Chapter 2 The Anchovy Tree (Ch 1 is an earlier post)

Chapter 2

‘With your permission, Nilla, I’d like to ask Mr Elpreto to come here and stay.’
‘A man! Here?’ Over my dead bodyguard (if I had one) thought Vanilla, astounded that Fran could even suggest such a thing, let alone suggest it. Bawdy behaviour and bad language – two things her father and his friends were renowned for – were no longer a part of the household. Instead, a womany peace had settled about the place and she liked it. There was no room for change – not yet anyway.
‘Elpreto is definitely not coming here. You know full well there hasn’t been a man in this house since Daddy died and…’
‘Pardon me, but you had that accountant in a while back.’
‘Yes, but I don’t look upon him as a …’
‘Man?’
‘Well, of course he’s a man, darling. What I was about to say is that I don’t look upon him as anything more than a professional. Anyway, I’ve known him for years and his only topic of conversation is investments. You couldn’t get more boring than that.’
‘Just for a week,’ Fran piped up wobbling her shoulders in defiance. ‘That’s all it would take and for further information, Elpreto is a professional. I’m sure you could see your way into letting him watch you dream.’
‘Never,’ Vanilla was indignant. She had a strong suspicion there was an ulterior motive connected to Fran’s suggestion, but marriage was out of the question. No matter how stunning or magnetically attractive this Elpreto person was, Miss Bordello was definitely not in the running to become his partner and there was no way Fran was going to bully her into it. Admittedly, the Bordello line was heading for extinction, for beyond Vanilla there were no other living relatives. Though this was sad in some respects, she had a degree of pride in knowing that not a soul could mar the Bordello reputation built by her father for good service and a business acumen so sharp, you could hurt somebody with it.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she added. ‘I will not allow a man into my house, let alone into my bedroom, and that is what you’re suggesting isn’t it? Why, anything might happen. Or perhaps that is what you’re hoping for.’
‘Nilla,’ Fran scolded. She looked so hurt, Vanilla almost felt guilty. ‘He’s not like that. As I say, he’s a true professional.’
Such an unconvincing statement did nothing for Vanilla, especially with the sleeping pill saga so freshly on her mind. A clever retort was needed but Fran, even with age against her, got there first.
‘He’s used to dealing with kings and queens, princesses, princes, prime ministers, MPs – the list is endless,’ she said. ‘Travels all over the world. And he’s most definitely not your type. But if you won’t allow him to your room,’ she shrugged. ‘He won’t be able to help you.’
Kings and queens, thought Vanilla, princesses and princes. Who is this Elpreto? Why haven’t I heard of him before? She mellowed a bit; perhaps there would be no harm in inviting him over. Maybe he was in Who’s Who? She mellowed a lot more. Perhaps an analyst was just what she needed, and if it had to be a man, then she wanted the best.
‘Very well,’ she said, oblivious to the fact that Fran had got her own way. ‘If you’re quite sure he is a man of absolute discretion,’ her voice gathered momentum, ‘then you have my full authority to summon Elpreto. Could you do it right now?’
‘As good as done,’ Fran said with a single clap of her hands. ‘Look at the time! There’s no point goin’ back to bed. I’ll fetch up a pot of tea. Will you be calling into the office?’
‘Why? What day is it?’
‘Thursday. Second of October.’
The dreams were certainly taking their toll. Vanilla not only couldn’t remember the day – she thought it was Sunday – but the month surprised her too. Her hand went to her mouth, ‘Brazil,’ she cried. ‘I’ll have to cancel. Be a darling and email Iris. Tell her Georgina will have to fill in for me and for God’s sake don’t mention anchovies otherwise the whole office will think I’m going bonkers. Georgina knows, but nobody else, other than that pesky doctor, and I want to keep it that way.’
‘Fancy telling that Miss Fuckashoe,’ said Fran with a disapproving ‘tut.’
‘Franny, darling,’ reprimanded Vanilla, convinced the mispronunciation was deliberate this time. It amused her that Fran could have such a dislike of someone she hardly knew. ‘Du’Quachoux, if you please.’
‘That’s not what I heard her called when I visited the office. Anyway, she’s far too young to take on your assigniments. She looked right tarty to me. What about that nice Swinburn girl?’
‘Hazel?’ said Vanilla, intrigued that Fran could think someone with such a tough skin could be described as nice. ‘She may be good as head of personnel, but she hasn’t quite got what it takes to clinch a business deal. Georgina on the other hand could persuade an Eskimo to buy ice. And she’s plenty old enough. Thirty-three, going on twenty-five. Hides her age remarkable well, don’t you think?’ Vanilla gave Fran a rake of a stare, ‘Like someone else I know. How old did you imagine she was?’
‘Twenty-six at most and not an ounce of wisdom on her shoulders. Much too young for a top position. Have you seen her birth cerfisti… cerfiticate?’
