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“I can’t concentrate when you put those on,” he grumbled as I reached for my glasses.
I peered at him over the top of them sternly. “You’ve a strange idea of what you find attractive in a lover, Florian, anyone ever tell you that?”
I coloured at my use of the word lover; I was sure there must be a less laden, more vernacular term, but French slang had moved along since I’d lived in Paris, and I’d not moved with it.
“I have discerning taste,” he corrected, “When it comes to choosing a lover.”
Trust him not to let me get away with it. Flustered, I picked up the papers. “I’ve divided my background analysis of the situation into two parts and I’m sending it to you via email. The first section is a list of reasons why joining forces with Selco would be a bad idea in the medium to long-term. We’ve discussed most of them already. Your task is to convince everyone else.”
Florian huffed. “Nothing much, then. Just an Oscar-winning performance.”
“Exactly.” I pressed a soft kiss into his dark curls. “That’s exactly how you should approach it. My business partner, Marcus, for all his faults, does this better than anyone I know. Numbers and graphs aren’t enough. He always says you need a mix of three ingredients: credibility, logic, and emotion. Clients, or in your case, colleagues, need to hear the cold, hard facts, but you must also paint a picture they can believe in. And it’s got to be personal. You need to appeal to their hearts, not only their minds.”
“I’m not sure Jerome’s father has a heart.”
“Everyone has a heart. You’ve got to work out what makes it beat, that’s all. Easy.” Mine currently beat in tune to the young man curled into me.
He snorted. “Yeah, right. What’s the other half of your analysis about?”
I shuffled through the papers. “It’s not going to be enough to slate Selco. You need to offer an alternative.”
“I don’t want an alternative. I want to carry on being independent.”
“Exactly. But the Selco bid has actually done you a favour. It’s exposed your weaknesses. And as I’ve already warned you, another Selco will come along if you’re not careful.”
“And you won’t be around to show me how to fight them.”
Although he kept his tone light, I sensed his shoulder stiffen.
“No,” I answered. “It is extremely likely that I won’t.” I tapped my pen on the top sheet, black and white blotting out a sudden dimming of green. “But you won’t need me, because if you do things right, no one will be interested in being taken over. Look here.”
He raised his head to where I pointed. “I’ve outlined a modernisation strategy for the cooperative. There are so many simple things you can do, to make yourself stronger. For instance, you haven’t increased your wholesale prices for three years and it shows in the profits. You need to track inflation. And you’re a protected ecological business. There are several new government grants you should apply for. They’re small, but they soon add up.”
“Have you ever dealt with French bureaucracy, Charles?” He huffed a sigh. “We don’t have time to wade through all that shit.”
“Then employ someone who does. The sums are right here—look, it would be cost-effective.”
I turned the page as a buzzing sounded from his phone. He fished it from his pocket.
“That’s Papi. It’s time I left.”
His forehead creased as he read the message and his light-hearted flirtatiousness vanished. “He wants to know why I’m picking him up. Where we’re going.”
Untangling his body from mine, he eased himself off the sofa and paced to the window. “He’s been looking forward to this all week. He spoke to his friend on the phone only yesterday, to arrange a time. And now he’s forgotten that conversation completely. Already. Merde.”
Joining him, I wrapped my arm around his waist. “But you said he was happy, didn’t you? Isn’t that the most important thing? Does it matter if he’s occasionally confused?”
He dropped his head back onto my shoulder. “No, not really. Not now, anyhow. But it’s going to get worse, isn’t it? And then what? Because when someone tells you they would rather be dead than in a care home, it’s kind of hard wondering if that’s where they might end up.”
I sympathised. My own experience of being institutionalised and not in control of my mental faculties was still fresh. “You’re way off making that decision, Florian. Go, take him to visit his friends. Make the most of seeing him enjoying himself.”
CHAPTER 18
FLORIAN
The rains came at the weekend, a blessed joy, because they gave me a perfect excuse to laze around in bed with Charles.
Papi’s memory issues fluctuated from day to day. This morning, for instance, he had no problem at all recalling he had a boules match; him and his cronies talked me and Jerome into rigging up a gazebo over the sandy pitch so they wouldn’t get wet.
