As a kid growing up in one of the most working class parts of Glasgow, I vowed that one day I’d have a house like the ones I saw on my favourite TV programme, Dynasty.
Sure enough, the six-bedroom mansion which my husband Michael and I bought in 2008 had a sweeping staircase, just like the one featured in the home of the fabulously wealthy Carrington family.
There was also a huge walk-in wardrobe containing 100 pairs of Louboutin shoes and racks of dresses costing £4,000 a pop.
Downstairs
we had a bar, a cinema with reclining leather chairs and even a
nightclub out the back, not to mention five flashy cars on the driveway
including Michael’s £100,000 Porsche.
To
top it all, the house was in an affluent village ten miles from Glasgow
which is known as Millionaires’ Row. For me, it couldn’t have been more
perfect — but my parents hated visiting me there.
‘It’s
like a show-home,’ Mum shuddered, and she was right. I had installed
four dishwashers because I couldn’t bear the sight of dirty plates, and
our three kids were forbidden ever to put a pine coat-hanger into a
walnut wardrobe, knowing that it would freak me out.
Once
I returned from a business trip and found that the salt grinder had
been left out in the kitchen. Panic. I needed to check nothing else was
out of place.
Only
after I’d opened the cupboards one by one and ensured that the food
labels were all facing the same way did I feel in control again.
This
obsessive compulsive behaviour was a manifestation of my deep-seated
unhappiness. I found comfort in regimenting the small things around me
because I felt out of control in a much bigger part of my life — my
marriage.
As I’ve
explained in this series, my marital problems began soon after the
launch of our Ultimo lingerie brand in 1999. Going to work became like
walking through a minefield, our boardroom meetings constantly
interrupted by one or other of us storming out, and the arguments
continued at home where our sex life was virtually non-existent.
Incredibly,
I never considered divorce. I came from a background where you got on
with it, no matter what. But the beginning of the very dramatic end came
in the summer of 2011 when I appointed 31-year-old Samantha Bunn as our
new head of design.
She was nine
years younger than me and I took her under my wing. She was having big
problems with her boyfriend so I felt sorry for her and said she could
live in our guest annexe, right next door to the main house.
I
treated her like a family friend. Some nights I invited her over for
dinner and we’d all sit around the kitchen table, chatting and laughing.
But soon she started pushing the boundaries.
On
the day I moved out to a hotel for his first week I crept up to the
master bedroom, pulled back the luxurious throw and threw a bucket of
cold water over his side of the bed before replacing the covers.
Later
the kids phoned to ask why I had done this and, looking back, I can see
I was selfish. I should have thought about the effect all this would
have on them, but it was my way of getting my hurt out.
At
the same time, I was also fighting Michael for control of the company.
Who would buy out who? It started with a low blow from him. ‘You’re
fired,’ he said one day, pointing at me as if he was Lord Alan Sugar.
I’d
always left the legal side of things to him and now learned that he had
somehow ended up with 48 per cent of our shares, compared with my 47
per cent. But still he needed 50 per cent to control the business and I
managed to persuade Tom Walker, a silent shareholder who owned 5 per
cent, to back me, and together we had more power than Michael.
That was
round one of what felt like the longest boxing match in history.
Whatever punches Michael threw I got up the next day ready for battle.
He
might have been more intelligent than me — he was a university graduate
whereas I had left school at 15 with no qualifications — but I had more
fight and stamina, although I was crying myself to sleep and downing a
bottle of wine a night to numb the pain of it all.
With
news of our problems now public, the company value crashed as customers
wondered what was going on. Eventually I managed to find new backers,
but they would only invest if Michael left — and he refused to accept
what was being offered for his shares.
Finally,
in February 2013, with only weeks to go before we went under, our bank
told Michael that he had to accept the deal. That same day I agreed with
him the paperwork for our divorce, and soon afterwards we sold the
house.
The
biggest battle of my life was finally over, and in August 2013 the kids
and I moved into a once derelict Victorian building in Glasgow which I
had spent months transforming into our new dream home. Living there was a
new beginning for us, and the feelings of bitterness which used to eat
me up at night slowly vanished.
Not
even the news that Michael had launched a rival lingerie company with
Sam bothered me, and I wished them all the best on their recent
engagement.
As
for me, I hope that one day I’ll meet the perfect guy, but I’m not
sitting around waiting for it to happen because there’s so much I still
want to achieve.
These
days I want to spend more time with my kids, and more time working on
‘me’, and so I have sold 80 per cent of Ultimo, hanging up my bra as
Chief Executive.
I’m
still working out what I want to do with the next chapter of my life.
It will definitely involve lots of motivational speaking, inspiring
other people to make the most out of their lives, and if there’s one
lesson I’ve learned above all, it is that material things do not bring
you happiness.
If
only I could go back in time and tell that to the little girl who sat
at home in the East End of Glasgow, watching TV with her
sausage-and-chips supper on her knees and dreaming of the riches she saw
on Dynasty.
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