My Not So Perfect Life(82)

I think I maligned Steve before. His stable-yard motto is actually pretty good.



Alex looks confused. “We’re not in a stable yard.”

“It applies to the whole farm,” I reassure him. “You were saying about Allersons?”

“Right. Well, I don’t know what you heard, but basically, Demeter went into Allersons a few weeks ago—you know Allersons Holdings?” he adds, and I nod. “They want a three-sixty rebrand of the Flaming Red restaurant chain. Extremely big piece of work. And apparently Demeter really impressed them. She had all sorts of ideas about research, workshops, she wanted to set up a ‘brand road show’—I mean, she was brilliant in the meeting. Everyone agrees that.”

“So?”

“So she never followed it up.”

“Was she supposed to?”

“Yes, she was bloody supposed to! But she had some kind of crazy meltdown and got the idea Allersons wanted to stall, for some reason. She gave that message to Rosa and Mark. So no one bothered pursuing it.”

“And did Allersons want to stall?”

“No! They were waiting for her! For us! Apparently they kept emailing and she sent reassuring emails back. But clearly they were on one page while she was on the fucking…moon. So at last they phone up Adrian directly—this is yesterday morning—and he’s like, what the hell?”

“So…I mean…” My mind is working hard. “Have you told Demeter about this?”

“Of course! We had a whole series of calls about it yesterday. But—this is the worst bit—she seems totally confused. She maintains she didn’t make a mistake, that it’s Allersons’ fault, and when she gets back from holiday she’ll show us. But we have the email trail proving the opposite. The whole thing’s messed up. Adrian’s given up talking to her. Everyone’s given up on her. They think she’s lost it.” Alex looks genuinely miserable.



“And so that’s why she’s being fired?” I press him. “That one incident?”

“There’s been other stuff.” He folds his arms around his rangy body, looking harassed. “There was a faux pas where she forwarded an email to the wrong address. I’m sure you heard about that.”

I wince. “Yes, I did.”

“She had to grovel to Forest Food, big-time. Then there was a big cock-up with Sensiquo….”

“I remember that too.” I nod, recalling Rosa screaming at Demeter in the ladies’. “Kind of. I mean, I just overheard stuff,” I add hastily.

“She won Sensiquo round, but again, it was a massive, needless drama. And then generally we’ve had so many complaints about her leadership, her manner with the juniors, her flakiness….” He brings his fists to his forehead in frustration. “I just don’t get it. I worked for Demeter in my first job and she was fabulous. She was brilliant. She was encouraging. She was on it. I mean, yes, she was always a bit impulsive, a bit erratic, but that was Demeter. You put up with it because of the flashes of genius. And she basically kept everything under control. She ran a tight ship. But now…” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s happened to her. I look like a fool, for hiring her, for sticking up for her—”

“You call this sticking up for her?” I can’t help sounding incredulous. “Coming to fire her on her holiday?”



“I did my best for her, OK?” His eyes become dark and defensive. “And I’d rather do this than have her arrive at work on Monday, get summoned to Adrian, and it’s all in front of her team. I volunteered to come down here, believe it or not. I’m trying to give her some dignity and space—” He suddenly breaks off. “Anyway, why do you care? I thought you hated her.”

“Oh, I do,” I say quickly. “She’s the one who let me go, remember? Bitch. She deserves all she gets.”

“She’s not really a bitch,” says Alex slowly. “I know everyone thinks she is, but she’s not. She gets a bad rap and I’m not sure why.”

I want to say: I know what you mean. I want to say: I’m starting to see Demeter in a different light. But obviously I can’t say that. So instead I pick a cornflower and pull all its petals off, which is a bad habit of mine.

“Katie!” Biddy’s reproving voice hits my ears. “Leave that poor cornflower alone!”

I give a rueful grin. That is typical Biddy, to catch me out. She’s coming into the garden with a laden tray, and I hurry over to help her. The tray has on it a coffee press, cup and saucer, milk jug, two scones with jam and clotted cream, a slice of lemon drizzle cake, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

“Oh my God, Biddy,” I say in a whisper, as I help her arrange it all on our wrought-iron garden table and put up an umbrella against the sun. “Did you give him enough to eat, do you think?”

“I wanted to give him a good welcome!” she whispers back. “He’s our first guest! So, Mr. Astalis!” She stands up. “Please come and have a proper West Country morning coffee, and then I’ll show you to your room.”



As Alex sits down at the table, he looks a bit thunderstruck. But he smiles charmingly at Biddy and compliments everything: “These scones! And the jam—is that homemade?”