It was awfully hard to act normal when Harold arrived.
“Hello there!” I said, which came out far too loudly, giving the game away that I had heard the news.
Harold looked at Bunty and then back at me. “HELLO, Emmy,” he said at a similar volume and smiling broadly.
For the first time since meeting him again, he sounded exactly the same as the cheerful, self-confident man we had first met. It was a joy to see. I was fit to burst for them both.
As well as Guy coming round to talk about the pie in the sky idea, tonight we were joined by Mrs. Mahoney, whose participation, if we were to stand any chance of a realistic plan, would be absolutely vital. Completing what Bunty had jokingly referred to as the Woman’s Friend War Cabinet was our final guest, Monica, who had been the first person Guy had called to check if he had lost all his marbles to even contemplate buying the magazine.
Her answer had been: “Yes, you have. When do we start?”
Now Harold and the children had just returned from the chippy, laden down with our dinners wrapped in newspaper and bringing the glorious smell of salt and vinegar into the room.
“Oooh,” breathed Monica. “Perfect.”
Guy smiled at her fondly. “I told you she’s not as grand as she seems,” he said.
“Grand?” said Monica. “Shoot me now.”
“I don’t think you’re grand,” said Stanley. “But you do look very pretty and you smell nice, or at least you did before the chips arrived.”
“Stanley,” said Thelma, mortified. “I’m sorry, Monica, Stan gets excited about new people.”
“Thank you, Stanley,” said Monica, entirely unruffled. “So do I.”
Stan beamed at her.
“Tuck in, everyone,” I said. “Nothing worse than if it gets cold.”
Mrs. Mahoney gave Stan a big smile, although Thelma gave him A Look and silently tapped her wristwatch. The children had been allowed to join in on the understanding it was a grown-ups’ dinner, after which they were to be off upstairs for reading and bed.
“I declare our first board meeting open,” said Guy. “May they all involve the best grub money can buy.”
Everyone said cheers to that, and for the next half an hour, no work was done as we focused on eating. Guy asked for an update from Margaret on her dancing, which she confirmed was going very well, but really, she was more interested in the trombone these days.
“Not at the same time?” said Guy, which Marg took very seriously, and patiently explained that you really couldn’t do that because of the breathing.
“Thank you, Margaret,” he said, “I understand the difficulty. Now, do you think we should begin? I did an agenda on the bus. First point is from me. I managed to see the new Lord Overton this afternoon.”
Now ears pricked up all round. If anyone knew Cressida’s plans, it would be her cousin.
“It wasn’t a great success,” said Guy. He glanced at Margaret, who was watching him with one last remaining chip stuck on her fork. “Just to say again, this is all a big secret,” he added.
Thel took the hint and asked the children to go and make sure Laurel and Hardy were ready for bed. As they happily marched off outside, Guy picked up his thread.
“I’m afraid to report,” he said, “that as far as Woman’s Friend is concerned, this Lord Overton has no interest. The magazine, the staff, Cressida selling it off—none of it. He’s very much focused on The Chronicle and the other news titles, which makes perfect sense. They’re an immense business. I’m afraid I also had the temerity to ask what his mother would think of it all. That was a mistake.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Quite a lot. Mostly something along the lines of ‘what Lady Overton thinks is not your concern… just lost my father… you may have been chums with my little brother, but get your nose out of my family’s business.’ ”
“That’s disappointing,” said Mrs. Mahoney. “His parents were both very fond of Woman’s Friend.”
“Times change,” said Guy. “But do you know, I rather respect him for being his own man. He’s paving his own way and not taking the inheritance for granted, unlike the Egg. Johnny Overton is very protective of his mother, and there’s a lot to be said for that. If my mother was still alive, I’d be much the same if I thought someone was pushing their luck.” Guy paused. “But I’m sorry, everyone. As far as Launceston Press is concerned, we’re on our own.”
“Well done for trying,” said Monica. “It may actually be preferable to break away entirely.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Guy, playing with a fork. “Which brings us to number two on the agenda—raising the finances. If anyone is rolling in money, now would be a good time to say.”
Unsurprisingly, no one spoke up.
“You’re not a millionaire, are you, Harold?” I asked. “Keeping it under your hat to make sure we like you for just being you?”
“I’d have said,” he replied, “to be on the safe side. Sorry, bit of a dud on this front. I don’t even have a job yet.”
“You will,” said Bunty softly. “Anyone sensible will want you.”
Harold smiled at her in a way that made my heart want to burst.
“Monica?” said Guy. “You’re looking thoughtful. Which is usually a good thing.”
Monica nodded seriously. “Actually, I’ve been giving this whole situation quite a lot of thought. I don’t want to push in, but I can rattle on for a bit if now is a good time.”
Everyone agreed now was a very good time for Monica to say anything. “All right,” she said. “Here’s what I think.”
