A Nightingale in Parkleigh Square

Chapter Eleven

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"T hey can't do this !" said Molly. "They said they shipped them — it said so on the tracking receipt."

She sat up in bed, switching on the light. In the bed on the table's other side, Nina winced and shielded her eyes.

"What do they mean it's some kind of placeholder status?" Molly scowled. "How is it a placeholder to generate a tracking code?"

Nina looked alarmed as she sat up beneath the covers. "What's happening?" she asked.

"Well, can't they just ship them? What's the problem?" Molly listened, then grew quiet. "What are we supposed to do?" She pressed one hand over her face, as if pushing back a headache. "No, listen, I'll call you back, Val."

"What's wrong?" demanded Nina. Molly's face had turned white.

"The ornaments? The big shipment, the expensive stuff we needed? All cancelled," she said. "All of it."

"What?!"

"The company said they made a mistake, they issued an invoice for stock that was already depleted," said Molly. "Some stuff about 'limited run sets'. Basically, it means we have nothing, Nina. One set of accent pieces for the tree, and that's it."

Nina's heart plummeted. "We'll have to try another company, put a rush on it," she said.

"Val's trying to find one with those ornaments, so far no luck," said Molly. "What are we going to do? That was seventy percent of our decor — it was more than half the budget. How are we going to explain this to that frigid coordinator when we had it all under control?"

Nina reached for her phone. "There has to be a way," she said.

"What do you mean 'cancelled'?" Brad's eyes widened. He paused in the middle of fixing his morning cappuccino, in one of the chipped secondhand mugs beside the studio's coffee maker.

"It means what it sounds like," answered Nina, grimly.

They had spent a sleepless night looking for solutions. So far, it was in vain — the ornament sets of similar make were sold out on most sites, or available only in small quantities.

"Okay, there has to be a way," said Bradley. "I'm on it, I'll find coordinating sets from another design house —"

"We've tried that, everything is going to contrast too much with the original set," said Molly. "We have to start from scratch, and we're fighting limited order numbers. What good is it to get two dozen if we're still six dozen short?"

"It's frustrating," said Nina. "We can't get anyone to give us any other option."

She was exhausted — even the aroma of Brad's coffee didn't make her feel better. Nothing would, unless the invoice suddenly changed like magic.

Nina's office ring tone trilled, and she answered, putting it on speakerphone. "What's the news, Val?" she asked.

"Bosses, I've looked everywhere, and there's nada," said Val. "It's all sold out at this point —all the big companies with similar design themes are using them, too."

"We're toast," groaned Molly.

"I found one set with a wholesale closeout dealer that was pretty close in size, but it can't ship in time to reach you before the party."

"What if we pay for expedited shipping?" said Nina.

"Still nada. Estimated delivery, one day before."

"We need those ornaments, that's the entire look of the city theme," groaned Molly. "We can't hang little red buses and phone boxes on the tree — I'd love to see Natalia's face if we did."

"Look, you can still save this, you just have to change the theme, right?" said Val. "You have to do it, just tell the client that's the only way."

It would be the only way to salvage things, if they couldn't find the right ornaments in the right quantity. Would they scrap only the tree's design? Or everything? Everything was on the table once the decision was made, but Van Stewart's manager might be furious.

"I'm telling you, do it, it's the only way," said Val. "You know that, I've heard you say a dozen times if once that sometimes you have to go with the flow when it changes."

Nina glanced at Molly. What choice do we have? "Give us a couple of hours to think about it, and we'll get back to you with the next plan," said Nina. "Keep the vendor with two dozen on standby just in case."

"If you say so."

Nina disconnected. "Well?" She exhaled. "Any ideas?"

Molly and Bradley were both silent; frustration was thick in the air. "Go cheaper?" suggested Bradley, halfheartedly.

"How cheap?" said Molly. "We're decorating a world class boutique. How good is plastic faux chrome going to look to the highbrow guests at the Christmas party?"

"Not good?"

"Val is right," said Nina. "We have to change the theme. We have to rethink everything, even what we've already done, even if it means starting over. That's the only way to be certain that it comes together as one harmonious theme — and that's definitely the only way we're going to impress Natalia Gaborelli or Van Stewart's CEO."

"Now? When we're done with the first part, after all that work?" said Molly. "We're one day away from Simone Van Stewart seeing her new store's windows in Christmas mode, Nina."

"How else are we going to do this?" said Nina. "We've tied up our funds with the cancelled order because they processed the payment, and it won't be refunded yet. We have credit fumes to finish on, and we need the windows and the interior to come together in harmony, so we have to be creative."

"And have Natalia smear us for using cheap decor after specifying it had to be top of the line?" answered Molly. "How does that help us? We might as well quit if we're only going to screw up."

