20

I handed in my notice at Chic less than two weeks later, straight after the new season ideas meeting.

Up until that moment I had only been thinking vaguely about the job at Surface. I’d seen the dummy and had been impressed by the art direction, the number of fashion pages and the salary Rosie had offered me, plus, of course, the fashion director title appealed more and more. But I still didn’t think I wanted to leave Chic for an untried start-up mag.

The only thing that made me start to give it more serious consideration was Ollie’s reaction. He’d clapped with delight when I’d told him about Rosie’s offer. We were having a post-Paris dinner at Locanda Locatelli and he’d immediately ordered champagne to celebrate.

‘But that’s perfect, Emily, darling,’ he’d said. ‘A highly sophisticated, internationally focused product, with a respected editor, nicely niche and intellectually edgy, but not way-out streety, and the right job title for you at last. You’d be mad not to take it.’

‘Are you sure, Ollie?’ I said. ‘We don’t even know who the bloody publisher is. It could be some seriously dodgy porn baron, or an arms dealer. I’m on a good gig at Chic, I know Bee likes me and I haven’t been there that long, so it’s not like I’m stagnating. I’m really not sure, but you seem to be absolutely convinced.’

‘One hundred per cent, sweetheart. You know I wouldn’t encourage you to leave Chic on a whim. I’m convinced this is the right move for you.’

I took more notice of Ollie’s opinions on these things than anyone, but I still hadn’t decided to do it – until I sat in that new season meeting and heard Alice reel off every single story on my ideas list one after the other. The Sarajevo thing last time had been a shock, but this was like being in the ‘X Files’. Especially as I had typed up my list and printed it out at home to be double, triple sure she couldn’t get hold of it, but somehow she had.

The ideas Alice suggested weren’t exactly the same on every detail of photographers and locations – although even some of those were identical – but the basic story concepts all were. I just stared at her in disbelief.

After what she’d said to me in Milan I kept expecting her to look over at me at some point in triumphant disdain, but she didn’t. She just stared at Bee, waiting for approval in her usual rabbit-in-the-headlights way, who praised her lavishly. For my ideas.

I was in such a daze I didn’t even realize immediately that her performance had just left me with nothing to read out and I was on next – any minute. I felt completely panicked. While I had come up with my packing idea under extreme pressure last time, I didn’t feel remotely up to spontaneously producing a whole list of them, so I did the only thing I could do in the circs. I ran out of the room.

‘Sorry, Bee,’ I said, putting my hand over my mouth like I was just about to vomit. ‘Carry on without me, I’ll be back in a minute.’

I ran out of Bee’s room, out of the Chic offices and right out of the building without stopping. I was in such a state of shock all I could think of was getting some fresh air. I also didn’t want Bee sending Nushka round to my office to find me.

I leaned against the wall of the building, panting, my breath hanging in white clouds in the freezing March air. I didn’t have my coat, bag, or any money with me, so I couldn’t ring Ollie, but I knew I could seek comfort from the Greek guys in the café across the road. They knew me so well, they were happy to give me a cappuccino on the house and at that moment I found their normally irritating line of ‘lovely laydee’ patter quite comforting.

I sat there with my cooling coffee for about an hour, alternately staring into space and drafting my resignation letter on a paper napkin. Between scribbling, I did consider alternatives. I could go upstairs – show Bee my ideas list and tell her what Alice had done, then and the previous two seasons, but somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was all so nuts I didn’t think she’d believe me. And somehow, although Alice’s behaviour had been so appalling, I still couldn’t shop someone like that.

So, with much crossing out and rewriting, I kept going with my resignation letter and then I wrote it out clearly on a second napkin. When I’d finished I asked Demetrios if I could use their phone. First I rang Rosie, to make sure her offer was still open – it was – so I accepted it, and then I rang Nushka.

‘Are you all right, Emily?’ she said, sounding genuinely concerned. ‘We were about to send out the St Bernard. All your stuff is still here, but you just vanished.’

‘No, I’m not all right,’ I said. ‘Is the trends meeting over?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is Bee available?’

‘Yes,’ said Nushka, who had the perfect PA’s instincts about when her boss needed to be made instantly available.

‘OK then,’ I said. ‘I’m coming right in to see her.’

My heart was beating so fast as I walked back to the office, I really did feel physically ill. The more I thought about leaving Chic, the worse I felt, but how could I carry on working with Alice after that?

Gemma sprang up when I walked past her desk on my way to Bee’s office, but I just brushed her away. I had to get it over with before I lost my nerve. Bee was leaning out of her window smoking when I walked in. I knocked on the glass partition to get her attention.

‘Emily!’ she said, flicking the fag end down into the street. ‘What is going on with you? Are you ill?’

‘No,’ I said and handed her the paper napkin.

Bee glanced over it and pointed at a chair.

‘Sit,’ she ordered, coming over to join me at her big round meeting table. ‘What the hell is all this about, Emily? You were already acting like a freak in Paris and now you run out of the ideas meeting, and then come back to resign one of the best jobs in fashion – on a serviette. Have you gone mad?’

‘I don’t think so, but I want to leave. I’m really sorry, Bee.’

She narrowed her eyes and popped two pieces of nicotine gum into her mouth.

