Chapter Thirty-Four Grace a Dieu
I’m sick to death of weathermen and their cheery smiles saying everything is wonderful thanks to the glorious sunshine. Sales are up as everyone buys new clothes and barbecues, crime is down (because it’s too hot to burgle someone? I couldn’t make sense of that one either) and farmers are happy because the crops are abundant this year. It seems as if everyone is doing well from this apart from the poor old travel agent. Give it another week of heat and the whingeing will start — drought across the land, hosepipe bans and fights breaking out on the tube because everyone’s blood has hit boiling point.
The cruise is sold out, so I can’t flog that anymore. I need to fill spaces on the other events, in particular the trip to Monaco, which is rapidly approaching our ‘lose your deposit’ deadline. How on earth am I going to persuade people to leave this heat and sit somewhere hotter? I look up the temperature out of interest and strangely, it’s actually colder on the south coast of France than it is here.
That’s it, the brain has waved. We sell this trip as an escape from the heat.
‘You’re gonna sell a holiday by telling people it’ll be cold when they get there?’ Josie is looking at me as if I’m mad.
‘Not like that, but picture this,’ I say. ‘Cooling sea breezes, chilled wine on the terraces watching the sun go down, castle visits during the heat of the day and air-conditioned bedrooms for a wonderful night’s sleep.’
‘I’d go for the air conditioning,’ chimes in Charlie. ‘I’m not sleeping a wink in this.’
‘It’s got to be worth trying, hasn’t it?’ I ask.
I don’t have any other ideas at the moment but more than that, it’s not the worst I’ve had.
‘Let’s give it all we’ve got,’ Charlie agrees.
‘I’ll download some pictures: chilled wine, harbour walks, that kind of thing,’ Josie fires up.
‘Make sure it looks as if there’s a gentle breeze blowing and try to find something that might say “refreshing night’s sleep”.’ Charlie gets it.
All afternoon Josie emails, tweets, and Facebooks mouth-watering images of exactly what you want to see in a heatwave.
I get on the phone to some of our loyal customers.
‘Hi there, how are you enjoying this heat? I know, a killer, isn’t it? I was just saying to Charlie that it’s actually cooler in the south of France — honestly...’
I should get a BAFTA, never mind a Local Business Award as I deliver that line at least thirty times this afternoon and with the same amount of enthusiasm each call. Charlie collars everyone who walks into the store with the same line and by the end of the day we have a few definite bookings and even more promises to talk it over with the other half. As Charlie expected, the clincher turns out to be the air-conditioned bedrooms with someone to bring you chilled orange juice and fruit salad in the morning. We add these to Josie’s social media posts then agree to stay open later so that people can pop in or call us when they’ve finished work or had the conversation.
We get some fresh orange juice in and invite people to have a chilled glass while they’re booking. We really couldn’t be trying any harder, so if there is a God in heaven, surely he will look down on these efforts and save our asses. I don’t think he’s busy with much else at the moment.
We get past our minimum sales number and close up. I walk home watching British café culture play out in the suburbs. I contemplate our complete lack of glamour compared to the vision I’ve just been selling. I wouldn’t mind going to the south of France myself.