"We have a client and a contract, we can't just quit," said Nina. "We need to fix this. We have to go with our instincts and try whatever we can think of."

"I'm out of ideas," said Molly. "I'm sorry, but I'm done." She grabbed her bag and coat and opened the hall door. It closed behind her with a bang.

With a sigh, Nina closed her eyes. Bradley cleared his throat.

"I'm still here," he said. "I'll help."

She nodded. "It's you and me for now, I guess," she said.

***

M olly sat down at one of the pub's tables, and put her head in her hands. This can't be happening , she thought. All that hard work was about to be one big waste. Starting from scratch, thinking of something just as good, that was more than she could give right now, in the face of disaster.

Why was she the one defeated? She was a fighter — she was the one who looked for corners to cut, corks to plug the holes in the dam — not the one who took the first boat out of town when the waters started flooding.

The pub's usual crowd wasn't here, so for once it was quiet. No rockin' Christmas retro songs for when I'm down? It prompted an ironic laugh deep within, but Molly didn't indulge.

"What's it to be?"

Ted was standing by with his bar towel over his shoulder and the order pad in hand. "I haven't made up my mind," she answered. "Maybe I'll just nurse my drink."

"You look like you could use something a bit stronger than Coke," he said.

"I drown my sorrows in hard stuff only after five," she answered. "But thanks."

When he was gone, she returned to her funk. Nina was so plucky. Why bother this time? They had to change the tree's decor for certain, or try to recreate it with cheap stuff ... they might have to change everything they had designed for the windows if they followed her lead and started fresh. How could they pull anything together that would be half as good in half the time?

What does starting over look like from here? Shreds of our budget left, all the rest already tied up. We would need another miracle to impress Simone Van Stewart at this point.

"I'm not a miracle worker," she moaned, remembering too late she was in a public place. With a sigh, she stared at the ugly tinsel decorating the jukebox in the corner. That elf on top looked way too happy.

Cutlery clinked against restaurant china. Ted put a plate in front of her, with a slice of cake and a fork. "On the house," he said. "It's not a miracle, but it's better than the pop going stale in your glass."

"Thanks." She felt genuinely touched. "That's thoughtful."

He shrugged. "Just something for one of my regulars," he answered.

"A regular. I feel like I've achieved some kind of status." She picked up the fork and tried a bite. "Very good," she said. "In fact, that's delicious." She popped another bite. "What bakery?"

"Ted's kitchen," he said. "It's a new enterprise. Not much business yet."

"Maybe there should be," she said, finding half of it was gone already after her next bite. "To think I've been eating burgers and ham sandwiches here."

"This lot generally doesn't want fancy stuff for lunch, so I make the basic choices and let them have at it. But for special, I do the good stuff." He pulled out the chair across from her. "So what's put you in a mood?" he said.

"Long story." She shook her head. "You don't want to hear it." She ate another bite of cake.

"First duty of being a publican — after pouring drinks — is listening when people natter," he said. "That, and calling people cabs after too many pints."

She laughed. "You don't seem like a guy with a sympathetic streak," she said. "You seem like — the Gerard Butler of bartenders. I can see the resemblance — the hair, the burly muscles, the strong jaw." She motioned with her fork. "Even the voice. It's uncanny."

This made him laugh in return. "New compliment, but I'll let it be," he said. "Go on, have a natter. It'll make you feel better."

"What are you, a therapist?" she retorted.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he answered.

A half hour later, she walked back to the studio. Inside, she was feeling warm, with a head clearer than before Ted's offer. He had a point — weirdly enough, she did feel better. Maybe not great, but better. A half hour had slipped away, and so had some of the frustration that boiled over when their plans crashed.

They were stuck, unless — or until — Natalia fired them, so they had to make do with their skills. If it wasn't perfect, so what? Who said perfect ideas were made out of perfect parts? Maybe a little upcycling was the answer — or maybe they just needed to think of something else amazing, and available, then jump. What were business charge cards for if you didn't max them out?

Outside the studio door, she felt guilty for earlier. Storming out had been immature, and she'd spent the last half hour lost in her own little world, not caring how two other people were affected. How angry were they over her outburst?

She listened to the sound of voices on the other side, watching the strip of light under the door. Murmurs, the electronic blip of somebody's phone. Time to face it — apologize — because odds were good she needed to make up for it somehow. It hadn't been her usual style. It hadn't been classy.

She let herself in. Nina was at the table, with that same look of determined frustration; Bradley was wadding a sheet of paper and throwing it into a pile of them, probably all rejected ideas. They hadn't come up with anything yet, much like herself.

They heard her come in and both turned. Nina looked relieved — Bradley looked surprised, as if he hadn't expected her to come back. Did he think she quit, went to stand in line at Heathrow for a ticket back to JFK International?

"Still a place for me in the discussion?" Molly asked.