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‘That would be fine,’ I tell him. ‘We will look forward to meeting you later.’
As I wander into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, I reflect on the call. Matt, the chef, sounds as if he might be okay, but the woman? I don’t know who she is, but I’ve taken a definite dislike to her. The hands on the clock seem to take an age to crawl round to nine o’clock, when I can make my next call.
‘Good morning, Horncastle Accountants,’ another cut-glass voice on the phone. No wonder all these people are so expensive.
‘Hello. My name is Daisy Jones and I’d like to speak with someone about Nora’s Diner, in Sevenoaks?’
‘May I ask the nature of your enquiry? As I’m sure you understand, most of the information we hold about our clients is highly confidential.’ Unlike the receptionist at Moorhouse & Edgerley, who turned out to be lovely, this woman is evidently trying to patronise me from here to next week. What is wrong with everyone this morning? I’m not in the mood to play games with any more snotty people on the phone today, and decide to go for the jugular.
‘Certainly.’ I put on my sweetest voice. ‘I have been informed by Jonathan Moorhouse, of Moorhouse & Edgerley solicitors, that your firm is currently contracted to do the accounting for the café. As the new owner of the business, I’m ringing to terminate that contract.’
There’s a brief pause, but I have to admire her nerve when she comes back because she sounds completely unruffled.
‘I see. Let me put you through to Mr Carter, one of our directors, who can advise you on the next steps.’
There’s a long pause, and the hold music loops a couple of times before a male voice comes on the line.
‘Ms Jones, Alan Carter here. I understand you wish to terminate our services with regards to Nora’s Diner, in Sevenoaks?’
‘That’s correct,’ I tell him.
‘I see. Unfortunately,’ and I hear a smug, patronising tone creep into his voice as well, ‘it’s not something we can simply do over the phone. We would need you to come to our offices and provide evidence that you’re legally entitled to act on behalf of Nora’s Diner before we could consider releasing the books. May I ask why you no longer wish to use our services?’
‘It’s simple,’ I tell him. ‘The café can’t afford you.’
Like the receptionist, the bluntness of my response doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He sounds just as smug as he continues.
‘I understand. That is an unfortunate situation. However, I would caution you against making a false economy in this case. When you consider the range of services that we offer and the levels of expertise that we have in our team, our fees are actually extremely reasonable. You might be able to find companies prepared to keep the accounts for a lower upfront fee than us, but it will probably end up costing you more in the long run, because they won’t be able to optimise your tax position in the way that we can. Why don’t we discuss it some more when you come in? I could see you tomorrow afternoon, at half past two, if that suits?’
Who does he think he is? I doubt very much that his firm could ‘optimise my tax position’ on a business that’s barely breaking even. I bite my tongue as I agree the appointment time and we end the call. It will give me immense pleasure to pull the rug from under him.
‘Morning.’ Katie wanders into the kitchen in search of coffee and breakfast. She’s obviously just woken up, because her hair is a mess and her eyes are bleary behind her smudged glasses. ‘Who was that on the phone? You had your “I’m smiling while I plot to kill you” voice on.’
In spite of my irritation, I can’t help but laugh.
‘I’ve been making some calls to set up appointments,’ I tell her. ‘First, I had some woman at the café oozing pissed-offness at me because I dared to disturb her by making her answer the phone, and I’ve just finished talking to one of the most patronising accountants I think I’ve ever come across.’
‘Did you tell them what you do for a living?’
‘No, I thought I’d keep that as a little surprise for them when I go in.’
‘Nice. So, what’s the plan?’
‘We’re due at the café at three fifteen to meet Matt, the chef. He sounded all right, actually. I thought we could get there a bit earlier, maybe have a bit of lunch?’
‘I’m definitely up for that.’
‘I also thought that we should take the train over there. I’ll ask Grandad if he’d mind giving us a lift to Paddock Wood.’
‘Why?’
‘Because then we can pick Fred’s car up while we’re there. I’m sure Matt will be delighted to see the back of it, and it’ll be easier for us to decide what to do with it once we get it back here. I’m sure Grandad will have all sorts of ideas.’
‘I thought you weren’t keen on cars you don’t know?’
‘I’m not, but this one is apparently less than a year old, and the more stuff I can get done before I go back to work, the better.’
A thought comes to me, and I reach for the telephone again.
