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‘What’s your gut instinct?’
She hesitated as Gabe snapped his briefcase shut and turned his attention to the trio at the table, his eyes intent on her. ‘Truth is I’m torn,’ she admitted. ‘I think it’s innovative and brilliant, but the technology is untried at this scale and the outlay huge. My heart tells me to go for it but my head is a lot more cautious. But, if we wait, and someone else gets in first, then we lose both the competitive edge and the PR advantage. Gabe, what do you think? Honestly.’
Gabe leant back against the wall, arms folded, and regarded them intently. Polly willed him to dig deep, to find something that convinced her, convinced her family.
‘My parents use something a little similar,’ he said after a long moment. ‘It’s not as all singing and dancing as the concept I presented but their web and digital presence is very different from their competitors’—much more interactive, presenting the vineyard, restaurant and B&B virtually just as it is in reality. Why don’t you come over and see? See how the physical matches up with the online and Natalie can talk you through click-through rates, bookings and the uplift in spend.’
Polly shifted nervously. ‘Go to Provence?’ Go to Gabe’s home. Meet his parents and sisters, see the place he had grown up in?
A further blurring of the lines she kept trying to draw—and ended up rubbing out.
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Raff said warmly. ‘I think that’s exactly what we need, to see something similar and grasp just how it works in practice. You should go, Polly.’ He looked at Gabe. ‘If Pol agrees it’s a goer then you have my vote.’
‘I agree.’ Her grandfather was looking at her thoughtfully. ‘Take your time, look at every angle and then report back. If Raff and I are a yes then the rest will fall into line. But it needs your unequivocal approval, Polly. It’s too much of a gamble for half-hearted efforts.’
‘If we go this weekend the wine festival is on.’ Gabe was checking his phone as he spoke. ‘They have all kinds of stalls—wine, obviously, food, entertainment. Could be good research for planning just what the Rafferty pop-up brand will be.’
Polly nodded, to all intents and purposes solely focused on the matter at hand—but her mind was churning. This was all a little cosy.
She had spent the last week trying to re-establish much-needed boundaries—and so evidently had he. Now they had separate offices, now he spent so little time in Hopeford, she could convince herself that her evening of weakness was a one-off anomaly. A symptom of shock.
But if that was the case then what harm could a weekend do? It was just a working weekend like any other, she reminded herself. In fact it was probably a good thing, a chance to prove to herself that she was in control, in every way. ‘It sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘Count me in.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT A SHAME we didn’t get to see some of Paris, but it was easier to fly in to Toulouse. I would have liked to have shown you around Desmoulins.’ British retail royalty meeting the cream of Parisian style; it would have been an interesting introduction.
Now they were in his country, on his turf, Gabe was back behind the wheel, waving a protesting Polly into the passenger seat, refusing to listen to her attempts to direct him; no phone sat nav could possibly know the roads, the shortcuts better than the returning native.
‘I’ve never been to Paris.’ She was looking out of the window, seemingly absorbed in the scenery. It was worth looking at, the undulating hills and bright fields of lavender and sunflowers. At one point Provence had felt too rural, too stiflingly parochial to hold him. Now his blood thrilled to the scented air. He was home.
‘You must have. A woman like you! Business, romance, shopping...’
She was shaking her head. ‘Nope. Business I conduct in London. Romance?’ She smiled wryly. ‘I didn’t really take time in my twenties for romantic breaks and the least said about this year, the better.’ She rubbed her stomach. Gabe had noticed how often her hand crept there instinctively, unthinkingly, as if she had a primal need to connect with the life within.
‘And I shop at Rafferty’s of course. Or Milan or New York if I do want a busman’s holiday.’
‘But...’ He was incredulous. Surely everyone came to Paris at some point in their lives. ‘But what about fashion week?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s the buyers’ job. I can’t predict the next season’s hits and I don’t need to. I pay people with far more flair to do it.’
Oh, she had flair. It helped that she was almost model tall and model thin; it made it easy for her to wear clothes designed with willowy slenderness in mind. But she wore them with a panache that didn’t come from the designer. It was innate. Even today, casual in a pair of skinny jeans and a yellow flowery top, she turned heads.
