My Fight to the Top (11 page)

I played Andrea Bocelli followed by Celine Dion and looked out the window. I knew that I had to keep coming up with inventions for the business to survive. I had to be different to stand out against competitors who had the money that we didn’t. ‘Why the hell is there nothing to solve this problem?’ I said, over and over again, until the answer finally appeared. ‘That’s it, that’s bloody it!’ I shouted. I had the first of what would be 15 new inventions.

As soon as I was back in the office I made an announcement. ‘We’re going to launch a backless body.’ I heard a loud groan from the technical staff.

‘You can’t do it,’ one of my designers grumbled.

‘Really?’ I countered, just like I’d argued over my wedding dress all those years ago. ‘Just watch me.’ I grabbed a pair of scissors and a piece of fabric. I wasn’t a technical person and I didn’t go to college but I knew you should never take ‘can’t’ as an answer.

‘Put this on,’ I said, wrapping the fabric around one of the girls. I cut it down
there
, sewed it
there
and
there
, around
there
, at the top and
there
–
boom
, I had it. Of course, we had yet to perfect the fit, which took the best part of a year, but the concept was there. I was back in the zone. I was filling up my notebook with goals and targets and dreams. I was chasing the money, chasing the lifestyle.

I needed someone to show off the new design.
Bang
. The idea hit me. I needed someone to be the face of Ultimo – I needed a cover girl. I just knew I couldn’t afford advertising. I’d done the surgeon stunt outside Selfridges but I couldn’t keep doing stunts. So if I get a face then the face will get me the press. I needed someone linked to a celebrity actor or artist. I thought, Well, I’ve grown up listening to Rod Stewart. His records were playing when I got my dad out of the pub. And Rod had this new girlfriend that everyone wanted to know about. The public was asking, ‘Who is she? What does she do?’

I managed to track Rod’s manager down in LA and he gave me a contact number for Rod’s girlfriend, Penny Lancaster. I spoke to Penny’s assistant. ‘I really need to meet up with her. Please let me meet Penny,’ I pushed.

Penny and Rod were staying at the Dorchester in London and I flew down from Scotland to see them. I thought Rod might buy into my idea because I was also Scottish and Ultimo was obviously a Scottish company. Wow, I thought, meeting a legend like him. Rod was such a cool guy. I gave them both the chat: ‘You really need to do this campaign. Okay, my business is only three years old but I’ll direct the photo shoot and I’ll do it really well. Please be the face of my brand.’

Penny asked for something ridiculous, like a million quid. ‘I really don’t have that kind of money,’ I sighed. I offered her a tenth of that, something like £100,000 for a two-year contract. I remember writing the press release and calling up key editors to tell them what I’d done.

I think everyone now thinks that I was only the wee PR lassie and that Michael ran the whole business on his own. No, it wasn’t like that. I did the designs, I did the inventions, I did the shoots, I came up with faces for the brand, I did the selling to the customers and I did the selling out to the stores as well as the PR and marketing. The only hats I didn’t wear were finance and production.

Our first photo shoot was in LA in February 2003. We hired a house built by a famous architect in the Hollywood hills. This was a big deal for us because it was so expensive – Penny asked for the top stylist and photographer so the costs mounted up. It was a massive gamble for us, having only just recovered from near bankruptcy. It paid off though, because Penny looked unbelievable when she took off her dressing gown. Her legs went all the way up to under her arms. She was perfect for the brand. She had natural boobs and a fantastic body. She was a stunner, she really was.

Penny modelled pieces from our OMG range – black underwear with diamond Swarovski stone detail. She wore a matching diamond necklace that looked a bit like a dog collar. I’d never directed a shoot before but I got right into it. I’m bad at a lot of things and I’ve got a lot of weaknesses, like finance, but what I do have is an eye for product, marketing and PR. I discovered I could also direct. I came up with an idea for the shoot which really did risk Penny’s life.

There was a ledge that jutted out from the house and over the cliff. The drop was unbelievable – one false move and you would die. ‘Can you imagine standing out there?’ I said to Penny, planting a wee seed. ‘With your high heels on.’

Penny looked at me, at the drop and then back at me. ‘Do you want me to do it?’ she said, rising to the challenge.

