A Perfect Heritage (61 page)

She had tried to get a bank loan, secured by her shares. They had checked with the venture capitalists, who had, not too surprisingly, said no. Her contract forbade her going to another set of VCs. Mark Rawlins suggested that she should cause the business to crash, and put it into administration.

‘That way you could buy it back with some new VCs who would fund this lease crisis.’

‘Really?’

‘No, Bianca, not really.’

Every time she thought about the company going under, she felt like screaming. She thought of all the incredibly hard work that had gone into getting where they were; and not just hard work, but loyalty and, in many cases, a genuine love for the House of Farrell.

People like Susie, who was working eighteen-hour days, releasing information slowly and tantalisingly to a chosen few journalists, promising exclusives in return for absolute discretion. She simply said, when Bianca thanked her, that she was enjoying every moment: ‘It’s all so dangerous, and so exciting.’

And Lara, raring to go with countrywide mini conferences, the week of the launch, and Jonathan Tucker, winding up his sales force, promising them they’d be wetting themselves if they knew what was coming, and with a whirlwind tour of his own planned for the Thursday and Friday before launch. People like Hattie Richards and Tamsin Brownley (who had casually remarked one day that her father was Lord Brownley, which had interested no one particularly except Athina, who had known Tamsin’s grandmother when they were debs) came to see her together – an odd pair, they were to be sure – to tell her how excited and proud they were about the launch and how grateful to her for enabling them to be part of it. Tears in her eyes, she told them it was she who should be grateful and that they didn’t know the half of it yet, and would be a lot more excited when they did.

And Tod and Jack of course, who were living the project 24/7 now, Jack’s baby taking second place to it most of the time – indeed, his wife had said crossly perhaps he would like the baby to be called Farrell; and dear Lucy, creating dazzling look after dazzling look.

And of course Athina, who still had no idea about the global launch but was desperately excited about the rest of it, deny it as she might, particularly her perfume and the advertising campaign, which did indeed bear a very close resemblance to her own. Her rage and humilation if that did not survive would be savage; as would the scorn which she would pour upon Bianca, having been entrusted with her beloved House of Farrell and allowing it to fail. And all the other people, the secretaries, the marketing assistants, the girls in reception – they had all been caught up in it, the excitement, knowing that something wonderful was going to happen, and that they had, in however small a way, been part of it too. The thought of telling them all, disappointing them, letting them down was almost impossible to contemplate and she felt not only sad but ashamed of herself, that she had presided over something that would not be, after all, a triumph, but, at very best, a modest success and at worst nothing very much at all.

With two days to go, she decided to go and see Florence at The Shop. She would need to know before anyone.

Florence, almost fully recovered although still rather pale, promptly put the ‘closed’ sign on the door and took her up to her parlour.

‘We have things to talk about,’ she said firmly, ‘and we must not be interrupted. Tea, Bianca?’

‘Oh please, that would be very nice. But, Florence, there is really no need for you to – to talk about anything.’

‘I think there is,’ said Florence, ‘and I would feel happier if we did. I know I can rely on your discretion and I owe you a great deal for what you did that day, cannot thank you enough.’

‘Florence, it was nothing.’

‘It was not nothing. It was everything to me. And it was kind and – and enormously generous of you. I really want to acknowledge that.’

Bianca said nothing.

‘I don’t intend to go into great detail,’ said Florence. ‘That would be both unnecessary and embarrassing. But I wouldn’t want you to think it was some sleazy one-night stand.’

‘I would never think anything you did could possibly be sleazy, Florence,’ said Bianca. ‘The word associations with Florence Hamilton are things like style and class.’ She looked at Florence and smiled at her suddenly. ‘And besides, how could any union that was blessed by Chanel jackets be anything else?’

‘Well indeed,’ said Florence, blushing slightly, ‘and it was blessed by other things too. Like love. True love. I have to stress that, it’s terribly important you should understand. And happiness. And faithfulness,’ she added. ‘An odd thing to say about an adulterous affair but it was. We kept faith with one another for over fifty years.’

‘And she never knew?’

‘She never knew. She never must. It would destroy her.’

‘You’re very loyal to her, Florence. When she’s not very nice to you, a great deal of the time.’

‘Oh, I know. But she doesn’t mean that, it’s just her way.’

