In Vino Veritas Read online

  Beaumont’s forehead furrowed for a couple of seconds. Then he resumed his upbeat performance, as new arguments appeared to him. ‘It is still a pulling point, Alistair. People are well aware that they don’t have to struggle into a cramped car park and file into crowded pub dining rooms when they come here. They appreciate the space around them and the expertise which drives this place. That applies even during the winter, when they cannot see the greenery beyond our windows.’ He turned and smiled directly at Jason Knight, as a prelude to his concluding argument. ‘But of course the biggest trump in our hand when it comes to the restaurant is Jason’s cooking. The quality which he and his staff produce in their beautifully equipped new kitchens is second to none. I’m sure that all of us are aware of that.’

  There was a polite, slightly embarrassed mutter of approval from the people round the table, whilst Knight stared at his agenda and reddened. Beaumont, sensing that he had taken this as far as he could, glanced at his agenda and said briskly, ‘Residential Accommodation.’

  Vanda North, a striking woman with a prominent nose and bright blue eyes, was, at forty-six, ten years younger than Beaumont. She nodded and spoke decisively. ‘We shall have to face the fact that the residential accommodation is not going to do as well as hitherto in the next two or three years.’

  Beaumont glanced quickly at the other faces round the table before he said, ‘It’s not like you to be gloomy, Vanda.’ But he was cautious. Vanda North had been in the business from the early stages. She was his partner in the limited company, though a very junior one in terms of her financial contribution. She was also responsible for the hitherto highly successful operation of the site’s en-suite bedrooms, through her management of the residential section staff.

  ‘I’m being realistic, Martin. We don’t operate in a vacuum. If people tighten their belts in the world at large, we must expect this sort of stay to be one of their first economies. Very few of our clients use our breaks as their only holiday of the year; we might be their first economy. We shall need to be ingenious to occupy the rooms as fully as we have done in the past. It probably wasn’t the best time to extend our provision to twelve rooms.’

  Beaumont frowned. ‘That was done on the basis of our previous lettings, which had been almost a hundred per cent during the summer months. It made sound sense to extend our plant when we were making handsome profits.’

  Vanda North smiled. She was much more used to sustaining an argument than Jason Knight had been before her. ‘The extension may still make sound sense, if we take the long view. I’m merely flagging up that I anticipate problems in the next two years. We have to be flexible. The signs are certainly that we’ll need to extend our range of bargain breaks. Once we’re outside the peak summer season, we’re facing a vast range of competition. We’ll almost certainly have to accept lower profit margins, to keep the rooms occupied and hang on to the excellent staff we’ve recruited over the last few years.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you understand the problems of this area better than anyone else in the room, Vanda,’ said Beaumont shamelessly. This sort of meeting wasn’t the place to make policy decisions. Some time in the next few days, he would have a detailed discussion with Vanda North about strategy and how they were going to fill the new accommodation suites. He was better at enforcing his formidable will in a one-to-one situation than in this sort of formal meeting. ‘You are right to emphasize that we can’t ignore what is going on in the world around us, of course. The worst possible thing any of us could do is to press ahead with our plans in a blinkered way and ignore what is going on in the wider world.’ He paused for a moment, apparently to let them all dwell upon that thought, before looking down at his next agenda item. ‘Report on new initiatives introduced last year.’

  A rather nervous voice said, ‘Yes. That’s me. I have the figures to hand.’ This was Sarah Vaughan, Director of Research and Development, at thirty-three the youngest person in the room. She had long blonde hair and the sort of delicate, pretty, brittle-looking features which often seem to go with fair colouring. Sarah had a Business Studies degree and some years of experience in the retail trade with a big supermarket chain. She helped to run the shop on the site, but also had the brief to initiate new means of developing the full commercial potential of Abbey Vineyards. She was normally self-confident and energetic, but she found herself a little overawed to be included today in this formal meeting of the six people who were the driving force in what was now a large company and a considerable local employer.

  Sarah shuffled the papers which had been ready on the table in front of her since the meeting began. ‘The gift vouchers continue to enjoy a steady sale, but they are hardly a new or original idea. I think we can say that the guided tours we developed into a regular programme last year have been a success. It’s a difficult thing to measure, because we’re talking about the public’s goodwill – there are no directly measurable effects from the tours. But in my opinion the indirect effects have been valuable.’

