A Perfect Heritage (28 page)

‘Er, no,’ said Jemima, ‘I’m afraid not, Lady Farrell. But she will be – you’re a little early. Can I get you a cup of tea, or a cold drink perhaps, while you wait?’

‘I find the taste of the tea out of that machine most unpleasant. Perhaps a glass of water, that at least can’t be ruined.’

‘Of course, Lady Farrell,’ said Jemima, standing up as Athina swept past her into Bianca’s office.

Bianca was sitting in a traffic jam in Piccadilly in a fury of impotence, thinking that the state of affairs at Farrell’s was rather similar. Everything at a standstill, an expensive engine ticking over relentlessly, using up fuel and doing little else, and Lady Farrell, the equivalent of the white van man, constantly raising two notional fingers at her and endeavouring to cut across her path whenever she made to move forward. The most recent manifestation of this was to have taken against Hattie and criticise every sample that came out of the lab, demanding it go back and be completely reformulated. Which Bianca then had to countermand – it was time-wasting and expensive.

Mark Rawlins, the new financial director, had just completed a very thorough financial survey, up to and including the launch, and his own take on the financial health of the company as he found it. He was nice, sharp, and funny, but he did not mince his words and had already told Bianca that she had no hope of hitting her targets for the following year, even with an incredibly successful launch. ‘And if it isn’t incredibly successful, just modestly so, which is rather more likely, you’re looking at results a lot worse than these. And if it doesn’t work at all—’

‘Mark, can we not go there please? That just isn’t an option.’

‘Pleased to hear it,’ was all he said.

Mark had sent her an email that morning summarising the whole situation; Jemima had printed it out and put it into a folder on Bianca’s desk, with other equally important matters, like a report from Hattie on the staff in the lab –
Marge pretty good, Jackie frankly disappointing and extremely stroppy, she should be let go
– and a reminder from Lara that she had promised to discuss the form and exact timing of the all-important pre-launch sales conference.
It needs to be a humdinger Bianca, raise the morale of the troops, pretty low right now as you know.

Jemima, mindful that Lady Farrell might not be entirely honourable in her behaviour given the run of Bianca’s office, had hurried in after her, suggested she sat in one of the low chairs by the coffee table and asked her if she would like to look at a magazine while she was waiting.

‘Not particularly,’ said Athina, ‘I find most magazines these days deeply depressing. But I would like my water. With some ice, if it isn’t too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ said Jemima. ‘I’ll just . . .’ She let her voice drift off and had turned to the desk, ostensibly to tidy it, but actually to scoop up any files that Bianca might not wish Lady Farrell to see, when Lara popped her head in and said she really needed to see Bianca soonest and was there a window in the diary?

‘Sorry to rush you, Jemima, but I’ve got the Debenhams buyer on the phone.’

‘Of course,’ said Jemima, ‘let’s have a look at the diary, I think she might have a couple of hours in the afternoon. Excuse me, Lady Farrell, I’ll be back in a moment.’

Athina, a masterly reader of body language, who had been watching Jemima closely, closed the door and made her own survey of the files on the desk. When Jemima came back, Athina was sitting by the coffee table as she had suggested, leafing through the latest
Vogue
.

‘I dread to think,’ she said, ‘what Diana Vreeland would have made of this.’

Jemima smiled at her sweetly, picked up the files on the desk, and withdrew, then ten minutes later Bianca called to say she would be at least another quarter of an hour; this was relayed to Lady Farrell by a sweetly apologetic Jemima. She stood up and dropped the magazine on the coffee table.

‘I’m sorry, but I really can’t afford any more time. I’m surprised that Mrs Bailey cannot organise herself better.’

Back in her own office, she asked Christine to check when the next board meeting had been arranged; and when she got home that night, having made herself a rather stronger gin and tonic than usual, called Caro.

Chapter 28

‘I’ve got to go to Germany for a few days next week. I’m going to visit a company over there.’

‘What sort of company?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Patrick,’ said Bianca, mildly exasperated, ‘I’m only taking a friendly interest.’

‘Oh, we’re a bit intrigued by a company over there and I need to go and meet some of the people.’

‘Oh, all right. You know I’m going to Paris the following week?’

‘Yes, of course.’

He didn’t ask her why.

