Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,3

I say brightly. ‘We have several new product ranges coming in that have done really well in America–’

Adam interrupts. ‘First rule of business basics. We all know that if something has done well in the States, there is no guarantee that it will succeed here. Not a reason to bring them on board. Have you done your market research?’

Adam speaks in the tone he uses when chastising the children when they have done something silly.

I try to ignore him. ‘The ranges would be ideal for BUYIT TV, and I was thinking we could approach some of the other TV channels, such as QVC and Home Shopping Network, as well as social media influencers–’

Adam interrupts me again. ‘No. You just don’t grasp the fact that we are hemorrhaging cash. Do you want me to explain the spreadsheet to you yet again?’ He sighs. ‘I did explain it to her a couple of days ago.’ He rolls his eyes as he glances around the room, but no one meets his gaze. The wave of embarrassment that envelops our staff is palpable, causing them to shift uneasily on their chairs and tense their shoulders.

Ajay pushes his chair back and stands up, then leans forwards with his palms on the table. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I could do with a coffee break. Why don’t we take ten minutes out? Adam and Lydia, perhaps I could have a word with you both in my office?’

The other managers bolt from the boardroom.

Our offices are in a row. Mine is nearest the boardroom, Ajay’s is next, and Adam’s is closest to the pool of staff who sit in an open-plan office. From the outside, our premises are functional: a warehouse and office block located in a business park in Partridge Green, just outside Horsham. Inside is a riot of colour – in my room at least. My office has turquoise walls, a cerise velvet sofa and a large glass-and-chrome desk. One wall is covered in wooden crates used as shelves. Inside each are brightly coloured yarns, stacks of fabric offcuts and the latest must-have crafting tools. I love the colour, the haphazard collection of crafting delights and particularly my crafting table, where, when I have time, I try out some of the newest products. I’m like a kid in a sweetie shop.

In contrast, Adam’s office has white walls, a black roller blind and an old-fashioned wooden pedestal desk, which he keeps clear of clutter. Perhaps the difference in our offices says it all.

Ajay leads us into his office. The walls are lined with beautiful landscape photographs in frames that we sell. The photographs were all taken by Ajay: Tuscan hills, the jagged mountains of the Dolomites and the Amsterdam canals. But mostly, they are vistas of the green, rolling hills of the South Downs throughout the seasons, and the atmospheric lights caught in the woodlands surrounding Horsham. Ajay is an accomplished photographer. On top of his silver filing cabinet are three photographs of Marianne and their kids.

He waves his hand at the two chairs in front of his desk and shuts the door firmly behind him. I feel as if we’re the naughty kids being brought in for a dressing-down from the headmaster.

‘This has got to stop,’ Ajay says as he sinks into his swivel chair with a sigh. ‘Your warring is killing off the business. If Lydia gives an instruction, you, Adam, cancel it. If Adam says we need to tighten the purse strings, you, Lydia, opt for expansion. Do you know how many staff we have lost in the past two months?’

Adam is staring out of the window. I shake my head meekly.

‘Seven. Two store managers, four from head office here, and this morning, Joe, Adam’s deputy, gave us three months’ notice. We have lost more people in the past month than we did in the whole of the previous three years. The atmosphere in the office is horrendous, staff morale is at its all-time lowest, and we’re about to have our second loss-making quarter in a row. And do you know why that is?’

‘Declining economy and political mayhem,’ Adam says, with narrowed eyes.

‘That doesn’t help, but the real reason is your warring. It’s killing Cracking Crafts.’

Adam stands up suddenly, knocking his chair backwards. He places the palms of his hands onto Ajay’s desk and leans forwards. ‘You’re being melodramatic. Our relationship is our business and no one else’s. Do you understand?’

‘Surely you get what–’

But Adam doesn’t let Ajay finish his sentence.