‘There’s a copy on file,’ Vanilla said bluntly, irritated by Fran’s inaccurate pronunciation, but accurate guess.’ Anyway, darling, the company simply could not function without her; attractive, efficient and loyal to the core. She ensures everything runs smoothly.
‘I’m more of a figurehead really. Bit like the queen, what with foreign visits; mingling with dignitaries; signing bits of paper – but the company couldn’t survive without me either. If only Daddy was here to see it. So yes, I will be going to the office. Would you text Parsons. I want him here by seven fifteen.’ She took a breath and, feeling slightly more kindly towards her problem-solving nanny, she added, ‘By the way, darling, your bottom is fine. But please, please get rid of that awful dressing gown.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Fran looked hurt. ‘My old pal Noreen gave it to me when she heard I was back.’
Tact wasn’t one of Vanilla’s strong points, ‘It looks like Noreen found it at the rubbish tip, and the best place for it would be in the bin.’
‘There’s no need to be like that about my friend,’ Fran smoothed the silk affectionately. ‘Sometimes,’ she added, ‘those closest to fashion fail to see real beauty because they are looking too hard at the wrong thing.’

Some hours later, Vanilla stepped from her chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce. She had ignored a series of calls and three angry texts from Georgina on the way. Mobile phones were great channels of communication, and equally useful as weapons of frustration.
She knew there was a battle waiting and had dressed for the occasion in a dazzling red, shot silk trouser suit exclusively designed by Claude-et-Pascal. It was topped to perfection with a small black trilby. Her blouse was black, and knotted loosely round her neck was a plain, but wide, red silk tie by Shashuni. With determined stride she climbed the company steps.
Bordello Blow-Ups, expertly named after a great debate, was a successful model agency and photographic studio in Knightsbridge. Vanilla had only recently become MD after her father unexpectedly dropped dead on top of Hannah Frowenbrowen at ten p.m. on Easter Sunday. The whole sordid episode had been recorded on video – he always kept his camera running. Having disposed of the evidence before the media got wind of it, Vanilla nervously took up her position as head of the company. Both parents had departed prematurely because of heart conditions, and she wondered what her chances were of reaching old age. Soon after her father’s death, she made a vow: stress was out, fainting was in – not only because of the family’s health problems, but because she had absolutely no idea of how to run a company and collapsing unexpectedly was the best distraction tactic she knew of. Her strength lay in the fact that she didn’t let on how much she relied upon everyone else. Not even Georgina knew that little gem.
The haughty daughter of a Swiss diplomat, and techno wizard, Georgina was invaluable and Vanilla speedily promoted her to top management.
‘Morning,’ she curtly acknowledged her secretary. Oh, Iris, why do you always look so dull and uninteresting. Black sweater and… she threw a glance over the top of the desk… yes, pleated calf-length, black woollen skirt. Not even a piece of jewellery to brighten your gloom, and you could wash your hair more than once a week. You’re no asset, girl, and the only thing of interest is your glossy magazine.
Iris twitched and slid it under the desk. She looked up with innocent brown eyes and the outsize pimples on her chin turned scarlet as she blushed. ‘Morning Miss Bordello, you’re early.’
‘Since when has eleven o’clock been early?’ Vanilla retorted, trying to catch a glimpse of the magazine. She wondered if it was Girl’s Only or Yeppie Yeppie, either way it would be worth a look.
‘Parsons get in a real muddle in London,’ she continued. ‘No sense of direction or urgency. I shall have to get rid of him.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Georgina. Here. Five minutes. And if I catch you reading slush in company time again, you’re fired. Give it here!’
‘Yes, Miss Bordello,’ Iris reluctantly pulled out a well-thumbed copy of Line Dancing Monthly and lifted the telephone. Vanilla picked up the magazine in disgust and headed towards her office.
Unlocking the door, she viewed the room with admiration. It had been refurbished to her extravagant taste and inhaling deeply, she savoured the aroma of brand new, before tossing the magazine into the bin and addressing the portrait of her father hanging on the far wall.
‘Morning Daddy!’
He was in his saintly pose: hands clasped on his knee, chin up, watery smile, and a deep, penetrating stare. No matter where Vanilla stood, his Bordello-blue eyes bored into her in. Needing occasional respite, she’d had a blind fitted, but had only lowered it once because it made her feel uneasy. Almost disrespectful. Patrimony, she decided had a lot to answer for.
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a ferocious outburst that hurtled down the corridor and through the door.
‘This assignment in Brazil. You’ve got to go! You can’t back out like this. An email cancelling all your engagements for the next three weeks is outrageous. Unbelievable. It’s a joke. It’s got to be a joke!’
Georgina was in the room, not so much as a knock. She paced the floor. Vanilla was mesmerised; she’d never seen Georgina in leather before. A figure squeezing, black dress with the top three buttons undone creaked invitingly as she strode to-and-fro on four inch heels. Georgina was at least six feet in her heels. With long legs and cleavage bared, she reached the desk and slapped a wallet of papers down. Her ginger hair boiled in frizzy chaos on her shoulders.