‘It would be an amazing picture, but I’d never risk your life. It’s far too dangerous,’ I said.

Penny put her shoes on, the highest stilettos you’ve ever seen in your life, and she walked out onto the ledge.

‘Don’t Penny, please don’t.’ I tried to stop her, but she was determined.

The photographer was shaking. ‘I can’t do this,’ he panicked, adjusting the lens.

Penny balanced on the two-foot-wide ledge that had just enough room for her. You could see the LA skyline behind her. She looked magnificent. ‘Okay, hold that pose.’ I saw the front page of every newspaper. I worked closely with the photographer, telling him what I wanted. I wanted classy, not slutty. I got such a buzz from creating the perfect picture. That was one of our best shoots Ultimo ever did in LA – it was absolutely incredible. Penny threw herself into it because she wanted to be famous. She knew that shoot would be her launch pad. And so did I and so did Rod.

Michael and I became good friends with Penny and Rod. He invited us to his house in Bel Air after the shoot. It was unbelievable to be sitting in his drawing room, surrounded by all these pictures of Rod with every famous person you can think of. I associated Rod with happy memories of my childhood and the music my mum and dad used to play after winning at the bingo or at the bookies. Michael loved meeting Rod because they were both massive Celtic FC fans. Sitting in Rod’s home was like heaven for Michael. Those evenings we spent together were a pocket of happiness in our marriage. Michael was getting attention from Rod, and Penny and I got on really well, and I’d even say we became good friends. It was a nice time because everything was going swimmingly.

Rod took us out to all these fancy restaurants. I’ll never forget what happened one night after we’d finished dinner. Penny suggested we go to this place called Hustler. ‘Hustler? Why are we going there?’ I asked innocently.

‘Well, Penny needs to get some toys,’ Rod smirked.

‘Toys? What do you mean “toys”? Does she need a doll or something?’ I was confused. We drove to Hustler, a place that was open late into the night. I’m not kidding, the dildos were so big they nearly brought a tear to my eye. I remember this big black dildo that looked like something you would drill a pavement with. I’ve never tried anything in my life like this before, I thought.

Rod said I should buy some toys. My cheeks burned red with embarrassment. I wouldn’t even know what to do with it. But we all laughed so much in the car about the goodies that had been selected. I looked through everything, reading the instructions on the back of the packets. Michael didn’t say a word; we just kept giving each other bashful looks. Our sex life was pretty much non-existent by that point. I had ballooned to a size 22 because I was still binge eating from the stress of nearly going under. Michael didn’t want to touch me and I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I think the only reason I didn’t feel self-conscious standing next to Penny was because I was so focused on the shoot and on turning the business around. I returned to Glasgow, buzzing, but scared at the same time.

I had put everything into this photo shoot. I had taken a risk to pay for Penny, taken a risk to go to LA and taken a risk to get the best photographer. The shoot had cost an absolute fortune. But those pictures of Penny on the ledge were gold dust. Those pictures were going to turn Ultimo around.

I was going to show them off at an autumn/winter buyer’s convention in Harrogate. I also had the collection samples that we’d spent six months designing. Harrogate was
the
show you had to use to sell your products to the buyers. It’s all changed now – in fact, the show doesn’t happen any longer – but back then it was a massive deal.

Everyone had left the office for the day. Michael was in Hong Kong dealing with production issues and I packed for Harrogate on my own. I was going to be driving down the next morning. It was a cold and really dark February evening. There were hardly any streetlights outside the office in Govan. My PA and I locked up and I loaded the last box from the collection into the boot of the X5.

‘Bye,’ I said, waving off my PA. I got into the driver’s seat. Suddenly the passenger door opened. A guy with a hoodie was staring at me. ‘Oh, hi. Are you looking for directions?’ I asked innocently. Stupid me.

Smack.

He punched me in the face. The pain exploded across my cheek. He held onto the handle above the door and used it to swing at me.

Smash
. He kicked my ribs.

‘Get out of the car, get out,’ my PA yelled. My whole body screamed with pain. ‘Help! Somebody help us!’ she yelled. But no one was around. There were no cars, no one could save me. I knew that if I didn’t do anything, this guy was going to kill me. I found my strength.
You bastard.
My future was riding on the contents of the boot of my car. He wasn’t taking that away from me. I started kicking him back. Just like when I’d kicked that guy with my roller skates. My nails dug right into his face.

