1920s London
Miss Rose headed for the largest department store in London confident she would be successful. She wore her best dress and the new gloves her mother had given her. She’d managed to get a lift with a neighbour. He’d bought an ex-army van after the war. It was about as comfortable as a Charabanc, but at least it had a roof which didn’t disturb her hair. That was important today as she wanted to make a good impression.
It was still early so she had time to admire the fancy displays in the shop windows. Splendid though they were, she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable by the contrast to the poor waifs who slept in doorways when the workhouses were full.
She heard the noise of the large doors being opened for business and felt a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.
A handful of shoppers walked in dazzled by the bright lights and beautiful cut-glass chandeliers. Annie Rose had to remind herself she was not there to shop. She was there to do business. This was her chance to make a difference.
Annie’s father was a chemist. He’d always encouraged her to experiment with lotions and potions. From an early age she’d been given a corner of his laboratory.
Meanwhile her mother was a horticulturalist and practically lived in the garden. Over the years Annie lapped up everything her parents taught her. She spent her youth distilling rose petals and giving it to friends.
“Can I help you madam?” a suited gentleman asked. “Our Ladies department is on the first floor.”
“I’d like to speak with the manager,” Annie smiled hoping he’d realise she wasn’t about to make a complaint.
“If it’s about a job…” he lowered his voice, “You need to use the rear entrance.”
“Oh no, nothing of the sort,” she replied. “If he’s not available now, I’m happy to wait, or to make an appointment.”
“His office is on the very top floor. I’d take the lift if I were you.”
The lift jolted to a halt. This was it! Annie took a deep breath and headed down the corridor. It smelled of polished wood. At the end was a room with a large desk in the middle. To one side there was a much smaller desk where an elegant woman was typing.
An older woman with a dark suit and severe haircut sat behind the main desk.
“I’d like to see the manager please,” Annie said.
“Is Mr Sherman expecting you?”
“No, but…”
“What’s it about?” the secretary asked as she paused over his diary and looked at Annie with steel blue eyes.
“I make my own perfumes and I…”
“We have a buyer who deals with that sort of thing. His name is Mr Franklyn and his office is on the third floor. Good day.”
Annie hesitated. She would go and see this Mr Franklyn, but not today. She was determined to do this herself and not to ask her influential parents for help. The elegant woman from the other desk stopped typing and approached.
“I’ll escort you back to the lift,” she said and steered Annie away.
There was nothing more Annie could do that day. However, the experience got her thinking. Both the women in Mr Sherman’s office wore business-like suits. It wasn’t her style but she decided to give it a try, anything was worth a go in order to get a big department store to sell her fragrance.
She returned the following day in a below the knee smart skirt and matching jacket. She had a friend in the fashion business who’d lent her the outfit. Once again she arrived early because she’d heard that Mr Sherman and his managers often walked round the store inspecting the displays and no doubt checking whether the employees were doing their jobs properly.
She headed for Mr Franklyn’s office on the third floor. There were already two men waiting to sell their wares. Mr Franklyn entered in a starched shirt and collar. He called one of the men by name and took him into his office, the other was turned away. It seemed Annie was totally invisible to him.
“But Mr Franklyn,” she called. “At least take this sample of my perfume for your wife.”
She held out a little glass bottle for him, but he waved her away. Disappointed she headed to the restaurant for a cuppa.
A string quartet played quietly in the background. The room was light and airy with high ceilings painted in a pale green. Palm trees were festooned around in large pots and each table was neatly set with pastel pink tablecloths and serviettes.
Just as she was about to order a much needed pot of tea there was a commotion near the entrance. She noticed the musicians sit up properly. Mr Sherman and his wife were standing at the far end of the room. Annie recognised them from the photographs she’d seen in the newspapers. There was no mistaking them nor the weedy Mr Franklyn who stood to one side held up by his starched collar.
Annie reached inside her bag and pulled out her bottle of perfume. She stood and began to walk slowly, but purposefully, toward the important people at the end of the room. She was so determined to give Mrs Sherman her fragrance she didn’t see the large hat box beside a table. She tripped, tried to steady herself, but in doing so let the perfume bottle drop to the ground.
The sound of tinkling glass filled the air just as the quartet finished their piece. Two ladies gasped in surprise. The owner of the hat box came to Annie’s aid.
Meanwhile Mr Sherman and his entourage entered the seating area heading for a large table in the middle. They crunched through the glass on the floor making it even more difficult for the waiters to discreetly clear it away.
“Ooh that smells lovely,” one lady said fanning herself.
“Perhaps we can buy it on the perfume counter?” suggested her friend.
“What’s it called?” they asked the waitress, who looked bewildered.
“It’s called Elixir,” Annie said and looked over in Mr Franklyn’s direction. “It’s delightful.” Mrs Sherman nodded at Franklyn, as if giving him her approval.
Swiftly he moved over to the ladies who’d been taking tea, “It’s a new line. Look out for it in our Perfume department over the next few weeks,” he told them and then gave a little bow to Annie.
“Would you care to join me?” he asked, “A quiet table for two!” he said to the passing waiter, “And a large pot of tea and …shortbread.”
Annie had little experience of the retail world but being a bright and sensible woman she’d made it her business to do some research. For many years she’d dreamt of producing her own perfumes on a larger scale. She’d planned it all out in her head and more recently on paper. Nothing would give her more delight than to be able to employ young girls from the workhouse to help her produce Elixir in larger quantities.
“I admit to being impressed. You’ve given this a lot of thought,” Mr Franklyn told her, “You certainly seem to have all the answers, but can you deliver your first batch within the month?”
“I can,” Annie said knowing she would go without sleep if necessary. They agreed a price and shook hands.
As Mr Franklyn was showing Annie out, Mrs Sherman came over.
“Franklyn, I shall require half a dozen bottles when it arrives. Please have them individually gift wrapped and charge it to my account.”
Annie hurried off excited at the prospect of sharing her good fortune. Now she was in a position to employ some wee waifs and help them out of the gutter.
About the author
Sarah Swatridge writes short stories for women’s magazines worldwide. She now has a collection of twenty uplifting short stories called Feel-Good Stories along with her large print novels available in libraries and online. Visit www.sarahswatridge.co.uk and sign up to her monthly one page newsletter.
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Delightful. Glad Annie got round the stiff shirts and rules of the 20s
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