their independence as a result.
He had never been so glad to get home from a holiday in his life.
‘Hello! I do hope you don’t mind me just dropping in like this. Lady Farrell said I could come in and talk to you, Miss Hamilton.’
Florence Hamilton smiled politely at her visitor, over the counter of the Berkeley Arcade shop.
‘How very nice.’
Florence’s voice lacked enthusiasm. There was no doubt in her mind that Bianca would want to close The Shop.
Bianca beamed. ‘What a showcase this is for the House of Farrell. I think it’s enchanting. And you’ve run it since – what? 1953?’
‘Yes,’ said Florence. ‘Lady Farrell – Mrs Farrell then, of course – took me on in the March and we opened in May, just in time to get all the tourists who’d come to London for the coronation. They just flocked down the arcade, and the American ladies in particular loved it. It was a very exciting time.’
‘It must have been,’ said Bianca. She looked more interested than people usually were over such reminiscences. She picked up a sample jar of The Cream that was lying on the counter. ‘May I?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Florence.
Bianca opened the box, smiling like a child unwrapping a Christmas present, and rubbed a little of the cream into her wrist. ‘I love this stuff.’
‘You must take a jar for yourself.’
‘Well, that’s kind, but of course I have some already. I bought it, wanted to experience the product that made Farrell’s famous.’
‘And?’ said Florence.
‘Well, as I said, I love it And of course I look at least ten years younger than I did.’ She smiled. ‘I do love those boxes too. Now – body lotions and so on – where are they? Oh, yes, I see. And eye make up and so on are . . . ?’
‘Here, under the glass counter,’ said Florence.
‘Oh how clever. This is just a lovely old-fashioned shop, isn’t it? I imagine the trade here is a bit seasonal – more in the summer and so on?’
‘Of course. But it’s never very quiet,’ said Florence firmly. ‘Now, can I offer you a cup of tea? I have a small sitting room upstairs – I call it my parlour. Of course I work up there,’ she added hastily, lest Bianca might think it was a piece of self-indulgence. ‘It’s where I do all the paperwork, the sales figures and so on.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Bianca, ‘how kind. And you can tell me more about your long, long time here. It’s such a wonderful story that I’m surprised it hasn’t been featured in all the magazines. I mean, this is the heart of the brand, it seems to me.’
‘Oh, Miss Harding – the PR, you know? She was pressing me to do exactly that. But Lady Farrell didn’t consider it appropriate.’
‘Why not? It seems very appropriate to me!’
‘Well – we have never really courted that sort of publicity at the House of Farrell. What she was talking about sounded much too . . . personal. In the old days, Vogue and Tatler would do photographs here, have a model leaning on to the counter, applying one of the new lipsticks, that sort of thing. Which was wonderful. But Miss Harding wanted this to focus on me and my story here. Lady Farrell didn’t approve of it at all.’
‘Oh really?’ said Bianca.
‘Or my talking about past famous customers and clients. Well, many of them are still alive and we have always prided ourselves on our discretion.’
‘I see,’ said Bianca. ‘Which magazines did she want to approach with this idea?’
‘Well, the newer ones. Which I do rather admire. Glamour I enjoy, and Red . That’s intelligent, as well as glossy. And even more recently, one of these blogs. Which I believe are very important now, almost as much as the magazines.’
‘That’s absolutely true,’ said Bianca, impressed by Florence’s appreciation of the modern media.
‘But Lady Farrell was very opposed to the idea. She feels Miss Harding is not quite our style.’
‘And how do you feel about her? Purely professionally,
He had never been so glad to get home from a holiday in his life.
‘Hello! I do hope you don’t mind me just dropping in like this. Lady Farrell said I could come in and talk to you, Miss Hamilton.’
Florence Hamilton smiled politely at her visitor, over the counter of the Berkeley Arcade shop.
‘How very nice.’
Florence’s voice lacked enthusiasm. There was no doubt in her mind that Bianca would want to close The Shop.
Bianca beamed. ‘What a showcase this is for the House of Farrell. I think it’s enchanting. And you’ve run it since – what? 1953?’
‘Yes,’ said Florence. ‘Lady Farrell – Mrs Farrell then, of course – took me on in the March and we opened in May, just in time to get all the tourists who’d come to London for the coronation. They just flocked down the arcade, and the American ladies in particular loved it. It was a very exciting time.’
‘It must have been,’ said Bianca. She looked more interested than people usually were over such reminiscences. She picked up a sample jar of The Cream that was lying on the counter. ‘May I?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Florence.
Bianca opened the box, smiling like a child unwrapping a Christmas present, and rubbed a little of the cream into her wrist. ‘I love this stuff.’
‘You must take a jar for yourself.’
‘Well, that’s kind, but of course I have some already. I bought it, wanted to experience the product that made Farrell’s famous.’
‘And?’ said Florence.
‘Well, as I said, I love it And of course I look at least ten years younger than I did.’ She smiled. ‘I do love those boxes too. Now – body lotions and so on – where are they? Oh, yes, I see. And eye make up and so on are . . . ?’
‘Here, under the glass counter,’ said Florence.
‘Oh how clever. This is just a lovely old-fashioned shop, isn’t it? I imagine the trade here is a bit seasonal – more in the summer and so on?’
‘Of course. But it’s never very quiet,’ said Florence firmly. ‘Now, can I offer you a cup of tea? I have a small sitting room upstairs – I call it my parlour. Of course I work up there,’ she added hastily, lest Bianca might think it was a piece of self-indulgence. ‘It’s where I do all the paperwork, the sales figures and so on.’
‘I’d love that,’ said Bianca, ‘how kind. And you can tell me more about your long, long time here. It’s such a wonderful story that I’m surprised it hasn’t been featured in all the magazines. I mean, this is the heart of the brand, it seems to me.’
‘Oh, Miss Harding – the PR, you know? She was pressing me to do exactly that. But Lady Farrell didn’t consider it appropriate.’
‘Why not? It seems very appropriate to me!’
‘Well – we have never really courted that sort of publicity at the House of Farrell. What she was talking about sounded much too . . . personal. In the old days, Vogue and Tatler would do photographs here, have a model leaning on to the counter, applying one of the new lipsticks, that sort of thing. Which was wonderful. But Miss Harding wanted this to focus on me and my story here. Lady Farrell didn’t approve of it at all.’
‘Oh really?’ said Bianca.
‘Or my talking about past famous customers and clients. Well, many of them are still alive and we have always prided ourselves on our discretion.’
‘I see,’ said Bianca. ‘Which magazines did she want to approach with this idea?’
‘Well, the newer ones. Which I do rather admire. Glamour I enjoy, and Red . That’s intelligent, as well as glossy. And even more recently, one of these blogs. Which I believe are very important now, almost as much as the magazines.’
‘That’s absolutely true,’ said Bianca, impressed by Florence’s appreciation of the modern media.
‘But Lady Farrell was very opposed to the idea. She feels Miss Harding is not quite our style.’
‘And how do you feel about her? Purely professionally,
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