Authors: Jan Warburton
I was startled. 'Really?'
'Yes.
Really
. Frankly I'm sick of the toffee-nosed fillies normally taken on here.' By now his voice had taken on a slightly more serious tone. 'I was instantly struck by you on the day of your interview. Relieved that for once I could have a junior assistant who is
genuinely
interested in working hard for a living; who seriously wants to progress and get on; instead of just
playing
at it as the others do.' He sighed. 'Every one of them comes from such privileged and moneyed backgrounds. None of them
need
to work. It's like a jolly little hobby for them. Mummy and Daddy think it does them good you see, to earn a little cash for themselves; that it's character forming and so on. Goodness knows why the company has had this policy of employing these girls for so long.'
It seemed to me this was obviously why Courtneys paid so badly.
Edward had then continued. 'It was a great relief when Lucinda, your predecessor, left. She was bone-idle. Then as luck would have it, you turned up... and thank God you did, before any of Courtney’s wealthy clients had the chance to offer the services of one of their daughters or nieces! It's a ludicrous policy. I've been trying to persuade the Directors to abandon it for years. To be fair though, Vanessa's okay, and quite the best of the bunch. Anyway, I'm hoping that employing you will be a worthwhile experiment; proving my point to the Directors.'
Now it all made sense, but what the hell could he possibly mean by me being an experiment? He'd then walked slowly back round to the other side of his desk again, talking as he went. 'I feel in this short time that you and I have already become quite a team.'
Enthralled, I followed him with my eyes.
'I like the way you tick, Annabel. You have a sharp, expert eye, and what's more you know your trade. You're keen to learn; I like that. You could almost say we're two of a kind…'
Fazed by this comment, I’d wondered what he was about to tell me?
I shuffled on my chair, and crossed my legs; all ears now. Seated, and leaning forward on his desk, he'd clasped his slim fingers neatly together. 'Look, no one here knows this, but I'd like
you
to know. I actually come from a pretty humble background. I was an abandoned baby and never knew my real mother. So I was brought up in a
Barnardo’s
home in the East End, fostered out from time to time to various salubrious homes. Not always happy times for me, either. I've therefore had to learn things the hard way; drag myself up, so to speak, to where I am now. Therefore I feel I can relate more easily to someone like you. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I know you’ve had a much better upbringing than I, but I can tell all the same, that you've still had a pretty down to earth sort of background. You worked hard at college, just as I did, and you aim to get somewhere in life. I admire that.'
He'd then paused, looking at his watch, almost as if a little embarrassed at having disclosed all these personal facts to me. 'Enough said.' He sighed and rising again walked round to me. I uncrossed my legs and rose also.
'Better run along now or the others will wonder where you are.' One hand on my arm, his brown eyes looked into mine. 'Just remember one thing; I sincerely want to help you. You deserve to get on. I'd therefore hate to see you make any wrong moves; that's all.' With a tiny squeeze of my arm, he tilted his head towards the door. 'Off you go, now.'
This revelation about his humble background had completely shattered me. Slowly, what Edward had told me that day began to register with me. My God, if
he
can make the grade then, damn it, I can too.
'We'll talk again,’ he'd said, holding the door open. 'I have great hopes for you. You'll go far Annabel. Mark my words.'
Of course I'd felt undeniably flattered, but also exultant. Suddenly Vanessa and her cronies weren't half as important as knowing that a designer as successful as Edward was genuinely interested in
my
future.
Overcome with exhilaration I'd almost skipped along the passage that day to the main salon. I had just taken the first step in securing true recognition in Edward Hamilton's eyes. Wow! In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined such a thing happening. So soon too! At the time I'd barely been working there nine months.
The way he had confided in me that day had blown me away. Yet in a way it had also been a huge compliment. He'd not asked me, but I decided to keep the knowledge about his background to myself. I felt completely different about things after that; about Edward, about my job, as well as the girls with whom I worked. Knowing how well Edward thought of me had given me instantly more confidence and pride.
Now of course, it was all coming together; all his early good intentions towards me were about to be truly realised at last, with my wonderful new job as designer of the
Miss Courtney
range.
*
A couple of mornings later I was summoned upstairs to the Director's office high up in the Grosvenor Street building, to discuss things.
Charlotte Bundy and Henry Clyde - known secretly with some humour within the confines of the staff rooms, as
Bonnie and Clyde
, sat on the far side of a large shiny regency table. Charlotte, the daughter of the late Sebastian Courtney, designer and founder of the
haute couture
house; smiled sweetly as I entered. This was in marked contrast to Henry Clyde's more austere, moustached countenance. Attempting a smile, he gave the appearance of having an unpleasant odour under his nose.
'Well, Miss Spencer... Annabel.' He hesitated; his nostrils flaring as he eyed me. 'No doubt you've already been briefed by Mr Hamilton about things. It is with his encouragement, we have chosen you to spearhead our new
Miss Courtney
, Ready-to-Wear collection.'
Good heavens, anyone would think this was a military exercise we were talking about. However, Edward had warned me that Henry Clyde was an ex-army officer, and that he was occasionally known to use terms like this in conversation.
'How do you feel about it, Annabel?' asked Charlotte Bundy more gently, still smiling warmly. For her age, which I guessed to be mid sixties, she was a handsome woman. Her greying hair was elegantly coiffured, and she was immaculately dressed in a tobacco brown Courtney two piece, accessorised with three rows of beautiful cream and amber beads.
'I ... I'm very proud, an ... and extremely delighted about it, Mrs Bundy...er Mr Clyde, sir,' I stammered.
