‘Sorry.’ She looked up and to her surprise Andrea was crying too. Well, just a bit misty-eyed.
‘Oh, I’m sorry too,’ Andrea said. ‘How unprofessional of me. But I was really fond of your dad. I used to pretend he was mine when we were kids, you know. He was just so … there. Unlike mine.’ Andrea’s father was a flaky figure who appeared once in a blue moon, usually when he had run out of money and had come to beg off her mother.
She pulled open a drawer and brought out a box of tissues. ‘These are for bankruptcy proceedings. Even grown men cry at those.’
‘So,’ said Emilia, when she’d mopped up her tears and felt a bit stronger. ‘Are you saying the shop needs to close?’
Andrea had composed herself now.
‘No. Not at all. It really depends on you, and what you want to do. But it will take a great deal of hard work to turn it round and make it profitable.’
Emilia nodded.
‘You’re sitting on a valuable piece of real estate. The building was bought in your name, which is one good thing, so there would be no capital gains. And he made you a director of the company as soon as you were eighteen, so that makes things easier too, once we get probate. You’re free to do whatever you want.’ Andrea paused. ‘You could sell that building straight away and be very well off. And save yourself a lot of trouble.’
‘I’ve already had an offer. From Ian Mendip.’ Emilia hadn’t mentioned his visit to Andrea, because she’d had a sneaking feeling Andrea might think it was a good idea.
Andrea looked awkward. ‘Ah.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve got to admit to a slight conflict of interest here. I do Ian’s accounts. I should tell you that before we go any further.’
Emilia had forgotten how everything in Peasebrook connected up in the end. Suddenly she felt unsettled and slightly paranoid.
‘Did he tell you he’d made me an offer?’
‘No. But I’m not at all surprised. I know he’s got the glove factory and I was going to suggest you asked him what he would offer you. But he’s ahead of me.’ She breathed a sigh. ‘I’d have thought he’d have waited a bit. It’s a bit predatory even for Ian.’
Emilia shrugged. ‘I think he wanted me to know the offer was there. For all he knows I might want to sell up. He’d talked to Dad about it a few times but Dad wasn’t interested.’
‘It was one of the lovely things about your dad, that he wasn’t interested in money. Not like Ian, who’s obsessed with it.’ Andrea laughed, then looked a bit shamefaced. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t talk about my other clients like that. It’s very indiscreet. And don’t worry. I’m not going to influence you either way. I just want to help you stand back and look at the options. Without being sentimental or emotional.’
Emilia leafed through the balance sheets Andrea had given her. She felt her heart sink. She didn’t feel equipped to make an informed decision. She understood enough to know the figures weren’t good, but not how to come up with a solution.
‘So – do you think I can make the shop work?’
‘Well. It would have to be a very different shop. You would have to invest quite considerably. And the problem is there’s not a lot of ready cash in the coffers. Of course, you could take out a loan. You’ve got plenty of equity.’
Emilia chewed the side of her thumbnail while she thought.
‘I don’t understand why it’s in such trouble. I mean, he’s got masses of customers. The shop’s always full of people.’
‘Yes. Because it’s a lovely place to come in for a chat and a browse and wander around. But those customers don’t always buy. And when they do it’s not much. And I know for a fact he was always giving people discount, because he used to offer it to me. I told him off about it more than once.’ Andrea sat back in her chair with a sigh. ‘Nightingale Books was a wonderful, warm place to be. He made people feel welcome and want to stay in there for hours. But it was a terrible business model. He’d make them cups of coffee and talk to them for hours and they’d wander out without buying anything. Then they’d go up the road and spend twenty quid on lamb chops or cheese. He was very easy to take advantage of.’
‘I know,’ sighed Emilia. Her lovely father, who was as kind and easy going as a man could be.
Andrea drummed her French-polished fingernails on the glass tabletop.
‘But there’s nothing I hate more than seeing a potentially good business go down the pan. I’m very happy to give you my advice. But it’s no good just listening. You have to be proactive.’