Jules Wake - From Paris With Love This Christmas

‘Want a hand this afternoon?’ Will had the face of an eager schoolboy; it would have been cruel to turn him down.

‘You can’t keep away. Like having your own train set.’

‘Man this is way better than a train set. Who’d have thought eh? One minute I’m mashing your face in the scrum, the next we’re building a brewing empire.’

‘Empire’s pushing it a bit. Although the Chamber of Commerce have said there’s been some interest from a distributor in France.’

Will laughed. ‘Cool if you got one in Germany. Coals to Cologne.’

‘Apparently the French are going ape for boutique beers. We did win that award.’

‘Yeah we could do with winning another award.’ For all his effete, floppy haired, public schoolboy looks, Will had an extremely astute business brain.

‘I’m doing my best.’

‘You’re doing fine mate. Our second year, five awards. An international gong. Distribution is on the up and we’re almost solvent.’

Jason raised his eyebrows.

‘Almost, I said.’

‘As long as we don’t want to eat as well.’

‘Mate, you know I’ll loan you anything you need.’

‘I’m fine. Just need to be careful. Hopefully this week when I go up to the Lakes I can secure another deal. Keep going like that and in another year those tanks will be paid off. That’ll lighten the load.’ He paused and pulled a face. ‘Providing Stacey doesn’t start up again.’

‘I can’t believe that bitch. She sponges off you for three years. Then expects to get a cut of your flat sale. Your flat, man!’

‘I think she’s given up now.’

‘I should bloody hope so. Cheeky bitch. So when do you head off and when are you back?’

‘I’ll leave tomorrow, back Thursday, so I wouldn’t mind some help today. It’s going to be a late one. There was a leak in one of the bags. I’ve had to send Ben in the Land Rover to get some more barley. If you can pitch in for a couple of hours that would be great.’

‘I can help out until opening time and then it depends whether Michelle deigns to turn up or not.’

‘Still having problems with her?’

It was unlike Will to put up with that sort of thing from one of his waitresses. The blond ponytail might lull people into the false assumption that his real job was organising a summer music festival, but his was a tight ship. People came from miles around to eat at The Salisbury Arms. The pub itself had won several big food awards and Will had worked in some serious kitchens, with the celebrity chef burns on his arms to prove it.

‘Yeah, if she drops a shift again. I’m going have to sack her. I was hoping to hang on for a couple of weeks to get through Christmas. We’ve got a lot of big dos on. I might have to get you and Ben to pitch in.’

Jason snorted. ‘In your dreams. What went wrong? I thought she was the best waitress you’d ever had.’

‘I might have, er,’ despite being nearly thirty, Will pulled his aw-shucks I’m-so-innocent-face.

‘You didn’t.’ Will had a dreadful habit of being led by his libido. ‘I thought we talked about this.’

‘Come on Jay, she’s hot.’

‘She works for you.’

‘It was late in the evening.’ He launched into the Ed Sheeran song, doing a more than a passable falsetto impersonation.

‘You’re a dick sometimes.’

‘She was all over me, man. And no, I didn’t make any promises.’

‘You’re still a dick.’

‘I know, part of my charm.’

‘Being a dickhead is not a charm in anyone’s book.’

‘Must be my suave good looks then.’

Jason gave up at that point.

‘This week is all under control. Ben knows what he’s got to do. Once the mash is on it’s a question of maintaining the temperature. Ask him every day how it’s going. He’ll soon tell you if there’s a problem.’

‘Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. I don’t know why I keep you around.’

Jason thumped his arm. ‘Because, apart from giving you advice on your love life, which you clearly ignore, me and the bank own fifty per cent of those gorgeous silver tanks. You and the bank own the other fifty per cent, but you don’t know what the fuck to do with them.’

‘OK.’ Will conceded. ‘You stick to the brewery side and I’ll run the pub.’

Go me , thought Siena giving herself a little fist pump as she stood outside the entrance of the Hotel Enigma. She’d successfully negotiated not one but two buses, although how was she to know that five pound notes weren’t acceptable currency on a bus?

‘Hi. Good morning. You here for the training for the canvassing job?’

Siena nodded.

‘Welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Name please?’

‘Siena.’

He ran a finger down a typed list.

‘Ah yes, Siena. I’ve seen your name on here somewhere. Like the film star Sienna Miller. No relative then?’

‘No,’ she shook her head a little bemused by the question, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ah, found you. Siena Browne-Martin.’

‘It’s Browne-Martin,’ she pronounced the tin as tan , ‘it’s French.’

‘Right, whatever. We’re all equals here.’ He peeled off a label and held it out to her.

‘It’s Siena with one ‘n’.’

He shrugged. ‘It’ll do for today.’ He continued to hold out the label.

Siena took it and held it between two fingers, looking down while she tried to decide where to put it.

‘If you could wear the badge, then the trainer knows your name.’

‘Right, it’s … this top is … Gucci. Dry clean only. Do you know what adhesive they use on the labels? Is it water-soluble?

‘Ad-what?’

‘The glue.’

‘Glue?’

‘Tell you what, why don’t I introduce myself to the trainer?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sounded a bit more certain of himself now.

‘Oh?’

‘I’m the trainer.’

‘Right. But you know my name.’

He nodded.

‘So I don’t need to wear the badge.’

His brow crumpled. ‘I suppose not.’ A look of relief crossed his face and he shifted his attention to the person behind her. ‘Ah, good morning, welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Can I take your name?’ He turned back to her. ‘Do go in. Help yourself to tea and coffee and take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

Taking a seat, she took a sip and almost choked. The brown liquid bore limited relation to coffee, in fact the only relation she could successfully conclude was that it was wet.

She’d spent considerable time worrying about what to wear and had aimed for smart and professional. You couldn’t go far wrong with a pair of Joseph trousers, Gucci shirt and a cashmere cardie, especially when you only had a capsule wardrobe to choose from. The Missoni scarf added that jaunty look that stopped her looking really serious like a banker or a doctor.

The poor woman next to her seemed terribly nervous. She kept picking at a loose thread on her black dress, the fingers with nails bitten down to the quick, worrying at the seam with repeated staccato attacks.

‘Hi, I’m Siena. Are you here for the training too?’ asked Siena when the woman looked up.

‘I’m not here for a bleedin’ massage lovie. The Jobcentre sent me. That’s a laugh. I come to these things once every six months, to get them off my back.’

‘Oh.’ Siena nodded as if she understood but the woman had lost interest already and had gone back to picking at the seam of her dress.

‘Hello, earth to airhead.’ Siena looked up at the newcomer. ‘Can you move your bag so I can sit down?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Siena swept her handbag onto her own knee.

‘’S’alright, darlin’.’ He leaned forward in his chair, legs wide open so that one knee nudged her leg. She shifted and he promptly took up the fresh space.