A Perfect Heritage (55 page)

‘Sorry, Athina. I suppose I am still a little tired.’

‘Yes, well I suppose that’s understandable. But you’ve been away for over a week now and I would have thought that was enough. You really can’t expect to be away indefinitely and other people to do your work.’

‘No, no of course not, and we should be involved of course. But I certainly haven’t attended any advertising meetings, I can assure you of that . . .’

Chapter 48

‘So – how was your trip. Satisfactory, I hope?’

‘Yes, very. Thank you so much for coming to meet me.’

‘You must be exhausted,’ he said and his voice was detached, as if he was talking to some distant acquaintance. ‘And it was worth it?’

‘Yes, we’ve made huge strides. Dubai wasn’t ideal, in that we have to be in a shopping mall, and not only a shopping mall, but one that’s billed the World’s Biggest Shopping Mall, but with temperatures hitting fifty, you can sort of understand. Although mostly I was cold there, the air conditioning is so vicious.’

‘How uncomfortable.’

His voice was as cold as the air conditioning. She was aware she was babbling, but couldn’t stop.

‘Yes, it was rather. God, it’s a weird place. So shiny and flashy, and then the second afternoon there was a sandstorm, just a mass of it blowing in from the desert; you couldn’t go out, and when it was over all the cars were covered in sand and the whole place looked like a disaster movie.’

‘And Sydney?’

‘Sydney was great. God, it’s beautiful. It’s like a piece of music, sort of ebbs and flows – anyway, yes, we’ve got a shop in a gorgeous mall, called the Strand Arcade. Really perfect, and a very nice woman, I liked her so much, she just totally got the whole thing.’

She felt his disinterest and it made her worse. ‘Singapore is great. The shop, I mean, in a lovely street called Ann Siang Hill, and a very good chap there, name of Mr Yang, believe it or not. He took me out to dinner in an amazing place called Lao Pa Sat, near the shop, which is like a vast open air market, only it’s not, it’s sort of a vast open air restaurant. Tokyo, fantastic, well, you know that, we’ve been there together, and the woman there, God, was she high-powered, wonderful though, she’d found a real little gem in the—’

‘Bianca, this is all very fascinating, but I really don’t have all day. You can tell me about the others later.’

‘Oh – yes, of course. Sorry. It’s just so exciting that it’s all really happening, all these little treasures of shops, in all these wonderful cities.’

‘Yes, it must be. And New York?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at him sharply but his expression was still coolly blank. ‘Yes, we’ve got something there, bit more of a struggle. Shop in SoHo . . .’

‘And did you hear from Saul? He seemed to think he could help.’

Oh God – but his voice was completely neutral, without any edge to it.

‘Yes, yes, I did and he was really helpful. In fact it was he who suggested SoHo. He actually—’

‘Bianca, I’m sorry, I really do have to go. I am interested, of course, but I’m also very busy.’

‘Of course. Will you – will you be in tonight?’

‘I will. Well, here we are. I’ll just put your bags in the hall and then I’ll go and find a taxi. I’ve got to meet someone in the West End. See you tonight, then. We can talk further about my – what shall we say? Proposition.’

‘Yes, of course. That would be . . . good. Thank you again for meeting me.’

She stood looking after him as he loped down the road; she felt seriously unnerved. He was so cold, so remote. He had obviously moved further down the road he had set them on than she had. Maybe it was already too late.

Or did he suspect anything? He couldn’t, surely? Just the same, what did she do? Pre-empt any conversation about it? Say – well what should she say? She remembered the words of a serially adulterous friend of hers: ‘If he catches you in bed together just say you were very cold, and he was trying to keep you warm.’

It was probably, she decided, extremely sound advice.

She had enjoyed New York hugely; she always did. She did have friends there, but had kept her trip from them; it was too short – less than forty-eight hours – and she couldn’t spare one of her precious two evenings.

She arrived late at night and it was past midnight when she got into a cab. She was staying, not at the Carlyle which had become so absurdly expensive it was just irritating, and had settled, on a whim, on the Algonquin. She had stayed there many times when she was younger. It was probably one of the most central hotels in Manhattan, and while the rooms were small, it still had a certain magic and she loved it. The Round Table restaurant was still there, haunted by the acerbic ghosts of Dorothy Parker and her friends, Matilda the cat was still there – well, one of her descendants, or so you were urged to believe – and the lobby was still a theatrical set of a place, with its palms and black marble pillars, and huge, leather, wing back chairs.

