Blue and Green Should Never be Seen! (Or so Mother says)

by Colette Kebell

  “Look. I don’t really want to talk about it any more. I have a date to get to.”

  “Fine.”

  It wasn’t fine, if I knew him as well as I thought I did. Probably he would bite his nails until they hurt, buy himself something expensive and then most likely regret it – a feeling that I knew only too well, and which had got me into trouble on more than one occasion. But what could I have done? Pitch Ritchie to Jasper?? We were friends, after all, so why not?

  I left the office and left him at his desk, with his anger mounting, and me feeling bad for not telling him the truth.

  This time Jasper had chosen a restaurant in a nice location just by the River Thames, elegant but not sumptuous, which I was glad about. He was already seated at a table by the window and he stood as soon as I entered. We’d exchanged a couple of emails since we met at Lady Whilsham’s house, but we kept it flirty and light. I didn’t ask questions and he didn’t volunteer answers.

  We kissed on the cheek and sat down.

  “How’s business?” he asked, as his first question. I was wondering if I was the only one thinking about this lunch as a possible date.

  “Doing OK: how’s your mall?” I fired back. That put him in his place; he probably wouldn’t like to hear me saying that, calling it a mall, but I didn’t start the war, after all.

  “Hmmm … doing fine; we should open in a couple of weeks.”

  “Did you find your store manager eventually?”

  “Actually yes, but if you’ve changed your mind, we’re still in time to sort things out,” he added, with a bit of hope in his voice.

  “Did you change your mind about Ritchie?” I enquired. I had to know.

  “No.”

  “You should reconsider; he’s very talented.” I went on describing how he was now part of the firm, how well he was doing in managing the old accounts and how he was also learning about getting new customers. It was as if all my words were lost in the wind.

  “Maybe, but as I said there’s no place for him at this point.” He was firm; no sign of doubt.

  “Well, then we don’t have a deal.” That sealed it; I would never bring up the matter again. It was becoming humiliating having to beg for a job, even if it wasn’t mine, strictly speaking.

  “You’re working for Paula now?”

  “She’s paying the bill; her daughter’s the customer.”

  “Harry?” He looked surprised. “That’s very strange indeed. What’s wrong – don’t you like the vintage style?”

  “I love it; I just think it needed a bit of tweaking and guidance.”

  “Is Paula OK with that?” He seemed over-interested in what we were doing with Harry.

  “I don’t know; she isn’t the customer – Harry is. Paula’s just footing the bill. You seem to know them very well.” There was something strange in his look: I could feel it.

  “I do. Harry is my daughter and Paula’s my ex-wife.”

  W-H-A-T?

  Well, we had never actually spoken about our private lives before. The previous meeting had been a business one, and even in the emails we exchanged later we were busier flirting rather than exchanging life details. I didn’t know if I was upset or not. OK, I hadn’t asked, but who’s going to ask on a first date, “Are you by any chance the father of my latest client?”

  I was thirty-one (although I prefer thinking I am a 28C) and had never had a child of my own. I had thought about it many times, but I’d actually never found the right partner – the one who gives you butterflies in your stomach, makes you have “the hots”, makes your mineral water sparkle … well, the one. Jasper not only had a daughter; she was a teen. It seemed a bit of a bombshell at that moment, but Harry was a nice girl and I think we had established a good relationship … Hang on, GiGi: this is a first date, don’t forget, so leave the kids, grandkids and wedding plans out, until at least the third date.

  “Oh, I didn’t notice the resemblance, but actually I wasn’t looking for one. How did that happen? … well, not how did that happen … I mean, you must have been very young.”

  “I was. We were both in our twenties and Harry came as a surprise.” He seemed fine to talk about it, of which I was glad. Nothing kills a first date like the children talk. “When that happened, the only thing we could think of was our daughter, despite all the pressure we had from our families.”

  “They didn’t support you?” I enquired

  “Both families had interests at stake. The Whilshams are an old family, but had no money, while mine had money but few connections in the upper crust. They wanted something different for us.”

  “And you didn’t?” I pressed as the story was becoming interesting.

  “Paula was sitting on the fence, at the beginning. Later she started regretting we’d had Henrietta and made a point of making my life miserable. In her opinion she’d wasted the best years of her life and wouldn’t ever forgive me. Nonetheless, she fought for custody and she won. Plus she received a hefty injection of cash from the divorce.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About five years ago. Now I can see Harry as much as I want, as long as I keep paying.” Jasper was genuinely sad about the whole situation, and besides our disparities of opinion in the world of fashion, he was a great person. I could see the spark in his eyes every time he mentioned Henrietta.

  “What about you? How did you start your career? I’m actually curious.”

  I told him my story, which was far less exciting.

