B004D4Y20I EBOK Page 22

  ‘Bloody brilliant,’ breathed Jemima.

  ‘A dream come true,’ said Poppy, and clapped her hands with delight.

  25

  THE TELEPHONE RANG in Tara’s office. She scrambled to find it under the mass of paperwork. It felt like she was still barely scraping the surface of the Trevellyan mess – every day brought new discoveries and more nasty surprises.

  ‘Hello, Tara Pearson,’ she gasped into the phone when she finally managed to scoop it up.

  ‘Hi, it’s Donna.’

  ‘Hi, hi! How are you?’ Tara sat back, smiling, hoping the phone lines could transmit the positivity she was trying to push down them. ‘It was great to meet you yesterday.’

  ‘You too. You know, I found it really funny. There you were, the famous Trevellyan heiresses. Your sister Jemima – I’ve read all about her in the magazines. I’ve seen pictures of her at parties and launches, I mean, my God, I think she was at Erin’s show in Paris and at the launch of the Bond Street shop. And there she was, hanging on my every word. And I could tell that Poppy was so keen to learn as well. As for your determination … well, you’ve got a backbone of steel.’ Donna’s voice was breathy and there was the sound of traffic in the background. ‘But you’re still just on the brink of some major change, there’s so much to be learned and achieved. How long do you have to turn this all around?’

  ‘A year. Max.’

  Donna whistled. ‘Bloody hell. Worse than I thought.’

  ‘Yep. It is tight.’

  ‘As a ferret’s arsehole, darling. And what can you offer me?’

  ‘What’s your salary at the moment?’

  ‘It’s a hundred and five a year, plus benefits, bonuses, all the Erin de Cristo products I want, and big discounts on clothes.’

  ‘OK.’ Tara took a deep breath and thought fast. There was no way Trevellyan had the funds for that kind of salary. Not at the moment anyway. ‘We can’t quite match that. But I can offer you eighty and we’ll make it up with performance bonuses based on results. There’ll also be some share options which could prove valuable. We’d need to hammer out the details, obviously, but I don’t think you’ll be unhappy with our package.’

  ‘Ok-aaayyyy,’ Donna drawled. ‘When would you need me?’

  ‘As soon as you can?’

  ‘I think I could swing it to start next week.’

  Tara felt a rush of excitement. ‘You mean, you’re coming on board?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am. You can count me in. I’m a sucker for challenges.’

  ‘Donna, that’s great! That’s fantastic! Listen, let me know for sure when you can start and I’ll get everything sorted for you at this end. And I want you to meet us for a celebration drink. I’ll text you some dates and you can let me know what’s good.’

  ‘You bet. Hey, you’re my boss now.’

  Tara could hear the delight in Donna’s voice. ‘It’s my privilege. We’re going to make waves!’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’

  Jemima had been out scouting all morning, diligently researching the perfume market. Before she started, she popped into Smythson’s to buy herself a big leather-bound notebook in duck-egg blue. The cover was stamped with the words Interesting Facts in silver letters. And she had seen a great deal to interest her. Now the notebook’s first ten pages were covered in scrawls and notes and sketches of bottles. In her handbag she had dozens of paper tester slips in all sizes, some stamped with the name of the designer or fragrance, others plain and annotated by Jemima in pencil. When she opened the notebook, a heady gust of scent came out, rich with a score of different notes and flavours, a mixture of everything she’d been trying that morning.

  ‘You know what?’ Jemima said as she breezed into Tara’s office. ‘There are some amazing scents on the market. Today I tried Jicky by Guerlain – it was created in 1889. I mean, imagine!’

  ‘Some of our scents were created in the nineteenth century,’ said Tara, looking up. ‘About four, I think, are still made and sold today.’

  ‘I’ve got some strong ideas – some real inspiration. I’ve been all round the place. Bond Street, Oxford Street, Sloane Street – the bastions of luxury. Honestly, Tara, it’s just too cruel. I couldn’t do any shopping for myself at all! I daren’t.’ Jemima sat down and made a sulky face.

