And even if she had been that unscrupulous, there was no way she’d allow herself to be put in this position again. If Knickerbocker Gloria folded she would have to set up her own production plant from scratch. It would take time to find the right premises, source equipment, train staff and be inspected before she could be up and running. And time was the one thing she didn’t have.
And she’d still be missing the one vital ingredient that made what she offered so special. Ria.
She might very well have said the first thing that came into her head, but taking over Knickerbocker Gloria, putting it on a proper, well-managed footing, could save both Ria and Scoop! And if, in the process, she wiped that patronising expression from Alexander West’s face, then it would be worth it.
‘Not without her permission,’ she added. ‘And unless you can tell me where she is right now that is a non-starter.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the Jefferson party is tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Now she had his attention.
‘I believe I mentioned that the sorbet has a very short shelf life.’
‘So you did.’
‘I wasn’t sure that you were listening.’
‘I promise you,’ he said, ‘you’ve had my undivided attention from the moment you walked in.’
‘Yes, I had noticed.’
‘If you will go around half dressed...’
Half dressed?
‘This is not half dressed! On the contrary. I’m wearing a vintage Mary Quant suit that belonged to my grandmother!’
‘Not all of it, surely?’
‘The jacket is in my van. I didn’t expect to be more than five minutes. Now, are there any more comments you’d like to make about my clothes, the hygiene headgear designed by someone who hates women or the way I run my business? Or can we get on?’
He raised his hands defensively. Then, clearly with some kind of death wish, said, ‘Your grandmother?’
‘She was a deb in the sixties. Vidal Sassoon hair, Mini car, miniskirts and, supposedly, the liberation of women.’
‘Supposedly?’
‘Since I’ve met you, I’ve discovered that we still have a long way to go. And, while we’re putting things straight, this is probably a good time to mention that any negotiations to purchase the business will be conditional on the completion of the Jefferson order.’
‘In other words,’ he said, grabbing the opportunity to get back to business, ‘you’re just stalling me out.’ He leaned back against the freezer, crossing his sinewy arms so that the muscles bunched in his biceps, tightening the sleeves of his T-shirt again. They looked so...hard. It was difficult to resist the urge to touch... ‘Until you’ve got what you want,’ he added.
‘No!’ She curled her fingers tightly into her palms. Well maybe. ‘Until I can talk to Ria.’
She knew Ria had friends in Wales from her old travelling days. She went back a couple of times a year and was probably holed up with them in a yurt, drinking nettle beer, eating goat cheese and picking wild herbs for a salad. A place that Sorrel knew, having tried to contact her there back in the summer, didn’t have a mobile-phone signal.
Right now, though, she had to deal with her gatekeeper, Alexander West. It was time to stop drooling like a teenager and act like a smart businesswoman.
‘I’ll rent the premises by the week while we negotiate terms. I will expect anything that I pay to be deducted from the sale price, of course.’ He didn’t move. ‘I’m sure the Revenue would be happy to recover at least a portion of the money owed? Or were you planning on paying it yourself?’
His silence was all the answer she needed.
‘So? Do we have a deal?’ she asked. ‘Because right now I’m firefighting a crisis that isn’t of my making and I’d really like to get on with it.’
Even as she said it she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. She was supposed to be the whiz-kid entrepreneur. It was her responsibility to ensure that delivery of the product was never compromised and it had been her intention to find a back-up supplier for Scoop!—one that could match Ria’s quality, her imagination, her passion.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone. At least not locally.
She’d done the rounds when she’d decided to launch this side of the business, looking for someone who would work with her to create the flavours, colours and quality that she wanted to offer her clients. But these were small, one-off, time-consuming special orders and only Ria had been interested.
‘Is there really no way of keeping Knickerbocker Gloria as a going concern?’ she asked, when he remained silent. ‘I really need Ria.’
‘Make me an offer I can’t refuse,’ he said, ‘and you can offer her a job.’
He shrugged as if that were it. Game over. He was wrong.
What she had in mind was a partnership. If she took care of the paperwork, kept the books in order, handled the finances—her strengths—Ria would be free to do what she did best.
‘Maybe I can come up with an offer she can’t refuse,’ she replied.
‘Don’t count on it.’ He finally pushed himself away from the freezer door, very tall and much too close. While she was sending a frantic message to her feet to move, step back out of the danger zone, he reached forward, took the hat from her hands and set it on her head at a jaunty angle, captured a stray curl that had a mind of its own and tucked it behind her ear, holding it there for a moment as if he knew that it would spring back the moment he let go. Then he shook his head. ‘You’d be better off with your hair in a net.’
‘Yes...’ Her mouth, dry as an August ditch, made all the right moves but no sound came out. She tried harder. ‘You’re right. I’ll see if I can find one. Thank—’
‘Don’t thank me. Nothing has changed. It’s just your good luck that I know Nick Jefferson.’ And it was Alexander who took a step back. ‘I’m doing this for him, not you, so you’d better deliver the best damn champagne sorbet ever.’
‘Or what?’ she asked. Clearly saying the first thing that came into her head was habit forming.
‘Or you’ll answer to me.’
Promises, promises...
The thought whispered through her mind but in the time it took for the connections to snap into action, for her brain to wonder what he’d do if she failed to deliver, Alexander West was back in the office with the door closed, leaving her alone in the prep room.
Probably a good thing, she decided, sliding her fingers behind her ear, where the warmth of his hand still lingered.
Definitely a good thing.
She might have inherited come-day-go-day genes from both her parents, but she had her life mapped out and there was no way she was following her mother down that particular path. Certainly not with a man who, like her father, would be gone long before they’d reached the first stile. Back to his beach-bum lifestyle. Funded by the rent Ria paid for this shop, no doubt. Except she probably owed him money, too. Was that what had brought him flying back? The chance to get her out and install a new tenant at a higher rent?
* * *
While Sorrel Amery had been beguiling him with a smile that had gone straight to his knees,