Page 40 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lola

Doubt was a bitch. But it had seeped into Lola’s consciousness since the weekend and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Only time would tell if she and Monty had a genuine future. Patience was the name of the game.

It was crazy to think that they’d only been together as a couple since the weekend. They’d gone through so much that it felt as if they’d been in one another’s lives for months.

Yes, Lola was sure that Monty had been charmed by the basic meal that her mum had laid on, but it was one thing theorising about these things, the practise made them feel stark.

What if the novelty wore off? She hadn’t visited his parents’ home and she guessed that would happen at some point down the line (before it did, she really needed to investigate whether Swiss Finishing schools offered learn from home-style crash courses in etiquette) but Monty’s own place was already in a league of its own.

Work had come between them as the new week dawned.

Lola had managed to get away without an overnight stay in London for yet another trade fair, but she’d been roped into providing back up for Harry, who couldn’t manage all of his UK account appointments alone and had no Julian to rely on.

Which meant two days of hopping on the train from Bath to London, then a taxi to the exhibition centre.

‘Good morning, Lola!’ Harry greeted her on day one as she raced down the red carpet to reach their stand at Earl’s Court. ‘I’ve grabbed us a couple of coffees and some bolstering brownies, thinking your ETA would be around about now. Great timing.’

Harry seemed ridiculously perky for the hour and Lola gratefully received the caffeine and cake top up, despite the fact she’d already hit Great Western’s food and drink trolley for a powdery hot chocolate and a bone-dry flapjack.

‘So, which meetings do you need me to take?’ she asked. ‘Shall we run through the schedule before the crowds descend?’

‘Let’s!’ Harry opened his lever arch file, flipping through the timetables and meeting notes as Lola nibbled on another style-over-substance cake.

‘Here we go: I’ve swapped a few around.’ Harry pointed to some scribbles.

Lola could just about make out that her first meeting was at ten.

‘Case of having to with yesterday’s walk on traffic.

’ He shook his head. ‘Rosie helped out for as long as she could but then she needed to get back to Birmingham for her kids. A few people left their contact details intending to return today at some point… including this intriguing lady.’

Harry held out a gold embossed business card with the name Joanna Bennoy-Bell stamped across it. Apparently, she was the head buyer for a company called Showdown.

‘She was rather delightful but no sooner had we got talking than Bruce from Arty Farty Party showed up. We’d arranged our meeting weeks ago and I couldn’t keep him waiting.

Joanna said she’d be back today, so keep an eye out for her.

She was a tall, skinny thing wearing a designer caramel trouser suit that seemed to have been stamped all over with the Chanel logo.

And her hair was long and what can only be described as a bush.

She had it swept back in one of those old-fashioned Alice bands, but this one was embellished with feathers.

Like she was off to the races. Oh, look, there’s Tanya from Badass Bashes– she’s my nine o’clock– we’ll catch up later, Lola. Good luck!’

As was always the way at a trade fair, you had to sneak the calories in while you could so Lola turned her back to Harry’s approaching customer and tried to discreetly wolf down her second breakfast, knowing lunch would be a pipedream.

And as was all too often the way when you were doing this, somebody would sashay onto the stand to ask you something, just when you had a mouth crammed full of food.

‘Helloooo!’ a plummy female voice flew over Lola’s shoulder. ‘I hope this isn’t an inconvenient moment.

‘Motmamaw,’ Lola replied uncouthly, immediately able to deduce that the person in question didn’t care if it was untimely at all.

She covered her hand with her mouth as she slowly pivoted, cheeks like a hamster.

Woah, the woman in front of her had to be the same one that Harry was on about.

Today she was a clashing vision of burgundy and yellow, dressed in a cropped jacket-style pinstripe suit with a top-knotted velvet headband sitting on her crown and a huge flower choker at her throat.

‘I won’t take up too much of your time,’ she announced assertively, proffering Lola a brilliant smile as she raced to swallow her food.

Followed by a thorough onceover. Lola hoped not, she could feel the onslaught of a migraine.

‘I didn’t get a chance to speak with your boss yesterday and I’d like to place a significant order for one of your ranges. ’

They all said this. Usually it was significant to themselves– and themselves only– and they expected a bargain basement price in return, having not an inkling of the print cost per unit.

‘Lovely, well, shall we take a seat and you can tell me which collections you’re interested in? I’ll need to double check print and shipping costs so I can finalise everything with you via email and send an official quote.’

‘Oh, there’s really no need.’ Joanna’s feet rooted themselves to the spot.

‘It’s your Deepest Sympathy cards I’m interested in.

’ Why did she say it like that? A bit strange.

‘Rather a lot of them. Death. It’s always lurking, just around the corner, isn’t it?

Of course, if we live a good life and know our rightful place within it, chances are we’ll go on to live a long and healthy one with no nasty surprises. ’

‘Okay.’ Lola let out a nervous laugh. ‘C-can you give me an idea of numbers?’

‘One-hundred thousand per design.’

‘I’m sorry… Could I ask you to repeat that, please? It’s just that I think you might have said one-hundred thousand… of each design… and we have ten designs in our Sympathy range, so that would equal one million cards.’

