My Fight to the Top (12 page)

My life had changed because of that attack. Even though Michael was back in the house, I still couldn’t sleep. I kept waking up in the middle of the night, screaming. I had nightmares about the car jacker holding a knife to my throat. As soon as the police were done taking prints and checking over my car for DNA, I sold it. I couldn’t bear to be in it. I got another BMW X5 but I felt unsafe everywhere I went. I became paranoid that someone was going to come at me with a knife. I kept looking over my shoulder.

The police never found the guy, which was surprising because there was so much DNA to go with – his skin was under my fingernails and he didn’t wear gloves, so his prints were all over the steering wheel and inside the car. I couldn’t cope with knowing he was out there somewhere with the keys to my house. Of course, I changed the locks but the attack had left some much deeper, invisible scars. I went nuts on the security – I turned my place into Fort Knox. I had locks installed on every single door in the house. Before bed, I’d lock every door, one by one, from the hallway upwards. I had panic buttons put everywhere. I carried spray in my handbag. I got things from the internet I probably shouldn’t have got. Honestly, it got to the stage where I had a baseball bat under my bed. I had a knife under my mattress. I had weapons earmarked all over my house. Yeah, it’s fair to say I went crazy.

My friends would say, ‘Michelle, if someone breaks in and they attack you and you defend yourself, you can be put in jail.’

‘I don’t care. I’m never going through that again,’ I replied. If someone breaks in and they know they shouldn’t be there, you should have the right to defend yourself and your kids. I don’t think these people who rob you understand the impact they have. It’s almost like rape – it stays with you. My PA left not long after the attack. The whole thing really messed her up.

The kids were too young to realise what was going on. Of course, it helped having Michael there – you know, a man in the bed. I don’t think he took much notice of the security measures I made. He probably thought, Oh, Jesus, there she goes. Put it this way: he didn’t say, ‘Put that baseball bat away.’ He probably felt a bit safer knowing it was there.

Do you know what hurt me the most though? The rumours that I had staged the whole thing. A journalist told me that people had been saying I had set the robbery up for a PR stunt and asked me if that was true. Can you believe it? Yes, I did put on stunts in the past, like the actors dressed as plastic surgeons, but how could someone in their right mind think I could set up having a guy come and beat me up? The car jacker didn’t have gloves on – did they not think I would tell him to wear bloody gloves? It was obviously a junkie, desperate to find what money he could get. It angered me and it still angers me today that someone in the media would suggest that. It really made me think – you fuckers. I started to see the bad side of the press for the first time.

Shortly after the attack and the show I was able to release the pictures of Penny.

The demand for these pictures was already there because the press knew we had signed her but, oh, my god, those shots of Penny on the ledge went everywhere. Suddenly, the press was my best friend. We were in every newspaper and every magazine. The Selfridges stunt had got us noticed but Penny Lancaster took us to another level. Ultimo went
whoosh
– it rocketed. The press went global.

We’d managed to rescue the business and I decided to stage a charity event to say ‘thank you’ to all those that had helped us. Like I said before, I’m a big believer in working hard, playing hard and giving something back. That was something Tom Hunter always taught me to do. I decided to have the biggest lingerie catwalk show in the UK.

‘You have to have it in London,’ my team told me.

‘Bugger London,’ I snorted. ‘I’m having it in my home town, I’m having it in Glasgow.’

‘You’ll never get any stars to come to Glasgow,’ they said.

‘Just watch me,’ I said. I was so determined to make it happen.

I was designing, inventing, selling, marketing and directing photo shoots. I had a team as well, but I was in charge. And then what do I do? I decide to take on a show as well: a fashion show for 2,000 people and a private dinner for 600 afterwards with an auction at the Clyde Auditorium in Glasgow. The date was set for August 2003, less than six months after the carjacking.

This show became a full-time job and, I have to be honest, it almost broke the team, because they were working night and day to make it spectacular. I always say to my team that they should under-promise and over-deliver. If you play it down and produce better results, you’ll make people feel that they’ve got such a good deal that they will pay you ten times more next time.

