Tara was sitting at the huge, leather covered desk. ‘Can I help you, modom?’ she asked in a jokey posh accent.
Charley laughed, a sudden welcome release of nervous energy, which instantly made her feel calmer. ‘I have an appointment with the manager,’ she said, trying to keep a straight face.
‘If modom would care to take a seat on the pretentious leather sofa behind you, I shall telephone through,’ said Tara. Then she grinned, and added in her normal voice, ‘Good luck!’
Charley sat down to wait for the manager she’d heard so much about. The second she set eyes on him it was evident Tara hadn’t exaggerated one little bit – he literally swaggered over to her, checking himself at least twice in the huge mirrors that flanked the reception area. Charley had to suppress her smile, and didn’t dare look over at Tara. Which was very wise, because throughout her entire pitch, while she was trying to display her samples and run through her prices and exude professionalism, Tara was pulling silly faces behind her boss’s back. Charley studiously ignored her and tried to focus on the hotel manager’s reaction. It was blatantly obvious that although he was impressed, he was trying hard not to show it, and Charley reckoned he’d probably seen too many episodes of The Apprentice.
‘The thing is,’ he drawled, ‘there are a lot of companies out there offering this sort of thing, and cheaper.’
‘Yes, and it shows in the quality,’ replied Charley, remembering the pile of plastic tat that had tumbled out of the party bags at the pub. ‘I’m focusing on the classier end of the market, with a quality product, because I think that’s what the Avalon customers will want.’
He couldn’t argue with that, and instead tried to beat her down on the price. ‘We can provide the mini Prosecco bottles you’ve included, but that will cost us £2.00 a bottle, so I’d need to see that reflected in your price.’
Since Charley knew precisely how much the trade price was for mini Prosecco bottles she looked him coolly in the eye and said, ‘Really? I can source them for half that,’ and steadfastly refused to shift on the price.
The young manager blanched, knowing he was outmanoeuvred. Behind him, Tara was beside herself with glee. Finally, he said he’d take a pilot order of fifty pamper bags, and that the Avalon would add the mini Prosecco bottles themselves, which was fine by Charley. More than fine, in fact, since although it wasn’t exactly a life-changing deal, it was a start. Out of the corner of her eye, Charley saw Tara giving her a discreet double thumbs-up and she finally felt it was safe to throw a smile in her direction.
Zee had left by the time Charley dashed back through the front door, bubbling over with enthusiasm. ‘Pam!’ she called, rushing up the hall, bringing a whirl of excitement with her. ‘I’ve got my first order!’
‘Go, Charley!’ whooped Pam, dashing out of the living room to hug her warmly. ‘Congratulations! Well done, darling!’ Then she hurried off to her room to fetch her handbag, calling behind her excitedly, ‘I’m getting some fizz! I’m so proud of you!’
All the way home in the car Charley been anticipating Pam’s reaction and looking forward to sharing her good news. But then she suddenly remembered her shift at the pub and her excitement evaporated. Hating herself for ruining Pam’s treat, she called out, ‘Sorry, Pam. I can’t celebrate now, I’m working tonight.’
‘We’ll have it when you get back,’ declared Pam, returning with her purse, undefeated.
Charley arrived early at the pub in time to show Jacob her sample party bags. He was noticeably impressed, and even more so when he heard the Avalon had already put in an order.
‘They’re really classy, Charley.’ Then he chuckled and went on, ‘A bit of a step up from the crappy ones the pub doled out!’ Which wasn’t that much of a compliment, when she came to think of it, but he promised to really push them with Head Office, adding, ‘They’d be mad to say no.’
She was in pretty good spirits when her shift started. She should have known the feeling wouldn’t last long. A man in his forties sat alone at the bar, steadily working his way down more pints than he could handle until, fuelled with Dutch courage, he started chatting Charley up. Her colleagues thought it was hilarious, but it infuriated her. Why do men hit on women working in pubs? They wouldn’t do it in a shop, or a bank, for crying out loud, she thought. Gritting her teeth and adopting her most courteous smile, she reminded herself to be professional, but when he ordered another pint, he leered at her and added clumsily, ‘And have one for yourself, sweetheart.’
He was clearly drunk, but not so drunk that Charley could refuse to serve him. She put a pint glass under the lager pump and flipped the tap on, before politely replying, ‘Thanks, but I don’t drink at work.’
‘Well, then I’ll buy you a drink another night… when you’re not at work,’ he pestered.
She shook her head and said firmly, ‘Thank you, but no,’ then she added, fully expecting the statement would shut him up, ‘I’m married.’ Charley never lied about her marital status, and it angered her she felt she had to resort to doing so now.
‘So?’ he slurred, then, winking grotesquely at her he leant right over the bar towards her, his alcoholic breath foul in her face. ‘You don’t have to tell hubby, do you? What the eye don’t see, the heart don’t grieve over, as they say.’
Suddenly Charley wanted to hit him. She could barely resist