‘We won’t clash? Both being away I mean?’

‘No, of course not. Oh, excuse me . . .’

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and Bianca glared at him. She could remember a time when his phone was often mislaid, frequently switched off; it had simply not played a very important part in his life. Now he had it with him constantly. He went out of the room, came back fifteen minutes later.

‘Don’t tell me. Saul.’

‘Yes.’

‘Patrick, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. What’s he doing, ringing you at this time?’

‘He wanted to discuss this German company.’

‘Why can’t he discuss it in the office?’

‘Because usually in the office he’s absorbed in the markets. He only has time to think in the evenings. And weekends, of course.’

‘So he wrecks the evenings and weekends for everyone else.’

‘He doesn’t wreck them. For heaven’s sake, Bianca, I don’t mind. Why should you?’

‘Oh,’ she said, her voice unusually sarcastic, ‘oh, I can’t imagine. I mean, why should I want to sit and talk to you at the end of the day? Or play with you and the children for more than ten uninterrupted minutes at a time while we’re on our only holiday?’

‘Bianca,’ said Patrick, his voice rather quiet, ‘might I remind you about another holiday? A skiing holiday earlier this year. Which you pulled out of altogether.’

‘That was – different.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes. Time was against us, I
had
to do that.’

‘And time isn’t against me, I suppose?’

‘Patrick, please. It was exceptional, a one-off thing. You work for Saul and I know it’s all very demanding and everything, but there are lots of other people who work for him. It’s not all down to you and—’ She stopped, aware that she was on dangerous ground.

‘So you’re saying that you’re indispensable and I’m not? That I can’t cancel holidays, but you can? Well, just possibly you’re wrong there. I do happen to be the only research analyst working for Saul and he relies on me heavily. And I don’t want to let him down. Correction. I’m not going to let him down.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Bianca, ‘no one’s asking you to. Just to keep a sense of proportion.’

‘Which you always do?’

‘At least I try,’ she said, and got up and left the room.

She went upstairs slowly, and as she passed Milly’s door, she heard her talking.

She was worried about Milly; weeks after the holiday with the Mapletons, she was still subdued, slightly hostile, resistant to questioning about it. She knocked, and then, without waiting for an answer, went in.

The room was lit only by Milly’s bedside lamp. She was on the phone and switched off with ‘got to go’, then met her mother’s eyes defiantly.

‘Darling, what are you doing? It’s eleven o’ clock. You should be asleep and whoever you’re talking to should be asleep too. Was it Carey?’

‘No!’ said Milly, her voice fierce and defensive. ‘No it wasn’t.’

‘Well, there’s nothing – nothing wrong, is there?’

‘No!’ The same defiant tone. ‘Course not.’

‘All right. Good. Night-night darling, sleep well.’

She bent to kiss her and Milly offered a hostile cheek, then turned to face the wall. But not before Bianca had seen two things. A heap of tissues lay on the duvet, wet tissues. And Milly’s hairline was wet too, where the tears had clearly trickled down as she had lain on her pillows.

‘I can’t do that,’ said Bertie.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I totally don’t agree with you.’

‘Bertie, I do wish you wouldn’t try to talk like your children. It sounds so pathetic. Now look. We have to stand united otherwise there will be nothing left of the House of Farrell. I hope you are not going to betray everything the company that your father and I spent our lives creating stands for. Now listen to me . . .’

Bertie listened.

‘Marjorie, how are you dear? Oh, I’m so sorry. And of course you’re finding it hard. Now, there’s a board meeting later this month and your future is very much on the agenda. What? Yes, of course. And I shall come down and visit you again soon. Perhaps that will cheer you up a little. And I would like to see Terry, of course. Do give him my best wishes.’

‘Mrs Ford? This is Lady Farrell. Yes. Good morning. I just rang to see how you were getting on, it must be so very difficult for you – oh, my dear, I cannot tell you how much I sympathise with you, and of course having been widowed myself I do understand. I feel a great burden of guilt about your husband – no, no, my dear, I do. Although of course everything is out of my hands and has been for some time. He was such a loyal and really very clever man. So sad. So very sad . . .’

