The Love Department

by Ally Bunbury

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

The countdown to Christmas is on at Shillington's luxury department store in Dublin city ...

Immy Brooks has just been put in charge of personal shopping and seems to have a gift for knowing exactly what people want. The one person whose mind she can't read is her best friend (and soon-to-be boss), Lando Shillington. The night before he leaves for Paris, the two share a drunken night of passion - but Immy hasn't seen or heard from him since ...

Lando can't get Immy out of his head but he is under pressure to save the family business and he's in Paris to learn the ropes from the retail magnate, Charles de Croix. Radical changes are needed if Shillington's is to return to its former glory. But Lando hadn't banked on getting on quite so well with Charles' daughter, the glamorous and eminently dateable Celine.

Christmas is in the air when Lando returns to Dublin with Celine and de Croix, both determined to give Shillington's a Parisian makeover, but does their arrival spell the end for Immy and Lando, before they even get started?

Release date: November 2, 2023

Publisher: Hachette Books Ireland

Print pages: 336

Sample

Usually, all eyes gravitated towards Lando Shillington, a blond and dashing Irishman with a tightly cut beard. But on this October morning at Le Marché Cher, it was Charles de Croix who commanded attention. The two men stood between the Corinthian columns at the entrance to the city’s most exclusive department store, with a Mansard roof and an enormous glass canopy above them. De Croix turned on his heels and entered the building, with Lando in pursuit.

‘Straighten your tie,’ de Croix snapped at an immaculately dressed man behind the perfume counter, ‘and when did these lilies arrive?’

‘At five a.m. this morning, Monsieur de Croix,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘They arrived from Provence as you requested.’

Change them to pink roses,’ said de Croix, whose sprinkling of grey in his neatly cut brown hair was the only hint to his sixty years of age. ‘The day is too cold for lilies,’ he added. ‘Our customers must see colour to energise their senses.’

Lando breathed in the sweet, heavy smell of lilies and wondered if they would be binned or gifted to someone worthy of a bouquet that morning. The central gallery of the ground floor looked so inviting, he was sure customers would barely have a moment to glance at any floral display. Silk headscarves, velvet hats, tortoiseshell glasses and long cashmere coats were laid out so beautifully, anyone with available funds would be unable to resist a purchase. De Croix had made temptation an art form and Lando wondered if he could replicate this talent.

‘Constance Jablonski is wearing this piece in the winter edition of Vogue,’ said a sales assistant, bravely holding up a navy girdle in front of de Croix.

‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘though the lace is perhaps cliché.’ De Croix reached for a black girdle, neatly folded on a table beside a gilded birdcage with its door open. ‘This piece of lingerie symbolises obedience, and like the clever birds who flew from captivity, we encourage women to free themselves.’

‘So, we remove the girdle?’ The sales assistant looked confused.

‘In the words of Dita Von Teese,’ said de Croix, ‘lingerie is not about seducing men, it’s about embracing womanhood.’

‘What would you suggest as an alternative?’ said the assistant, whose complexion was turning increasingly puce.

‘This is for your department head to decide, non?’ said de Croix. ‘Where would we be if I had all the answers in my pocket?’

Lando stood next to a rail of Coco de Mer lingerie and ran his finger around the neck of his shirt, acutely feeling the pressure of his future. He had asked his godfather, de Croix, to guide him through the most intimate running of Le Marché Cher in preparation for taking the helm of his own family department store, Shillington’s, in Dublin. After all, de Croix’s foresight and indomitable energy had transformed Le Marché Cher from a squalor of strip lighting and polyester to a department store so chic, queues would form each season as clothes rails were updated with the latest arrivals from the world’s most elegant and exclusive ateliers. But three months under the critical eye of de Croix had resulted in Lando feeling even more unnerved about his task ahead.

The floor silenced as de Croix climbed the curved marble staircase. On the landing, with opulent chandeliers hanging from above, he clapped his hands like a cha-cha dancer and peered down at his staff. Lando noticed how each well-groomed staff member stood to attention, looking up to their boss whose puzzling combination of sternness and strength of purpose earned their respect.

‘I want you to listen carefully,’ he said, looking from left to right. ‘We must give our customers what they want before they know what it is they want.’ De Croix paused and drew a hand towards his right ear. ‘Oui ou non?’

The staff dressed in black trouser suits mumbled, ‘Oui, Monsieur de Croix.’

De Croix stamped his foot. ‘What response is this from my ambassadors of all that is chic and magnifique in this world?’

‘Oui, Monsieur de Croix,’ came a resoundingly passionate response. ‘Oui!’