  CHAPTER 15

  The money I earned from Marjorie, despite being a considerable amount, didn’t last me very long. I thought I was in business, but the reality was I had just got lucky. Like the majority of twenty-odd-year-olds in this country, my business skills were not good at all and I was still spending more than I could afford. It was a sort of euphoria that caught me, the kind that someone might experience as a young person when she finally wins the lottery. You start planning, trying to be sensible but inevitably it drags you into a spiral of spending and easy life and, sooner than you expect, you’re left with nothing.

  Life was easy.

  At that time I had a boyfriend, Martin. We’d been together for almost a couple of years, and I was in love with him. He had everything. He was tall, handsome, with dark curly hair and a juicy bum. Blimey, he should have been an actor. The problem was that I wasn’t the only one noticing the package and swarming around him, but worse than all that was that he knew it. He was indeed self-aware of his status and – how should I say? – sometimes he slipped into bad habits that didn’t make him so perfect after all. The bastard was a cheater.

  I didn’t realise it until it was too late: far too late to do anything about it.

  Yes, I was in love and I thought Martin would be the right counterpart for me – the person I could live the rest of my life with. He was caring, affectionate, with the right amount of scoundrel in him to fascinate me. I met him for the first time at a party organised by Helena for her birthday; her parents were away and she got permission to use the house and invite some friends. I’d been staying with her since the previous evening and when the alarm clock buzzed at eight o’clock sharp, we jumped out of bed ready to prepare the necessary. We could have made our life much easier by getting everything from a shop, but we were proud people and wanted to make the effort ourselves. Where’s the fun, otherwise?

  As these things go, we spent the morning “planning”, which translated into having even less of a clear idea by lunchtime. Something needed to be done, and quickly, in order to avoid a catastrophe. A few phone calls were made and, as if by a miracle, Adam appeared with a bunch of music records that he would arrange that very afternoon, Jasmine was in charge of the decorations, Ritchie, Rebecca and Paul were in charge of getting the beverages, or booze, as someone kept referring to it.

  Helena kept the task of organising matters (two leaders accomplish nothing) and I was in charge of cooking. Nibbles are the most challenging task; we were going to have at l
east twenty people – I correct myself, twenty wolves – and ensuring there was enough for everybody wasn’t an easy undertaking. My only hope was that Paul would take the lead on the booze expedition, which he did, coming back with a significant catch.

  By the time I’d put the cakes in the oven I was covered in flour, had egg marks all over me and resembled the surviving victim of a bakery explosion. It was at that point that Helena shouted, “GiGi, could you please get the door?”

  The guests weren’t due for another hour; maybe some more help was arriving? I ran to the door and BANG! – there he was: Martin, looking at me in that pitiful state.

  “Hmm, can I help you?” Whoever that guy in front of me was, at that point I was silently cursing Helena for asking me to attend to the door. Come off it – I hadn’t even thought of making myself presentable.

  “Yeah, I’m Martin; I’m here for the party.”

  “Oh … yes … sure. Come on in. You’re a bit early.” Helena, you are dead. If I only knew a guy like that was coming, like hell would I have agreed to even enter the kitchen. Once inside, I did my best Houdini act and disappeared upstairs to get ready.

  It is the “love at first sight” that gets us into trouble. That very first impression we have of someone, which makes your imagination run free and clouds your judgment. Never, ever, ever believe in love at first sight. If you are tempted, run! Even if you’re even thinking about it, run! My gut feeling told me that Martin would be trouble, but I did my level best to ignore it and I got hurt, badly.

  At the beginning, it was love.

  I’d gained another couple of new customers after Marjorie and things were going decently. I could afford nice clothes, going out, having fun – you know, everything one needs at that age, and I had a gorgeous boyfriend. I loved him to pieces and although in some aspects of our lives we didn’t really get along, I thought that time would settle the matter – knowing each other, smoothing some corners and making some tiny compromises for the sake of the couple. So what, if he wasn’t interested in going shopping with me? We had our own little space, periods of time that each of us could dedicate to him- or herself. The rest was like being in paradise: a job that I loved and a partner I treasured. Yeah, there was that little annoying matter of his mobile phone – always glued to it and secretive with it – the football with friends and the occasional poker night. But who doesn’t have peculiarity in life? So when he asked if we should live together I was over the moon and didn’t think twice about it. Soon afterwards, a proposal would come, for sure, and then we could get married.

  We started thinking big; I mean, why rent and pay someone else’s mortgage when we could have our own place? So we eventually decided that having our own house was the way to go, maybe starting with a two-bedroom place, and later seeing how it went. The little details about the mortgage were soon bypassed; although I had a decent salary from my job as a fashion consultant, it became extremely difficult to demonstrate that I had a regular income. The bank manager thought my business was a bit erratic, inconsistent, and they would have expected far more customers than I had at that point in time. Martin and I decided (but maybe it was his idea) that we could arrange things differently, I would provide the deposit and he would make the monthly mortgage payments. It seemed fair to me at that point in time and therefore I parted with half of my capital, ready to invest in this new adventure.

