‘I don’t recall you stipulating a destination. Doesn’t Sussex count?’
It counted. That was the problem. She wanted to have lunch with him.
It would be so easy, sitting opposite him, surrounded by luxury, pretending that they were just two people having lunch together. But then he’d get up and walk away.
She’d already had that dream, but then she’d woken up.
‘I’m really sorry, Sebastian, but I’ve got a deadline that’s getting tighter by the minute. I’m afraid lunch today will have to be a sandwich. But thank you for asking.’
And then, before he could say anything else, she gently replaced the receiver on the cradle.
Sebastian sat back and acknowledged that he could have handled that better.
Giovanni’s, it occurred to him, had been his first mistake.
He’d really wanted to see her, talk to her, but instead of saying so he’d thrown out an invitation to lunch with him at a moment’s notice at the fanciest restaurant he could think of. Few women of his acquaintance could have resisted.
But she wasn’t like other women, and he hadn’t given a single thought as to what she might prefer. Or even that she might have a full and busy life without a moment to spare for him.
Nothing new there. He’d been treating women in that casual, take it or leave it manner for years.
The decent women had left it, the minute they realised he wasn’t offering more. Only the users had hung around: the ones who’d wanted to be seen in smart restaurants, mixing with high-stake players. And that had been just fine. Everyone had got what they wanted without the bother of pretending that they were engaging in anything but the most superficial of relationships.
Nothing messy to interfere with the only thing that really mattered to him. His career.
‘Sebastian, is your phone off the hook?’ Blanche asked, then, seeing him sitting with the receiver in his hand, ‘Oh, you’re making a call.’
He looked up. ‘It’s finished,’ he said, replacing the receiver. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Our biggest buyer wants to set up a meeting with you. George always used to take him out to lunch, make a fuss of him.’
‘That sounds like fun. What do we talk about?’
‘Next year’s range.’
‘Have we got one? Why haven’t I seen it?’
The way she lifted her shoulders spoke volumes. ‘George let things go a bit towards the end.’ She sat down rather suddenly in the chair facing his desk. ‘I still can’t get used to not seeing him…’ She waved in his direction as she groped for a handkerchief in her pocket.
‘I’m sorry, Blanche, you worked for George for a long time. This must be hard for you.’
‘I was very fond of him. He was a gentleman.’
He wondered if she’d be quite so warm towards him if she knew about the gaping hole in the pension fund. He fervently hoped she’d never have to find out.
‘You can’t know how grateful we all are that the family has decided to keep the company going. They were never actually enthusiastic about it—the company—were they?’
‘Not exactly,’ he agreed. ‘But then they were never exactly enthusiastic about George, either.’
George hadn’t had to work, but he’d never been content to play the role he’d been born to. Had had no taste for hunting, shooting or fishing.
They’d had that—along with so much else—in common.
‘We all thought the company would be wound up,’ she went on, ‘and obviously we’d have understood. Business hasn’t exactly been booming in the last couple of years. But it would have meant early retirement for most of us. I know some people can’t wait, but not me. What on earth would I do with myself?’
There were worse things than early retirement, Sebastian thought. But if he could get the business back to the point where he could find a buyer and use to the money to fund annuities for the staff, she and the rest of George’s loyal staff would never have to face that prospect.
‘You can imagine how pleased we all were when we heard you were going to step into the breach, so to speak.’
‘Yes, well, there won’t be any business unless we do something about next year’s range. Where do we start?’
‘It’s a bit late. The lead time for orders—’
‘Blanche, if I’m going to buy this man an expensive lunch, I’d like to have something to sell him while he’s feeling replete and satisfied.’ She didn’t exactly leap in with suggestions. ‘Where do new designs come from?’ he asked. ‘Did George ever commission an artist to come up with a high-concept design that could be developed into a range of products? Or did he rely on them to come to him?’
‘He hasn’t commissioned anything in a while, but George had a lot of contacts. He always managed to come up with something.’
‘That isn’t a lot of help to me.’
‘No. I’m sorry.’ She gave herself a little shake. ‘You could look in George’s ideas cabinet.’ She gestured in the direction of a plan chest, tucked away in the corner of the office. ‘He sometimes bought things he thought would be useful and tucked them away. For a rainy day, he used to say. I guess it’s here.’ And this time her tears overflowed.
‘Why don’t you go and have a cup of tea, or something, while I check it out?’ he suggested, helping her to her feet and moving her towards the door, utterly helpless in the face of her grief.
‘I’m so sorry…’
‘It’s okay. I understand. Really.’ Unfortunately he understood only too well. ‘Why don’t you take an early lunch?’
He leaned back against the door for a moment. He hadn’t realised until now that Blanche had been in love with George, too. But he’d bet any amount of money that the old rogue had been well aware of her feelings and had taken full advantage of them. Yet more pressure to come up with the goods.
He turned to the plan chest—not that he had any desire to examine its contents. He didn’t even want to be in this country, but there was no point in putting off the inevitable.
The first drawer contained some old botanical drawings. Foxed, and a bit tattered at the edges, the only thing in their favour, as far as he could see, was that they were out of copyright by a century or two.
But what did he know?
The second drawer offered a series of brightly coloured nursery rhyme characters.
As he continued through the drawers he realised that he was doing no more than going through the motions.
He could
