the Fabulous Fans brochure. We’ll print the brochure on creamy paper and then write all the labels out by hand in blue-black fountain pen. (Rollerballs are very much not a Mrs Kendrick thing.)
Nineteenth-century fan, hand-painted by Parisian artist (unattributed).
‘Good morning, Mrs Kendrick.’ I look up with a smile.
‘Good morning, Sylvie.’
Mrs Kendrick is wearing a pale-blue suit, her cameo brooch and her customary worried frown. Customary as of the evil nephew arriving, that is. Apparently he’s staying with her at the moment, which explains why she looks so downtrodden. I expect he lectures her about modern working practices over the toast every morning. She gives the room her usual anxious sweeping gaze, as though to say ‘something’s wrong here but I don’t know what’. Then she turns to me.
‘Sylvie,’ she says. ‘Have you heard of “Museum Selfie Day”?’ She utters the words with care, as though they’re a foreign language.
‘Yes,’ I say warily. ‘I have. Why?’
‘Oh, just that Robert mentioned it. He thinks we should participate.’
‘Well.’ I shrug. ‘We could. But I’m not sure the patrons would really go for it, do you? I think it’s for a certain demographic. I think, to be honest, taking selfies might put some of our patrons off.’
‘Ah.’ Mrs Kendrick nods. ‘Quite. Quite. Good point.’ Then she pauses, looking still more worried. ‘Sylvie, may I ask you …’ She lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘What is a “selfie”? I keep hearing this word, everywhere, but I’ve never quite … and I couldn’t ask Robert what it meant …’
Oh God. I bite my lip at the thought of poor old Mrs Kendrick having some long conversation about ‘Selfie Day’ with no idea what a selfie is.
‘It’s a photo,’ I say kindly. ‘Just a photo of yourself somewhere. You take it with your phone.’
I know this won’t mean much to Mrs Kendrick. In her world, a phone is something that lives on a side table and has a curly wire. She meanders out of the office, probably to go and look dolefully at the Tesco Value biscuits we now offer, and I type another caption.
Feathered fan.
As I type, I feel a bit conflicted. Obviously I still resent this Robert character for trampling into our world and freaking out his aunt. But on the more positive side, if he’s suggesting we do Museum Selfie Day, maybe he’s not going to turn us into condos? Maybe he actually wants to help?
Should we do Museum Selfie Day?
I try to imagine any of our regular patrons taking a selfie – and fail. I can see where Robert’s coming from, I really can, but hasn’t he picked up the vibe? Hasn’t he looked at our clientele?
Even so, I write Museum Selfie Day? on a Post-it and sigh. It’s the kind of forward-thinking idea I would have been really excited about when I first joined Willoughby House. I actually wrote a whole Digital Strategy document when I arrived, in my spare time. I dug it out last night, to see if there was anything useful in it. But when I read it through, all I could do was wince. It felt so old. It referred to websites that don’t even exist any more.
Mrs Kendrick, needless to say, responded to it at the time with a charming ‘I don’t think so, dear’. So we didn’t use any of my ideas. Willoughby House just went on its own sweet, quirky way. And we’re fine. We’re happy. Do we need to change? Isn’t there room for one place in the world that isn’t like everywhere else?
With another sigh, I consult the typed notes which one of Mrs Kendrick’s pet experts compiled for us – but he hasn’t added anything about this fan. Honestly. Is there nothing else to say about it? I’m not just putting Feathered fan. It sounds totally lame. The V & A wouldn’t just put Feathered fan, I’m sure of it.
I peer at the photo of the fan, which is large and rather flamboyant, then add probably used by a courtesan.
Which I expect is true. Then my phone buzzes and I see Tilda on the display.
‘Hiya!’ I fit my phone under my ear and carry on typing. ‘What’s up?’
‘I have a hypothetical for you,’ says Tilda without preamble. ‘Suppose Dan bought you a piece of clothing as a surprise and you didn’t like it?’
At once my mind zigzags like lightning. Dan’s bought me something! Tilda knows about it. How? Because he asked her advice, maybe. What’s wrong with it? What could be