‘Have you got another job?’ she said after a few life-giving chews.

‘Yes,’ I said. It was by far the simplest explanation.

‘Aha!’ said Bee, clicking her fingers. ‘I knew there was something going on in Paris. What is it then? Not something at pure, please…’

‘God no, but I can’t tell you where. It’s a secret project.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s that dopey thing Rosie’s doing, isn’t it? That’s interesting, I thought she might try and steal Alice and she’s gone for you. How interesting. I wouldn’t have thought your work would be pretentious enough for her. She must be savvier than I thought.’

‘How did you know?’ I squeaked.

Bee just rolled her eyes. Of course she knew. She always knew.

‘But you can’t be serious, Emily,’ she said, her voice softening. ‘You can’t leave Chic to go and work on some pretentious start-up with no reputation, no job security and an untried and appallingly badly dressed editor. You’re doing so well here, you know I love your work and – even more importantly – I love working with you.’

She gave me a deep nod with raised eyebrows that said it all. She was telling me she liked me more than Alice. But it wasn’t enough. After what had happened at that meeting I couldn’t stay on at Chic for another day. I felt like Alice was going to appear wearing my clothes at any moment.

‘No, Bee,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry. I love working here, I think you are wonderful, but I need a fresh challenge. I’d like to leave immediately, if you don’t mind. It’s a good time for me to go, I’ve done all my shoots for this season and…’ I petered out, thinking: and Alice will be doing all my shoots for the next one.

Bee sighed and stood up, lighting a cigarette, en route to her usual spot at the window. She looked really, sincerely, disappointed. I felt rotten.

‘Emily, my dear girl,’ she said. ‘If you really feel you need to go now – go. But I know there is more to this than you are telling me. Something has happened and I will find out what it was, but hear this first. I am giving you one month’s grace to change your mind about this crazy idea. Just one month, OK? Here’s the deal – I’ll give you a hefty pay rise if you stay and I’ll change your title to deputy fashion director, if that would make a difference.’

I just shook my head, laughing inwardly at the irony of it, and then just hung my head. I felt absolutely sick.

Gemma got all tearful when I told her, Janey and Frannie my news.

‘You can’t leave,’ she said, actually sobbing. ‘You can’t. I can’t bear it if you leave. I’ll probably die.’

‘What are you talking about – leaving?’ said Frannie. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘I just need a new challenge,’ I said, determined to stick to my story. I just couldn’t cope with trying to explain that Alice had psychically stolen my ideas for the second time. I’d sound like a nutter. And with my family history, that was something I was not prepared to risk.

‘Well, I’ve got some news for you too,’ said Frannie. ‘If you do bloody leave you’re not going to get to see me get really, really fat – because I’m three-and-a-half months bloody pregnant and now you won’t be around to watch, you big idiot.’

‘You’re what?’ I said and gave her a big hug. ‘Oops, mustn’t squeeze you too hard. That is the most wonderful news. So that’s why you weren’t drinking in Paris, you sly dog,’ I said, leaning down to kiss her tummy. ‘Well, I won’t see you every day, but I’m not leaving the country. I’ll still get to see you turn into a human barrage balloon. I wonder if it will show much?’

She punched me on the arm, but Gemma was still wailing.

‘Where are you going?’ she sobbed. She wasn’t up to taking in two such big pieces of news at once. ‘Can I come with you? I might get someone really horrible as my boss, instead of you. Oh, you can’t be serious, Emily. Tell me you’re joking.’

But I wasn’t and it didn’t take me long to gather up the few things I was going to take home with me that night. Gemma would pack up my other bits and pieces and bring them over at the weekend.

By the time I was ready to go, word had got round the entire office and Tim the art director and most of the rest of the staff had come round to our office with bottles of wine they’d had stashed away to give me an impromptu leaving party. I was touched by how shocked and upset everyone seemed to be that I was going. Bee even came in and told them all they hadn’t seen the last of me yet, if she had anything to do with it. I knew better, I thought, but I smiled weakly at her.

By seven o’clock people were beginning to drift away, with lots of hugs and good wishes and ‘you’ll be back’s and I decided it really was time for me to leave. But first I had to confront Alice. She and Fatalie were just about the only people who hadn’t come to say goodbye to me.

I told Frannie and Gemma I was going to the loo and walked round the corner to Alice’s office. She wasn’t there, but Natalie was. Sitting in Alice’s chair, tapping away on Alice’s computer. Wearing one of Alice’s signature hats – a vintage stetson.

‘Where’s Alice?’ I asked her, taking in the scenario.

‘Gone home,’ she said, leaning back, her arms folded behind her head, her overcooked cleavage quivering with excitement. ‘To celebrate.’

‘Oh really,’ I said, in my most ice-maiden tones. ‘I hope she enjoys herself. She might even smile; that would make a change. Well, I’m off then. Goodbye, Natalie.’

Julie Andrews couldn’t have done it better, I told myself, but as I turned to walk out of the office she called my name. With that irritating instant reaction we all have, I turned back round and was immediately furious with myself I hadn’t just ignored her.

‘By the way, Emily,’ said Natalie, with a fake smile. ‘Fuck you.’

And she gave me the finger.