Chapter 27
A week later, Diana swept into the boardroom at Arbutus Paints. Around the table were her father Michael, Colin the sales director, the head of production and several of the reps. And although she could sense a few raised eyebrows and glances being exchanged, she felt no trepidation.
She had been barely sixteen when she had kept morale and turnover high on the factory floor, galvanising the women of Breverton who had stepped in to take over from the men who had gone off to fight.
By sheer force of personality, she had made it a place where people were proud to work.
There was banter and camaraderie, a sense of teamwork as well as pride, along with endless cups of tea and music on the wireless.
Standing here now, she realised what it had meant to her.
When she’d married Rory, it hadn’t occurred to her to carry on working, for that wasn’t what was expected of women of her class except in extremis, and once the war was over, she had felt there was no place for her at the factory.
She had drifted away into the role of farmer’s wife, even though it held no thrall for her and she wasn’t terribly good at it.
No one had forced her into it, it was simply convention.
She supposed she was following in her own mother’s footsteps, playing second fiddle, although running Foxwood was a full-time job, together with all the unspoken duty that came with being mistress of the big house.
She had spent several afternoons up at Foxwood with her mother, picking her brains for inspiration.
They spent hours leafing through magazines, talking about what it was women wanted, and how to make Arbutus the paint they all turned to.
Diana was determined to make her mark, and help turn the factory around.
They’d done it in the war, after all, and now peace reigned once more, it was time to help the country rebuild, to make the houses they lived in homes.
And the factory had definitely gone back to being a male enclave.
Gradually, the women on the shop floor had disappeared once the men returned from war.
Now there were only a few at the factory – a couple of secretaries and the odd cleaner.
That balance would have to be redressed, in time, thought Diana.
Women definitely brought a vibrant energy to a workplace that was lacking at Arbutus Paints these days.
Now, standing at the foot of the table, Diana held up the pieces of card painted with sample colours that were used during sales pitches.
‘The first thing we need to do to make us stand out is to give our paint colours evocative names. At the moment, they are numbers. What does Blue Thirteen conjure up in your mind?’ Diana held up a card painted pale blue.
Everyone looked blank. ‘Absolutely nothing, I can see. But what about Daybreak? I can see the colour immediately in my mind’s eye, and everything it conjures up: the first light of day, with a vibrant freshness, a blue that is both pale but bright at the same time.
Who wouldn’t want that on their walls? And this.
’ She held up another card. ‘This is called Red Seven. But what if it was called Fireside? You immediately want to be there, toasting crumpets – it’s warm and cosy and atmospheric. ’
The men stared back at her. They didn’t seem to have a clue what she was on about.
‘Surely they can see the colour for themselves, just by looking at the card?’ This was Colin. Excellent at his job but set in his ways, and not a man who liked to be told how to think by a woman. Diana gave him a gracious smile.
‘They can see it but they can’t feel it. In short, you’re telling the customer a story they want to step into. A story they can have in their own home.’
‘I reckon my wife would swallow that guff, hook, line and sinker,’ said one of the reps. ‘They love everything dressed up, don’t they? Women?’
‘Of course they do,’ said Diana. ‘Women love creating a fantasy world around them. Because reality is hard. They lived through the nightmare that was the war, and now they want a new beginning. Arbutus Paints can feed that fantasy by capturing the customer’s imagination and making them believe our paint is the one that will create their dream home. Where they can lead their dream life.’
She had no idea she had it in her to be so articulate, but she believed in what she was saying.
At the moment, Arbutus Paints was depending on its reputation for good quality and practicality, a paint that covered well and went a long way.
They needed to push harder to be market leader.
Throw a little bit of magic into the mix.
They had an excellent reputation, a fantastic product, a good team.
And she thought she could help them broaden their vision, for Arbutus Paints to be able to change your world to one you wanted to live in.
Standing in the board room, she couldn’t believe how elated she felt.
It was wonderful to have a sense of purpose at long last. The kitchen table at Birch Farm had turned into her office, spread with cuttings from magazines and notebooks and lists of ideas.
Rory was bemused but intrigued by her new persona as her confidence grew and her days took on a momentum they had been lacking.
She even dressed differently, changing out of her jodhpurs after exercising the horses each morning, putting on make-up and brushing her hair, before heading up to her office in the factory.
By eleven o’clock, the board had agreed she should go through the entire Arbutus catalogue and rename the paints. It was a little daunting, for there were almost a hundred different shades.
They moved on to discuss their stand at the Ideal Home Exhibition, a huge event at Olympia where firms showcased their new products: everything from a three-piece suite down to an orange juice squeezer.
Things were changing fast now the memory of war was fading.
Art. And music. And food. And the way people were using their homes was different.
Every month there was some new-fangled contraption.
A lockable refrigerated box to be set into the wall by the front door, for the milk delivery.
A kitchen stool with a spring in its seat, which would move up and down to the height you wanted.
Everything you could possibly want to make your life easier.
The exhibition was where all the big deals were done, so it was important for them to make an impact. April wasn’t so very far away, with Christmas around the corner, and after that, time would fly. Competition was fierce, and the exhibition was getting more and more popular.
‘We need to do something different. Something eye-catching that will bring the customers to our stand,’ said Colin.
He was stating the obvious, rather, thought Diana, but at the same time a flash of inspiration came to her as she remembered playing in the nursery as a little girl.
‘What about a doll’s house?’ she suggested. ‘A replica of Foxwood, each room painted differently to show off all our colours.’
Michael nodded his approval. ‘I think that would be a fantastic draw. I could definitely find someone to knock us one up.’
‘Everyone loves a doll’s house,’ went on Diana. ‘And it would be a real novelty. We could even raffle it off as a prize at the end. Perhaps raise some money for a charity. That would get us publicity.’
Where was all this inspiration coming from?
She supposed it had been lying dormant. She’d been wallowing in her own self-pity for years, drowning in grief and bitterness and a little bit of fear for her own future, pushing all the people who loved her away.
She felt ashamed when she looked back on it, but she also felt grateful that it was not too late to build bridges and make amends.
Spending time with her mother had opened her eyes to how life could be.
She and Elizabeth had actually laughed together for the first time in years.
And Rory. He had been so loyal and steadfast, even though she’d been rotten to him.
She was lucky to have found someone so endlessly forgiving.
She wasn’t sure how to express her gratitude.
Maybe she didn’t need to. He wasn’t one for deep and meaningful conversations.
He was a straightforward farmer who wanted an easy life, whatever it took.
She hoped this would make her a better wife, in the long run.
She felt re-invigorated as she made her way back to Birch Farm that evening.
She hadn’t anticipated that thinking up ninety-two names for paint colours would bring meaning to her life, but her brain was whirring as she drove home thinking of gloriously evocative words and phrases inspired by the countryside around her.
Evenfall. Toadstool. Chimney Pot. Jackdaw. Cloche. Woodsmoke. Conker …