De Croix pressed the palms of his hands together in prayer. ‘A department store of this calibre exists to feed a desire for abundance.’ He breathed in so tightly his nostrils squeezed together. ‘They want jewels, not only for their ears or wrists but for their houses. We must tantalise with our Forbes & Lomax light switches and tempt with technology like the computer-operated coffee system on the top floor. Maybe they want a Saint Laurent wool tuxedo jacket or a pair of cashmere Yosemite socks.’ De Croix pulled up the hem of his trousers and flashed his ankle to a cheering audience, though they quickly returned to their demure composure. ‘Fulfil dreams and wishes this Christmas season, and you will be rewarded not only with a bonus in your pay cheque, but a sense that you are doing the world a favour by spreading the good word of style.’

Lando couldn’t imagine speaking to the staff at Shillington’s in such a way. Some had worked at the store for so many years; they’d watched Lando grow up, and now their own children worked there. Others had started at Shillington’s straight out of school. What would they think of Lando as their twenty-seven-year-old new boss? He didn’t have his mother’s authority or his late father’s confidence, and though he had studied hard through university, including getting a 2:1 in business at Trinity College, followed by a first-class master’s degree and a PhD over three years, it was plain to see he didn’t need such qualifications to become CEO. But it had been a case of anything to give him more time before stepping into the hot seat – which was the very reason Lando had asked de Croix to take him on as an apprentice, though starting in the basement, dressed in navy overalls, and adding size cubes on top of clothes-hangers was something he hadn’t bargained for.

After a mind-numbing three weeks, Lando had graduated to the restrooms, this time wearing a white coat like a lab technician, except there was no science involved as he’d passed hand towels to customers. Though Lando’s proficiency in French was mediocre at best, he could easily understand when a woman had asked for his number, another had invited him into a cubical and one lady had given him twenty euros as if Lando was her grandson.

When de Croix had at last instructed Lando to dress in a suit, he expected to be at management level but instead was brought to the complaints department. His job was to deal with English-speaking customers, mostly tourists, moaning about the French sizing or the amount of tax they had to pay, and if they’d known, they ‘never would have bought the item in the first place’. Finally, when deemed ready, Lando was invited to shadow de Croix, the bossiest man in Paris. And when the bells chimed for November 1st, he would fly to Dublin and accept the baton from his mother. The question was, would she really hand over Shillington’s department store to Lando when the time came?

The night before Lando was due to fly to Dublin, he stood next to Celine de Croix outside her family’s apartment on rue Vaneau. A year older than Lando, and daughter to de Croix, Celine had added unexpected complexity to the Parisian trip. They had become close, and not only because Lando had been invited to stay in the guest room of her little apartment on rue Saint Dominique during his stay in Paris. Celine had listened to Lando’s turmoil about living in his late father’s shadow, and his fear of failure in taking on the family business. They hadn’t slept together, but in every other way, Lando and Celine had become a couple. And it wasn’t as if Lando had ever had any problem persuading a woman to sleep with him, but this was what made their connection more interesting. She was exquisite in her French beauty, and the sexual restraint she showed only heightened her appeal.

‘Lando,’ she said, sheltering in the arched doorway from sleeting slow, ‘why must you stand with hands in your pockets?’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I always have.’

‘And if you fall on your face?’

‘I’ll put out my elbows.’ Lando flapped out his arms like a bird.

‘Then maybe before you leave Paris, I can teach you another new habit.’ Celine gently tugged Lando’s sleeve from the warmth of his woollen coat pocket and held his hand. ‘Let’s just hope this door opens before we catch frostbite.’

‘If it delays my return to Ireland, frostbite doesn’t sound so bad.’ Apart from Lando’s nerves about his new role at Shillington’s, he had hoped that three months away from Dublin would ease his guilt about what had happened the night before he’d left, but to no avail. It had been the classic cocktail error. Farewell drinks with his best friend since childhood, Immy Brooks. So intimate, they could pretty much read each other’s minds. For years they had shared their own intimate world, solving each other’s dilemmas and dramas, partying together, and passing out together.

When the door opened, Lando stepped back so that Celine’s mother, Julie de Croix, could embrace her daughter. Julie was the epitome of Parisian elegance in a black knit dress and dark hair tied back.

‘My beauty,’ she said, hugging Celine. ‘Lando, what do I do with this unmarried daughter?’

‘Mama,’ said Celine, double kissing her mother’s cheeks. ‘How many times have you asked Lando this question? Maybe I’ll follow him to Ireland. I could even become a nun while I’m there.’

‘You think they serve champagne in convents?’ said Julie, winking at Lando. She must have been as confused about his relationship with Celine as he was. ‘Besides, how could Le Marché Cher survive without the best Head of Buying in the whole of France, if not the world? Come on, let’s open a bottle and say farewell to our handsome Irish boy.’

