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‘I really think I’m leaning towards the Midnight Blue,’ she said, though with less enthusiasm now.
‘And maybe Iris and Nola will also.’ He was smiling at her now, the merest twitch of his lips.
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He held his hands up. ‘It’s just, you’re so much like your father. He couldn’t bear to let anyone else have a say either.’
‘I am not,’ she said, sounding much more outraged than she felt, because she didn’t want to admit what had been patently obvious to her for years and what may have marked her out as a great success but also the office pariah when it came to making friends or having relationships. ‘Anyway, he was a great distiller,’ she said, avoiding his eyes.
‘He was, but he was stubborn as hell too and he’d never have been able to run this place with partners, silent, temporary or otherwise. And I have a feeling that the same applies to you too, even if you don’t want to admit it.’
‘Humph.’ Georgie gave the trademark Delahaye response of a shrug, then peered at him over the rim of her mug. ‘So you think I could make the distillery into a great success?’ she said casually, flicking through the colour patches on the desk before her.
‘I think if you hung around you could probably be the best distiller of the whole Delahaye family, but that’s not on the cards, is it?’ He drained his cup, picked up the checklist and set off to do his eleven-thirty rounds.
The ‘rounds’, as Robert referred to them, were probably Georgie’s favourite task in the distillery. It was very simple really, just a matter of checking temperatures and pressure valves, and identifying and correcting any deviations he noticed.
This was a job normally carried out by the master distiller, but she’d taken on the role the previous day when Robert had been busy and there was no-one else to step into the breach. Georgie was becoming slowly but surely obsessed with the whole process. In the evenings and at the weekends, when she wasn’t in the distillery, she devoured books on the subject. Everything from how to set up your own distillery to the industry bibles, she was learning about making anything from bourbon to poitín and everything in between. It wasn’t that she was planning on sticking around or anything, but it was good to keep the mind occupied, she told herself.
‘Georgie,’ Robert called out from the behind one of the aged vats near the end of the factory floor. ‘Georgie, come here!’ There was an urgency to his voice that brought Georgie racing down the stairs.
‘What? What is it?’ In her mind’s eye, it was something terrible. She’d twisted a gauge and destroyed the contents of the entire vat or the copper had finally worn thin. Could it do that, she wondered? ‘What’s wrong?’ She was panicking now, her heart racing and sweat seeping through the palms of her hands.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Robert smiled at her. ‘I’m just wondering who switched this gauge to one-seventy-five?’
‘Well, I did. I checked it late last night and it seemed to be…’ What? She just had a feeling that it needed to be moved down a degree or two. God, she’d made a total mess – she bet it would cost thousands to recoup.
‘Why did you turn it down?’ He was gazing at her steadily now, keeping eye contact and it was slightly unnerving. She hadn’t felt this nervous under anyone’s gaze in years.
‘I just…’ She stopped. ‘I did as you said: I checked everything, made a decision…’ She stopped again, not sure now it was such a bad thing after all, as Robert began to smile. ‘I used my nose as well as my brain?’ she said, remembering something her father said about the true ‘art’ of distilling.
‘Good work, you might have saved the day.’ He mock-saluted her. ‘That gauge has been acting up since before I can remember. It goes to show one thing though.’ He was smiling at her again.
‘Oh?’
‘It looks like you’ve got the touch as well as that stubborn streak from your father. And thank goodness, because I think you might have saved us from losing the entire vat. We’ll make a distiller of you yet.’ He slapped her back, as if she really was one of the team. And Georgie, rather than feeling that disgruntled sense of incumbent grouchiness athavingto save the day (because she was surrounded by imbeciles and halfwits – which on reflection, may not always have been strictly true in the past) this time felt instead a lightness of spirit that she had made some small difference. And here, that difference meant far more to her than she’d ever imagined possible.
She still hadn’t settled between the Midnight Blue and the Periwinkle, and Robert had jokingly (she hoped) made up a suggestion box and placed it on her desk. He’d put in a bit of work on it, with the colour combinations on the outside and a single line – all suggestions welcome – in great big red letters along the side, as if to goad her. But there was no goading her these days: she was much too busy and maybe, even almost too content to let anything bother her.
‘You don’t have to take their suggestions; you can still make up your own mind,’ he said as they were finishing up one evening.
‘Then what’s the point in a suggestion box?’
‘It makes people feel valued, involved, invested.’ He said. ‘Ultimately, the decision has to be yours. After all, you’re the marketing guru.’ He smiled at her again and she wondered if he wasn’t somehow making fun of her, but his eyes crinkled up and there was no missing the kindness that lingered there.
‘Perhaps, even gurus need a little help now and again, it seems.’ She was learning it slowly, but maybe late was better than never.
‘Don’t we all?’ he said gently before letting himself out the door and leaving her with the suggestion box – and the decision about whether to use it – in her hands.
She set it up in the mini canteen. She sighed grudgingly; if she was doing this, she’d have to ask Nola and Iris too. After all, whether she was the expert or not, they were still equal owners in the distillery and as such, they deserved to have their say, even if Georgie had begun to secretly enjoy running the show on her own.
A loud bang at the other end of the distillery woke her from her thoughts. It was dark outside and normally the only sounds here were the ongoing whirr of power and the vats occasionally rumbling. Georgie jumped from what had quickly become her chair. For a second, she was unsure whether to run and see what or who had made the noise or just ring the guards in case it was an intruder.
‘Who’s there?’ she shouted in the most commanding voice she could muster. Again, the sound of shuffling and unseen noise reached her ears. ‘Who’s there?’ she called again.
‘Hey!’ a friendly voice came up from down below. ‘It’s only me.’ Nola stepped into the puddle of light from the office overhead.
‘You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.’ But Georgie laughed, feeling a wave of relief, and walked down the steel steps to her sister. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’
