The Heiress's Secret Baby. Jessica Gilmore

had left him with a horror of inaction.

      ‘Your social media lacks identity and your online advertising is practically non-existent—it’s untargeted and unplanned, effectively just a redesign of your print advertising. I suggest you employ a digital marketing consultant to train your existing staff. Emily is very capable. She just needs guidance and some confidence.’

      He looked across for a reaction but she was busy scribbling notes. Gabe rolled his eyes. ‘This is part of the problem. You’re what? Writing longhand?’

      ‘I think better with paper and pen. I’ll type them up later.’ Her voice was defensive.

      ‘Non, the whole company needs to think digitally. The sales force need tablets so they can check sizes and styles at the touch of a button, mix and match styles.’

      ‘We have a personal touch here. We don’t need to rely on tablets...’

      ‘You need both,’ he said flatly. ‘But what you really need is a new website.’

      There was a long moment of incredulous silence. ‘But it’s only three years old. Do you know how much we spent on it?’

      Polly was no longer leaning back. She was ramrod-straight, her eyes sparkling, more in anger than excitement, Gabe thought. ‘Too much and it’s obsolete. Come on, Polly.’ His words tumbled over each other, his accent thickened in his effort to convince her.

      ‘Do you want a website that’s fine and gets the job done or do you want one that’s a window into the very soul of Rafferty’s? You have no other stores anywhere—this is it. Your Internet business is your worldwide business and that’s where the expansion lies.’

      ‘What do you have in mind?’

      This was what made him tick, made his blood pump, the adrenaline flow—planning, innovating, creating. It was better than finishing a marathon, hell, sometimes it was better than sex. ‘A site that is visually stunning, one that creates the feel and the look of the store as much as possible. Each department would be organised by gallery, exactly as you are laid out here so that customers get to experience the look, the feel of Rafferty’s—but virtually. Online assistants would be available twenty-four hours to chat and advise and, most importantly, the chance to personalise the experience. Why should people buy from Rafferty’s online when there are hundreds, thousands of alternatives?’

      She didn’t answer, probably couldn’t.

      ‘If we make it better than all the rest then Rafferty’s is the store that customers will choose. They can upload their measurements, their photos and have virtual fittings—that way, they can order with certainty, knowing that the clothes will fit and suit them. Cut down on returns and make the whole shopping experience fun and interactive.’

      ‘How much?’

      ‘It won’t be cheap,’ he admitted. ‘Not to build, maintain or staff. But it will be spectacular.’

      She didn’t speak for a minute or so, staring straight ahead at the window before nodding decisively. ‘There’s a board meeting next week. Can you have a researched and costed paper ready for then?’

      Researched and costed? ‘Oui.’ If he had to work all day and night. ‘So, what about you?’

      ‘What about me?’

      ‘There must be something you want to do, something to stamp your identity firmly on the store.’

      ‘I have been running the company for the last year,’ she reminded him, her voice a little frosty.

      ‘But now it’s official...’ If she wasn’t itching to make some changes he had severely underestimated her.

      She didn’t answer for a moment, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the windows. ‘We have never expanded,’ she said after a while. ‘We always wanted to keep Rafferty’s as a destination store, somewhere people could aspire to visit. And it works, we’re on so many tourist tick lists; they buy teddies or tea in branded jars, eat in the tea room and take their Rafferty’s bag home. And with the Internet there isn’t any real need for bricks-and-mortar shops elsewhere.’

      ‘But?’

      ‘But we’ve become a little staid,’ Polly said. She rolled her shoulders as she spoke, stretching out her neck. Gabe tried not to stare, not to notice how graceful her movements were, as she turned her attention to her hair, unpinning it and letting the dark blonde tendrils fall free.

      Polly sighed, running her fingers through her hair before beginning to twist it back into a looser, lower knot. It felt almost voyeuristic standing there watching her fingers busy themselves in the tangle of tresses.

      ‘We were one of the first stores in London to stock bikinis. Can you imagine—amidst the post-war austerity, the rationing and a London still two decades and a generation from swinging...my great-grandfather brought several bikinis over from Paris. There were letters of outrage to The Times.

      ‘We were the first to unveil the latest trends, to sell miniskirts. We were always cutting edge and now we’re part of a tour that includes Buckingham Palace and Madame Tussauds.’ The contempt was clear in her voice. ‘We’re doing well financially, really well, but we’re no longer cutting edge. We’re safe, steady, middle-aged.’ Polly wrinkled her nose as she spoke.

      It was true; Rafferty’s was a byword for elegance, taste and design but not for innovation, not any more. Even Gabe’s own digital vision could only sell the existing ranges. But it was fabulously profitable with a brand recognition that was through the roof; wasn’t that enough? ‘Can a store this size actually be cutting edge any more? Surely that’s the Internet’s role...’

      ‘I disagree.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘We have the space, the knowledge, the passion and the history. The problem is, it takes a lot for us to take on a new designer or a new range, to hand over valuable floor space to somebody little known and unproven—and if they have already established themselves then we’re just following, not innovating.’

      ‘So, what do you plan to do about it?’ This was more like it. Her eyes were focused again, sharp.

      ‘Pop-ups.’

       ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Pop-ups. Bright, fun and relatively low cost. We can create a pop-up area in store for new designers whether it’s clothes, jewellery, shoes—we’ll champion new talent right here at Rafferty’s. Sponsor a graduate show during London fashion week in the main gallery.’

      That made a lot of sense.

      ‘But I don’t just want to draw people here. I want to go out and find them—it could be a great opportunity to take Rafferty’s out of the city as well. Where do we have the biggest footfall?’

      It was a good thing he’d pulled those eighteen-hour days; he could answer with utter confidence. ‘The food hall.’

      ‘Exactly! The British are finally understanding food—no, don’t pull a superior gourmet French face at me. They are and you know it. There are hundreds of food festivals throughout the country and I want us to start having a presence at the very best of them. And not just food festivals. I want us at Glyndebourne, Henley, the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Anywhere there’s a buzz I want Rafferty’s. Exclusive invitation-only previews to create excitement, with takeaway afternoon teas and Rafferty’s hampers—filled with a selection of our bestselling products as souvenirs.’

      Gabe rubbed his chin. ‘Will it make a profit?’

      ‘Yes, but not a massive one,’ she conceded. ‘But it will revitalise us, introduce us to the younger market who may think we’re too staid for them. Make us more current and more exciting. And that market will be your domestic digital users.’

      Gabe could feel it, the roar of adrenaline, the tightening in his gut that meant something new, something exhilarating was in the air. ‘It would create a great