‘Well, I’m very happy to take your advice,’ said Emilia. ‘And I want you to be honest with me. Do you think it’s salvageable?’
Andrea sat back in her chair. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Here’s the thing. I know Peasebrook and how it works. My guess is at the moment, it’s really only locals and old customers who go in the shop. People who’d built up a relationship with Julius. And they are still valuable. Of course they are. What you need to do is widen your net. Make it an attractive destination for tourists, weekenders and people who live further out. Diversify. Find different revenue streams. Monetise!’
Emilia could already feel rising panic. She forced herself to carry on listening. Andrea was smart.
‘You should open on a Sunday for a start. There are lots of people who come to Peasebrook for a weekend break from London. Or who drive here for Sunday lunch. There’s nothing much else for them to do but spend money. So you need to find a way to pull them in. The shop is slightly out of the way, being at the end of the high street, so if you’re from out of town and you don’t know it’s there you might miss it. You need to make it a little more eye-catching. And do some marketing and advertising. Get a decent website and start a database – send your customers a newsletter. Put on events and launches and—’
Emilia put her hands over her ears. She couldn’t take it all in.
‘But all this costs money,’ she wailed. ‘Money I don’t have!’
‘I’ve got an idea there. The obvious thing to do would be to rent the flat out. That would bring in a regular income – at least a thousand a month if you’re clever. There’s a huge demand for holiday accommodation in Peasebrook. I’ve got an agency on my books. I can introduce you – get them to give you an estimate. You’d need to spend some money on it, though. People expect luxury.’
‘I’d have to find somewhere to live myself.’
‘Well, yes.’
Emilia’s head was spinning with all the possibilities.
‘I can’t think straight.’
‘I’ll help you as much as I can,’ said Andrea. ‘There’s nothing I would love more than to see Nightingale Books turn a healthy profit. But we’ve got to be realistic. You need to do a watertight business plan.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start! I’ve never done a spreadsheet in my life.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m here for. I love spreadsheets.’ Andrea grinned at her. ‘But it won’t be easy. It’s a question of whether you want to live, breathe, sleep, and eat books for the foreseeable future.’
‘It’s how I was brought up.’
‘Yes, but you won’t be able to float around plucking novels from the shelf and curling up in a corner.’ Andrea laughed. ‘Every time I went in your father had his nose in a book, away with the fairies. That’s not going to work. You’re running a business. And that means being businesslike.’
Emilia nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘But I need to get the memorial service out of the way first. I feel as if I can’t move on until that’s happened.’
‘Of course,’ said Andrea. ‘There’s no rush. The shop will tick over for a few months yet. And in the meantime, if you’ve got any questions, just pick up the phone. I want to help you make the right decision. But the right decision for you, not one made out of sentiment or a sense of duty.’
The two women hugged. Emilia left Andrea’s office, not for the first time gratified by how kind people were, and reassured at how perceptive and caring Andrea was. She felt that whatever decision she made, she’d be in safe hands.
Later, Emilia sat in the familiarity of the kitchen.
On a shelf were rows of glass jars, with stickers on, their contents carefully stated in Julius’s copperplate handwriting: basmati rice, red lentils, brown sugar, penne. Below them were smaller jars containing his spices: bright yellows and brick reds and burnt oranges. Julius had loved cooking, rustling up a huge curry or soup or stew and then freezing it in small portions so he could pull whatever he fancied out in the evening and heat it through. Next to the food was his collection of cookery books: Elizabeth David, Rose Elliot, Madhur Jaffrey, all battered and stained with splashes. Wooden chopping blocks, woks, knives, ladles.
She could imagine him in his blue and white apron, standing at the cooker, a glass of red wine to one hand, chucking in ingredients and chatting.
Never had a room felt so empty.
She had an A4 pad in front of her on the table. She picked up a pen and began to make a list of ideas.
Staff rota
Open Sunday (extra staff?)
Website – Dave (She was pretty sure Dave would be able to help).
Redecorate
Relaunch. Party? Publicity?