Plus, I had to wheedle out of her who the hell was making her coffee.
CHAPTER 3
Margot strutted towards me on heels that would surely prompt a nosebleed if I tried it. She swept into the restaurant looking like a perfectly mixed martini: ice cold and liable to leave you shaken. The maître d’ almost genuflected. Smart man.
She was the human equivalent of a Rolls-Royce: immaculate engineering and prohibitively expensive. Her platinum bob was precise, just like her pearl-grey Armani suit. But I knew she wasn’t an ice queen. Margot had a sense of humour, and she loved her family.
At 58, she’d rejected more marriage proposals than I probably knew about. Men circled her like moths to a flame, only to discover she was more blowtorch than candle.
Margot pulled out her chair before a server could assist, and slid into it with grace. She was a society woman who didn’t play by the rules. No-nonsense, to the point, just like her sister.
If you wanted something done, you called Margot. Just as long as you didn’t want those things done quickly. Margot needed her downtime, and she’d always been honest about that. Running Voss was not her happy place. Her place in Paris had probably developed cobwebs in her absence.
“You’re early. Colour me impressed.” She flashed me a wink as a waiter appeared, filled our water glasses, and took our orders for champagne. “A little fizz seems appropriate. How often is it I get to lunch with my youngest niece?”
The question was rhetorical.
“You look good. Fresh-faced. Which means you weren’t out face down in a puddle of prosecco last night.”
I smiled. “In bed by ten.”
My aunt rolled her eyes. “You’re one extreme to another, Poppy Voss.”
Shame rolled in my stomach as I recalled the stress I’d put my family through in my ‘unhinged’ period of grieving, as Katy had coined it. I’d partied hard and slept with a fair few women, and the only reason I hadn’t ended up in a hospital or a ditch was thanks to my best friend Amina who always had my back. Like everyone always told me, grief hit people differently. For me, the initial period involved a lot of gin and forgettable sex.
“You need to find a happy medium.”
Sage flashed into my mind, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Margot meant.
“Like you have, by the sound of our phone call earlier.”
If Margot was blushing, I’d never see it under her perfectly applied makeup. She glossed over my comment.
“Life’s treating you well?”
My job is a nightmare and I’m painfully single.
“Can’t complain.”
The champagne arrived and Margot raised her glass. “To a future as yet unwritten.”
“How cryptic.” If she was going to play it that way, perhaps I needed to get more specific.
“Katy tells me you’re thinking of selling the business.” I paused, showing her my intent. “I’m here to ask you not to. I’m ready to step up.”
A resigned smile, a small shake of her head. “It’s a little late, Poppy. Where were you when I really needed help after your mum passed?”
I bit my lip. “Dealing with my grief.”
“As was I.”
I winced. I wasn’t going to be too hard on myself — my therapist would frown on that after such a trauma — but I knew I could have been there more for my family, full stop. I wasn’t the only one who lost someone. We all did. But there was no point raking over old ground. Margot and I had already had that conversation.
“I’ve apologised for that, but I’m here now. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep the business in family hands. I don’t want you to sell.”
Margot sat back, her immaculate hands stroking the white table cloth.
“This from the woman who told me, in no uncertain terms last year, that she’d ‘rather shit in my hands and clap than have anything to do with Voss Watches’.”