As Bunty and Thelma got up and cleared the table, Monica began to speak. Within moments, everyone was glued to her every word. We were sitting in the family kitchen, surrounded by household items, drawings by the children, and Stan’s collection of home-made aeroplanes, which hovered in silent balsa wood battle on their pieces of thread from the ceiling. But now we could for all the world have been in a corporate boardroom.
Monica Edwards was the epitome of experience and knowledge. Poised as ever, she spoke in low and measured tones. Thelma quietly left to round up the children and take them upstairs, while the rest of us stayed gladly in the palm of Monica’s hand.
“I’ve been speaking to a few of my contacts,” she said. “There’s no doubt that thanks to the success of the Friend over the last couple of years and your profile with the Ministry, there’s an enormous amount of gossip about what’s going on. Now…”—she held up her hand for a moment—“that’s both good and bad. Some of it is because, as you know, the publishing industry loves a drama, and Mrs. Porter’s editorial direction has obviously made quite a splash. I know this rubs salt in fresh wounds, but quite frankly, it’s been like watching someone take a very nice car and drive it as fast as they can into a wall.”
Monica took a breath as I saw Mrs. Mahoney frown and Guy wince.
“I’m sorry,” Monica continued. “There is a great deal of sympathy for you and an even stronger feeling of there but for the grace of God go the rest of us. Which brings me to where I lay my cards on the table.” No one moved as Monica paused for a moment. “All of us are at the whim of our owners. I’ve been Editor in Chief and, more recently, Publisher of Woman Today for over ten years. It’s fair to say, I’ve given my all to it during that time, including sacrificing my marriage, although arguably that was a bonus. My point is, it could all end tomorrow. With that in mind, and you should not say anything at this point, but if this is of any benefit to you, I would like to join you as an interested party, financially.”
Monica’s suggestion of not saying anything at this point was immediately ignored, as everyone broke into excited agreement that it was the best thing that we had heard. Guy sat back, watching and listening.
“Have you two talked about this?” I asked.
“A little,” he said. “Monica, would you go on, please?”
“Thank you, Guy. Yes. Now sadly, rather like Captain Thomas, I am not a millionaire. However, thanks to very poor judgement on my part in choosing a now ex-husband whose hobbies were making money and philandering, I do have a certain amount of capital. With a couple of caveats, I would like to discuss being one of a select number of private investors for your business.”
Monica did not mess around.
“Caveats?” I said.
“Yes. In my view, Woman’s Friend is only worth backing if it returns to the formula that has made it a success. That means you three. Guy, Mrs. Mahoney, and Emmy as a condition of purchase, as it were. And of course your team, but as far as I can see, it was you three that took the magazine to where it was before Mrs. Porter arrived. You’re central to the business plan. You are the magazine. Put together a strong argument that you can do what you did before and thereby save Woman’s Friend, and I think we can take a business plan to other people who will back you as well. The second condition—and I think any investor will expect this—is that you have to do everything you can to stop the rot that is so obviously taking place. You don’t need me to tell you, but every reader, subscription, and advertiser you lose will make it harder to get the money chaps on board. But I think you can do it. I really do.”
Monica took a sip of water from her glass, and waited.
There was lots to take in. Finally Guy spoke. “Thank you, Monica. This is an enormously generous and supportive offer. I’m not going to do you the disservice of asking if you are sure. But it is a huge gesture.”
Monica shook her head, and swallowing the last of her water, put the glass down. “No, Guy,” she said, “this isn’t a gesture. This is pure business.” Now she spoke with more emotion. “This is an opportunity,” she said, “to own a magazine. A very good one, and on our own terms, starting with the knowledge that a Mrs. Porter could not happen again. That’s a dream. If we can bring Woman’s Friend back from where that ludicrous woman is trying to take it, then we can use it as the start of an independent publishing company. I’ve never had the guts to do it until now. We need to find decent backers but ensure we have the deciding share. Of course, it may not work.” Now she looked around the table intently, the slightest smile on her lips. “But imagine how exciting it could be.”
“And you would help us find these people?” I asked.
“Yes. If you’ll have me,” said Monica. “I think there will be interest if we can move fast. The fact is, there is money around and people want to invest. Woman’s Friend plays a key role in the promotion of civilian morale. You’re part of the war effort. That’s a help too. Prove you’re worth investing in. That’s the key.”
It was exactly what Bunty had said.
I should probably have looked serious and muttered something about consulting with my colleagues. This did not happen.
“YES,” I said. “AYE.”
I was sure people said Aye in this kind of situation. Mrs. Mahoney clearly agreed.
“AYE,” she said, and thumped the kitchen table with her hand.
We both turned to Guy. He and Monica were looking at each other in the way that makes you realise there’s a shared history you’ll never entirely understand. I knew they’d become friends during the last war, and I’d heard dozens of stories about their adventures during the twenties. But every member of their generation had scars. For all the anecdotes and devil-may-care japes, I would bet my life that there were more stories that remained in darker shadows and would never be told.