  The fact is, if you put down the deposit but don’t have your name on the deeds, you own nothing, and that was the situation I was left in when one evening I caught him cheating on me. It was supposed to be a poker night, so I went out with some friends, only to catch him snogging with a brunette dressed like a tart. Mum would have said “I told you so,” had she even known about that one.

  I was livid. We spent days discussing the matter, I cried a river bigger than Michael Bublé’s one, but when eventually he told me that men “had needs”, that sealed it. Martin was out of my life for ever. What kind of sentence is that? Women have needs too, and the first is having their boyfriends not cheat on them.

  I packed my things, loaded the boot of my car and off I went. I didn’t get that far though, because at the second set of traffic lights I was flooding; tears were running down my cheeks and I could barely see the road. I parked on the kerb and stayed there for what seemed an eternity, sobbing and repeating to myself how foolish I had been.

  I had no place to go: I was homeless. Going back to my parents wasn’t an option, not after I’d quit my job and decided to be self-employed. A wave of “I told you so” was waiting for me there, and being at my parents’ place would only remind me of my failures, how silly I was. I made a couple of phone calls, but I hit a brick wall; then I suddenly remembered that Ritchie was back from Paris, where he had spent the previous six months. I knew he didn’t have a partner these days, so maybe I could crash on his sofa for a couple of days until I was back on my feet.

  The phone rang six times before he picked up and I could hear his reassuring voice. “Darling, are you OK? It’s two in the morning.”

  “I broke up with Martin” I sobbed, “I left him. He was cheating on me.”

  “I thought he wasn’t the right guy for you. Where are you now?” He was calm and reassuring: finally, someone I could trust, at least to explain how I was feeling.

  “I don’t know. I’m in my car somewhere near Winkfield. I don’t know what to do next.” I felt completely lost, parked in a car full to the brim with clothes and unable to think.

  “Can you drive?” he asked “Otherwise I’ll come and get you.”

  “Yes, I can drive.”

  “Good, darling. Well, you know where I live; there‘ll be a warm cuppa waiting for you when you arrive.”

  I loved Ritchie; there wasn’t any need to explain to him – he knew when words were useless and it was time to do something.

  “Thank you, Ritchie. I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. See you soon.”

  And off I went, heading towards Windsor, to my dear friend Ritchie. I ended up spending more than a few months at his place, and he didn’t complain once. At some point I was really depressed and starting overspending; I don’t know exactly why, but I guess I was trying to compensate for my loss, trying to cheer myself up a bit. But things went too far and thank God Ritchie was around. He acted like a therapist and a true friend, in not only listening to my sob story and comforting me during those months, but also in stopping me from ruining my life and in helping me to regain control of my finances before I became completely broke. He liked his share of spending, but at that point he became my guardian angel, making me realise I shouldn’t be wasting my life, losing myself in the depths of despair. He picked up the pieces, one by one, and managed to put them back together. He never left me alone for one moment and made me realise there were things worth living for –friendship, for example. I will always be grateful to Ritchie for what he did for me in that dark period of my life. When he lost his job at Jaeger’s two years later, I didn’t think twice about giving him a position in my firm and sharing with him the good, the bad and the ugly. Nothing would separate our friendship in the future. Or so I thought.

  CHAPTER 16

  Things were going great guns with Harry. We took her out shopping many times and thanks to her mother’s allowance, it was an easy task to complete her wardrobe. I had started populating the clothes-matching program a few days before and it would be ready by the end of the week. Usually this was a task Ritchie would do, but this engagement was his party, so I took most of the grunt work on my shoulders. It was at the point when I had actually put a complex item into it, a dress with multiple colours and shades, that it hit me. People don’t go around with computers or, at least, not all the time; but they do indeed go around with mobile phones, and nowadays you have all sorts of Apps. Why not have a GiGi App? No more lengthy typing: just take pictures, add a few tags and the job would be done. I knew it was a bit more complex than that – I mean, the p
rogram should be able to let you scroll among all the items with a certain tag – but imagine! You’re in a shop, you take a snap of the dress you like (or shoes, or scarf – the possibilities were endless) and the app would show you all the things you have in your wardrobe that match it. No more describing style, length, colour, designer, but having all your clothes at your fingertips: that’s technology.

  Of course, neither Ritchie nor I would know where to start, to develop such a thing, but programmers were available all over the place, so it was a matter of just finding the guy with the right skills to do it. Proud of my idea, I thought we could fund it when we received our money from the Harry assignment, maybe giving it free to our customers and charging others for using it, or something like that. I hadn’t spoken about it to Ritchie yet, but was sure he would love it.

  Harry was increasingly satisfied with the results, as we were keeping her style but making it more consistent and less tatty. She was a diamond in the rough, grasping the basic concepts I was explaining to her, and soon she would be able to continue by herself. Hell, in a few years this girl could even become my boss. What was more important was that she trusted us, knowing we were trying to do something, as simple as it was, to improve her life. With appearance, as I know very well, occasionally there is a fine line between being picked on for the wrong reasons rather than for the right one.