‘Yes, that’s right. The population’s growing all the time, people dropping like flies.’ Hardly. Unless Lola was now inhabiting a zombie movie. ‘Best to keep our supplies up.’

‘I see.’

Lola scribbled frantically in her notebook. She stopped briefly to pinch herself on the arm in case this was all a strange dream, only to find Joanna perusing the wedding collection on the shelf next to them with a contemptuous look on her face.

‘You will get back to me ASAP, won’t you?

’ She hastily stuffed the cheery cards back into the rack, slapping their tops down.

‘I’ve had several encounters with companies who’ve not taken me seriously.

So much so that they’ve sent me crickets .

Most annoying when that happens. And we may as well get down to the brass tacks of payment terms now.

I work on a ninety days after delivery basis.

‘Gosh,’ Lola replied, thinking there wasn’t a chance that Harry or the accounts team would be foolish enough to agree to such a risk. Especially with a new client. ‘That might be a little tricky for such a large order, but I’ll do my best.’

‘I know you will.’

There was something indeterminable in her voice. But Lola didn’t have time to analyse what because her ten o’clock appointment was hovering and she needed to wind this up quickly.

‘Could I ask you to jog my memory and remind me of your company name?’ Lola went to dig out the business card that Harry had passed her but Joanna produced another one, waving it under Lola’s nose.

‘Showdown.’

That was it. How had she forgotten already?

‘Ooh, I like that,’ she said, lowering her voice to add. ‘Too many of the clients we work with have these flimsy, candyfloss names. Showdown is strong. Less is more. No, erm… mucking about.’

‘Exactly.’ Joanna winked. ‘I like to get straight to the point.’

They shook hands and Lola wondered if lack of sleep had made her imagine Joanna’s talons scraping her hand ever so slightly as they pulled apart before she marched off.

Great, now her ten o’clock had moved on to pastures new.

Oh, well. Lola shovelled down the rest of her brownie.

Frankly, she needed the sugar hit. That had definitely been up there with the more bizarre work meetings of Lola’s life.

Thankfully, the rest of them were much more run-of-the-mill. Eventually, Lola caught up with Harry.

‘I saw you having a productive-looking chat with Joanna. I can’t believe we’ve not had the opportunity to swap notes until now. How did it go?’

Lola needed to choose her words carefully. Harry should be old enough to know better but he was notorious for getting excitable when there was even the hint of a large order.

‘Let’s just say that I would be dancing on the table if she could agree to some sensible payment terms.’

‘I’m listening.’

And he was. Suddenly Lola had his undivided attention. Something which would have been preferable in many a past situation.

‘Well, that’s exactly it. She wants to place a massive order without being reasonable regarding credit–’

‘How massive, Lola?’

Lola swore she saw Dollar signs in Harry’s eyes then. Just for a second. Exactly like in the cartoons.

‘A million units all in all,’ she said in hushed tones.

‘W-we’ll sort something out, Lola. Don’t you go stressing about that. This is just what C and C needs! Brilliant.’ He waved his fingers about. ‘Very well done, you! I might just have to dance on the table myself. I won’t forget this come pay day!’

‘But Harry. I really think that we should check–’

Lola’s advice dissipated. Harry’s next meeting had arrived and she had a train to catch.

Day two panned out almost the same. Thankfully, Joanna hadn’t wandered on with another mega order but Harry proved impossible to pin down.

He simply didn’t want to listen to Lola now that she’d forwarded the details of the deal to him, formally gone back to quote Showdown, and sent Joanna the contract.

No doubt he’d have added those shiny figures to the budget in a heartbeat.

That was on him. He was the boss. It made Lola ever more determined to make a success of her own venture, which she would run in a far more scrupulous fashion.

On that subject, she was desperate to slip away to make some enquiries in the West End while she was in town.

Noting that Harry had shaken up the schedule again today, meaning she could potentially get off early if things quietened down, she took the opportunity to put some feelers out and started to tap away at her phone.

The chances of anybody coming back at short notice were slimmer than Bruce Bogtrotter being able to refuse chocolate cake, but she had to give it a whirl.

Amazingly, three theatres responded to her, they were all close to one another, and there was someone in each of them with enough seniority that she could call in for a preliminary chat today. Result!

In-between all this madness, Lola had been pebbling Monty with cat memes.

And Monty had been bombarding Lola with hilarious aerial shots of his food in a lame attempt to make out that he’d always been an Insta snapper.

His reconstruction of the Smith meal had been particularly impressive.

She adored their banter. She adored him.

And she missed him so much it physically hurt.

She still couldn’t get her head around the offer he’d made, though.

It felt as right as it did wrong to take the money.

That wouldn’t do. She’d no idea when she would find the clarity she was looking for but she was excited that Monty had suggested a date with a difference on Sunday afternoon after he’d finished training.

Lola was just settling into her train seat, smiling once again as she took a furtive look at the notes she’d made during her meetups in the theatres on Soho’s glitziest road, Shaftesbury Avenue, when a WhatsApp notification showed up on her phone:

I’m selling the apartment. Before I put it out there and offer it up to the public, do you fancy buying it off me? Squiffy’s included.