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Chapter 3
I was having second thoughts. It was the day of the pitch. The biggest pitch of my career and my one chance to show Josh and the board exactly what I was capable of. So why was I placing a hell of a lot of faith in a few candles, some birch twigs, an expensive lamp and the combined efforts of the studio team’s furniture removal talents? When Megan promised to sign off my expenses, I’m not sure a two-hundred-pound lamp was quite what she had in mind, but the effect of its gentle pool of golden light was exactly like the picture in Connie’s book.
I couldn’t afford to think about how tired I was. Last night I hadn’t got home until gone ten, after trawling Oxford Street, then staying up until the small hours perfecting my traditional Danish oat biscuits that Connie had sworn were so hygge.
Yesterday’s preparation for my big pitch involved reading Connie’s book from cover to cover, studying images on the internet of socks, candles, cashmere blankets draped around loved up couples and mitten covered hands clutching steaming cups of chocolate, followed by a shopping marathon.
Apparently, the Danish love affair with candles extended to the work place which was the principal starting point for my campaign to win Lars’ business. I’d arrived at the office at seven this morning with the sole goal of hyggifying, a new verb in my vocabulary, the smallest meeting room in the building. Making it cosy was going to be a tall order, but I had every faith in candles and expensive lamps.
There was also tea, two brightly coloured mugs bought from Anthropologie, with an L and K on them, and the plate of my home-made cookies. Even though they looked very wonky and that was the third attempt, I’d had quite a job keeping the rest of the office in check around them.
The scene was set or as much as I could hope for. I’d arranged two chairs, which didn’t match but they were the most comfortable I could find, after a Goldilocks’ style tour of every room in the building, around a rather lovely birch table, a forgotten sample from Ercol which had been used for a photo shoot. On a bookshelf that I’d commandeered from another floor, I’d removed all the books and then scouted round to find ones with colourful spines that looked pretty together.
I’d not gone overboard with the candles, sticking to five; a tasteful group of three on the table and two on top of the bookshelf where I’d also put the kettle, a coffee pot, tea pot and milk and sugar etc. Apparently, it’s a Danish thing. Making a thing of making the tea and the coffee.
I fiddled with the birch twigs which I’d arranged in a cheerful sunshine yellow pot until the call came from reception that he’d arrived. They didn’t look the least bit homey, no matter what I did they looked like some twigs with a ribbon tied round them shoved in a pot.
Blonde, of course, and charming, Lars Wilder, CEO of Danish department store Hjem, was tall and exuded that outdoor healthy look that you associate with northern Europeans. Or at least I did after all the reading and researching I’d done yesterday. At over six foot, he had a definite Viking look about him.
‘Good morning, I’m Kate Sinclair.’ I held out my hand, reading his body language which oozed relaxed and at ease, unlike me who had a box of frogs leaping about in my stomach.
‘Good morning, Kate. I’m Lars. Thank you so much for agreeing to see me this morning.’ I examined his face for any irony. Clients who paid our kind of fees usually expected you to jump through hoops for them.
The subtle lighting contrasted with the bright lights of the corridors outside and I noticed Lars shoot an approving glance around the room.
‘Please take a seat.’ I ushered him towards a cracked leather tub chair, with a throw tucked over one arm, opposite a trendy 80s leather slung on metal contraption which was far more comfortable than it looked.
I busied myself making tea. Strangely the task of making the tea made the small talk somewhat easier as I asked him how he’d found the journey.
Eventually we sat down, although it felt as if I’d wasted a good ten minutes of the meeting waiting for the kettle to boil.
‘Great biscuits,’ said Lars reaching for a second one from the plate, his head still nodding approval.
‘Thank you.’
‘You made them?’
I lifted my hands palm upwards as if to say it was no big deal, while thinking of the state of the kitchen this morning and the plastic Tupperware of reject cookies stacked up on the side. Connie and I would be eating them for weeks.
He took a bite. ‘Very good.’
