Chapter 24
24
As soon as I get back to the flat, I send a message to Jock.
I have news…
He’s obviously at work as he doesn’t reply until late afternoon.
Sounds intriguing. Go on.
I smile as I type:
Can I call?
Sure.
You know how it feels when you’ve been in a dark wood, and you step out into the sunshine and automatically turn your face to soak up the warmth? Seeing Jock on my screen is like that. Although we’ve texted, this is the first time we’ve actually talked since leaving Hotel Dufour.
‘How’s Margate?’ he asks.
‘Interesting. I mean, the first impressions aren’t great, but once you start to scratch under the surface, it’s got a lot going for it.’
‘How long are you planning to stay?’ I’ve told him about visiting Abby’s hotel, but not my plan to save it, so this is a reasonable question.
‘I’m not sure,’ I tell him with a smile. ‘I might hang around. Something’s come up, actually.’
‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’ve fallen in love with this derelict hotel and you’re conjuring up a plan to reopen it.’
‘How did you know that?’ I ask in amazement.
‘It’s obvious. What do you need from me?’
‘Why should I want anything from you, apart from to talk to you?’
‘Because I know you. If all you wanted was to tell me about your plan, you’d have done it in a message. You’re calling because you want something.’
‘You make me sound like an awful person!’ I exclaim.
‘Sorry, I don’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re calling because you want to ask me something, rather than just give me information.’
‘I prefer that,’ I tell him, feeling mollified.
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘How attached are you to Gregory’s?’ I ask.
He grins. ‘I’m always open to offers.’
‘Look. I can’t promise anything, but I’m putting together a business plan to sell to Abby and her father, and I’m going in hard on food being the USP. I’m thinking of you for that.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. We need to be realistic though, Jock. If this comes off, it could be amazing, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high, and I don’t want to get yours up either. There’s a long way to go, but if you’re interested enough to do me a sample menu to include in the pitch, that would be brilliant.’
‘Leave it with me,’ he replies. ‘When do you need it by?’
‘As soon as possible, really. I think Abby is planning to go up to see her dad in a few days.’
‘I’ll get something to you tomorrow.’
What I hadn’t realised was that Abby was expecting me to come with her to pitch the idea to her father. After a hair-raising journey north in her Porsche, followed by an overnight stay in the local BudgetWise hotel, the irony of which was not lost on me, we’re now pulling up outside Abby’s family home, which evidently also serves as the head office of Atkinson Construction if the brass plaque on the gatepost is anything to go by. I’ve been frantically reading online articles with titles such as The Ten Secrets of Sales Success and Seven Ways to Pitch Perfection , and I’ve honed my presentation to within an inch of its life, but I’m still nervous. Abby’s driving yesterday didn’t help, as she weaved through the traffic, using the power of her car to slide into seemingly impossible gaps on the motorway and perform overtaking manoeuvres that had my heart in my mouth more than once. I’m very glad that, whatever happens, I’ll be travelling back on the train later. If I were a cat, the journey up here would have used at least six of my nine lives.
Abby enters a code on the keypad next to the large, ornate, wrought-iron gates and they swing open silently, allowing the car to crunch across the deep gravel of the driveway, where an expensive-looking SUV is already parked.
‘I haven’t said anything to Dad about your plan,’ Abby explains as she turns off the ignition. ‘I want him to come into it totally fresh, OK?’
‘OK.’
The front door opens before we reach it, and the resemblance between Abby and her father is strong enough to leave me in no doubt as to the identity of the man standing on the threshold.
‘Dad, this is Beatrice,’ Abby tells him. ‘Beatrice, this is my dad, Christopher Atkinson.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he says to me warmly, holding out his hand. ‘Abby’s being very secretive, but I gather you have a plan to put right her rather expensive mistake.’
Abby rolls her eyes theatrically. I suspect this is a well-worn theme.
‘Come on in,’ Christopher continues, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s irritation. ‘I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on, and then you can tell me all about it.’
By the time we settle down in the office, my initial nerves have given way to my enthusiasm for the project, and I feel sharp and confident as I take Christopher through my presentation. I quickly discover that, underneath the genial exterior, he’s as astute as his daughter when he’s talking business. There have been several areas where he’s stopped me, asking either for more detail or clarification. I’ve taken him through the projected costs and revenue in forensic detail, and he’s grilled Abby on some of the other points, mainly around the work needed to restore The Mermaid.
‘I have to admit it’s a good plan,’ he says eventually. ‘You clearly know your stuff, Beatrice, and you’ve done your homework. It’s impressive.’
Mentally, I’m crossing my fingers and I suspect Abby is doing the same.
‘There’s just one problem,’ he says after a long pause.
‘What?’ Abby asks. ‘Do you need to go through the projections again?’
‘No. There’s nothing wrong with any of what you two have said. Your presentation is very compelling and, although there are a couple of things I’d do differently, I honestly can’t see any major holes in it. In the right hands, I have no doubt that you would be successful. But the fact is that I’m not the right hands. We’re a construction company, not a hospitality company. To put it bluntly, I don’t know anything about hotels and it’s not an industry Atkinson Construction has any intention of entering.’
I don’t know what to say. I stare dumbly at the presentation as my dream crumbles to dust in my head. Next to me, Abby is staring at her father with a curious expression on her face. The atmosphere in the room is tense and uncomfortable and I suddenly feel the need to be as far away from here as possible.
‘I understand,’ I murmur as I hastily gather the presentation documents together and get to my feet. ‘Thank you for your time, Christopher. Abby, I wish you the best of luck with the building.’
‘I’ll give you a lift to the station,’ Abby offers, not taking her eyes off her father.
‘It’s OK. I’ll get a taxi.’
‘Nonsense.’ She gets swiftly to her feet. As she opens the door into the hallway, she turns back to her father. ‘I’m just going to run Beatrice to the station,’ she tells him, ‘and then we’ll have a chat. OK?’
‘My mind is made up, Abby,’ he replies.
‘I’m sure it is. That doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to talk about, though, does it?’
Once again, their eyes lock and I get the impression an entire silent conversation is playing out between them. I’m no longer interested, as I’m mainly focused on keeping my composure while I bid goodbye to Christopher. Abby is silent as she drives me, but I can practically hear her mind whirling. Knowing her, she’s already working out her next plan, but I no longer care. With just a few words, my bid to save The Mermaid is over. As the train pulls out of the station, I send Jock a message.
The pitch didn’t work. Sorry.
His reply comes instantly, and I read it through my tears of frustration.
Ah well. You tried.