Page 9 of Barging In
No sooner had she sat down in her office and swapped her trainers for black, leather-heeled boots than the small frame of her catering manager appeared in the doorway. Petite and sharp-featured, Christine stood with her arms folded, her expression hovering between mild exasperation and patient resignation. Her dark eyes, always assessing, swept across the office with a cool scrutiny, reminding Victoria why she’d never warmed to the woman.
Despite her permanently put-upon demeanour, there was no denying Christine’s efficiency. The woman ran the catering operation with military precision, ensuring everything was done exactly as it should be whether people liked it or not.
“Ah, Christine. Just the person I wanted to see,” Victoria said, slipping off her jacket and hooking it over the back of her chair. “Any idea what’s going on with that blasted orange boat?”
“That’s why I came to see you. It’s been moored there all week, poaching our customers.” Christine’s tone was hard and accusatory. “I was hopingyouwould deal with it.”
“Have you got the café’s sales figures for the week so far?” Victoria asked calmly, caution prevailing. She wasn’t about to unleash hell on someone without the data to back it up.
Christine stepped forward and passed a sheet of paper to Victoria. “The quarterly report is there, too.”
“Thank you. Leave it with me,” Victoria said, her gaze drifting to the numbers.
The creases on Christine’s face suggested she hadn’t been expecting such a swift dismissal, but Victoria needed to analyse the situation in peace. She was mildly impressed that the woman could even manage to crease her skin with her hair so tightly pulled back in a bun.
Grateful that Christine made no argument beyond a loud huff and a firm shutting of the door, Victoria settled down to examining the spreadsheet. The weekly numbers spoke for themselves: The café’s takings for the previous days had dropped off sharply compared to last week. The warmer weather over the last few days really should have boosted sales.
The total figures for the first quarter weren’t much to look at either. She knew January and February hadn’t been great, but she’d pinned her hopes on March bringing in more. Sadly, the café had barely broken even; she couldn’t blame that on their new neighbour.
She threw the sheets of paper down, completely missing her desk and sending them flying across the room. With an exasperated sigh, she got up to look out the large window behind her desk, only to find herself in direct line of sight of the damned orange boat. With an even deeper sigh, she racked her brain for what to do. As much as she resented it, she wasn’t one to crush free enterprise. Victoria wasn’t even sure she had the power to move the woman along.
For now, she would do nothing. The museum and shop figures were due soon; only then would she have a clearer picture of the overall impact of the newcomer on thewharf. A week’s worth of unanswered emails was waiting for her.
A loud cough at her door pulled her from her screen. A glance at the clock told her two hours had passed since she’d last looked up. Jasper, her museum curator and partner in crime, entered and placed a mug of steaming coffee on her coaster. His bright orange waistcoat paired with a white shirt and orange tie did not escape her notice. Why was everything orange suddenly?
“I thought you might need this,” he said, perching on the side of the desk.
“Yes, I do! Thanks.”
“So, how was London?”
“I did his laundry and cleaned the place top to bottom. It was filthy.” She shuddered at the reminder.
“You’re not his mother, Vic,” Jasper said, rubbing at the stubble on his oval face. “You don’t have to do that.”
Victoria exhaled. “Isn’t that what every man wants, though? Someone to replace their mother? And then they’re surprised when the desire fades — because who can feel like a lover when they’re treated like a parent?”
“I have no problem playing daddy,” Jasper said, cocking his bald head with a coy smile.
The comment teased a crease from the side of Victoria’s mouth. Out of all the elements that made the wharf so wonderful, she’d missed him most of all.
“So, he didn’t put up one last fight about you being here full-time?” Jasper continued.
“He said I was more valuable to the company as an architect — like I was an asset, not his wife. Yes, financially it’s better for us, but I’m nearly fifty, and this place has lit a passion inside me that I’ve not felt before.”
She swivelled in her chair to look at the canal, only to spot the orange boat again. Her eyes narrowed. Thetrading pitches along the canal were intended to complement the wharf, draw people to it — not compete with it.
Jasper appeared beside her and lifted his black-rimmed glasses on top of his head. “It’ll be great having you around more.”
“As a buffer from Christine’s moaning, you mean?”
He let out a light laugh. “She’s been to see you already, then?”
“I’d barely sat down before she manifested in front of me. You could have called me to warn me about that, you know.” Victoria pointed out the window.
“I thought you’d be having a hard enough time without me adding to it. You couldn’t do much from London anyway.” Jasper took some folded sheets of paper from the pocket of his navy suit trousers. “I assume you’ll want these.”
Victoria whipped them out of his hand. The figures brought some relief, just not as much as she would have liked. While the museum and shop numbers were fractionally down for the week, the drop was nowhere near the percentage the café had seen. She could chalk it up to seasonal fluctuations, which she expected. What the data revealed was that customers were still coming into the wharf, albeit full of Clem’s coffee and cakes.