Now, however, Guy raised his eyebrows. “Never had the guts,” he scoffed. “Absolute nonsense.”
Then he thumped his hand on the kitchen table. “Aye.”
Everyone started speaking at once. From a potential list of people to target, through to the practicalities of suppliers for print and production, ideas and suggestions came thick and fast. Having settled the children, Thelma returned to a scene of intense discussion.
Bunty, whose shorthand was second to none, took notes that raced across her paper pad at a sprint. Harold turned out to know all sorts of details about Government regulations, which he said he had picked up from a chap he was friendly with in hospital. Within an hour we had signed Captain Thomas up as part of the business team.
“I might turn out to be rubbish,” he said happily, “but I’m available, conveniently situated, and also free of charge.”
“That’s our man,” said Guy.
“Not for free,” said Monica. “This is a business. We must look into remuneration. You’re an asset. And an overhead. But mostly an asset.”
“It’s handy you’ll be next door,” I said, grinning at him.
Bunty kicked me under the table.
“How many people will you have on the staff?” she asked, changing the subject.
I started counting. “Guy, Mrs. Mahoney, me, Mr. Newton, Hester and Mrs. Shaw and Miss Peters. We’ll need a new Fashion and Beauty person, as I think we can agree that Mrs. Pye isn’t our biggest ally. And an assistant too. We’d want to keep the freelancers, so that wouldn’t change.”
“Will you rent the offices from Lord Overton? It’s going to be very tricky to find anywhere else,” said Bunty.
That was the understatement of the year. Great chunks of London’s offices had been bombed out or taken over for the war effort.
“That’s a very good point,” said Guy. “Based on my meeting with him today, I think probably not.”
“So let’s say ten people to start with,” said Bunty, pushing on. “Good. So I have a suggestion. Why don’t you move in here? If the team doesn’t mind working in Pimlico rather than Fleet Street, it could work.” Without waiting for an answer, she began to draw out a map of the house. “It won’t do your proposal any harm to have an office lined up. Now, Thelma and the kids are in the top flat. Emmy and I could move our bedrooms up to the floor below, and that leaves the ground floor and the first floor. Loads of these old Georgian houses are used for businesses. Embassies run entire countries from less space. And it won’t cost you a penny.”
It was another extraordinarily generous offer.
“What about your granny?” I said. “Would she mind you turning her house into an office? Strangers coming in and out every day?”
“That’s the cleverest part,” said Bunty. “You aren’t strangers. Emmy, it’s you and Guy. If it wasn’t for you two, I probably wouldn’t be here today.”
“And you wouldn’t mind living above the shop, as it were?” said Guy to Thelma.
Thel laughed. “Of course not,” she said. “It sounds very exciting. The kids would love it and so would I.”
“That’s sorted, then. I’ll ask Granny when I go to see her,” said Bunty. “Or rather, we can ask her. Harold and I are going to visit.”
Thel busied herself with the kettle. I said a very bland “How lovely,” and then Guy summed up what we were both really thinking by letting out a long, low whistle.
“Meeting Mrs. Tavistock,” he said. “I say, old man, how are you feeling about that?”
“Guy,” I said. “Really.”
“Terrified,” said Harold.
“Darling,” said Bunty.
“Sorry,” he replied. “I’m just not sure what Mrs. Tavistock is going to think about her granddaughter going out with an old wreck like me.” He gave a wide but now slightly strained smile.
“Oi, none of that.” Thelma whirled round from where she was getting cups out for some tea. “Harold, do you have any idea how much my children look up to you? They don’t care how bashed up you are. You’re a hero. So don’t you go saying that sort of thing again. All right?”
Harold nodded. “Will do,” he said a little gruffly. “Thanks, Thelma.”
“Good,” said Thel. “Now can someone come and help me with this tea?”
Guy said he would and got up smartly, giving Harold the slightest squeeze on his shoulder as he went past. “Are you definitely serious about this, Bunty?” he said. “It would just be until we had Woman’s Friend up and running properly again, of course.”
Bunty sat up straighter. “If you lot can pull this off, you’ll deserve to have somewhere sorted so you won’t have to worry for a while. You could stay here as long as you wanted.”
Guy was now balancing cups and saucers in one hand and a teapot in the other. He set them down on the table. “Excuse me, Harold,” he said. Then he went over to Bunty and gave her a huge kiss on the cheek. Bunty laughed and told him she hadn’t persuaded her granny yet.
I was already up and heading towards the kitchen door. “I don’t want to be the sort of waste bug who doesn’t drink a freshly made cup of tea,” I called back over my shoulder, “but last one upstairs gets the worst spot in the new office.”
And then I hurled open the door and hurried off to see how Bunty’s wonderful offer could be put to the test.