Page 50 of The Battle of the Bookshops
“And there are sponsorship deals to sell too,” Gabriel went on. “We secure separate sponsors for all the elements of costs: the champagne reception, the dinner—course by course if necessary. Everyone gets their logo and a write-up in the program.”
“Portneath Books will cover the wine for the reception,” piped up Roman, looking shrewd.
One hundred and fifty guests at half a bottle each? Jules, stifling a scoff, felt a tug of irritation. Or was it envy? There was no way Capelthorne’s could match that.
“Including canapés?” asked Jess. “We were hoping we can get Freya’s team in to do those. She’s not cheap.”
“Go on, then,” said Roman. “The family has a trust for exactly this kind of thing.”
Of course it does,thought Jules, trying not to scowl.
“If we get all our overheads sponsored, then fundraising on the night is pure profit,” Jess went on.
“What kind of fundraising were you thinking about?” asked Genny.
“Oh, I don’t know... a raffle, an auction—we could do an auction of promises, maybe,” said Jess.
“What about a book raffle,” piped up Jules. Now this was something she could get behind. “So, you could charge maybe ten or twenty pounds a go,” she explained, as Jess’s face lit up, “and we make it so every ticket is a winning ticket? Capelthorne’s could definitely provide a hundred and fifty books.” Shrewdly, Jules was thinking of the dead stock they couldn’t return. Waste not, want not. There were all the signed copies of Raymond Perry’s books for one thing. “How would that work for you?” she asked Jess.
“One prize per guest? Brilliant,” said Jess. “With a guaranteed prize, we could definitely sting them for twenty-five pounds a go, I reckon. That’s...” She stared at the light fixture above them while she calculated. “Well, that’s 3,750 pounds worth of fundraising right there. And there’s basically no cost involved. Thank you, Jules!”
Jules nodded, chuffed that Capelthorne’s could be seen to make a contribution.Get that,she thought, shooting another look at Roman, who was more animated now. He met her eye steadily and gave her a little, reassuring smile, but she wasn’t convinced. She knew him too well. There was something serious amiss.
Chapter 21
“What?” she demanded, as soon as they were in the car going back to Portneath.
He didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I just find it hard to think as far ahead as the ball,” he said, “with, well, you and me.”
Jules knew it was going to be bad news, but this? She wasn’t expecting this.
“You mean whether we’ll still be a thing by then?” said Jules, suddenly finding her mouth was so dry her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth.
“I’m not... I’m just saying...” he started. “It’s the future. Who knows?”
“That’s charming,” muttered Jules, turning away from him to look out the window. It was dark. All she could see was her pale face and his, in profile, beyond.
“So, is this me being dumped or something?” she floated, primed for the reply.
“No! It’s not. I’m not...” He was floundering now. “I’m just aware...”
“Whatare you aware of,” Jules interjected, angry now. “Aware you could get tired of me, I suppose. I mean,areyou?”
“No, of course not.” He pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I could never tire of you, but I worry that something might happen that might—will—make you think differently of me.”
They were pulling up outside the shop now, and Jules jumped out, ready to slam the door. Then she changed her mind.
“Just know this,” she said, leaning into the car, “I am never going to ditch you, Roman Montbeau. If you want to get rid of me, you’re going to have to do better than that. If that’sreallywhat you want, you’re going to have to man up and ditch me yourself.”
Then she slammed the car door shut and stalked away, refusing to wait for a response.
Alone again, driving home to Middlemass, Roman berated himself.Way to go, trying to get Jules to end the relationship before it has to.Because it would, he was sure of that, and waiting for her to start hating him was hard. Harder than he thought it was going to be. He almost pined for it to happen, so he could get on with mending his shattered heart. And now he had angered her, but he was just trying to explain that no one knows what the future holds.
Except that he did, didn’t he?
“I have news,” said Charlie the next morning. “Sort of.”
“Go on?”
