‘I know it’s absurd, but I have hurt Julian very badly, and I feel I owe it to him to do what he wants. For some reason he just can’t cope with the thought of you and me provoking the mildest gossip. And he certainly was quite convinced we were having the most marvellous time in bed together in LA.’
‘If only it were true,’ said David, his eyes flicking over her, taking her hand.
‘Don’t.’
‘Why not? Do you think that girl at the till is actually a spy sent by your husband?’
‘Oh, David, if you’d only seen him in the hotel that afternoon you wouldn’t be joking. He was beside himself.’
‘Silly old bugger.’
‘Yes well, maybe, but he’s my husband and I do, believe it or not, want to make him happy.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘That’s all right then. I wondered.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if you were happy, if I didn’t have a lot to answer for, having persuaded you not to run away on the eve of your wedding day.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Good. You’re happy then?’
‘I think so.’
He looked at her; she had got very thin lately, and there were new deep shadows under her dark eyes.
‘If you ever aren’t happy, if you ever need help, you will come to me, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I will. Thank you.’
‘So who do you think sent him hurtling down to LA?’
‘Oh, Roz without a doubt.’
‘Silly girl. She has so much going for her, she’s so clever, so talented, and her father thinks the sun shines out of her elegant arse. I’ve tried telling her, but it doesn’t seem to take. And it would certainly do no good my talking to her now. She’s almost as jealous of your relationship with me as she is of the one between you and Julian.’
‘Oh God,’ said Phaedria. ‘Because of her crush on you? I suppose she would be. You never get over your first great love. I never have.’
‘Pardon me, Lady Morell, but I thought your husband was your first great love.’
‘Oh, no, there was someone. It was – well, odd and hopeless. A bit like Roz’s for you. But I know how she feels. I still think about him sometimes. Especially when I’m low.’
‘Well, that is extremely interesting. I want to know everything about it. Immediately. Don’t look at me like that, I’m only teasing you. Besides, I’ve learnt not to try to make you talk. The sphinx would appear garrulous compared to you. On personal matters, that is. No, I’m extremely fond of Roz, I have to say, but she has always been very difficult.’
Phaedria sighed. ‘Well, half the problems Julian and I have are down to her. But I try to be sorry for her. It must be hard, having me come between her and her future.’
‘Maybe. It would have been better if you’d been fifty-five, with a shelf-like bust and a fine collection of Crimplene dresses.’
‘I could work on that, I suppose. But then Julian would divorce me anyway.’ She looked at him suddenly.
‘Why have you stayed with him all these years? Why didn’t you leave when – when he found out about you and Eliza?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not very proud of it, really. Of course Julian is marvellous to work for. I could never get the same variety, the same freedom with anyone else. At that time, I’d always intended to get out on my own, start a new company, and then marry her. But it was a fantastic job in New York, and I
was young and very ambitious and I kept thinking I’d wait another month, three months, six. By which time she was off with some playboy or other.’
‘She’s lovely. I adore her.’
‘So do I. Still.’
‘But you’re not –’
He sighed. ‘Oh, no. She’s absolutely faithful to that old stuffed kilt. We’re just good friends.’
‘I wish we could be good friends, you and I. Maybe in a year or two we can be again.’
‘Maybe. Now, what about another cup of that filthy coffee, and we can drink to Roz’s downfall.’
‘All right. God, I wish it would happen.’
‘I’m afraid it won’t. Unless she goes off with this Browning fellow.’
‘Oh, she’ll never do that. She won’t risk losing everything.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Never. He doesn’t come to London, for obvious reasons, and I’m hardly likely to meet him in New York.’
‘He’s a delight. Really. You’d like him. And he’d love you.’
‘Oh, David, don’t!’ She shuddered. ‘What a thought. That really would have me in the Thames in concrete boots.’
‘Is she that hostile?’
‘She’s that hostile.’
‘You poor kid.’
‘Nothing to be done about it. Go and get the coffee. We’ll drink that toast.’
Roz was slightly regretting her action. It seemed to have achieved nothing: her father and Phaedria appeared to be closer than they had been for some months; David Sassoon, of whom she was very fond, was cold and distant towards her; and Michael Browning had been very outspoken in his criticism.