‘Ah, Jackie. Do come in and sit down, my dear. What a very pretty dress that is. Of course I usually only see you in the lab, in your white coat. I just wondered how you were finding the new regime. It must be rather different, I imagine. You must miss Maurice, being used to his way of working. You can speak quite freely to me, Jackie, this is a confidential discussion. I just like to keep in touch with our employees, see how they’re getting along in what must be rather difficult circumstances.’

‘Milly’s been crying,’ said Ruby, ‘ever since she got home.’ Her small round face was concerned. ‘You must go and sort her out, Mummy.’

‘Oh darling, that’s awful. Where is she?’

‘In her room. She won’t come out. Not even for tea. And it was meatballs,’ she added, as if to dispel any lingering doubt Bianca might have that things were serious.

‘I’ll go up straight away. Daddy’s not home, I suppose?’

‘No, he’s going to be late, he rang and told Sonia.’

‘OK.’ Bianca took a deep breath. Patrick had promised to be home by seven, so that she could get herself organised for the board meeting the next day and it was already half past.

‘Is Karen still here?’

‘No. She left ages ago. I was watching
Shrek
with Sonia so can I go back to it now, please? Now you can sort Milly out?’

‘Yes – well actually, I might have a word with Sonia first.’

Sonia was clearly anxious.

‘She’s very upset, Bianca. Just walked in and ran straight up to her room. I tried, of course, but she told me to go away and I thought – well – better to wait till you came in.’

‘Yes, of course. Where’s Fergie?’

‘He’s in his room, doing his homework. He’s fine.’

‘OK. Well, can you hang on a bit longer, Sonia? Till I’ve talked to Milly? Or Patrick gets home. Which he should any minute. Ruby’s a bit worried and I don’t want her left on her own.’

‘Well, only about another quarter of an hour.’

‘OK, fine. Won’t be long.’

She ran upstairs, listened a moment outside Milly’s room; it was very quiet. She knocked.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Mummy. Can I come in?’

‘Oh – all right.’

Bianca went in; Milly was lying on the bed, her face flushed, her eyes swollen. He mobile was clutched to her as if it was the teddy who had once comforted her in earlier griefs. If only it was still that simple.

Bianca sat down on the bed, stroked her hair back.

‘Darling, what is it? Please tell me.’

‘I – don’t want to.’

‘But how can I help, if you don’t?’

‘No one can help. You don’t understand!’

‘Well . . .’ Bianca hesitated. She remembered this situation from her own childhood, the absolute certainty that no one could understand or help with her problems. ‘Maybe I can’t. But sometimes just talking helps. I find that a lot. At work.’

‘Really?’ Milly looked at her doubtfully.

‘Yes, really.’

There was a long silence; then Milly said, as if taking an irrevocable decision, ‘No, I can’t. I really can’t.’

‘Milly . . .’ Bianca hesitated. ‘You haven’t been happy since you got back from holiday with the Mapletons. Is it anything to do with Carey? Something she’s doing?’

Milly shook her head listlessly.

‘No.’

‘Darling, I think it is. Did you fall out with her on holiday? Milly, please tell me.
Please
. I promise I won’t do anything you’re not happy with, but let me at least understand.’

‘I told you, I can’t.’ Then her small face crumpled and she said, desperation in her tone, ‘I
can’t
.’ And she started crying again.

‘Well – I have to respect that. But will you at least come down and have something to eat? With me? We can have an omelette together and watch telly in the snug. Ruby’s about to go to bed. And it’s
Waterloo Road
tonight, isn’t it?’

‘Oh . . . yes, all right. Thanks, Mummy.’

The thanks were clearly as much for not pressing her questions, as the offer of the grown-up supper.

‘Come down in fifteen minutes, OK? I’ll just sort out Ruby.’

As she went past Fergie’s room she heard him call her name and went in.

‘Hi.’

‘Mum,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but that girl’s evil.’

‘Carey?’

‘Yup. I heard Milly on her phone, and she was saying “I didn’t, Carey” over and over again. And then Carey obviously cut her off, because she kept saying her name and then she realised I was there and came over and slammed the door.’

‘Hmm,’ said Bianca. ‘Well, thank you for telling me, Fergie. I don’t know how to help her. Milly, I mean.’

‘Nor me. Maybe Dad’ll have some ideas.’

In Fergie’s eyes, world peace could have been accomplished by his father any day before breakfast, no trouble at all.