I ran on nothing but adrenaline. I don’t know how I managed to do it. But it was worth it because we raised just under half a million pounds for Breast Cancer, the Prince’s Trust, Cash for Kids and Make-A-Wish. It was unbelievable. We had Rod Stewart on the catwalk as well as Penny Lancaster wearing Ultimo. Mark Owen from Take That performed.
Pop Idol
was on TV at the time and some of the finalists sang for us. We had
EastEnders
actors, footballers from Rangers and Manchester United and Celtic boss Martin O’Neill also showed up. Nothing went wrong. But after the show I collapsed.

We’d put Rod and Penny up in One Devonshire Gardens, a stunning boutique hotel. Michael and I had decided to stay with them rather than go home. But I passed out in the car outside. Just collapsed. I was out of it. Michael called a doctor and I was carried to my room.

‘You’re exhausted,’ was the doctor’s verdict. I felt sick. It hurt to even breathe. All the stress, all the pressure and all the pain of the past three years had all of a sudden gone
bang
. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. ‘You need to take time out,’ he insisted.

Michael was shaking his head. ‘Michelle always does this,’ he sighed. ‘She always pushes herself and I always know what happens afterwards. She comes down to earth with a bang. I could see this coming.’

Michael knew me well. He knew that if I was having a dinner party for friends that I had to make it the best dinner party. If I was cooking on Christmas, it had to be the best Christmas dinner. If I was having a birthday party for the kids, it had to be the best birthday party. If I was doing something for charity, like this show, it had to be the best bloody show. Everything with me had to be the best. I’m all or nothing. I don’t say, ‘Yeah, I’ll do that’ and turn up late. I’ll put everything into whatever it is I’m doing. I am always pushing for the bigger office or the bigger house.

I’ve taken so many risks. My mum and dad said to me, ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to sleep at night.’ My mum doesn’t own a credit card and she’s never owned one. At one time I had 11 in my purse, getting credit for this and that aspect of my business. Mum has a wee nest egg put away for a rainy day. She’s probably had the same money in her bank for 30 years. Taking risks with money doesn’t frighten me at all. Fear for me is getting up in the morning and worrying that I’m going to fail.

The doctor gave me some pills. I went to bed. I didn’t even see Rod and Penny off on their jet. I slept through and I woke up – no joke – not the next day, but two days later. It was a warning that I should slow down. I shouldn’t have gone back to work so soon after Bethany. My whole career I’d been telling myself ‘I can do it’ but now I realised my body couldn’t do it at all.

What defines us is how well we rise after falling.

M
y gran had kept every single newspaper cutting about me. As I came into her flat I saw there were boxes of newspaper clippings everywhere. ‘Gran, you don’t need to keep all these,’ I said looking through the piles.

‘Oh, no, I have to keep them because I show the home help people.’ The paper almost took over her small flat. ‘I always knew you were different. You were always going to be successful,’ Gran said, pouring me a cup of tea. ‘I remember when you were a wee girl running that paper round. Telling all those boys what to do,’ she recalled.

‘I think you’re right, Gran, second place was never going to be a consideration,’ I laughed.

Seeing my gran always pulled me back to earth. I needed some grounding after passing out from exhaustion. Every now and again I felt this overwhelming need to go back to the East End. Like at Christmas time, when I delivered presents. I needed to reconnect with where I came from, in order to know where I wanted to go. Gran took my hand. ‘There you go. That’s a wee something for you,’ she said, slipping a ten-pound note into my palm. It was ironed and folded neatly into a square.

‘Gran, you need to stop giving me this. I actually don’t need it. It’s fine,’ I said.

The business had gone through the roof since Penny became the face of Ultimo and it was around this time that I was first asked to speak at a few charity events. I was shit-scared because I wasn’t a speaker. I’d had no media training whatsoever. I remember being about to walk onto the stage at a women’s networking event in Glasgow when my stomach turned somersaults.
Oh, my god, I am going to be sick.
I ran to the toilet and threw up my lunch, probably my second McDonald’s of the day. I don’t know why I was so nervous, but I was.

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ I shouted at myself in the mirror. I wiped my mouth and went out to take the stage. I didn’t have any notes, I didn’t have any prompts – it just came from the heart. ‘Hi, my name is Michelle Mone and I’ve got a bra business,’ I said. I think the audience could tell I was nervous because they started asking me questions.