‘Get off me,’ I screamed.

And then he pulled out a knife. I can remember the blade glistening like something out of a horror film. He held it to my face and I knew he would cut my throat if I didn’t give him what he wanted. My PA pulled me out of the car.

The man clambered into the driver’s seat and the wheels screeched as he sped off into the night. Smoke was coming off the tyres.

I was in so much pain, but all I could think was, Why did you have to take the car with all the samples that my team had worked on for six months? We’ve got a show we have to set up for tomorrow and we don’t have samples to take orders on. We’re not going to get the turnover and, oh, my god, the pictures. The pictures were gone and there was no copy of them. In those days, photos from a shoot were developed onto transparent sheets that could be viewed by holding them up to a light source. Today it’s all done digitally but at the time those were all we had – there were no copies.

I fell to the ground, screaming. ‘Why? Why is this happening to me?’ I sobbed. My PA cuddled me as I cried hysterically on the pavement.

Look for something positive in each day, even if some days you have to look a little harder.

‘
M
y kids!’ I screamed. The police cars had arrived. I was still crying and shaking on the ground. ‘He’s got the keys to the house. My kids are in the house.’ I became hysterical. ‘My husband’s away on business – it’s just the nanny in the house.’ I pleaded with them to help. My face was on fire. I had stabbing pains in my ribs.

I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Mone. We are sending a police car to your house right away,’ the police officer said, trying to calm me down.

‘I need you to take me home,’ I ordered.

The police wouldn’t let me go home. They sent me straight to hospital in an ambulance. My face had swollen to twice its size. An X-ray showed I had a cracked rib. I didn’t care, though. I was fine. I was alive. As soon as I knew my kids were safe, all I could think about was how the carjacking was going to affect the business. I woke up Michael in Hong Kong. He couldn’t believe it. But he didn’t come home early. He was due in a couple of days and was to join me at the Harrogate show.

The police sent out a helicopter to search for my car. We had an officer guarding our house. It was all over the news. I was in agony, but I still drove down the next day to Harrogate. The show must go on, as they say. We grouped together and I told my staff we would just have to do our best without the actual samples.

I must have looked a right state with a black eye and cuts and bruises. I had scrapes all the way down my face, but I didn’t care. I had a job to do. I had to get as many buyers as possible for our autumn/winter collection. I put on a smile. Even when the bank had been about to close us down, I still threw on a smile. But inside all I could think about was those pictures and how they were our advertising for the next six months. We didn’t have more money. We weren’t insured for them to go missing. Our future had been riding on them.

Ring ring.
The caller ID was held. I thought it might be Michael. I answered, hoping he might have got an earlier flight. It was the detective working on the car jacking. ‘Mrs Mone, we’ve found your car,’ he announced.

‘Oh, my god, you’ve found it,’ I said. I clasped my mouth. My car had a tracker on it but it hadn’t been sending a signal the night it was stolen.

‘We found it this morning in a garage in Govan,’ he went on. It had been hidden, literally around the corner from my office. My bras had been found, scattered all over the neighbouring gardens. I couldn’t get them back for the show though because they were evidence.

My heart was racing as I asked him the next question. ‘Is there a box in the boot of the car? Oh, God, please tell me there is a thin flat box. It will look like a box for storing paper in,’ I went on, rambling.

The detective paused for a moment. It felt like an eternity. My heart was in my mouth. ‘Yes, it’s in the car,’ he said.

I screamed with joy and relief. All the team looked at me like I was nuts. ‘Right, the show can now go on,’ I said to the team. ‘We don’t have samples but we do have these incredible pictures of our new cover girl.’ I beamed from ear to ear.

On top of that amazing news I could not believe how supportive the buyers were. They had heard about the carjacking – it had been reported everywhere from Sky News to ITN. The national papers reported, ‘Michelle Mone, underwear tycoon, was recovering after being battered and robbed in a carjacking ordeal that could adversely affect the future of her business.’ Yet the buyers actually placed orders without seeing samples. I’m telling you, there were tears of joy at that show. Michael managed to catch the end of the four-day show and he gave me a big hug when he saw what a state I was in.