‘A difficult way,’ said Bianca, ‘I would say.’

‘To you, of course. But you see, we’ve been friends for a very long time. She is actually extremely fond of me. Ironic, isn’t it, when I was having an affair with her husband for half a century, but there it is. She is actually,’ she added, looking at Bianca, ‘quite fond of
you
.’

‘Me! Don’t be so ridiculous, she loathes me.’

‘Oh no, she doesn’t. She respects you, she admires your courage, and the other day she said you had a certain style.’

‘Goodness me!’

‘Of course it’s very hard for her; you came in, picked up her most precious possession and ran away with it, doing what she saw as dreadful things to it as you went.’

‘Of course. I can see that. But most of the time she’s extremely rude to me.’

‘She’s rude to everyone,’ said Florence. ‘You should have heard her with Cornelius.’

Bianca digested this; then she said, ‘What was he like?’

‘Oh – charming. Clever. Generous. Extremely courteous. All the good things. And some bad ones too. A tremendous egotist. Stubborn. Very quick tempered.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. And, of course, absurdly good-looking. Well, you’ve seen his portrait and the photographs – so, a little vain. The clashes between him and Athina were frightful at times. She liked to diminish him, you see.’

‘But their marriage survived?’ said Bianca.

‘It did. And I think I helped do that. I know that sounds very conceited and it’s a very unfashionable view, but – well, I’m not going to try and justify it, of course I can’t. But for us, the three of us, it was a wonderfully successful – what shall I say – scenario. They needed one another in many ways. He would never have left her and I would never have allowed him to. It would have broken her entirely.’

‘It must have been so hard for you,’ said Bianca, staring at her in a kind of awe.

‘It was, but think of my life without him. Very, very bleak.’

‘Was – forgive me for asking this – was your first marriage happy?’

‘So happy. We were absolutely suited, in every way. I suppose that led me to the relationship with Cornelius. Who wasn’t in the least like Duncan, but he provided me with the same complete fulfilment.’

‘And, forgive me again, but this is so – so fascinating. Didn’t you ever meet anyone else? All the time you were with Cornelius?’

‘Only once, and that was a temptation, I have to say. He was so extremely nice. I was older by then, well into middle age, and beginning to worry about the future. He wanted to marry me. But he wasn’t quite . . . enough. Enough to make me give up Cornelius. That’s the only way I can express it.’

‘Oh Florence,’ said Bianca, ‘what an amazing story.’ Her voice shook slightly, and her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them impatiently away. ‘Sorry. I – I thought I too had the perfect marriage. Until quite recently. But now I don’t know. Everything’s changed.’

‘Because of someone else?’

‘No,’ said Bianca, a little too quickly she feared. ‘It’s the job. Well, both our jobs, I suppose. But right now it feels mostly about Farrell’s, that’s our biggest problem. And it’s a huge one at the moment. I mean really huge.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Florence gently. ‘And if you ever want to discuss it further, then I’m here. But I suspect you’ll sort it out for yourself. You have a lot on your plate, Bianca. You’ll feel so much better when the launch is over and you can relax a bit.’

‘No,’ said Bianca, ‘no, I won’t. I’ve got something else to tell you, Florence. In fact, it’s actually why I’m here, there’s something dreadful which almost nobody else knows about – yet.’ And she burst into tears.

And Florence indicated to her to join her on the chaise longue and put her arms round her and Bianca, between sobs, told her the whole dreadful story of the lease and the needed two million, and that the launch, the wonderfully brilliant launch would have to be cancelled; and then, when finally Bianca had finished and was wiping her eyes and blowing her nose and saying how sorry she was, Florence said very quietly, ‘I think I might be able to help.’

‘Oh – hello!’ God, she was gorgeous. He’d almost forgotten . . .

‘Hello. Nice to see you.’ God, he was amazing. She’d almost forgotten . . . ‘Um – what are you doing here?’ Could he possibly, by the remotest chance, be looking for her?

‘I’m waiting for Bianca.’ So – no. Not. ‘She and Patrick are taking me to dinner,’ he said.

‘Oh really? How nice.’

‘Yes, well it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh goodness. Happy birthday, Jonjo.’

And was it perhaps a good sign he was spending it with Bianca and Patrick and not some hot blonde?

‘Thanks. Yes. Forty today. I was going to have a party but then, well, decided not to.’