  ‘How are your finances?’ Tara asked. ‘The allowances stop as of this month. I hope you’re prepared.’

  ‘I’ve done a bit of cancelling, let’s put it that way. I’ve broken it to Josephine that I’m only coming for a cut and colour once every six weeks.’ Jemima closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘I’m sure people are going to notice immediately but what can I do?’

  ‘And your credit cards? I hope you’ve got that sorted.’

  Jemima shrugged. ‘I talked to my banker. We cashed in some options, share thingies I’d invested in – apparently – and paid off the cards and got me a bit of ready cash.’

  ‘That’s good. Just don’t rack up debt on credit. If you use it, clear it. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Jemima sniffed. ‘No need to preach. The point is, I’ve got enough put by to last me a while yet. But if we get to the end of a year and we haven’t managed to turn this thing round … well … we’ll see. I’m going to stay positive, that’s all. And telling Harry he can whistle if he wants more money for Herne is going to be a distinct pleasure.’

  ‘I’ve got good news,’ said Tara. ‘Donna called. She’s going to start next week.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ Jemima clapped her hands. ‘Bravo!’

  ‘And Fuchsia Mitchell called as well. She’s going to come in and give me the results of the focus groups.’

  ‘That was quick! Better and better …’

  ‘Where’s Poppy?’

  ‘She went out to research bottles. She’s got the names of some manufacturers and she’s been talking to them about designs and costs and so on.’

  ‘Good. But that means she’s not going to be here for a rather important announcement.’

  Jemima looked apprehensive. ‘Which is …?’

  Tara picked up a piece of paper from her desk and handed it to Jemima, who scanned it quickly. ‘What’s this? A list of directors?’

  ‘It’s a list of everyone I propose to make redundant.’

  Jemima whistled. ‘That’s quite a lot of people, Tara!’

  ‘Yes. And I’d like to know what the hell most of them are doing.’

  ‘What about redundancy packages? This is going to cost a fortune.’

  ‘Not as much as keeping them on in the longer term. I’m going to negotiate each one separately and I’m going to resort to scare tactics. Each of these people presided over a period when sales fell dramatically – that’s reason enough to be held up as incompetent. But worse, they also sanctioned the bastardisation of our perfumes, and that could possibly be of interest to various legal bodies. After all, if you sell an inferior product and pretend it’s something superior, you are surely infringing the trade descriptions act.’

  Jemima gasped. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I don’t think anyone is going to want to find out – do you?’ Tara smiled. ‘I’ll be bringing in the lawyers tomorrow for the initial discussions and then we can start.’

  ‘It’ll probably be kinder to put most of them out of their misery,’ commented Jemima, looking at the names of the condemned. ‘Duncan has been sloping about the corridors looking like a spare part. He obviously hates what’s going on.’

  ‘That’s why he needs to go. I’m going to reward loyalty and hard work, but I’m not going to tolerate the smallest iota of dissent. Discussion, yes. Disloyalty, no. I don’t believe Duncan is really loyal to us and the company. So he has to go.’

  ‘Spoken like a true business superwoman!’ said Jemima, and saluted. ‘I’m glad you’re in command. I’ve some great ideas for what we can do with the scents … I mean, the juices.’ She looked proud of using the vocabulary of a real perfu
mer.

  Tara smiled, her face lighting up suddenly. Jemima realised how tired and worn her sister had looked over the past few weeks. She had scraped her hair back into a tight ponytail, and her suits had been in sober tones of grey, dark blue and black. She had even abandoned her killer heels for flat ballet pumps.

  ‘We’re not out of the tunnel, but I can see a kind of light at the end of it,’ said Tara.

