The Aftermath

At the time, I was travelling in India, having recently sold my well-established and much-loved beauty college, which had been in operation for three decades in Canberra, Australia. My journey with the college had been immensely rewarding, not just in terms of prosperity, but in the deep sense of fulfilment that came from mentoring and training so many young people on their path to successful careers, businesses of their own and personal growth in their lives.

At sixty years young, however, I found myself restless and, quite frankly, a bit bored.

Having sold my interests in Canberra, I was open to new possibilities.

Friends, well-meaning but perhaps not fully understanding my true desires, encouraged me to set up shop in Sydney.

In this bustling metropolis, TV personalities and the city’s elite made their homes. They insisted it was a golden opportunity: after all, my first college had been such a success, so why not replicate that achievement and reap even greater rewards?

Yet, despite their confidence and my own track record, my heart harboured doubts. I craved something with a different pace, a fresh direction. But rather than taking the time to reflect on what I truly wanted, I let myself be swept up in others’ advice and launched a new college in Sydney.

Within two years, I was feeling stressed and deeply dissatisfied. Sydney, vibrant and cosmopolitan, a bit like a mini–New York, was an entirely different world. I felt lost at sea. Many of my new students, though from affluent backgrounds, seemed driven more by the allure of external beauty and the promise of lucrative careers as models or in film, rather than a genuine interest in the profound aspects of beauty therapy that I cherished and taught. There was a lack of heart, a genuine longing to understand the deeper meaning of beauty.

Feeling overwhelmed, I entrusted the day-to-day running of the college to my capable chief, Lauren, and decided to take a short break. I returned to my homeland to attend a meditation retreat, hoping to explore my “Sankaras” and to find some clarity amidst the chaos.

(Sankara is a term from Indian philosophy that refers to the mental habits and patterns we develop from our past actions and experiences. These habits affect how we think and behave now.)

The next evening, Lauren called me from Sydney. I could hear the urgency in her voice. “What? Everything?” I asked, barely believing what I was hearing.

Lauren replied, “We came in this morning and everything had been wiped out, even the coffee cups in the kitchen, the filing cabinet — all gone.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. “Where did they break in?” I managed to get out.

“There’s no sign of a break-in. The cops think it’s an inside job, someone who has a key.”

“Who? All my staff have keys — ” I started, my mind racing through possibilities.

Lauren interrupted me, “I think it was Michelle Stamford, the new make-up artist. Her husband owns a transport company. They’ve disappeared. Everything was moved in the early hours of the morning.”

Fury bubbled up. “That bitch! I’ll have her locked up!”

Just then, Lauren told me Sergeant McAuliffe had walked in. “Put him on,” I demanded.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said brusquely.

“Good evening, here. Where is that woman? Have you caught her? I want all my stuff back, designer clothes …” My anger was palpable.

He replied, “Ma’am, it wasn’t a break-in. The matter is beyond our control. You’ll have to go through the civil courts. It’s an internal business issue.”

“But — !” I started, but the line went dead.

I caught the next flight home.

Turning the key in the front door that morning, I entered the bare premises. The emptiness was overwhelming.

As I walked through the deserted space, I spotted my red stiletto lying on the floor. The sight of it struck me with a heaviness I hadn’t anticipated. A single shoe, out of place, seemed to carry all the memories, loss, and heartbreak in its slender frame. I picked it up and carried it with me as though holding on to what was left of my business, every step echoing the ache in my chest.

Bits and pieces of makeup, clothes, and papers were strewn everywhere.

Whoever did this knew exactly what they wanted; there was nothing random about it. I made my way down the long path, which my staff jokingly referred to as the gangplank, towards my desk. For the first time, I genuinely came to appreciate how my younger colleagues must have felt whenever they were called in for a chat about something that hadn’t gone quite right.

When I reached my desk, I placed the red stiletto on the table and let the memories flood back.

I remembered setting up the college, Chris helping me paint and move furniture; Truman, my little cocker spaniel pup, running around and knocking over a paint can, ending up covered in red paint. We scrubbed him off in the bath so many times, but he stayed pink for a while.

The telephone rang, jolting me out of my reverie. Jeff, my solicitor, was on the other end, concerned. “How’re you doing, Stephanie?”

“Not all that good,” I admitted.

He told me, “The police haven’t been able to trace the goods. Most of it has probably shipped to China by now. Would you like me to proceed further? I’ve some ideas. We can meet today. Does eleven o’clock suit you?”

“No,” I replied firmly.

He tried to persuade me. “But we’re talking big money here!”

I’d made up my mind. “I’m dropping the case, Jeff. Please tie up all the loose ends and finalise the leases. Thanks.”

As I turned, I saw Lauren watching me silently. She’d come by to check the premises before the lease ended tomorrow. “Did I hear right? Were you talking to Jeff?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘You mean …?’ Lauren asked me, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I took a slow breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on me, and replied, ‘Anger and blame aren’t going to do any good at this stage. The Sankaras are already flying back at me.’

‘Sankara?’ she repeated, a look of genuine puzzlement on her face.

I stood up from my huge director’s chair, pausing for a moment to glance down at it wistfully, knowing in my gut that this was probably the last time I’d ever see it.

Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, ‘Please, Lauren, see to all the details to close the college: staff wages and bonuses, and anything that needs to be completed with Jeff. Thank you.’

As I gathered myself, I picked up my red stiletto from the table, and Lauren, without a word, handed me its matching partner that she’d been hiding behind her back.

I slipped them both on, straightened up, and strutted out proudly, putting on my best seductive catwalk walk, singing out with as much bravado as I could muster, ‘I’m a Woman’, by Peggy Lee:

… Get all dressed up, go out and swing till 4 am and then

Lay down at 5, jump up at 6, and start all over again

’Cause I’m a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I’ll say it again …

The lesson I learnt is that even in moments of loss or endings, one can still claim strength and self-respect.

This lesson applies to every aspect of life, not just business. No matter the circumstances or challenges, we always have the power to choose how we move forward, with resilience, self-respect, and a determination to keep going.

How we handle change or loss shapes our journey.

Thank you for reading, dear friends ღ.

© Stephanie Roberts