Because he wasn’t feeling terribly sociable? Because he didn’t have anyone to throw a party with?

He smiled at her rather awkwardly. ‘And they felt sorry for me and said I must do something. So, yes, they’re taking me out.’

‘That is so nice. They are so nice.’

‘They are indeed. And—’

The revolving doors opened and a very pretty girl – blonde, big-eyed, very good legs, quite a short skirt, came in, flung her arms round his neck and said, ‘Jonjo, sorry I’m late! Happy birthday!’

‘Thanks. You look great. So pleased you could come. Susie, this is—’

But Jonjo never completed his introduction; he was interrupted midway as the main doors opened again and an incredibly cool-looking bloke – tall, dark, and pretty bloody handsome really, came in.

‘Hi, darling,’ he said, kissing Susie. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Look, shall we go to the wine bar down the street? I really need a drink!’

‘Sure. God, I’m pretty wrecked, after last night – amazing, wasn’t it?’

‘Amazing. Excuse us, Jonjo, nice to see you again.’

And Susie and the cool bloke were gone, into the street, leaving Jonjo feeling faintly sick, shocked to find how upset he felt, and wanting more than anything to run after them and punch the bloke quite hard in the solar plexus.

And Susie hurried away from the building, feeling intensely relieved that at least she didn’t have to smile at the girl and shake her hand when she wanted to draw her nails slowly down her face and possibly kick her shins as well.

‘Sorry about that.’ Jonjo looked faintly embarrassed.

‘Who was she? Very pretty. Bit odd, though.’

‘Yes, well, she was my girlfriend for a short time. We parted a bit badly and I suppose she felt awkward.’

‘Oh, I see. You and your exes, Jonjo. Time you found Ms Right.’

‘I wish. I thought I had.’

‘Her?’

‘Yup.’

‘Oh, dear. Well – oh, hi Bianca, so lovely to see you. Thank you so much for asking me along.’

‘Not at all. I always love our foursomes. You’re looking great, Pippa. Isn’t she, Jonjo?’

‘Yes – and she’s got a new job at just about the smartest lawyers in town.’

‘You must be very proud of your little sister.’

‘I am. Um . . . I just saw Susie.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes. With a rather flashy character, dark leather jacket. Is he the new boyfriend?’

‘No, no, that must have been Tod Marchant. He looks after our advertising. Nice chap. Very good at his job. He is a bit flashy, but really, really nice. We were all out last night at an advertising bash, and he and his partner, Jack, picked up three awards.’

‘I see.’ Jonjo felt a little better. ‘So who is her new bloke?’

‘She hasn’t got a new bloke. Or even an old one. I keep her much too busy here. Now come on, Patrick’s booked the table for eight, so we can have a quick drink somewhere here and then go over to meet him. We thought the Orrery in Marylebone High Street. That OK for you?’

‘Yes, great,’ said Jonjo. He was feeling slightly bemused, scarcely hearing what Bianca was saying.

‘Sounds wonderful to me,’ said Pippa. ‘Jonjo! Where are you going?’

Jonjo knew about timing. His instincts about it were very finely honed; a lot of his job was about it, and how crucial it was. A second’s delay on a deal could literally cost billions.

He ran out into the street looking wildly right and left; no sign. Fuck! If he went the wrong way, minutes, not seconds, would be lost.

‘Scuse me mate,’ he said to a passer-by, ‘where’s the nearest wine bar?’

The man looked at him and grinned. ‘You must be desperate. One that way, but it’s crap. There’s one the other way, bit further, about four or five minutes’ walk, but worth it. You could always run I s’pose.’

‘Thanks.’

He ran. Praying it would be right. Surely Susie wouldn’t go to a crap wine bar?

‘I’ll have a white wine, please, Tod. Bit hungover.’

‘Me too. Hair of the dog’s what you need, always works. I hit the vodka with my morning coffee. Felt great. Hey, don’t want to be critical, Suze, but this is hardly my idea of a wine bar.’

‘I know. But I just wanted to get away from that bloke. The one in reception.’

‘He looked quite cool to me. Don’t tell me he’s some kind of perve?’

‘No, but we had a – a bit of a fling and it all ended not very well.’

‘Oh, OK. Well, we’ll have one drink here and then go back to your office. Where I thought we were meeting anyway.’