. I followed my nose. It took me up the wide staircase and onto the first-floor landing, leading off from which was one of the family bathrooms and two of the many bedrooms. Although I always got a strong sense of nostalgia here I couldn’t help but feel for Mother, rattling around on her own.
The incense led me into the master suite where I found my flexible mother in locust pose on her yoga mat; flat on her stomach, chin to the floor, her arms were under her body and her legs bending up from the hips to the ceiling. With her eyes closed she was breathing loud and deep. I didn’t know if I should cough or come back later.
She slowly opened her eyes, lowered her legs and sat up.
‘Magenta, darling, you’re here. There’s nothing like a bit of Ujjayi breathing to get you ready for anything.’
‘Really?’ I said coming to my knees in front of her and kissing her cheek. ‘How are you, Mother?’
‘Absolutely fine. But how are you? How is the job coming?’
She pulled a face as if she were expecting me to say I’d just handed in my notice or that I’d been fired.
‘It’s great. Really. I’ve surprised myself.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’ Gently, Mother got to her feet. ‘Your sisters have been reporting back to me but I wasn’t sure if they were covering up for you. Like they used to.’ She gave me a knowing look.
‘No, they’re telling the truth this time. I’m doing remarkably well. You should come into my office sometime. We could do lunch.’
Mother slipped a wrap-around skirt on over her yoga tights and pulled her hair out of the long, red ponytail. Mother had refused to go grey, or ashy blonde as redheads normally go. Instead, she insisted on expensive organic rinses at her equally expensive hairdresser and her hair remained more glamorous than any mature actress I knew.
Mother had turned sixty this year and pledged to shoot anyone who threw her a birthday party. Just to prove the point she had gone to a shooting range and kept dropping hints that she now had a gun hidden somewhere in the house and she wasn’t afraid to use it. As a precaution, and because I valued my life, I cancelled all the arrangements I’d been making for a surprise birthday party for Mother.
‘Come,’ Mother said, holding out her hand. ‘Let’s go downstairs and eat.’
‘Did you cook? I can’t smell anything but incense.’
I walked with her down the stairs.
‘Our dinner is macrobiotic. Most of it raw or blanched so you won’t smell much from here.’
I knew that if Mother hadn’t brought in caterers, I’d never get a decent meal unless I cooked it myself. Mother was
not a good cook or any kind of cook, so what she knew about serving up a macrobiotic meal I was dreading to find out. I needed real food. I hadn’t had a square meal all day and I was likely to pass out. I figured I’d spend half an hour with Mother and her macro nonsense and then leave and order something on my way home. I sat at the kitchen table and watched Mother potter around like a lost sheep in her own big kitchen.
‘I hear you saw your father recently, Magenta.’ Mother was serving too much of something very green and very off-putting onto my plate. The moment she mentioned Father, though, I knew that this dinner was nothing to do with me and everything to do with her getting some dirt on him.
‘Yes, he was at my flat,’ I said holding the plate up to my nose and sniffing. Was that blanched grass from the garden? I wondered. ‘Yes, he showed up out of the blue the other week. How did you know?’
‘A little bird.’ Mother put something brown onto my plate and I felt queasy. ‘So what did he say?’
‘Not much. He told me about Suma walking out.’
‘Probably realised she wouldn’t get her hands on his money. She kept talking marriage and he kept throwing prenups at her. She’d drone on about having babies and he’d bring up vasectomies. They were doomed. Anyone could have predicted that.’
Mother pushed a fork in front of me and I used it to push my meal around the plate. She started to tuck in, ignoring my bad manners.
‘But I think there’s another woman, Mother,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. You know Father is a family man. Being on his own doesn’t suit him, which is probably why he’s got another gold-digger in tow.’
‘Well no one says she’s a gold-digger. I mean she might be a woman of means,’ Mother said, casually.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘All I know is it was all pretty quick. Do you think Father was two-timing Suma?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Magenta. Your father might be many things but he’s not a cheat.’
‘Well Suma was on the scene the minute you threw him out. I thought that was the start of your break-up – another woman.’