‘Family recipe,’ I lied. My mother made a mean Victoria Sponge but she’d never made an oat cookie in her life.
‘Ah, family,’ he gave me a broad smile, stretching his hands expansively out to the side to emphasize his words. ‘It is so important … and family recipes. My mother is famous for her kanelsnegle.’
I tilted my head and smiled back as if I had the first clue what a kanelsnegle was when it was at home.
‘She thinks every problem can be solved with a pastry.’
She sounded a bit odd to me but I held his gaze as if it were quite normal, he was clearly very fond of her. ‘She runs a café, Varme, it means warmth in Danish. It’s a very special place. My mother loves to look after people.’
I almost sighed out loud. But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to look after you? For the last few years I felt like I’d been completely on my own, swimming hard against the tide.
‘It’s that warmth and homeliness I want to bring to the UK.’
Lars cleared his throat and I realised with a start, I’d drifted away. ‘My mother would approve of this, it’s,’ he looked around the room, ‘very hygglich. You’ve done well. Very imaginative and perceptive. It’s very Danish. I can see you have an understanding of hygge already. I like the mugs.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for coming today and for giving me the chance to talk to you.’ My formal words dried on my tongue when Lars let out a bark of laughter.
‘No, you’re not. You’re cursing me for the short notice and the sparsity of information.’ The clipped Danish accent sounded charming and robbed the words of their bluntness.
Diplomacy warred with honesty for a moment.
I smiled at him. ‘Well, it isn’t the most orthodox approach but we were intrigued.’
‘So intrigued that your company wheeled out the big guns.’
Maybe that accent didn’t quite disguise the bluntness. I might not be a big gun but I was an up and coming sharp shooting pistol. Then he added with a charming smile, ‘And the home-baking.’
‘I was intrigued and I’m not afraid of a challenge. As you said this meeting was arranged at very short notice, however I work in the lifestyle department, my clients include a soft furnishing company, a coffee company, a chain of cheese shops and a boutique hotel group. I’m more than qualified to manage your account. My boss, who is out at meetings all day today (I mentally crossed my fingers) felt I would be the best person to talk to you.’ And not the most promotion hungry.
‘I didn’t give you much time to prepare, but you seem to have coped well. And you didn’t bombard me with emails with lots of questions.’ He looked around the room. I knew he was looking for the projector and laptop.
I put my hand up as if to halt his flow. ‘I’ll be honest. I haven’t prepared anything. Not because there wasn’t time but because I felt you’re the expert and you would know what you want. I know you’ve seen several different agencies, all top ones in their field. And all will have come up with brilliant ideas, but you clearly didn’t like any of them.
‘I figured it was easier to talk to you to find out what you’re looking for. The orthodox response didn’t sound as if it was going to help.’
Lars grinned and stood up to pace the room, his hands behind his back. ‘I like you, Kate Sinclair and I like the way you think. We Danes prefer a gentle approach. And already I can see you have a grasp of the mindset of hygge.’ When he said it, hygge sounded much less threatening New Zealand Hakka and a lot more appealing.
‘That’s kind of you to say, but I think I’ve got a long way to go. You should see where I live.’
‘Exactly,’ interjected Lars. ‘Every agency wanted to tell us what it was. It’s indefinable and means different things to different people. When it’s right it’s right. I’ve sat through so many presentations. If I hear about one more give-away promotion of instant hygge, hygge make-overs and hygge holiday breaks, I’m going to melt down every last candle in the UK.
‘The agencies we’ve seen have been too … It’s difficult to put into words. They were too,’ he shrugged again. He looked around at the room, smiling with a nod towards the candles. ‘Clinical and business-like. This. This, you’ve got it exactly right.’
I nodded and let him carry on.
‘Our store, Hjem, will be about much, much more than candles and blankets and products to buy, which is what everyone seems to think hygge is about. I want people to feel it throughout every department of the store, to spend time in the store, in the book department, in the cookery department. There’ll be displays, corners to sit in, demonstrations in flower arranging, cookery, card making, knitting classes, making Christmas decorations. It’s going to be a vibrant community as well as a department store.’
