So there we were, hot off the plane from New York, Rodnik orders in hand, reputation (what there was of it) on the line, and out of pocket. In truth, before we had even left for New York, we had realised that with sales on the increase we would need to look for some additional funding to produce all our orders. Generally, young labels are required to fund the production of an order for a department store or boutique (the store pays later) and, even after delivery, they can often end up waiting up to 60 days for payment.
So we worked every evening for a fortnight to put together a presentation for our bank to apply for a £100,000 working capital overdraft - peanuts for some but big for us. We were able to show that turnover was up 67 per cent on last season; our stockist base had doubled; web hits were up 10 times; and we had received more press in the current quarter than in the rest of our brand life to date. The feedback was positive and we had the sense it was only a matter of time while the bank processed the application. We'd always had a kind of subconscious feeling that banks were like doctors or policemen - they would generally put the customer first.
This is, of course, ridiculous. Banks are businesses and if you are a small fashion label dealing with only a six-figure sum, you will not flash up as "urgent" to them.
Or so we finally realised when, six weeks after our overdraft application went in, we had been unable to make any contact whatsoever with the bank manager. We were getting very nervous. The elation of fielding a stream of e-mails and telephone calls confirming an order from leading department store Barneys, W magazine's feature, Teen Vogue's photo shoot and Elle's article quickly turned into dread that, by the time the press hit the shops, we would have to inform Barneys that it would not be receiving delivery. We would also be bracing ourselves for answering more e-mails and calls from W, Teen Vogue and Elle, with the news that Rodnik no longer existed.
Forget the banks, we decided. We needed to find a business angel.
First stop: Tatler's summer party. First sighting: Lillian von Stauffenberg, former fashion director of New York department store Bergdorf Goodman. We had been introduced to her at this year's Anglomania party, held to coincide with the launch of an exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum in New York.
"What are you up to these days?" we asked.
"I'm looking for a company to buy." Aha!
"Why don't you buy Rodnik?" When we explained what we had been up to recently and how things were going, it seemed to enthuse von Stauffenberg and we left having exchanged numbers and arranged a lunch to show her everything.
Even so, we had learnt caution while waiting for the bank. What if things didn't work out with Von Stauffenberg? What if she decided she wanted to buy a handbag line instead of knitwear? We decided it was a good idea to have a back-up investor and determined to put in a call to Philip Green, owner of one the UK's biggest privately owned retail empires. We had also met him in New York and reasoned that stranger things had happened.
Well . . . maybe not. The following morning reality hit like a splintered parasol in the face. All this talking, while interesting and exhilarating, had not actually solved our cash- flow problem. Our bank manager had still not contacted us and our production deadlines were now dangerously close. We calculated that we had a week to save our business. We split our time: by day, we arranged meetings with all the big banks, by night, we were dressed in our finest, spending our last pennies, taking the few eccentric millionaires we knew for dinner at the Ritz. Sadly, access to a six-figure sum at a week's notice proved impossible. This was a new low.
We ate our final (home-reheated) meal in silence. Humiliation, not fashion fame, was to be our lot. No CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund award lay in our future. We would simply be an addition to that long list of designers-who-might-have-been. "At least we didn't put our names on the company," we consoled each other. "We could always start again." It was past the 11th hour . . .
Then from nowhere, the until now silent bank manager finally responded to seven weeks of daily and desperate phone calls, and e-mailed with profound apologies saying he would arrange a bridging loan until the overdraft was finalised.
The business sprang to life. We paid creditors, bought fabric, started production at the factory, bought food. By working twice as hard and persuading others to do the same, we managed to get back on schedule without jeopardising the business. The rare good fortune of being given a second chance was not lost on us. We designed a new and more accurate cash-flow projection, set in place some stringent financial indicators, further researched the funding available to small businesses and resolved in future to put only our money, not our faith, in the bank.
Everything seemed to be going our way again. A quick call was made to the Chanel head office regarding the couture show the following day - the kind of show that is so desirable that getting a ticket makes Willy Wonka's golden kind seem common by comparison. The extremely nice Parisian that we spoke to not only seemed to know exactly who we were, she gave us seats. Maybe the Rodnik parasols left for Karl Lagerfeld in New York had hit their mark.
But then again, the following week: disaster. Our London agent - the liaison between us and the world - said she had been offered a big new job and had to take it. Rodnik was now without London representation for the season when we were supposed to be producing our highest volume yet. "What should we do?" we moaned the next day during a tea at Claridge's that we were throwing to celebrate the engagement of Vogue.com's Dolly Jones and the CBE for Joan Burstein of Browns. Just then Camilla Morton, author of How to Walk in High Heels, came up with a solution that, if successful, would certainly qualify the whole episode as a blessing in disguise.
But that's for the next instalment.
Next month: Rodnik at Fashion Week
To read the last instalment, go to: www.ft.com/adventures