They had met in Paris for the weekend, and were lying in bed in one of the suites at the Crillon. Whenever Roz was really down, Michael took her there, and spent the weekend in bed with her, making love to her, feeding her, pouring the finest champagne down her, showering her with presents and flowers and conducting his apparently tireless campaign to entice her away from her husband, her father and the company. So far, as
he frequently observed, he was not having a great deal of success.
‘You’re mad, Rosamund. Crazy. All that kind of thing can accomplish is damage to yourself. You won’t win any battles that way. You have to box clever, darling. This is not the kindergarten. Remember Machiavelli.’
‘I didn’t think you knew anything about Machiavelli,’ said Roz sulkily. ‘You’re always saying you never had an education.’
‘No, as usual you weren’t listening. What I am always saying is I never had a conventional education. Machiavelli is compulsory study for any ambitious young man.’
‘Well, what do I have to remember about him anyway?’
‘Machiavelli said you either must promote, or execute. In other words take totally decisive action. No half measures.’
‘I don’t see what you mean. I’d love to execute Phaedria, of course. But I can’t. And it isn’t up to me to promote her.’
‘I don’t agree. Well, obviously your old man has to be doing the actual promoting. But you should encourage him. Make him think you’re coming round. Get him to give her more than she can handle. That way you’ll get rid of her far faster. An execution, masquerading as a promotion. Best of both worlds. And your hands will be clean.’
‘I’m afraid it won’t work,’ said Roz with a sigh. ‘She’s too damned clever. And she has half the company eating out of her hand, wanting to help her.’
‘This is defeatist talk. It doesn’t sound like you. I think I have to meet this lady. She seems to be getting the better of all of you. Maybe I should want to eat out of her hand and help her too.’
‘If you did,’ said Roz, ‘I swear to God I would kill you. First her, then you.’
‘In that case, I guess I’d better stay away.’
The presentation to the sales force of the new range, at the annual sales conference, took place in Nice. Julian liked to make the sales force feel important, pampered; he installed them all in good hotels, gave them two days off to enjoy the place, and then put on an impressive show with the maximum of razzmatazz.
Everybody who mattered was there, whether they were
directly involved with the cosmetics or not, Julian’s rationale being that this was still, however large and successful a private company, a family affair. David was there, Roz was there, Letitia was there, Susan was there, Regency was there as the face of the campaign, and this year, of course Phaedria was there.
It always followed the same theatrical form: Act One was a big general presentation by Freddy and Richard on the company and its success; Act Two a more detailed one by Annick Valery on the brands and their success; then an interval which took the form of superb lunch and the announcement of the award winners: highest retail sales, highest trade sales, salesgirl of the year, and so on; and then in the afternoon the curtain went up on Act Three as the new products took the floor.
This was the moment when Julian himself first spoke, and this year more than ever it was the high spot of the conference; he began with a brief, almost poetic talk on the Juliana image and its unique place in the market, and then he would normally hand over to Annick to give a more detailed presentation on the new colours, skin care and perfumes that would go on the counters in the year ahead. It wasn’t always an easy task: the consultants in particular were critical, demanding, asking difficult questions: about whether this product would clash with one already in the range, querying the rationale of that one, demanding to know why a slow line wasn’t being discontinued, or being advertised. Julian and Annick always listened to them patiently and courteously; these women were Juliana’s lifeline. If they had no faith in or understanding of a product, then they were not going to convince their customers that they needed it; and as importantly, if they knew a product didn’t or wouldn’t sell, it was worth hearing their explanation for it. And in return, the sales force had great respect for both Julian and Annick; their understanding of the cosmetic industry, their faith in their own products, the quality they always delivered. They listened to Julian today, enjoying, as they always did, his charming, slightly diffident humour, his courtesy, his way of conveying that he was a mere novice in the business, that he had much to learn from them, and then he moved into his presentation, explaining first that Annick had
been giving him some tuition, as he was somewhat rusty in the art.