‘It sounds interesting,’ I said, wondering how the hell that was going to translate into a public relations campaign.
‘But it is important that people understand about hygge.’
I nodded. It sounded a tad ephemeral to me.
‘So I would like to take some people to Copenhagen and show them a flavour of how the Danes live and how our society works, so that they can really appreciate hygge.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ I said, blithely thinking that a trip to Denmark would be rather nice and how charming and warm Lars was.
‘You see Kate, that’s why I knew you were the right person for the job. Every other agency has said it would be too difficult, that people wouldn’t want to go to Denmark for more than a night. I think we’re going to work well together.’
‘We are?’ Was he offering me his business?
‘Yes, I’ve looked at all these agencies and what I was searching for was the right fit. You are the right fit. I like the way you think.’
‘So, I’d like to get started straight away. Do you think you could draw up a list of six journalists?’
‘Six journalists?’ I asked.
‘Yes, for taking the trip to Denmark. I think five days would be just the right length.’
When he said people, he hadn’t mentioned that those people had to be journalists. ‘Six journalists. Five days,’ I echoed.
He nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect. In five days we can show them the finest things Copenhagen has to offer and teach them all about hygge and I know just the person to help.’
Oh hell. No wonder the other agencies had fallen out with him. I knew from past experience that it was hard enough persuading journalists to turn up to things in London for one evening, let alone commit to a five-day trip abroad. If I managed this, it’d be a miracle. What had I done?
Chapter 4
You lucky cow. Connie’s message popped up as I was putting the finishing touches to a press list, a week later. I scribbled a few more notes before picking up my phone to text back.
I’ll bring you back some Lego.
Or you could take me too. I could pretend to be the Gazette’s travel correspondent. Who’d know?
If I get really desperate I’ll let you know.
I was still buzzing from exceeding everyone’s expectations and winning the pitch. Now all I had to do was find six journalists to go on the trip. Easier said than done. I got full honours mentions in the despatches at the Friday meeting and this time I did practise my modest, shucks-it-was-no-big-thing, Oscar winner’s acceptance look - with an additional helping of take that Josh Delaney.
The bastard gave me a mocking salute of well done. It might even have been touched with reluctant admiration. Although he got his own back in our very first meeting with Lars after I’d won the business. When I’d run through the proposed list of journalists for the trip, he just had to say something. He couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge. ‘Have you thought about approaching the Sunday Inquirer, Kate? They have double circulation of the Courier. Benedict Johnson is the new lifestyle editor there.’
Normally correspondents move from paper to paper, magazine to magazine and I would have come across them before. This guy’s name didn’t ring any bells. Trust bloody Josh to be one step ahead.
‘I’ll speak to him and see what he says,’ I said with a gracious smile at Josh. Still up to his rat-weasel tricks then.
‘Can I speak to Benedict Johnson, please?’ I’d put on my best friendly, perky voice.
‘Speaking.’ He sounded a little terse but it was difficult to tell in one word.
‘Hi, I’m Kate Sinclair from The Machin Agency. I’m–’
‘You’ve got five seconds.’ No mistaking the cynical hostility in those words.
‘Pardon.’ Shocked, I couldn’t quite believe that he’d said that.
‘Four.’
What I should have done was tell him to go do something anatomically impossible, but I was so taken aback and flustered, I went for the four second pitch.
‘I’m calling to find out if you’d be interested in coming on a press trip to Copenhagen to find out why the Danish have been cited as the happiest nation in the world. It would be a week-long trip that would take in a variety of destinations as well as a visit to the Danish Institute of Happiness.’
‘No.’ And then he put the phone down on me. I took the hand-piece away from my ear and looked at it disbelievingly. Rude sod.
I slammed the phone down. What an arrogant prick. Who the hell did he think he was? Where did he get off being so rude to people?
I redialled his number.
‘Are you always this rude?’ I asked.
