Flight of the buisnessmen

Nananananananana Croft Man!........sorry

The day of the meeting dawned and I sprinkled “luck and success powder” on my file and into my shoes, just for extra help. I caught a bus into town and walked into the Starbucks where the meeting was to take place.
I’ve come to think of coffee houses like these as a creeping illness that destroys the places I love when my back is turned. While me and Vikkie were looking for our second year housing we came across an add which read “Ten minutes from both a Starbucks and a Costa Coffee” which sounded promising until I pointed out it could be anywhere in the UK or indeed America. I made a pact with myself that if any such operation started up on the island I would leave.
Daniel Shield arrived a little after the time we had agreed, as if he had timed his fashionable lateness to the nanosecond. He was surprisingly young, looking even more so in his suit and with his briefcase. He ordered a latte with practiced efficiency and sat down at my table as I waved at him, recognising him from his secretary’s incredibly accurate, and none too flattering description.
“Good afternoon Miss Glade”
“Good afternoon, Mr Shield”
God he was intimidating. No one had ever called me Miss Glade before; the closest I’d ever experienced was at school, where teachers had referred to me as Glade out of forgetfulness.
“You have a plan then” he gives my papers a nod “That’s good, some people show up with no idea, total time wasters”
I nod sympathetically
Oh God
“Well” he continues “let’s get down to it shall we? You want to take over one of the crofts, the one with the house, yes?”
I nod and open my file, trying to stop my hands from shaking.
“I looked into putting some mod-cons into the building. A sink, stove etc and budgeted according to the grants. I’m planning to keep my expenditure pretty low.”
What was I coming out with? He was nodding which had to be good.
“Let’s get to the business plan then.”
I’d been hoping for a little more preamble
“Well, I came up with a few…rudimentary ideas.”
Oh God, his eyebrows knit together instantly.
“Are you telling me you haven’t got a business plan, because I believe I was very clear…”
“Of course I have!”
“Well, what is it.”
“A campsite!” I blurt triumphantly, my eye caught by a print of hikers and tents peeking from the bag of a woman at the counter.
What?!
His face relaxes into an expression of tentative approval.
Take it back you idiot!
“Yes, I was reading a magazine article about the island and despite its beauty it does appear to be lacking in tourist accommodation.” I cover smoothly whilst my brain screams at me that I am a moron.
“Yes actually” he smiles “that is a rather brilliant idea, obviously you couldn’t run something like a farm out there, it’s just unrealistic.”
“Exactly” I agree, eagerly.
Bastard.
“How do you envisage the facilities?” he takes a sip of coffee and I realise I’m supposed to be speaking.
“I was thinking…” I scan the picture again for inspiration “the basics you know? Very basic…basics, for the devoted campers who only need, you know…”
“The basics?” he supplies smirking slightly.
I will jam that cup so far up his…
“Exactly” I grin my best grown up, professional smile, glancing at the picture, only it’s gone.
Crap.
“Yes, well you know what’s on a campsite, I don’t think I need to bore you with the details.”
“Well, I’m pleased with you, and from what you’ve said you certainly seem competent, despite your age.”
I was probably only a year younger than him, the crotchety old fraud.
“I think if you can cost this project and send it to this address” he gives me a card “Then we can get down to some practical things like…contracts.”
I shake his hand and walk out of the coffee shop, knowing I am in a lot of trouble.
Not the best of starts, I promise more island action soon, there’s just one more character to introduce, because it’s never as easy as it sounds.