Julie led the way to a minimalist drawing room with a silkscreen portrait by Andy Warhol hanging above a stone mantelpiece.

‘Lando, you open the champagne and I’ll light a cigarette,’ said Julie, sitting down on the green velvet sofa, kicking off her heels, and curling up her stockinged feet. ‘And then you tell me if your godfather has taught you all you need to know?’

‘I don’t think it’s possible,’ said Lando, removing the wire around the champagne cork. ‘Even with all my years of studying business and getting to know every inch of Le Marché Cher, which is the tightest ship run at the highest standards, I’m feeling more intimidated than ever.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ said Celine, throwing a log on the fire. ‘Just follow the rules, mark up the prices and sell.’

‘That won’t work on our customers,’ said Lando, popping the cork. ‘They’d all turn grey overnight if we charged more; mind you, most of our customers are over eighty.’

‘Then you need to reach a new kind of customer,’ said Julie. ‘Out with the old.’

‘That’s harsh,’ said Celine.

‘It is,’ agreed Lando, ‘and no disrespect intended, Julie, but Shillington’s is on its knees.’ Lando poured the champagne into the delicate Baccarat coupe glasses. ‘We have no marketing budget and Mum refuses to modernise.’

‘Then it’s just as well a new boss is coming to town,’ said Celine.

‘But if I can’t boost sales, then I’ve failed everyone, including you guys,’ said Lando, handing a glass to Julie. ‘Your family has been incredibly kind.’

‘Paris is the best place in the world to find a new perspective.’ Julie took a sip of champagne and dragged deeply on her cigarette. ‘It is a patient city which gives the heart time to judge.’

Lando only wished that were true. When he arrived in Paris, he messaged Immy to say he hoped she was OK and maybe the break could help them figure out what they wanted. But he received no more than a couple of lines in return, downplaying what had happened.

‘I am not one to get involved in other people’s business,’ said Julie.

‘Ha, Mama, that is what you think,’ said Celine, raising her glass to Lando.

‘I have a rather extreme idea,’ said Julie, ‘but at my age, I feel it’s time to speak up for what I want.’

‘What are you saying, Mama? Do you want to buy a Bugatti and drive to Monaco and rekindle a romance with an old boyfriend?’

‘Nothing so exciting,’ said Julie, looking like she rather liked Celine’s suggestion. ‘Before we reach another new year, I am wondering if there is an opportunity for my husband to take his godfatherly duties a step further and accompany you to Ireland and help boost your Christmas takings?’

‘And you stay here alone?’ laughed Celine. ‘What would you do with your evenings, Mama?’

Julie blew out her cheeks, and with steely eyes, looked very serious. ‘I would have some time to myself for the first time in years.’

‘And what about Le Marché Cher?’ said Celine, sounding panicked. ‘The place couldn’t run without Papa, not before Christmas.’

‘Then you could take his place,’ said Julie.

‘Non, Mama, I would have to go with him.’ Celine looked at Lando. ‘Besides, I heard so much about Shillington’s; I think it could be looked at as an essential research trip.’

Celine and Immy together at Shillington’s? Lando’s new role momentarily paled in comparison as he considered this unintentional love triangle.

‘My point, Lando, is that my husband’s retail experience and entrepreneurial skills are so sharp, I know he can make an impact in a matter of weeks, and then you are set to inherit a business which can thrive.’

‘I don’t think Papa would leave Paris, even for a week,’ said Celine.

Lando couldn’t work out if Celine was for or against joining him in Ireland. Maybe she wanted to travel without de Croix.

‘Your father needs a challenge,’ said Julie, ‘even his cinq à sept is boring him.’

‘Oh, he told you?’ Celine teased as if she didn’t seem bothered by her father’s rendezvous between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. with his cliché Parisian mistress.

‘He doesn’t need to.’ Julie spoke seriously. ‘The sparkle in his eyes has turned weak and I worry we are getting stale with each other.’

‘Mama, that is too sad.’ Celine walked over to her mother and kissed her hand.

‘I don’t know; maybe it’s the champagne which makes me speak,’ said Julie.

‘Excuse our English, Lando, won’t you?’ said Celine. ‘The movies we watch encourage us to speak with drama.’

‘Both of you speak English perfectly,’ said Lando.

‘Then you are even sweeter than I thought.’ Julie put her glass on a side table and pulled a cushion to her chest. ‘You know, Lando, the pact your father and de Croix made with each other in Cambridge all those years ago still stands.’

‘Don’t make him sad, Mama, not on his last night,’ said Celine.

‘But it’s true.’ Julie’s voice broke. ‘They promised to make each other godparents to their first-born children, and to watch over them for their lifetime.’

‘If my father had lived to know Celine, he would have been very proud,’ said Lando, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. He felt the familiar heartache of missing a man he had never known.