‘No only to PR people, people offering to reclaim my PPI and timewasters. You’re all inter-changeable.’
‘And you’re not even prepared to think about it. You don’t know who I’m working for.’
‘No. And I couldn’t give a toss, even if it’s the Crown Prince of Denmark himself.’
When someone is so rude to you, it’s actually wonderfully liberating because you can be rude back to them.
‘Are you always this narrow-minded?’
‘How can I be narrow-minded? I’m a journalist.’
‘You seem it to me.’
‘What – because I don’t write PR puff articles or promotional pieces?’
‘I’m not asking you to write a puff or a promotional piece. I’m offering you an opportunity to find out more about the Danish way of life and what we could learn from it.’
‘Which would of course just so happen to include writing about your client’s product.’
‘Yes, a lot of the time, but this is different.’
‘If I had a pound for every PR that told me that.’
‘Excuse me, I’m not a PR. It’s not even a thing. A public relation. My name is Kate and I’m doing a job the same as you are. If you’d give me the chance to explain instead of barking at me like a mad fox, you’d see my clients want to promote a concept rather than their specific store.’
‘Mad fox?’
I heard a strangled laugh.
‘I’ve not been called that before. Plenty of other things but definitely not mad fox.’
‘If you’re this direct I’m not surprised. Perhaps I should offer you a week at charm school,’ I said, starting to enjoy myself.
‘Do such things still exist? Now that might be an idea for a feature.’
‘Are you typing that into Google?’ I asked hearing the tell-tale click of keys.
‘Might be. Or I might be doing some work, which is what I’d planned to do until you interrupted me.’
‘Look, I’ve phoned you because I thought you’d be interested.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘I know the paper, the kind of features the lifestyle section has run before. This isn’t a product placement sell.’
‘Ah, so there is a product.’
I paused.
‘Ha! I knew it.’
‘It’s a new department store but it’s a concept.’
‘A concept, that sounds a bit wanky to me.’
I winced. When you put it into words, it did. When Lars spoke about it, it all made perfect sense.
‘It’s called Hjem. It will be opening later in the year, but the owners want to take a small select group to Copenhagen to explore the idea of hygge in more depth.’
‘Candles and blankets. Been done to death.’
‘That’s exactly it. You see you’ve dismissed it without understanding what it entails.’
‘I don’t need to understand anything. I’m not interested. Not now. Not ever.’
‘And you don’t think that attitude isn’t perhaps a tad narrow-minded.’
‘No, it’s called knowing your own mind and not being influenced.’
‘Could I at least email you some more information and a copy of the itinerary?’
‘Nope.’
‘You won’t even look at one little email?’
‘Do you know how many emails I get every day from PR people?’ He spat the P out and groaned the R.
‘You’re really grumpy aren’t you?’
‘Yes, because I get bloody people like you pestering me constantly.’
‘I think you could do with a trip to Denmark; you might learn a thing or two.’
There was a pause and I waited, bracing myself for him to slam the phone down on me again. Instead I heard grudging amusement in his voice as he said, ‘Do you ever give up?’
‘Not if it’s something I believe in,’ I said playing semantics with the truth. I believed in Lars’ vision and what he wanted to achieve. But if I were being totally honest I’d probably side with him in the ‘when did a blanket and candle combo solve a problem’ camp.
‘Sorry, I’m still not biting, but nice to talk to you, Kate, whatever your name is. You’ve enlivened an otherwise dull afternoon.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ I said crisply, looking down at the stop watch app on my phone. ‘And this time you gave me two minutes and four seconds of your time. You might want to rethink the five second strategy.’
He began to laugh. ‘For a PR, Kate Sinclair, you’ve grown on me.’
‘Shame it’s not mutual,’ I said sweetly, putting down the phone.
I crossed him off the list and decided to try the other journalists on our list, hoping they’d be more receptive to a trip to Copenhagen than Benedict ‘Mad Fox’ Johnson. ‘Sounds lovely darling,’ said the lifestyle editor on the Courier, ‘but I’ve been offered a press trip to Doncaster. Who’d have thought Doncaster or Denmark?’
