Page 83 of Sleep

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice either full of laughter…or worse…guilt. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

I was honestly out of words. Totally out of words.

“Then suddenly we had random inspections, and I was crapping myself. Luckily, I once shagged a girl on the inspection board, and we were up to scratch anyway, but Ben almost had a heart attack.”

Yes. I remembered it well.

“Mabel? Go to that meeting. Dress to the nines. Give them hell. And whatever they’re offering, demand double. Play hardball. You’re worth it, Mabel. You are so bloody worth it. There’s nobody in this world who deserves it more. Remember that.”

I hung up on him. Mid-sentence of whatever, my hands shaking as I rang the carers. I spoke to some woman who tried to give me more information than I could process.

Then I threw myself in the shower, washed my hair, and prayed. I wasn’t religious, but if my life had spectacularly fallen apart before, I now felt like I was free-falling into a chasm, no parachute in sight.

Hours later, I had somehow managed to accompany my mother in an ambulance to the hospice, sit through an admission meeting, and then plaster on a face full of make-up in the hospice public toilet. I donned a clean suit and a dark tie to match my heavy eyeliner. My hair was coiffed into a neat, voluminous bob. Red lipstick. I had no idea who I was today, and it showed, so I ripped the tie off and unbuttoned the collar halfway down my chest before tying a shocking pink scarf around my neck. I let the loose ends flow over my shoulder as I parked my car in a shockingly expensive multistorey car park that drained the very last of my funds.

My mind was swirling as I tried to focus, think about interview questions. Was this even an interview? What the hell was I playing at? And what were they playing at?

I was on time, small mercies and all that, as my stiletto heels took the steps up to the plush wooden doors and I tapped the intercom for Smyth and France, Executive Recruitments. Bah.

I was buzzed in, only to break a nail on the door handle. I couldn’t even be bothered to add that small disaster to my already crap day, so I plastered a smile on my face as I was led into a boardroom, feeling like I was walking up to the gallows to be hung out to dry in front of an audience.

Overdramatic? Me?

“Donovan.” Oh yes, I recognised Jessica Pravath. Society papers. Party photos from openings. Hello! Magazine. A vision of bouncy curls and glamour. Impressive.

“Ms Pravath.” I gave her a firm handshake before I was introduced around the room. More handshakes. Names. I was good with names, but half of these people’s names I instantly forgot. I hadn’t had a job interview for what…twenty-odd years?

“Donovan,” one of the men spoke. “We are thrilled to finally have you in the room.”

He sounded like this was some kind of Mafia meeting. Thick accent. Big vibes. Next, I’d be forced to marry his daughter or be shot dead on the spot.

“Jane Carter. Mayfair Ltd.” The lady had a warm smile as she spoke. “I will start by saying that we have kept an eye on you for a while, following your cellar choices with interest. You have built quite the enviable collection down at the Clouds over the years, and our clients talk. Everyone in this room is trying to compete, and we still seem to have been outsmarted by some of your choices. You buying that entire shipment of Langvoit 2008 Merlot threw us for a loop.”

“It was a gamble,” I admitted. “But one I couldn’t resist. The Merlot, even young, was irresistible.”

That bloody Merlot had also scooped all the prizes, and a year later, we’d been flogging it at £700 a bottle. The restaurant’s profits had gone through the roof. But then, you won some, you lost some. I’d also bought crates of wine that had been a total loss.

“I expect you would like to hear our proposal and what we hope you’ll consider.”

Someone else. A man in a smart suit. One that looked slightly uncomfortable. Also, red blush on his cheeks. I was making him uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I crossed my legs, planting my stiletto heel in his line of sight, or because I leaned over so he could look down my shirt. I wasn’t even sure if I was giving him a boner or rampant nausea.

I still milked it, because I was me, and I was winging it.

“Everyone in this room is the owner of a private club. We all have the same issue. We’re struggling to compete in the current market. Wine. The bespoke spirits. The non-alcoholic drinks that will wow our clients. Nobody here is interested in serving up Diet Coke, ice and a slice. Are you following me?”

“I, myself, love a Diet Coke on occasion,” I drawled, changing my stance to a more upright one. “But I am fully aware of the narrowing luxury market and the need to create an ever-changing option for our discerning guests. We need to surprise and delight from every angle. Our clients are not fools, though. The people who drink good wine?”

I paused as someone else continued my train of thought. “They usually know more about the wines than we do.”

“Agreed,” I said, changing the way I was sitting. “I am listening.”

I was, actually. This was an interesting conversation, one I was honestly thrilled to be a part of. Mark and I talked about things like this all the time, usually over a bottle of wine and our usual wine merchant’s list of new offerings.

“Mabel. May I call you Mabel?” Jessica asked. I liked her. Good strong no-bullshit vibes all around her.

“Absolutely.” I nodded, crossing my legs the other way. I really wanted to stand up and walk around the table so I could think better, but I remained in place.

“We’re starting a new venture. It’s been a long time coming, and the building is almost fully renovated. It’s a smaller club but will be incredibly exclusive. We’re talking about the ultra-rich, ultra-discerning and ultra-discreet. Royalty. Politicians. The top rich list. Also, we will focus on exclusive wines and spirits. Incredible non-alcoholic options. If there will be an exclusive, coveted venue in the British Isles, it will be the Exchange. No address needed. People will aim for one of our memberships, which will be capped at five hundred. Any guests will be strictly vetted by our team.”

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