Bianca looked at her watch; it was already after eight. Where
was
Patrick? Damn. He’d promised and they needed to talk about this; it was looking serious.

But nine came and then ten and still there was no sign of him apart from a couple of texts saying he’d been delayed. What was happening to them? Her family seemed to be falling apart before her eyes.

‘Mrs Bailey . . .’

Athina’s voice was treacherously sweet.

‘Yes, Lady Farrell?’

So far the board meeting had gone pretty well; they’d rattled through the agenda and she’d managed to put a fairly good optimistic spin on the figures, some new premises in Hammersmith looked promising and would save a lot of money, she’d been able to talk enthusiastically about the new range and its development so if the old witch tried to throw a spanner in the works now, not a lot she could do.

‘I wonder if I might ask you to leave the room?’

‘What?’ She was stunned. She looked at Athina whose expression was as sweet as her voice.

‘I’m so sorry, I obviously didn’t make myself clear. I wonder if you would leave the room?’

‘Oh. Yes. Very well.’

‘Thank you.’

She stood in the corridor for a few minutes, expecting to be called back in, then when that didn’t happen, went to her office.

‘Just having a break,’ she said in response to Jemima’s raised eyebrows. ‘Won’t be long.’

‘Oh, fine. Well, maybe you could just look at these letters, let me know if there’s a problem with any of them, and if not sign them. Oh, and your husband phoned, said he’d call from Munich.’

Bianca remembered her rage and frustration the night before, when Patrick had finally come in at midnight, too tired, he said, to talk about anything. He said he was sorry, but maybe the morning, first thing?

‘I have to be in very early, Patrick, I’ve got a crucial board meeting to prepare for. Couldn’t you—’

‘No, I really can’t. I need to sleep, I’m dropping.’

‘Patrick, it’s important. It’s about Milly.’

‘But not so important that you can’t delay your meeting?’

‘Of course I can’t!’

‘Then Milly and your concerns will have to wait. And may I suggest that they can’t be that pressing?’

‘That is so not fair! She’s very upset about something and—’

‘If she’s very upset, then isn’t that quite a pressing reason for you to delay your meeting?’

‘Or for you to stay awake for half an hour now?’

‘Darling,’ and never had the endearment sounded less genuine, ‘I’m sorry, I can hardly focus.’

‘Fine. We’ll leave it,’ said Bianca and walked out of the room.

‘I would like to put a vote of no confidence in Bianca Bailey,’ said Athina.

Hugh’s secretary, who was taking the minutes, looked round the room. The reaction was interestingly varied.

Mike and Hugh both looked completely astonished; Peter Warren’s face wore the bland, unsurprised expression that it could take on with the speed of light; Florence was looking startled; Caro was looking admiringly up at her mother – and Bertie was staring at his hands which were knotted together on the table, clearly relentlessly miserable.

‘May I ask why?’ said Hugh finally.

‘You may. There has been a complete loss of morale in the company since Mrs Bailey took over. Complete. We all know about the appalling tragedy of Lawrence Ford, a life lost, a family ruined, all for the want of a little patience.’

‘What does patience have to do with it? Acknowledging the tragedy of his case, he died as the result of a terrible accident—’

‘An accident that would never have happened had he still had his job.’

‘Lady Farrell, he was not up to his job.’

‘Oh, nonsense. He was loyal, clever and charming, everyone in the trade liked him, and all that was needed was perhaps a little training in the new ways of the company. No effort was made to do this. There are several other casualties: poor Marjorie Dawson, so cruelly and wrongly dismissed on the very day her husband was told he would need terrible surgery, the company driver, Peterson, most unhappy and struggling at his age to rebuild his life, and then there is Jackie Pearson in the lab who finds working under Mrs Richards extremely difficult: she is overbearing and critical, apparently, and has allowed no time for the existing staff to learn her methods. My own secretary, who has worked for me for over twenty years, reports a serious lack of morale among most of the original staff. They feel ignored and their skills disregarded. All these things may seem of little importance to you, Mr Bradford and Mr Russell, but believe me, a successful company needs a happy workforce. I find Mrs Bailey arrogant, unwilling to take advice or even to listen to the opinions of others who might well be able to arrange things more happily.’