  Jemima went over to her sister and hugged her. It was the first time she’d done that for years, she realised. ‘We really appreciate this, Tara – all the work you’re doing. You’re the driving force here, we do know that.’ She pulled away to look her sister in the face. Tara’s eyes were sparkling with tears and her lip was trembling. ‘God, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes … yes … just tired, that’s all.’ Tara tried to smile but she couldn’t hide the misery in her face.

  ‘What’s wrong? Something is. You’d better tell me,’ Jemima said strictly. It was the only way she knew when dealing with emotional situations: she became businesslike and direct. ‘Is it the children? Are they all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Robina tells me they’re fine.’

  ‘Is it Gerald, then?’

  Tara’s gaze slid away. Jemima pounced.

  ‘It is Gerald, isn’t it? Oh God, what’s he doing? I always knew he was a disaster. No one can be that pompous and not be fundamentally selfish and stupid.’

  ‘Mimi, stop it. Don’t say such awful things. He’s my husband.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean you have to be loyal to him beyond the call of duty! If he’s making you miserable, then you need to talk about it. Come on.’ Jemima lowered her voice to sound more gentle and caring. ‘What is it? Who can you tell if not your sister?’ Jemima sat in the spare chair opposite Tara, patiently waiting for her to open up.

  There was a long pause. Tara fiddled with the button on her jacket, then she looked up almost fearfully. ‘You remember Gerald’s … problems?’

  ‘Any one in particular?’

  ‘If you’re going to be nasty …’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. No. Which problem do you mean?’

  ‘You know how he likes things just so.’

  Jemima rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, you mean the way the house has to be immaculate? I’ve never met a straight man as house proud as him, that’s for sure.’

  ‘It’s not just that he’s house proud. He has a serious problem with it,’ Tara said quietly, looking down at her lap. ‘The whole house has to be exactly as he wants it, or there’s trouble. I mean, huge rages. At first, when we were married, he just liked the place tidy. He used to instruct all the cleaners and staff as to precisely how he wanted things, even in the kitchen. I knew it was unusual – I mean, none of my friends’ husbands dictated how the kitchen should be organised – particularly as he doesn’t cook. But I didn’t think it was a problem, just the way he is. He likes to be in control, that’s not so strange, is it? But gradually, it’s got worse and worse. In fact, the higher I’ve climbed in my career, the more his mania has grown. I honestly think he has a form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.’

  ‘I thought that was hand washing and turning off lights a million times,’ said Jemima, frowning.

  ‘It can manifest in lots of ways. I’ve looked it up on the net, and it’s a complex condition. It can be brought on by stressful situations.’

  ‘What kind of stress does Gerald have? He’s a highly successful businessman. He owns about two hundred newspapers across the world, doesn’t he? He just has to let the whole thing run itself – at least, that’s the impression I was under.’

  ‘Me too,’ Tara said quietly. ‘He’s always told me not to worry when I’ve asked him how the company is going. But I’m no fool. I know that print media is struggling in the high-tech, web-based environment. There are huge cutbacks in news outlets and in regional news capability. Gerald’s papers are nearly all regional. It’s why he wants to buy his way into a national newspaper in this country but he’s running into difficulties – at least, I think he is. He won’t tell me what’s happening but the research I’ve done into his company indicates that things are not that rosy.’

  Jemima looked frightened. ‘But Gerald’s our safety net!’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But yesterday he went ballistic, partly because I’d in effect resigned from Curzons. He went utterly mental. Besides terrifying me, it also made me fear the worst. Why should he care that I’m not bringing home a hedge fund manager’s salary? He’s supposed to be rolling in it.’

  ‘And what have you found out?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ Tara said grimly. ‘The company is in apparent good health. But something is worrying me…’

  ‘He’s just bought an estate in Scotland, hasn’t he? That’s hardly the action of a man in financial trouble.’

  ‘You don’t know Gerald. It’s precisely the kind of reckless, showing-off thing he would do in a crisis. It would deflect suspicion from the true state of affairs.’