‘Really, a bra business. What kind of bra?’ one woman asked.

‘Well, I’ve kind of invented this cleavage-enhancing bra. It’s amazing,’ I said, as I pulled samples out of a carrier bag. I handed them out for the women to handle and pass around. ‘And I’ve got kids, and I need to get back soon because I’m cooking spaghetti bolognese,’ I joked. It broke the ice and everyone burst out laughing. The audience ended up – no lie – laughing and crying and when I finished they gave me a standing ovation.

I had only been on stage for 45 minutes but I walked off feeling shattered. I’d put everything into that speech. I didn’t want anyone leaving without saying that I was the best.

I never thought I’d be good at speaking at all but word soon got around the circuit. All the big agents in London and New York signed me up. I’m now the most sought-after women’s speaker in the country, I fly all over the world to events. I now get huge money, amounts that I never, ever would have thought I’d command.

There’s a general story I stick to when I make an appearance, but every speech is different. And each time, whether I’m to speak to 50 people or 2,000 people, I have to throw up in the toilet first. It’s the only thing I’m sick for – public speaking.

Everything was going well by now – except for my work with Penny Lancaster. It was getting more and more difficult to work together. Penny’s contract came to an end after two years, but there was no chance of me renewing it. I think people thought we had a falling-out but I just thought, Who can I get next? I’m a businesswoman at the end of the day. I woke up one morning and I thought, Bloody hell, Rod Stewart’s ex-wife! Rachel Hunter had been a supermodel since she was a teenager. Ultimo was moving into international markets. It would be a strategic decision to find an internationally recognised new face for the brand.

Bet she wouldn’t do it, I thought. Rachel’s divorce from Rod hadn’t even been finalised yet.
I’m going to ask her anyway, I’m going to track her down.
I remember speaking to Claire Powell, Rachel Hunter’s manager. Claire, who also looked after Peter Andre, said, ‘Is this a wind-up?’

‘No, I promise you it’s not a wind-up. Can we meet?’ I said.

There was a long pause and then Claire said, ‘I’m going to have to call you back to prove you are who you say you are – the
real
Michelle Mone. What’s your number?’ Claire couldn’t believe it was for real. She called me back but still couldn’t get her head around what I was proposing. ‘Jesus Christ, do you realise what will happen if you replace Rod Stewart’s girlfriend with his ex-wife?’ she spluttered.

‘Er, no, not really.’ I shrugged. I actually didn’t know. Yeah, of course I saw it as a way of getting publicity for the brand and I knew that in business you have to think outside the box. But I wasn’t for one minute using Penny. Penny had been paid for two years’ work, and Ultimo had helped her modelling career no end. At the end of the day both sides won. I didn’t feel guilty. I never thought for one second it would have the consequences that it did.

We all met up and Rachel was desperate to take on the face of Ultimo because there was a lot of friction going on between Penny and her at the time. The two of them didn’t see eye to eye at all. Rachel just said, ‘When do you want me?’ We signed her at the start of 2004. We kept the whole thing under wraps. We couldn’t let the news that I had signed Rachel out of the bag yet.

I was at home, packing for the photo shoot in Miami, when the phone rang. ‘Hi, Michelle, it’s Richard Desmond.’ As in Richard Desmond, owner of the
Daily Express
and
OK
magazine.
How did he get hold of my house number?
‘Michelle, I want you to tell me now...’ he said.

‘Tell you what, Richard?’ I replied nervously.

‘Have you signed Rachel Hunter? Is this true?’

Panic
. ‘No,’ I lied. I had no choice, I couldn’t let it get out yet. Every powerful person in the media was after this news and it was a mission and a half to keep it quiet. We flew to Miami and we hid from the press as much as we could.

Claire played a big part in the shoot. She took it to another level, bringing on board an incredible photographer called Dan Kennedy who I’ve worked with ever since. We chose Miami’s famous Delano hotel as our backdrop for the spring/summer range. It had a beautiful pool and gardens – everything was modern and white. We hid Rachel under umbrellas so no one would recognise her.