‘Domingo only deals with Vanilla. Look!’ she jabbed a finger at the file. ‘It’s there in black-and-white. Domingo Vasquardez requests the presence of Vanilla Bordello at his fashion extravaganza.’
Vanilla directed her eyes straight into Georgina’s and was rendered speechless by the sharp return of green. How could a woman, A WOMAN, make her feel this way.
Finding her voice, she patted the file and said as calmly as she could, ‘If you want to stay at the top, darling, you must see Domingo. Tell him I’m ill. I simply cannot make it. I have something on my mind.’ Right on cue an anchovy slid into view and vanished. ‘And I have to see Mr Elpreto.’
‘Elpreto? Who is Elpreto? Does he wear a cloak?’
Vanilla tingled. Georgina was right on her wavelength.
‘Can’t you meet him in Brazil?’ the barrage continued. ‘You know Domingo only deals with Bordello. This is a mission impossible. And who, may I ask, is going to run the office whilst I’m not here? It’s unreasonable…’
More than a bit annoyed, Vanilla interrupted with her favourite saying, ‘I’m in charge. You, on the other hand, are not.’
It had the desired effect. Georgina swallowed hard and pouted like a scolded schoolgirl.
For good measure, Vanilla added, ‘My health is at stake here. You either take the assignment or I pass it to Hazel.’ There was no way she would let Hazel anywhere near a top client, she just wanted to play games. It was such fun, especially with Georgina who had the aggression of a tomcat and was provocative with it.
Prowling to a chair she sat, staring into her lap, clicking diamond studded nails. Seconds later she turned her green gaze on Vanilla, unpouted her glossed, ever so full and kissable lips and said, ‘Your health you say?’ A bleak silence followed. ‘All right, you bitch, I’ll do it.’
Vanilla shivered. Only Georgina could say ‘bitch’ and get away with it. Fleetingly, she wondered if the thrill worked both ways. ‘I love the animal in you. So will Domingo. He admires a woman with spirit.’ It was all bluff, she had no more idea about the man that Georgina did.
But it worked. With a scowl of resignation, Georgina said, ‘OK, sweetie. You’re the boss.’ Deafeated, she headed for the door, but before she got there she couldn’t resist saying, ‘So what’s the health trip, sweetie? You look OK to me. You’re not letting those stupid dreams take control, are you? And who the hell is Elpreto?’
‘My personal analyst,’ Vanilla replied wildly. ‘And yes, it is the dreams, confidentially of course. Elpreto is going to interpret them. Isn’t it marvellous?’ She noticed a sneer, so swiftly added, ‘Darling, he’s a very well known gentleman in the… um… upper circles.’
‘Regent or Odeon?’ retorted Georgina, who could always be relied upon for a smart answer. ‘ You’ll be telling me next that Franny put you onto him. How is the old bat these days? Apart from the senility, that is?’
You cow, thought Vanilla, but it wasn’t unexpected because she knew Georgina disapproved of Fran as much as Fran disapproved of Georgina. ‘It so happens, she did put me on to Elpreto. She is convinced he will reveal all. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful companion to sort out my personal problems. It’s a pity there aren’t more people in the world like her. She has contacts you know. Very good ones.’
‘Huh!’ Georgina poured disbelief into the one word and long legs brought her back to the desk in three strides. ‘Don’t see him. Dream analyst. Whatever next? These people thrive off others’ insecurities. When will you learn? He’ll most likely tell you the dreams are a premonition – you’re going to drown at sea. There. Easy, isn’t it? How much are you going to pay him to tell you that?’
Her concern seemed genuine and Vanilla took a knock-back, but only for a moment. ‘He is a true professional,’ she stole Fran’s phrase to defend Elpreto as if she knew him personally. ‘Mr Elpreto has studied dreams since, since… well… since before you were born. Thank you for your unqualified opinion, but I can afford his fees, and I need to take advice from an expert.’
The phone rang. Clapping a palm over the receiver, she said, ‘Red lace, silk and suspenders – my advice for Brazil.’
‘But…’
With a backhanded wave, she shoed Georgina away before addressing the telephone with boisterous enthusiasm, ‘Susie, darling. Super to hear from you. Yes, the Beckham photos are brilliant. Fantastic. How do you do it? Oh, by the way,’ she noticed Georgina hovering at the door and lowered her voice, but kept it perfectly audible, ‘I was thinking of you earlier.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blush colour Georgina’s cheeks and when it was swiftly followed by the frenzied click of heels as she disappeared down the corridor, Vanilla realised it might be jealousy. Could Georgina be falling for her?
Now that would be an interesting development.
‘Be a real sweetie, Sooze,’ she added, ‘and bring your copy of Who’s Who? over later will you?’
With a triumphant smile, she put the phone down and absent mindedly began to leaf through a pile of papers in her in-tray, wondering what the hell to do with them.