The King of Shanghai by Ian Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

Clark went to Central Saint Martins in London. It’s part of the University of the Arts.”
    “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it. Is it supposed to be good?” May asked.
    “It’s one of the very best — if not the best — fashion design schools in the world. Alexander McQueen, John Galliano, Stella McCartney — they’re all graduates,” Gillian said.
    “I took the fashion design womenswear program. It was a wonderful three years . . . and then I came back to the family business and total boredom.”
    “Pardon me, but you had some very good customers. They weren’t all middle-of-the-road,” Amanda said.
    “No, but they all copy, and that’s all they wanted me to do. Take some Stella McCartney or Jil Sander design and adapt it. That’s what they call it — ‘adapting.’ I call it stealing. Not to their faces, of course.”
    “Then even that part of the business was sold out from under us,” Gillian said, “and we found ourselves employees in what used to be our family business — our heritage. I told Clark we had to find our way out of this.”
    “All right, I understand your disappointment and your dream, but you need to tell us why we should support it,” May said.
    “To begin with, the profit margins can be fantastic,” Gillian said quickly. “We can make eighty percent, maybe even more. Then, if the label attracts a following, there are so many licensing opportunities we can attach to the name.”
    “You have a label in mind?” Ava asked.
    “PÖ.”
    “Just Po?”
    Clark smiled. “No, actually capital P, capital O, with an umlaut over the O.”
    “What’s an umlaut?” said May.
    “Two dots.”
    “That isn’t Chinese.”
    “No, it’s German.”
    “Why do you want to do that?”
    “I like the way it looks, and it represents the melding of East and West that I’m aiming for in my clothes,” Clark said.
    “Going back to the numbers, I’ve prepared an analysis of the profit margins that can accrue to designer labels,” Gillian said.
    “No, just a minute. I’m not interested in looking at those right now,” May said.
    Ava glanced at Amanda and saw her lower lip tremble. Clark closed his eyes.
    “What I want to see is what Clark is capable of creating. You do have designs for us to look at?”
    “We certainly do,” Gillian said.
    “Well, let’s do that, shall we? If we like what we see, then we’ll move on to the numbers.”
    Clark leapt to his feet, put his hand to his mouth, and blew a kiss across the table towards May. “You have no idea how happy I am that you said that.”
    They left the boardroom, walked back down the hall, and turned left into the factory.
    “I apologize in advance for being so amateurish,” Clark said. “We’ve set up a small runway and I’ve brought in some models. Most of them are friends. I wanted you to see my clothes on real women.”
    “How long will it take you to set up?” May asked.
    “We’ve been ready all morning.”
    “You assumed we would want to do this?” Ava said.
    “When Amanda said you were coming, I couldn’t think of another reason.”
    “Agreed.”
    “I like your brother,” Ava said to Gillian as Clark ran ahead.
    “He will care more if you like his designs,” Gillian replied.
    As they walked through the factory, the employees left their machines and joined in behind them. Ava felt as if they were leading a parade. Clark led the congregation to a ten-metre-long strip of red carpet that ran along the concrete floor from a black curtain to four folding chairs. The employees took positions on either side of the carpet. They whispered among themselves, some of them eyeing the visitors, others staring at the black curtain, which was strung between two steel poles.
    Clark directed the Three Sisters party and Gillian to sit and then disappeared behind the curtain. The cloth moved every time an invisible body brushed against it, and Ava could hear Clark urging everyone to move faster. Then the curtain