Welcome to My World (12 page)

‘Ah, Harriet. Shut the door, would you?’

Harri did so, then sat down on the brown tweed chair that, like the office’s owner, had seen decidedly better days.

‘Right. I’ve got this – um –
situation
happening at the moment that’s a little, well,
delicate
, and I need your help to fix it.’

Nightmarish thoughts raced through Harri’s mind. ‘Oh?’

‘You see, the thing is, I’m up to my eyes in it right now, what with the planning required to make sure SLIT offers its customers the best in national
vacationing
and, to be totally frank, I’ve got piles . . .
big
ones . . .’

Harri shot to her feet. ‘George, there are some things I don’t need to know.’

George looked at her, mystified, his already flushed features then turning a pinker shade of puce as realisation dawned. ‘Oh, no! No! I mean piles of
work
to do this week!’

The relief Harri felt was immense. However much she liked her boss, there were certain areas she just wasn’t ready to enter with him. Relaxing, she resumed her seat. ‘Sorry, George.’

George pulled an off-white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed his forehead. ‘I should think so too. As if I would share something like that with a member of my own staff . . .’

‘Absolutely. So, you were saying?’

‘What? Oh, yes. Well, you see, there’s this woman and she won’t leave me alone.’

‘Ooh, George, driving the ladies wild again, are you?’

‘No I am not. At least, not
this
woman. The fact is, she’s been bombarding me with phone calls for the past two weeks about some crazy business venture she’s starting and I think she might be getting a little – um . . .’ he leaned forward confidentially, ‘. . .
obsessed
, if you know what I mean.’

Harri resisted the urge to smile. ‘I see. So why do you want my help?’

George pushed a dog-eared sticky note across his desk to her. ‘Go and see her, would you? Her number’s on there.’

‘But I thought you said we were busy, George?’

‘I said
I’m
busy,’ he snapped, grabbing a handful of papers from his desk and shuffling them ineptly to emphasise his point. ‘But I can spare
you
. I’ve told her to expect a call from my assistant manager.’

Harri surveyed him suspiciously. ‘Assistant manager? Since when?’

‘You’ve been here almost as long as I have,’ George replied huffily. ‘It was only a matter of time.’ He took a long sip of coffee.

Sensing an opportunity, Harri shook her head. ‘Nope, sorry, George. Not without a significant raise in my salary.’

George spluttered and wiped his mouth. ‘Pardon?’

Harri smiled benevolently at her boss. ‘You know what a raise is, don’t you, George? Obviously taking on such a role would be a major step in my career – I would need to see more money to reflect the greater responsibility such a role would bring. Consider it an indicator of your greater trust in me.’

She kept her stare firmly fixed on her boss, who was now turning a rather interesting shade of lilac.

‘Well, I . . . I . . .’

Harri looked at her watch. ‘Going to have to hurry you, I’m afraid.
Very
busy day out there for me, you know.’

‘Fine! We’ll increase your salary . . .’

‘By how much?’

‘Eh?’

‘Well, it’s a competitive market out there, George. I might not accept.’

George was beginning to resemble a shoddily attired soon-to-be-active volcano. ‘Are you taking the
michael
? Fine. Name your terms.’

‘Fifteen per cent. Effective immediately.’

‘What?’

‘Or we can just keep it like it is. I’m sure that lady will calm down once you’ve had a
nice long chat
. . .’

George gripped the edge of his desk, eyes wild with panic. ‘All right! Fifteen per cent it is.’

Harri rose serenely and opened the door. ‘George, that’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.’

As she stepped out of the office, she heard his strangled voice call out behind her. ‘. . . but there’s likely to be a
lot
more work for you now.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything less,’ Harri called over her shoulder, settling back at her desk, hardly believing her own audacity.

‘What was all that about?’ Nus asked, as Tom appeared beside her, the pair of them looking like wide-eyed bushbabies.

Harri picked up the phone and started to dial the number scibbled on the sticky note in George’s untidy handwriting. ‘Nothing. George’s got woman trouble, that’s all . . . Hello? Is that Emily Williams? Hi, it’s Harri Langton, assistant manager at Sun Lovers International Travel . . .’

The look on Nus and Tom’s faces was a picture.