‘What we have for you today,’ he said, ‘is the first total range in Juliana since Naturally. I felt it was time for a completely new look, a new feel; we have moved away from that softness into something much more positive, more exciting, in a way. And so we have created a range, something quite different, a departure for Juliana, designed for the new woman.
‘It is called Lifestyle, and it is deliberately simple; a set of colours, of skin care, of fragrance which this new woman, the working woman, the powerful, busy woman will instantly recognize as the straightforward, swift route to beauty that she needs, and that nobody else is providing. We have cut out much of the complexity of cosmetics, particularly in the skin care range; just two very simple sets of products, morning and evening. Even the fragrance range will follow this concept; we are taking the mystique out of perfume, and simply offering one strength, one presentation – halfway between a perfume concentrate and an eau de toilette. Plus obviously a bath and body range.’
Roz, watching the consultants, was suddenly sharply and instinctively aware of a hostility. It was only several years of attending these conferences that enabled her to pick it up. A novice, Phaedria for instance, would not have noticed the slightly wall-eyed expression behind the false eyelashes, the fixed hardness of the heavily glossed lips.
Annick had taken over now, presenting the products in detail; again the reaction was muted, slightly flat. Julian moved on to the advertising: six-foot-high facsimiles of the campaign, of Regency’s face were unveiled, the TV commercial was shown (of Regency waking, showering, making up, driving, chairing meetings, lunching, and then finally dining with a man (presumably her inferior), face unseen, and going home to her lonely (presumably powerful) bed. It was a series of endless stills, intercut very fast to give the impression of movement. The backing music was fast, modern, obscure; at the end Regency herself walked to the front of the platform, dressed in a simple black woollen dress by Chanel, worn with pearl and gilt earrings and a long pearl rope, her ash-blonde hair tied back with a black ribbon.
‘I feel very honoured to have been chosen to represent the new Juliana woman,’ she said carefully, giving them all her (literally) million-dollar smile. ‘I hope you will like her as much as I do.’
This long speech closed the presentation; the applause came then, mild, polite applause; again Roz read the mood of the consultants, the sales force, and the message was clear – ‘This girl, this near child, this is not the Juliana woman.’
Julian stood up again; asked for questions, comments. There were many. The consultants in particular were not tentative in their criticism. Did he think something so simple was really going to stand up against the complexity of the competition? Lauder, Revlon, the new Chanel ranges were all launching in very traditional mood. Could a cosmetic, particularly a perfume, survive without mystique? Were the colours not a little harsh, uncompromising? Was not Regency a little young for the Juliana woman, in all her supposed sophistication and glamour? Julian was unfazed by this. The questions were always tough, always challenging; he enjoyed them. And somehow, by the sheer weight of his personality, his own vision, he managed to deflect all the criticism, to persuade everybody that Lifestyle was exactly right for its time, that it would be as triumphant, as successful as anything Juliana had ever done.
This was finale time, traditionally his; when he took the mood of the conference and made it his in a surge of charm and charisma, made every woman in the hall fall a little in love with him, and every man identify with him and what he had done.
Phaedria looked at him, as he stood there, looking stylish and relaxed, reminiscing as he always did, about the early days of the company, and was reminded sharply of the first time she had seen him and fallen so helplessly in love with him. She also properly appreciated for perhaps the first time the extent of what he had accomplished. She felt suddenly a stab of pride, not just in him, but in his company, and in being a part of it; and she felt she was beginning to understand what drove him, and why it mattered to him so very much.
He was drawing to the end of his speech now, paying her a discreetly modest but charming tribute: ‘We have a new recruit to the company; my wife. She is not involved with the cosmetics
– yet. Perhaps her time will come. She has certainly done some very good work on the new Circe store and the Juliana beauty salon in London. I feel impressed by what she has done, and I have to say I feel a sense of pride in having discovered her.’ Laughter, some applause. Roz, sitting on the platform behind him, had to fix her smile with such rigidness to prevent it from slipping, she felt her mouth become almost disembodied from the rest of her face. Her eyes met Susan’s in a moment of sheer agony; the warmth and humour there, the briefest possible flicker of a wink, sustained her.