She searched through the piles of paperwork on the desk, and found two copies of previous bills in unopened envelopes. The withdrawals were all cash. The interest was compounding due to the lack of payments.
She phoned Andrea, who told her to bring the bills round straight away.
‘That must have been what he’d been using to pay the wages,’ Andrea sighed. ‘This is one of those cards with six months nought per cent finance. He must have taken it out to cover his cash flow. But of course now the interest is going to kick in big time. I’ll phone the company and put them in the picture. And I’ll have to pass it on to your solicitor for the probate.’
‘It’s nearly four thousand pounds.’
Andrea sighed. ‘It’s easily done. He’s not the first and he won’t be the last.’
Emilia felt disconsolate. She was just getting her head around the existing debts and feeling she could manage.
‘The debts are just getting bigger and bigger.’
‘We can consolidate them.’ Andrea tried to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry – you’re sitting on a goldmine. You can take out a loan if you need to.’
‘I suppose so. I’m just not used to such big sums of money.’
‘I wish all my clients felt like that. Honestly, this is nothing in the grand scheme of things.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’
Andrea took Emilia off to the bank in the high street where Nightingale Books had had its account since the day Julius arrived in Peasebrook. There, they negotiated a generous overdraft facility with the bank manager.
‘Now you don’t have to worry about how to pay the wages.’
Emilia shuddered. ‘I’ve never been in this kind of debt. I don’t even go overdrawn usually.’
‘It’s good debt. It’s debt you’re investing in the business. It’s not Louboutin debt.’
Emilia looked down at her battered old sneakers. ‘No,’ she said ruefully. She eyed Andrea’s shoes – high and shiny and undeniably expensive.
Andrea grinned. ‘I’ve earned them. It’s my one indulgence. And there is some good news. Look – your takings are up, week on week this month. You must be doing something right. Not that your dad did anything wrong,’ she added hastily. ‘But it’s obvious his eye wasn’t on the ball.’
Emilia looked at the last couple of weeks’ spreadsheets. Something was working. Dave had turned into a social media guru, tweeting book reviews and special offers, and they’d seen an upturn. They had opened the last few Sundays, and had done rather well. But the in still didn’t cover the out.
‘But the shop isn’t making enough to cover its outgoings now, let alone a monthly payment if I take out a loan.’
‘But you need to do that to grow the business. That’s how it works.’
Emilia put her hand to her head. ‘I understand it all in theory – of course I do. But it’s making my head spin. It’s the decisions; the commitment. The responsibility! Maybe I should just walk away.’
‘Are you mad? Don’t give up after all this.’ Andrea checked herself. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t try and influence you.’
Emilia looked at her.
‘When I first came in, you said I shouldn’t be sentimental.’
‘I know.’ Andrea gave a rueful shrug. ‘But I was walking along the high street the other day. I went past the shop. I saw you in there and you looked as if you belonged there.’ She laughed. ‘Listen to me! I’m supposed to be Miss Ruthless and Pragmatic. Now I’m being all sentimental!’
Emilia sighed. ‘I’ve just booked Mick Gillespie to come and do a book signing.’
Andrea’s eyes gleamed behind her glasses. ‘Mick Gillespie? Wow!’
‘If I sell a hundred copies of his book, it still won’t pay the electricity bill.’
‘I know it’s a big decision for you. It’s down to you, Emilia. Whether you want to make Nightingale Books your life. Like your father.’
‘I don’t know yet. In my heart, of course I do. But in my head …’
Andrea gave her a kind smile. ‘We can play for time. Let me see what I can do with the figures. I can find ways of offsetting some of the debt.’
‘Bloody money,’ said Emilia.
‘Yes. Well. It makes the world go round. Don’t worry. Nightingale Books isn’t on the scrap heap yet.’
Emilia walked back along the high street, her hands in her pockets. Just when she thought the shop was on the up, reality kicked in. And it was all new to her. She’d never really got involved in the behind-the-scenes machinations, and now she was cross. She should have paid more attention, but it all just seemed to tick over without her needing to know any of it.
She’d foolishly thought running a book shop would be easy, and that she knew everything. But of course there was more to it than finding someone the perfect read for their upcoming cruise, or recommending a christening gift, or tracking down a book when someone said, rather vaguely, ‘Its got a blue cover …’