‘I’m just calling about the . . . er, yes, of course I’d be happy to visit you . . . erm, great, so what time would you . . . ? Oh, right, half an hour would be fine. OK . . .’

The call clicked on the other end of the line and Harri stared at the receiver. ‘Bye then.’

Tom folded his arms as Nus stood up. ‘
Assistant manager?
Since when?’

Harri grabbed her bag and grinned at them as she passed. ‘Can’t explain now, I’ve got to head out. See you later!’

To say that the lady on the other end of the phone had been enthusiastic would be like saying Nureyev wasn’t bad at dancing. Harri couldn’t help but grin as she drove through the high-hedged lanes towards Emily’s home. Poor George. After years of encountering disinterest from the good ladies of Stone Yardley – with the possible exception of his mother – someone as forthright as Emily must have scared him half to death.

‘My place is a little hard to find,’ Emily had gushed during the call. ‘Head for Little Swinford and then just before you get to the grass triangle where the road splits towards Greenwell, you take a left down the farm track. It’s a bit bumpy but it should be OK.’

Harri’s ageing Fiat Punto bounced wildly along the dirt and gravel track before it passed through an opening in the hedge and headed steeply downhill. A small cluster of farm buildings nestled between two rounded hills came into view. Harri caught her breath; the place was stunning. An old tithe barn stood crookedly next to some whitewashed outbuildings, with the main farmhouse to the right. An elegant red-brick building, it was surrounded by a riot of cottage-garden flowers – delphiniums, poppies, Sweet Williams and lavender, with pale pink roses curling haphazardly around the green front door. As Harri parked and stepped out, she was almost knocked back into the car by a large black and white collie that bounded out of the house to greet her, closely followed by a tall, dark-haired lady dressed in a pale pink jumper, her faded jeans tucked hurriedly into her daffodil-patterned wellies.

‘Fly! Fly, come here, you daft mutt!’ she laughed as she approached. ‘He’s harmless, just a little too welcoming I’m afraid. You are OK with dogs, aren’t you?’

Harri regained her balance and patted the overexcited dog as it head-butted her knees. ‘Yes, I’m fine. He’s a lovely dog.’

‘Runt of the litter, that one, would you believe?’ Emily shook her head and extended her hand. ‘You must be Harri. I’m Emily, in case you hadn’t guessed.’

Harri shook her hand. ‘Nice to meet you. This place is amazing.’

Emily beamed brightly. ‘Welcome to Greenwell Hill Farm. Sixteenth century, most of it. Until some horrible Victorian got a bit carried away with the farmhouse – those chimneys are ridiculous.’

Harri looked up to see four very ornate twisted chimneys rising up from the farmhouse roof. ‘Wow.’

‘Hmm, I know. I wanted to take them down but my hubby adores the things. No accounting for taste, obviously. Anyway, come in, the kettle’s on.’

The warmth of the kitchen enveloped them like a cosy blanket as Harri and Emily entered. It was a study in shabby chic: faded pink gingham curtains hung at the large sash window, looking out to the rolling fields beyond; blue and white striped crockery was stacked haphazardly by the large white Belfast sink; bunches of dried lavender, rosemary and sage hung from the edges of the old whitewashed wood cupboards above the well-worn oak worktops; a freshly baked loaf was positioned invitingly on a breadboard, alongside a crackle-glazed butter dish and half-empty jar of home-made jam, while freshly picked flowers had been casually arranged in an old enamel jug on the old pine kitchen table.

Fly padded into the kitchen, claws clicking on the slate floor tiles and tail wagging wildly, headed over to Harri and flopped down across her feet.

‘Fly! I’m sorry, Harri. He’s got a thing for warming visitors’ feet, I’m afraid,’ Emily smiled ruefully as she filled a kettle and placed it on the stove. ‘I think it’s his way of making people stay.’

Harri leaned down to ruffle the soft fur on Fly’s stomach. ‘I don’t mind, really. I have a cat so I’m not used to such an enthusiastic welcome.’

‘We’ve got three of those too,’ Emily smiled, ‘but they seem to spend most of their time in the barn.’

After the kettle had come to its shrill whistling boil and the ‘brown Betty’ teapot was filled and covered with a hand-knitted bobble-topped tea-cosy, Emily joined Harri at the table.

Harri pulled out a notebook and pen. ‘So, tell me about your business venture then.’