  ‘It sounds as though you don’t really love him any more,’ Jemima said quietly.

  Tara stood up and walked to her office window. ‘All my life, I’ve worked to be a success. I know bad things can happen, things that are outside one’s control. But the essence of success is knowing when a risk is worth taking, and when it’s not. I don’t think Gerald understands that. He believes he’s untouchable, destined for great things. He honestly believes he’s superior to little people and that’s a dangerous mindset. I used to be overawed by him, impressed by his confidence and the certainty he possessed that he was always right. Now …’ She turned to face Jemima, fear in her eyes. ‘I just don’t know. It’s beginning to look more and more like hubris to me. And I’m not sure I want to share my life with someone like that any more. Besides, there are other things in our relationship that aren’t right.’ She paused for a moment and then added quietly, ‘He wants to control me too. He thinks he can.’

  ‘So leave him,’ Jemima said earnestly. ‘You don’t have to put up with his behaviour.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’ Tara’s head drooped and Jemima wondered if she were crying. ‘He’s making my life hell. I can’t tell you everything that’s happened. But I’m not ready to leave him. What about the children?’

  ‘Do you honestly believe it’s healthy for them to live in that environment? Not a thing out of place? The whole house terrified of putting a foot wrong? Do you want them to grow up with a mother scared of their own father? I know our childhood wasn’t exactly rosy, but one thing’s for sure, our parents respected each other. Who knows if they loved each other right to the end – though I think Mother never stopped adoring Daddy – but they certainly never showed us anything other than a united front.’

  ‘But the children are happy, honestly. He’s their father, he adores them and they love him with all their hearts. I can’t break up our home.’ Tara turned round, wiping her eyes. ‘Another Trevellyan mess, I’m afraid. Look at us. Both in miserable marriages. How did we manage to end up with husbands we don’t love?’

  Jemima stared at her for a moment, then averted her gaze. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

  ‘At least we have the company,’ Tara said stoutly.

  Jemima gave a half-smile. ‘Yeah. But a company doesn’t keep you warm at night.’

  26

  POPPY CLUTCHED HER sketch pad under her arm. In it were dozens of pictures of perfume bottles. She’d spent a happy afternoon in various department stores and perfumers, looking only at bottles and trying to understand what they said to her and to the average shopper. She’d found bottles shaped like stars or abstract shapes, like classical urns, with stoppers shaped like birds or diamonds or flowers; square bottles, round bottles, triangular bottles; clear or opaque; with accents of silver or gold, with labels and without, with ribbons, with jewels, with engraving. There was no end to the variety.

  Then she’d gone to an arts club in Notting Hill where she was a member and spent a further happy hour draw
ing ideas for what she thought was the perfect bottle for Trevellyan’s Tea Rose.

  What is Tea Rose? she wondered. Who is this scent for? What is it trying to say? What should the bottle convey?

  She ended up with some ideas she liked but she realised that until the new version of the perfume was created, they wouldn’t know the answer to any of those questions. It’s a process of evolution, she thought. As the scent evolves, we’ll start to understand what we really want. At the moment, all we know is what we don’t want.

  She decided not to return to Trevellyan House and instead walked back home, taking a detour through Kensington Palace gardens on her way, to enjoy some greenery and a break from the heavy traffic on the main road.

  I wonder if George will be about, she thought idly as she walked. She knew he had a couple of afternoons off a week but couldn’t remember which they were. She sighed happily. The night she had spent with him had been beautifully invigorating. For the first time she understood how sex could be good for your health: she felt alive, full of energy and generally happy. She had also not given Tom a thought since it happened.

  Is that all it takes? she wondered. One really good shag from a new bloke and suddenly, my broken heart is all mended? Who said women were fickle, eh?

  But it felt as though a line had been drawn under her relationship with Tom. Spending the night with George had shown her new possibilities. There were other men out there; funny, witty, caring, expert lovers, just waiting to be the next chapter of her story.