‘My sweet,’ said Julie, ‘surely your mother has told you how much you are like your father, and if you can find the courage, it could be worth opening your heart to try and give your store one more chance. If it fails, you sell the property, but maybe it can work.’

Lando felt his shoulders tighten. He had enjoyed living life on the surface these past months, knowing it was a freedom he couldn’t enjoy once he returned to Ireland. The crew at Le Marché Cher, when they weren’t on their best behaviour for de Croix, had taken Lando under their wing, guiding him through the best of Paris night life. From the 1988 with sequined walls, mirror balls and DJs switching between the turntables, to the velvety salons of Moi, Moi with cocktails named after literary characters, bookshelves, and full-size peacocks from Deyrolle. Lando had been taken on a nocturnal journey to opulence, but he knew it was time for reality to bite.

‘Your father wanted to put his future on a stick and throw it over the bridge,’ said Julie. Her English translations would have been amusing if the subject hadn’t been serious. ‘And your mother came along, urged him to face his realities and yes—’ Julie paused, her eyes filling with tears ‘—OK, it was a quick time for them, but they created you, Lando, your mother bravely carried on with the business and, now, it’s your turn.’

Celine rested her glass on the mantelpiece. ‘Mama, you are bringing us down.’

‘What?’ said Julie, pressing her fingers beneath her eyelids. ‘Lando has this opportunity in his hand, and I know his father would want me to tell him so.’

‘Then let’s fix this together,’ said Celine, who loved to take charge just like her father. ‘Lando, it’s all eyes on you – to sell up or give it a try.’

‘And I want to try,’ he said, ‘I really do.’ Lando felt so indecisive, he might have to resort to flipping a coin to make his decision.

He felt so grateful to have this talk, which would have been impossible with his own mother.

‘De Croix is impressed with you, Lando; you were always on time and never complained, even when you had to put up with the odour of the ladies in Le Marché Cher, and let’s face it, no matter how deluxe these women think they are, in the toilette they are no different from the farm animals.’

They burst into hoots of laughter, which felt like the best relief.

‘What would your mother think of de Croix assessing the business? Then you can weigh up the realities of taking on a lead weight or a balloon that can soar high and keep your family in euros.’ Julie slid her feet back to the floor and deftly put her heels on. ‘Though maybe your mother would miss being in charge?’

‘Mum prefers to be in her greenhouse, talking to plants,’ said Lando, feeling optimistic about the suggestion. ‘She can’t stand the public and yet insists on wandering around the store, judging customers and scowling at staff.’

‘And if Papa agrees, I’ll join him in Ireland with Lando,’ said Celine. ‘Le Marché Cher can survive with Benoir at the helm, and it will be a chance for him to prove his abilities as deputy manager.’

‘You really think so?’ said de Croix, standing at the door, snowflakes sitting on his flat cap.

‘Papa,’ said Celine, crossing the room to hug him. ‘You’re home early.’

‘Celine is correct,’ said Julie, stretching extravagantly across the sofa to pick up her iPhone on the side table. ‘What is the matter, my love? It seems you are no longer appealing to your cinq à sept?’

De Croix ignored his wife and crossed the room to the fireplace. ‘A glass of champagne for your godfather?’ he said, turning to Lando.

You could cut a knife through the tension. Julie drained her glass and held it out to Lando before he’d had a chance to pour champagne for de Croix. There was obviously some kind of marital problem going on and Lando admired Celine for her ability to sit back and quietly observe her parents.

‘For you,’ said Lando, topping up Julie’s champagne. ‘And de Croix, I’m going to fill your glass to the brim in the hope that you can return to Ireland with me.’

‘And do what exactly?’ said de Croix, who held the stem of his champagne coupe like an elegant David Niven. ‘I’ve taught you all I know, Lando. You are twenty-seven, you have completed the studies; I believe you are ready.’

‘It was my suggestion,’ said Julie. ‘I think you should complete your guidance and use your expertise in preparing Shillington’s for Christmas. You know better than anyone about the income that can be generated from last-minute extravagant shoppers.’

‘I can’t hold his hand forever,’ said de Croix, turning to Lando. ‘I may be your godfather, but I am here with my wife; I can’t just up and leave.’

‘Don’t you mean you are here with your precious Le Marché Cher, not to mention your cinq à sept?’ said Julie.

‘It sounds like you want me to leave,’ said de Croix.

‘What I want is for you and Celine to go to Dublin with Lando.’ Julie stood up and shook out her hair. ‘I’ll have some peace before Christmas, and you three can sort out the future of Shillington’s. The dream team, non?’

The dream team maybe, but how would Lando’s mother handle the arrival of well-meaning but inc. . .