New York was behaving as it always did whether it was midday or midnight; heavy traffic pouring into the city, all the shops downtown open, and the pavements crowded with people walking, shouting, greeting. She was exhausted from LA and, half asleep, checked in, stroked the cat, booked a 7 a.m. wake-up, and fell asleep in the bath.

She had invited Lou Clarke, who was taking the New York franchise, for breakfast. It was partly a test: if she insisted on the Four Seasons, she would know she had a lot of work to do. Lou Clarke didn’t. A diminutive forty year old, part Chinese, with jet black hair and huge almond-shaped dark eyes, she said she adored the Algonquin and as she settled her size zero frame on to a chair that looked too big for her in the restaurant, said she would have trouble not ordering a martini with her breakfast. ‘It’s not that I’m an alcoholic,’ she said. ‘They just make the best in New York.’

She said she had two properties to show Bianca, one in the Meatpacking district, another in the Village. ‘You’ll love both areas, I know, and they are just so totally where it’s all happening.’

She toyed with a brioche and sipped a black coffee and Bianca, suddenly hungry, ordered what the Algonquin called a ‘Cage Free and Loving It’ omelette, with hash browns on the side and a large white coffee to which she added a great deal of sugar. Lou Clarke watched her with the sort of frozen fascination that might have indicated Bianca was preparing a line of cocaine.

She was in the fashion business, or so it had said in the biography she had emailed through, ‘wholesale, accessories, shoes, jewellery, bags’. Anxious that it might prove rather tacky, Bianca discovered that while half her empire did indeed supply the flashy downtown shops, the other half made seriously gorgeous scarves, gloves, bags and hats. She was wearing a small sequinned beret which Bianca admired.

‘I’m so glad you like it. It’s been one of our bestsellers over Christmas, so darling – $650 dollars – it would look just wonderful on you.’

She said they should start in the Meatpacking district; Bianca, who had not been to New York for three years, was astonished at the changes in it. Cool, expensive boutiques in small covered arcades, but, she felt, not right for a Farrell shop, smart cafés, cobbled streets. And the Standard Hotel, standing on two vast struts, so cool it had its name hung upside down on its façade, and how ridiculous was that? Lou took her up to the Boom Boom Room bar on the eighteenth floor with its panoramic view of Manhattan, through infinity windows, even in the restrooms. There was to be the new Whitney museum, said Lou, at the end of the new High Line walk, once the West Side Freight Line; and a magnificent new Apple store.

‘So you see, it is seriously cool.’

Bianca said she could see that; and that she did like it, and liked the little shop Lou had found, but over lunch at an ultra chic café with every item on the menu calorie counted as well as priced, she said apologetically she really didn’t see a House of Farrell there. ‘It’s too cool, we’re looking for tradition and charm, rather than hyper chic.’

Lou smiled at her, as if this was exactly what she wanted to hear, and said fine, she realised that, and that the Village was far more suitable. Which of course it was. Both tree lined and glossy, Bleecker Street was absurdly fashionable now, studded with the smartest names, Ralph Lauren, Marc Jacobs. ‘And your Burberry, of course,’ said Lou with huge satisfaction, as if she had set it up there herself, ‘and Jo Malone. That must say something to you.’

It said to Bianca that Jo Malone would not be there if she was still an independent – as Farrell’s was – rather than owned by Estée Lauder, and a site anywhere near it would be impossibly expensive. Lou, and an incredibly pushy agent, showed her the minute place Lou had found, in a tiny street just off Bleecker, that was exquisite and perfect in every way but way outside budget. Lou said she could almost certainly do a deal, whereupon the agent said Chanel was after it at the full price, and ready to offer more. Lou, thunder-faced, took her outside and conducted an intense whispering conversation with her; Bianca, looking out at them and the rich, pretty people wandering past, crossed her fingers and didn’t feel very hopeful. Lou came back inside and said everything seemed fine, and the agent was ringing her later to confirm. Bianca didn’t believe her. Back on Bleecker, she looked at
Sex and the City
’s Magnolia Bakery, absurdly pretty, with people standing outside drinking hot chocolate and eating cupcakes. Bianca, who was suddenly very tired, decided a shot of sugar might help, bought a piece of Red Velvet cheesecake for herself and a cappuccino; Lou declined anything either to eat or drink, and said, her almond eyes almost round with shock, ‘How you keep your wonderful figure, Bianca, I cannot imagine.’