Emily visibly sparkled and grasped her blue-striped mug with both hands. ‘Well, I’ve had this idea and, I have to admit, it’s completely nuts, but I just can’t seem to get it out of my mind, no matter how hard I try, you know?’

‘Breathe, Emily!’ Harri laughed. ‘I’m here for a while.’

Emily flushed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I have all this . . .
stuff
. . . buzzing around in my head and I haven’t really spoken to anyone except my hubby about it.’ She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. ‘Right, it’s like this: I work in the bank in Stone Yardley, in Market Street – you know, the one between Chiltern’s Ironmongers and the barbers? Well, I’ve worked there for ten years, since I came back from university, and it’s OK, I mean, it pays the bills. But the job – it just feels like a strait-jacket, you know? The thing is, a while ago I started to have an idea for my own business, using the farm as a base. It won’t go away; it’s all I think about. And I know it’s a crazy plan – I mean, Stu and I are both working and we only just manage to keep this place running, so the thought of going self-employed and risking all of this is so scary. It’s still just an idea at the moment. Nobody knows at work or anything. I’m just looking at possibilities.’

‘So what sort of thing do you want to do here?’ Harri asked, taking a sip of strong tea.

‘Craft weekends, writing retreats, art holidays, things like that,’ Emily beamed. ‘I did art and ceramics at uni and I have a couple of friends who are artists. My sister’s a writer, so she said she’d be happy to help. Stu’s really into photography and he has lots of walks around the fields here that he could take people out on. So, between us all I think we could come up with quite a varied programme.’

‘Would you be providing accommodation here, too?’

‘I’m not sure. I mean, we could turn the barn into a bunkhouse, I suppose, or maybe work with some of the pubs and B&Bs in the villages near here. In the long term we’d like to convert some of the outbuildings, but that’s a long way off. I just think it would be a great thing to offer to people perhaps from Birmingham or Worcester to begin with – you know, a fun break not too far from home? Eventually I could see people coming from all over the place. I mean, we’re not far from the M6 and there are so many gorgeous places nearby that we could take people to.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea. How can you see the travel agency helping, then?’

Emily picked up the teapot and topped up their mugs. ‘Just help us to promote it initially, then maybe eventually take charge of bookings, and we’ll give you commission on sales.’

Harri chewed her pen as she consulted the notes she’d been making. She could feel excitement rising within her: Emily’s enthusiasm was infectious and even though she knew there would be a lot of work ahead to get the business off the ground, Harri was filled with admiration for the lady staring expectantly at her at the other side of the farmhouse table. ‘I can’t see any reason why this wouldn’t work, to be honest with you,’ she said after a while. ‘I think your idea could turn into a lucrative business.’

The look of relief on Emily’s face was immense.

‘Really? I mean, please don’t feel you have to say that just because you’re here. If it’s completely unworkable, I’d rather find out now before I start committing our finances.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t feel pressured. Besides, it won’t be my decision at the end of the day. George will need to approve everything before we go ahead.’

Emily’s smile faded. ‘Oh. I don’t think I’ve made a very good impression on your boss. He was really short with me on the phone this morning.’

Harri giggled. ‘He’s always short with people.’

‘He is?’

‘Yes, about five foot six usually. Sorry, it’s a bit of an in-joke at SLIT. We reckon he’s always trying to prove a point with everyone because he’s, well,
overcompensating
?’

Emily brightened. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘He’s harmless, honestly. He just can’t cope with women who actually want to talk to him. Anyway, I can’t see him objecting to your plans – especially if I say I’ll take responsib ility for it. Anything that brings in money without the need for him to do any work is bound to be a hit.’

‘Would you really be prepared to do that?’

Harri smiled. ‘Absolutely. I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’m a bit envious, actually.’

‘How come?’

‘Well, you being prepared to give up your job and go for it with this business. It’s inspirational. So I’d like to help.’

A strange smile passed across Emily’s face. ‘I’m so pleased to have met you, Harri. I think we’re going to get on really well. Look, I’ve got a Victoria sponge in the pantry – don’t suppose you fancy helping me eat it? That is, if you don’t have something you have to get back for?’

Harri thought about the four sacks of
Juste Moi
letters lying menacingly in wait for her at home and grinned back. ‘Nothing that can’t wait. Cake sounds like a great idea.’