‘Surely I can persuade you to come to Copenhagen.’
‘Sadly sweetie, you could persuade me all too easily. Problem is the person you have to persuade is She Who Must Be Obeyed, the old harridan in charge of advertising revenue. A man with lots of cash and a whopping advertising budget is paying for the press trip up north. Unless you can promise her that your client has an ad spend, I’m destined for the frozen north.’
Luckily after many, many emails, back and forth, Fiona Hanning a lifestyle blogger, Avril Baines-Hamilton from This Morning and David Ruddings of the Evening Standard all said yes, much to my relief. Conrad Fletcher somewhat to my surprise, being a cynical old devil, and a very old school glossy interiors magazine journalist said, ‘Why not? Haven’t been to Copenhagen in an age and the old expense budget could do with an outing. Christ, you wouldn’t believe how tight they are these days.’
‘That’s probably because you keep ordering three hundred pound bottles of wine at lunch on expenses,’ I teased. He referred to the rather fabulously over the top restaurant very near to the magazine offices where he worked, as his HQ. I’d enjoyed several lunches there with him. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea but I found him good company and his knowledge of the interiors industry was encyclopaedic as was his endless fund of gossipy stories about many of the people in the field.
‘You know me so well, Kate dear.’
I saved Sophie from CityZen for last, confident she’d be an easy nut to crack. She was a friend of Connie’s from university and I’d met her a couple of times and liked her a lot. I gave my watch a quick glance as I picked up the phone. Just enough time before I had to dash home and get ready for the awards do this evening. Now I was going on my own it was imperative Josh knew what he was missing.
‘Hi Sophie, its Kate Sinclair, I’m looking for a journalist who might be interested in coming along on a press trip to Copenhagen.’
‘Ooooh, pick me, pick me.’
‘Oh, alright then.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘Really? You’re inviting me?’
‘Yup. A week in wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen.’
Sophie made a funny sort of noise, an office friendly suppressed squeal before saying, ‘Hmm, I’ll have to think about that … for about a nano second.’ There was another funny squeak. ‘Eek. Yes. Yes. I’m in! How lovely. It will be so great.’ Her words bubbled out.
‘I haven’t even sent you an itinerary yet.’ I laughed. ‘What if it’s a tour of the local coal mine, steel works and plastics factory?’
‘Who cares? There’ll be food. That’s all I need. Oh, how exciting.’
‘I’ll email you some more details.’
‘I can’t wait. I’ve never been to Scandinavia. I’m going to have to buy one of those duvet padded coats, like they all wear. With white fur round the hood. And some thermal gloves.’
‘Er Sophie, the trip’s at the end of April, it’s going to be a bit warmer then. I think you can put Barbie’s arctic exploration outfit back in the wardrobe.
‘Talking of which, I need to go and nick a dress out of Connie’s wardrobe.’
‘How is she and where are you off to?’
‘She’s fine. Still knee deep in children at work. And I’m off to the National Newspaper Circulation Awards.’
‘That sounds deadly, apart from free booze.’
‘It’s at Grosvenor House and dinner is included.’
‘Get you.’
‘Only because the company has sponsored an award. We’ve got a table. Unfortunately my ex will be there.’
‘Oh, bad luck.’
‘Yes, although Connie did offer to fix me up with one of her teacher colleagues.’
‘That was nice of her.’
‘His name was Crispin,’ I said indignantly.
‘Oh, is that a problem?’
‘I’m not sure I could take anyone called Crispin that seriously. It sounds like a small horse to me.’
Sophie giggled. ‘You can’t dislike someone just because of their name.’
‘True, although I spoke to a Benedict today and I’d have thought a Benedict would be a hottie.’
‘Not Cumberbatch?’
‘No, this one wasn’t nice at all. But thankfully he doesn’t want to come on the trip, so I won’t ever have to find out.’
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