Pull yourself together, silly, I told myself. Good God, I'd known for two days now that this meeting was to take place, and although I'd had no idea how I would handle it, it was proving to be a daunting experience facing this awesome pair.
Up to now I'd only seen them briefly on their infrequent visits to the showroom, when they would brush past us all with barely a nod, always with an air of supreme importance. They would then take the private lift and ensconce themselves in this office in the Director's suite on the second floor of the building. Here, from time to time, Edward would scuttle obediently at their command.
Eventually I was able to calm my nerves a little and somehow produce a shaky smile.
'Pull up a chair, my dear,' said Mrs Bundy.
I looked around and grabbed a chair from the wall behind me and brought it forward. Seated, I faced them both squarely across the table.
'Coffee?' Charlotte Bundy's delicate hand poised above a silver tray on which sat a silver coffee pot and china cups.
'No, thank you, Mrs Bundy.' I knew a cup of
anything
would be a total disaster in my nervous hands right now.
'Well then, let's get down to business.'
I was relieved that Charlotte Bundy was taking the lead in the conversation; her manner made me feel more at ease than Mr Clyde's. But my answers still had to be directed across the table to the pair of them - which wasn't so easy.
'I'm sure Edward has covered the basic terms of your proposed contract, salary and so on? Presumably it all meets with your approval, Annabel?'
'Yes, it's fine?' I replied honestly, looking from one to the other. Edward had indeed explained it all carefully to me the day before. I was to be contracted initially for one year, at an annual salary of £980, and this would be reviewed at the end of twelve months. It suited me very well.
'Good,' said Mrs Bundy. 'Now please don't be offended at us only offering you a year’s contract at first. It is quite common procedure and it is actually fairer in the long run for you and for us. You do see that?'
'Yes, Edward has explained.' I was by now feeling less awed by the occasion and settled myself further back on my chair, trying to relax.
'Then of course there are the new premises for
Miss Courtney
just a few doors down from here.' said Mrs Bundy, pausing briefly to sip her coffee. 'There you'll have a couple of offices, a small showroom and workroom. How does that sound?'
It sounded fantastic. More than I'd expected. 'Wonderful. It sounds just wonderful.' The idea of my own premises for
Miss Courtney
was so exciting, but suddenly I also began to feel extremely nervous again about whole thing. Hell, suppose I couldn't cope with all that was expected of me? As I tried to overcome these new negative feelings, I flickered a smile.
Mrs Bundy eyed me, obviously conscious of my anxiety and misgivings.
'I know it's a huge step up for you, my dear. However, we have great confidence in you, and of course Edward will give you all the support you need. You'll be fine. I'm certain you will make
Miss Courtney
a label that we'll all be immensely proud of.'
'I ... I'll do my best.' My thoughts were still spinning.
'I'm
sure
you will.' Charlotte Bundy rose, followed by Henry Clyde.
Moving towards me they both held out their hands. 'Good luck,' they each said firmly.
I shook their hands and left; still feeling nervous at the confidence they had in me. It was scary. Not usually prone to prayer I found myself praying as the lift took me downstairs. In spite of their faith in me - Edward's, too - how could I be sure I could measure up to the House of Courtney's exacting requirements?
*
Apart from briefly phoning Mum and Philip in Wales to tell them my amazing news, there wasn't much chance to discuss it in any detail, as I should liked to have done. They were delighted for me, of course.
I rarely saw them nowadays. Our house in Ealing had been sold six months ago to continue financing the hotel renovations in North Wales, where they now stayed for longer periods. Our London home was currently a large two-bedroom flat above Philip's Jaspers restaurant overlooking Haven Green, just off Ealing Broadway. So, anxious to talk it over more fully with some family at least, I accepted an invitation for Sunday lunch from Mum's sister, Auntie Joan.
Auntie Joan and Uncle Sid lived at Richmond near the river. Joan and Mum had always been close and looked very much alike; having the same heart shaped faces and wavy, darkish blonde hair. As children, Belinda and I loved to visit them, especially during those years after the war when our father had taken to drinking so heavily and become so bad tempered and difficult to live with. The war had always been given the reason for this, and yet if other men had returned from the fighting without having the same behavioural problems, why couldn’t our father? It was a pretty poor excuse as far as I could make out for the appalling way he treated my mother and us. Trips to Auntie Joan's on the number 65 bus from the top of our road were always a welcome relief from the miserable atmosphere that prevailed most of the time at home when Dad was around.
Auntie Joan and Uncle Sid, who seemed to understand, had always made a great fuss of Belinda and me. They had no children of their own; all down to Uncle having been invalided out of the army during the war. He had a shattered leg. I can remember often wondering how on earth a leg injury could possibly effect them having children? Then later on I learned that not only had his upper leg been partially shot way, but most of his testicles too. Nonetheless, he was a remarkably genial man and I always felt because of this he shamed my father all the more.
I hadn't seen Joan and Sid for some considerable time and it was always a delight to have the chance to enjoy another of Auntie's memorable Sunday lunches.
In no time after I'd arrived I started telling them all about my new job at Courtney’s.
'Oh how lovely, Annabel! What a wonderful opportunity for you, dear!' Aunty Joan passed me a plate of the roast beef Uncle Sid had just carved. ‘Help yourself to a Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots … and gravy’s in that jug over there.’
I was ravenous. The past weeks managing on my own, I'd made do with mostly snack meals. In fact I was probably becoming egg bound; poached or scrambled, it was just so easy. This is a feast indeed, I thought, and as I piled my plate high, I chatted on, telling them about my wonderful job. I also had to make sure I’d allowed room for a piece of Joan’s famous blackberry and apple crumble with custard afterwards.