Molly bustles into the showroom, distracting me from my thoughts. ‘Okay, that’s all the messages answered, and your appointments are all up to date. You don’t have any appointments today until your meeting with Kay Clarke at four.’
‘Who?’
‘You know, she’s that local furniture maker who emailed asking to talk to you.’
‘Oh, yeah, I remember. That’s great, Molly. Thanks.’
‘Is there anything else you want me to do before I get on with sorting out the curtain swatches?’
I almost want to laugh at Molly’s new helpful persona. Can’t she see how absurd this is after her complete apathy and indifference to the job? We both turn at the sound of the main door opening.
‘Hello! Anyone around? Fifi, you here?’
Ugh, I recognise that voice.
‘Want me to speak to him?’ Molly asks, continuing to be uncharacteristically helpful. ‘I could tell him you’re not here, if you like?’
I can’t say I’m not tempted to take her up on her offer. ‘No, it’s fine. He’ll keep coming back to bug me if I don’t see him now.’ Taking a deep breath, I leave the showroom and walk into reception with a tired smile. ‘Hello, Paul.’
In his late forties, Paul Barton is sporting a blue-check shirt, chinos and loafers, a bit of a change from his usual white coat. ‘Fifi, you’ve been avoiding me. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking off down that side street yesterday. I’m offended.’ He puts his hand to his heart, then runs a hand through dyed-brown hair that looks like it belongs on a Lego character.
I give him what I hope is my most bemused look whilst swearing in my head.
Paul owns the dental surgery next door. If it were possible, I’d ban him from ever coming in here. He irritates the hell out of me. Unfortunately he’s been my dentist since I was a kid and still insists on calling me Fifi, as that was what my parents used to call me – and often still do. It’s one thing for my mum to call me by my childhood nickname, but it’s another for this twerp to use it. I’ve told him countless times to call me Fiona, but he just won’t – I think he takes a perverse pleasure in winding me up – so I’ve given up correcting him. He’s only sixteen years older than me but because he knew me as a child, he still treats me like one.
‘Now, Fifi, have you had the opportunity to think about what we discussed?’
‘Look, Paul, I’m really quite busy today. Could we talk about this some other time, do you think?’
He flashes me a polar-white grin and slicks his hair back again. ‘That’s what you told me last time. But this is a time-sensitive deal, sweetheart. You’re going to miss out if you don’t act quickly. Bet you haven’t even mentioned it to that husband of yours. He’d tell you to snap my hand off. It makes good financial sense. You know it does.’
A few months ago, Paul told me he wants to expand his dental practice and take over half of my premises. He said he’s prepared to pay me a lot for it. On the one hand, the money would be nice, and I don’t really need all this space. But the thing is, I like having room in which to spread out. It looks good for a prestige business like mine. Plus, my rent isn’t actually that high considering I’m smack bang in the centre of town. I can afford to keep the whole space, but if I took Paul up on his offer, I’d certainly save money. Only I might regret such a drastic decision.
‘Honestly, Paul, I’ll give it some serious consideration.’
‘You said that last time.’
‘How about I let you know by the end of the month, okay?’
He pouts. ‘Fine. But come the first of August I’m withdrawing my offer and moving to the other side of town where there’s a nice big property just waiting for me to move in. And then it’ll be too late for you,capiche?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘Who are that lot in there?’ Paul nods in the direction of my office.
That’s all I need – Paul Barton getting wind of my tax audit.
His eyes narrow. ‘Hmm, grey suits going through your stuff.’ He wags his finger at me. ‘You been a naughty girl, Fifi?’
Right now, I want to punch Paul Barton. Molly, who’s standing behind him, starts making violent stabbing motions at his back. She read my mind so clearly that I choke back a giggle.
Paul smirks, thinking I’m laughing at his poor attempt at humour. ‘Better put you on the naughty step.’
‘It’s nothing,’ I lie. ‘I’ve hired a firm of accountants to streamline the business, that’s all.’
‘Have you indeed? Well, you can tell them about my plan to lease half your showroom. That’ll streamline things for you. Having a bit of a cashflow problem, eh?’
‘Not at all.’ Although if those tax inspectors find out what I’ve done, I’ll have more than cashflow problems. Paul would love that. He’d be able to get his hands on the whole premises if my business went bust.
