As they approached Mayfair, where Antony’s offices were, he said, ‘Oh, by the way, I won’t be needing Seb during the day, if you’d like him to take you from place to place.’
Franwas taken aback. She had been worrying about getting around with her samples but had decided she’d have to cab it. ‘Really? But would Seb want to do that?’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Seb.
Fran looked at him properly for the first time. He was the same age as Antony and was casually dressed. He and Antony had also been informal with each other when he’d dropped Antony off. He was more than just a chauffeur, Fran decided.
‘I’ve a few places to visit round here and in Knightsbridge,’ she said now, ‘but eventually I want to go to Fitzrovia. If you could take me, it would be absolutely brilliant.’
‘You could keep the cool boxes with your samples in the car and fetch them as you need them.’
‘That would be amazing!’ said Fran. ‘Like being inThe Apprentice!’
Antony laughed.
It was, she realised as Seb drove her and her cool boxes to Fitzrovia, exactly like being onThe Apprentice. You thought you had a brilliant product that everyone would love and yet, although everyone did love it, not a single pub, deli or restaurant wanted to buy any. And worse, her old boss Roger was out of the country and so didn’t even get to taste it.
By the time Seb was slowing down outside the most important cheese shop, in Fitzrovia, she wasreadyto ask him to keep the cheese in the car and hope Issi could meet her for drinks early. What was she thinking of – visiting one of the major cheese retailers with her little cheeses made in her kitchen? She must be mad!
In fact, she opened her mouth to do just that but Seb, who was obviously a mind reader, forestalled her. ‘Come on, Fran,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re thinking; no one has wanted the cheese so far, so why would this place? You think you should never have come and should just go home. But think about it! You’ve come all this way and you’re lucky to get a meeting with these people. Don’t waste the opportunity. Get in there and sell cheese!’
‘If ever you get fed up with being Antony’s driver, you should set up as an inspirational speaker,’ she said, trying to sound ironic and cool but realising she just sounded frightened.
‘The cheese is great; you know it is. Now get in there!’
She had produced a spreadsheet with costings and prices on it. (Antony had kindly printed it out for her) to take in with her and she had her cheese. Mascarpone, ricotta, cream cheese and mozzarella. She also had some cream, as she’d had spare pots and couldn’t think of another cheese that she could make.
She had an appointment with the owner of the cheese shop: John Radcliffe, who turned out to be surprisingly young, with a very intense expressionanda serious-looking beard. He interrupted her opening spiel. ‘Let’s start with the nice bit, shall we? Let’s taste the cheese.’
‘OK, well this is—’
‘No, don’t tell me. I’ll know. Just put a bit of each on a plate.’
It was nerve-racking, waiting in silence while the man scooped off bits of cheese with a knife, not even bothering with a cracker. (She had water biscuits ready in her bag.)
‘Mm, yes, well, it’s nice cheese and we could be interested. But as I expect you know, provenance is very important to us. When we sell a cheese we want to know everything about it from the pasture, the breed of cows—’
‘The “terroir”?’ It was probably too soon to make jokes but Fran felt too agitated to be completely sensible.
‘Yup. We’d make a site visit, make sure you’re producing this in hygienic conditions.’
‘OK.’ Would she be able to turn the dairy into a cheese room in time? Unlikely.
‘But really, we’d like a hard cheese. Unpasteurised. The flavour of these soft ones indicate a properly matured Cheddar-type cheese would be delicious.’
‘How long would it take for it to be properly mature, do you reckon?’
‘A year really, possibly two. We could taste at six months.’
Franexhaled. Even if she could make really good Cheddar she’d need to be selling it sooner than a year’s time. She could be kicked off the farm way before then if things didn’t turn round.
‘I’m sorry,’ said John Radcliffe, ‘I can see that’s depressed you a bit. Making cheese isn’t a way to make a quick buck, you know.’
‘I do know. The thing is, the farm I’m … managing is in a bad way financially. I need it to earn some money, fast.’
‘Why don’t you try to sell it locally to you? While it’s good to come to the top, you’d find it easier if you kept things smaller, and closer to where you’re producing the cheese.’
‘I don’t know anyone locally. I used to work in London, in pubs; I thought I might sell them my soft cheese.’ She realised her voice had a tremor in it and really hoped she wasn’t going to cry.