‘So,’ Lou said, as they climbed into a cab and directed it uptown, ‘what do you think? Wasn’t that perfect?’

Bianca said yes it was, absolutely perfect; and right on cue a call came in from the agent to say a new shoe designer had just outbid Chanel and was prepared to do the same until the shop was hers. For some reason Bianca couldn’t define, she wasn’t as disappointed as she should have been.

‘But there are others,’ said Lou, putting her phone away, ‘and you saw for yourself how perfect the area was. If I can find another shop, and I just know I can, would you be happy with that?’

‘Very happy,’ said Bianca, as the cab stopped outside the Algonquin, ‘and it’s been a wonderful day and thank you for all your hard work. And now you must excuse me, Lou, I’m absolutely dead on my feet, or rather my backside, and I need a nap.’

‘I would love to buy you dinner,’ said Lou, but Bianca was able to say gracefully and truthfully that she was taking a cosmetic buyer to dinner.

‘Where are you going?’ Lou asked. ‘Because if you want, I can certainly direct you to the perfect place. These people are terribly picky.’

Bianca said that was very kind but they were going to the Gordon Ramsay at The London, which silenced Lou for just long enough for Bianca to get out of the cab and blow Lou a kiss from the doorway of the hotel.

In her room, she fell asleep at once, having booked a wake-up call for two hours’ time and was woken from a fog-thick sleep to a call from the concierge to say there was a gentleman to see her. Presuming that this must be the cosmetic buyer, come to the wrong place, she asked to speak to him.

‘I am so so sorry,’ she said, ‘I got hopelessly held up. Do please order yourself a drink, and I’ll be down in ten.’ And wondered, even as she said it, why everyone started talking American in this ridiculous place, and adding that she couldn’t recommend the martinis highly enough.

There was a silence, and then, ‘Bianca, are you never going to remember? I don’t drink?’

It was Saul.

She went down to see him, confused and disoriented.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘I said it would be nice to be in New York with you,’ he said. And leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled back at him rather foolishly.

‘It’s very nice to see you,’ she said, and then sat back in her chair.

‘It’s nice you think it’s nice,’ he said.

She asked him how he knew where she was, and he said he’d had trouble with her mobile, and remembered Patrick mentioning she was staying at the Algonquin.

She hauled her mobile out of her bag to check it; it would indeed be giving trouble, it was completely out of charge. So unlike her and a measure of her exhaustion, she supposed.

‘But does Patrick know you’re here?’ she said, sipping her (extremely good) martini, and feeling, for the first time that day, a flash of genuine gratitude to Lou Clarke.

‘As in here at your hotel, no. As in here in New York, yes. I wasn’t going to lie about it. I don’t tell lies,’ he added.

‘You never say enough to lie,’ she said irritably.

He looked at her blankly for a moment and then gave her one of his swiftly disappearing smiles. ‘I suppose that’s true. Anyway, he won’t mind. I told him I might have a location for you. Haven’t you spoken to him?’

‘Not spoken, no. He’s emailing me every day though,’ she added, hoping she didn’t sound defensive. ‘He didn’t say anything about it this morning.’

‘Well, never mind. What are you doing this evening?’

‘Having dinner with a cosmetic buyer. Then going to bed.’

‘Not with the cosmetic buyer, I hope?’

‘Not with the cosmetic buyer.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Why?’ A bit of flirtatious chat now?

‘It would mean your business was in very poor shape. That you should have to do such a thing.’

Serve you right, Bianca.

‘And tomorrow?’

‘I was going to do the stores tomorrow. Then see yet another property with my New York franchisee.’

‘Any good?’

‘Not so far.’

‘Well, cancel that,’ he said, ‘I have exactly the right place for you. I’ll show you. It’s in SoHo. Do you have to do the stores? I can see you have to look at them, but I’m leaving at five.’

‘I could do it later. When you’ve gone. Where are you staying?’

‘It’s actually rather smart. Not my style. But near where this shop is. Place called the Mercer. They claim to offer their guests authentic loft living. Whatever that might mean. I’ve stayed there twice and I still don’t know. Anyway, it’s very nice.’

‘I’ll come there in the morning then,’ she said, ‘if that’s OK.’

‘Of course. There’s a café adjacent to the foyer. Meet me there. Nine o’clock. Well, if you’re not free tonight, I might as well go. I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

She laughed. She couldn’t help it.