is more than one splash, you know. After the launch we’ll keep on drip-drip-dripping away. We have to place a story here, a photograph there.’
‘But the story doesn’t have to be woman power, does it?’ said Izzy with foreboding.
‘Not if you don’t want, of course.’ Molly di Peretti did not try to hide her disappointment. ‘But that’s the message Pepper keeps pounding out.’ She sighed. ‘In fact, I’d better go circulate among the hacks. Make sure it’s getting through.’
She moved on with a friendly smile.
Izzy watched her go. She could have kicked herself. Not well handled. Maybe I’m losing my touch with a crisis, she told herself, trying to make a joke of it.
Oh, well, back to work. Check with the boss, check with the team, keep the wheels rolling. If she could find any of them in the suddenly active crowd, of course.
But actually it was easy. The crowd was thickest round her cousin, and they were all listening with attention. Some were even scribbling.
Pepper was on a roll. She might freeze with nerves on a stage, but in a small group, on her own subject, she was unstoppable.
‘These are real clothes for real women,’ she was saying earnestly. ‘We’ve got some wonderful designers working for us. No more tarty tat for stick insects or black, black, black. Out of the Attic is going to be a fun place to come. And you take the fun home with you when you buy one of our outfits.’ She twirled the jade and turquoise skirts of her silk coat with manifest delight.
At least one journalist beamed in sympathy. Someone took a photograph.
Izzy bit back a smile. Only this morning in the car coming here, she had said, ‘Don’t put that in the speech. Keep it for the one-to-one chats. It will make a great quote.’
Pepper met her eyes across the group in a conspiratorial grin. ‘Isn’t that right, Izzy?’
‘Take home the fun? Works for me,’ agreed Izzy easily.
The journalists turned. They clocked that she was a member of staff. At once, Izzy saw, they bypassed her face, looking straight at the dress. She would have to get used to that, she thought wryly.
‘One of the new designs?’ someone asked.
Fluently, Izzy gave them name, designer and catalogue number. They wrote that down, too.
‘Let me show you the campaign trunk,’ Izzy said, leading them to one of the clusters of furniture. ‘We really love this. We found the original in a junk shop and had it copied. See those drawers? That’s where we keep accessories. We want the customers to discover them, like secrets.’
The journalists started to pull out the drawers, exclaiming with pleasure at the lavender bags and delicate twisty belts they found there.
‘How am I doing?’ Izzy said out of the corner of her mouth to Pepper.
‘Born saleswoman,’ returned Pepper, with a wink. ‘Keep on working the room. We’re flying!’
She was right. To a woman, the guests loved the idea of a store that invited customers to discover stuff in an attic. Some of them weren’t quite so sure about all the clothes themselves. But absolutely everyone loved Jemima’s golden shirt. And nobody said a word about the absence of champagne.
Izzy circulated conscientiously for an hour.
‘Have you had one of these smoked salmon things?’ Pepper asked, nibbling a canapé. ‘Boy, I needed that.’
Izzy shook her head. ‘Can’t risk it. I’ll mark the dress. Always been a messy feeder. We’ll have pizza later.’
Pepper laughed and let her go. Izzy went to check on her helpers. They had to be ready to clear the room the moment the last guest left. The hotel was on a tight timetable.
‘They’re having too much fun,’ said Geoff, munching on a Bath bun and peering in through the service doors. He offered her a bite.
Izzy shook her head. ‘I’ll get them out,’ she said with confidence.
‘How?’
‘If they want to go to the nightclub reception this evening, they have to pick up a ticket. From the table in the foyer. All I have to do is go in there and murmur in a few ears and there’ll be a stampede.’
He was amused. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’
‘I seem to be,’ Izzy agreed, after a moment. She sounded surprised.
‘That’s not all you’re good at,’ he said, licking the sugar off the top of his bun. ‘That was a real coup de theatre you got going with the lights and the stars and all. You ever want to work in the theatre, you give me a call.’
She was embarrassed. ‘Oh, this was just a one-off. I wasn’t even sure it would work.’
‘It worked,’ he said without emphasis. ‘You’re a natural. You’ve got my number. Call me. Maybe next time I’ll be employing you, rather than the other way round. Oh, well, action stations.’
He finished his bun, gave her a friendly punch in the shoulder and went to round up his team.
Izzy went back to start the whispering campaign. It cleared the room. In ten minutes the only people who had not moved were Jemima and the woman from the PR company. Izzy waved in her team to start the dismantling operation and still they stayed locked in serious conversation. She sighed and went over to them.
‘…off my back,’ Jemima was saying with heat.
‘But you can do it. Today proves that.’ Molly di Peretti sounded impatient.
‘Today was family.’
‘Is that what you want? Are you saying that we have to take your sister onto the pay roll for you to honour your obligations?’
‘My sister wouldn’t look at you,’ flashed Jemima. ‘She’s got a great job.’
‘Then what will it take?’
‘Just get off my back.’ It was a wail.
Molly said crisply, ‘Jemima, no one else will tell you the truth, but I will. You’re walking a tightrope. Go on like this and you’ll fall off. Nobody’s indispensable.’
Hey! thought Izzy. She increased her pace. ‘Sorry to break this up, guys. But we have to be out of here in twenty minutes flat. Can you transfer your chat to the bar?’
She put a protective arm round her sister’s shoulders. They were as rigid as iron.
Jemima looked round. Her face was hard. She did not look as if she needed anyone’s protection.
‘Chat over,’ she said curtly.
Molly di Peretti shrugged. ‘I’ll see you in ten days then. If you make it, of course.’
Jemima’s expression darkened. ‘I’ll
