Chapter 108
Poe heard her stop packing. The caravan stopped bouncing. Océane approached the door. Flung it open again.
‘I have no life, Mr Poe,’ she said, her voice more venomous than before. ‘I never have had. My father abandoned me, my stepfather tried to rape me while my mother drank herself into oblivion. I whored myself to the Red Chamber, but instead of getting paid, it turned out they planned to kill me.’
‘You were happy on that North Dakota honey farm,’ Poe said. ‘Perhaps you can be again.’
Océane shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve been reduced to this half-life. Of never knowing if the person who stares at me in the market wants to screw me, kill me or buy my honey. Looking like this has been a curse, not a blessing.’
‘What if I told you there’s a way to turn that around?’ Poe said. ‘To unlock the power of your undeniable beauty. Use your face to sell your honey. Your presence. To promote it the way it should be promoted. You won’t have to hide behind Shutterstock any more. You’ll be able to get out and about.’
Océane studied him. She looked as though she wanted to believe him.
‘It’s how we found you, you know,’ he went on.
‘You were the only honey business in the south that used stock images. Almost every other family-owned business makes a point of putting their faces on their websites, on their promotional photographs. And none of them look like you. Imagine what you could achieve if you were able to unlock the power of your face. You’d be on every food show, and we both know how popular that nonsense is.
Those “doesn’t Britain have wonderful produce” programmes will be falling over themselves to have someone so photogenic taking part.
You’ll be supplying honey to Great British Menu.
To MasterChef and Bake Off. Nadiya Hussain and Tom Kerridge will have you on their shows.
All five dragons will want to be your angel investors. ’
‘You know a lot about food shows, mate,’ Towler said.
Poe shrugged. ‘Brunton has them on while he cooks, and I’m always hanging around the kitchen.’
‘Brunton is Poe’s butler,’ Towler said to Océane. He waited for that to register. It didn’t. He tried again. ‘Poe has a butler.’ Still nothing. He scowled and said, ‘But the toff with a butler is right; if you help us get the kid back, you’ll have your farm on the South Downs within five years.’
‘Three, I reckon,’ Poe said. ‘Paid in full.’
Océane stared at them for several seconds. Eventually she said, ‘Talk.’