  ‘I’ll vouch for that.’ The words came from a stocky figure, with the build of a prop forward and the face of one of the swarthy Welsh miners who had dominated the valleys fifty miles to the south of here in the not-so-distant past. Gerry Davies was the shop manager. He oversaw the sales of wines and the multiple associated products which had been the heartbeat of the enterprise since the earliest days of Abbey Vineyards. ‘And I’d say there are direct results. We sell considerable quantities of wine to the people who have been on the guided tours. More now than when we started. In my opinion they’re well worth while.’

  The chairman nodded thoughtfully. ‘You think these sales result directly from the tours?’

  ‘Almost invariably. I’d say most people who go on one of Sarah’s walks buy at least one bottle of wine. Quite often someone will buy a case. I can say that with conviction, because I’ve seen the improvement since we’ve had a regular programme of tours.’

  ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ He shrugged his big shoulders and looked interrogatively at Sarah Vaughan.

  ‘I think I know why,’ said Sarah Vaughan slowly, ‘but I’m glad to hear that you think things have improved.’ She looked round the table, as if checking that she had a receptive audience. ‘You get better at anything by doing it. I noticed that I was getting more relaxed and confident myself, and I could sense that my talk was going better, that I had a better rapport with my audience as we went round the different areas. They began asking me more questions, for one thing, which I took as a sign of interest. So I didn’t just work on my own little talks, I watched to see who else went down well. When we began the tours we used anyone who was free at the time. Now I assign them as far as possible to three people: Gerry, myself and Joe Logan, who works three days a week in the shop but seems to have a gift for communication with the public. I feel the tours are more interesting as a result. I’m glad it’s paying concrete dividends in the shape of sales.’

  There was a little murmur of approval from her fellow workers. Martin Beaumont said rather stiffly, ‘It’s good to hear that people like you are thinking about the job and how it might best be done, Sarah. This is the sort of initiative we’ll all need to show in the testing two or three years ahead. How is the “Adopt a Vine” scheme going?’

  ‘It’s really too early to say. This is probably the time of year when we should sell most memberships. We’ve only sold seven so far this year but we’ve had quite a lot of interest expressed. The scheme has the disadvantage that you lay out £25 and wait for quite some time before you get anything back for your money, so take-up is probably going to be confined to real wine enthusiasts.’

  The ‘Adopt a Vine’ scheme was one of Martin’s own, which he had brought back from a vineyards convention. He would have preferred to hear that there was a more enthusiastic take-up, but he had no idea how that might be achieved. He was more concerned to get his own ideas across than to listen to those of other people, more conscious o
f his own reactions to items than of those of the other five people in the room. He said abruptly, ‘Item Four. Shop Sales’.

  There was a moment of tension. Everyone knew that it was the sales in the shop, and above all else the sales of wines, which drove the whole enterprise. It was a long process planting the long rows of vines, then tending them for years until they reached commercial production levels. Those years had been endured some time ago and Abbey Vineyards was now a prosperous business. But it needed perpetual vigilance, awareness and industry to keep it so. There was still much scepticism among the public about English wines; there were still yearly battles, first to bring in a worthwhile grape harvest and then to sell the steadily increasing wine yield.

  Gerry Davies took his time and spoke calmly. ‘So far, we seem to be immune from the worst effects of the recession. We are a specialist market with niche sales, which we all hope may not suffer the worst troughs of the economy. We shall know by the end of this year whether this is indeed so. Sales of our white wines have increased again, as they have done every year in the last ten – as in fact they need to do, since we are producing more dry and medium-dry whites every year. This remains the core of our business.’

  Beaumont nodded slowly. ‘It does, but we are also producing more red each year. There seems to be a steady demand for it: a higher percentage of red wine from all sources is drunk in Britain each year, so we need to take account of that trend.’

  Gerry Davies nodded. ‘So far, we are selling all the red we produce. However, we have to push the “rough but fruity and characterful” aspect rather more than I like to do, and we take a smaller mark-up on the reds than the whites. We could do with something to rival the Australian Shiraz. But no one as far north as us has come up with a vine to rival them so far.’

  ‘We should get some economies of scale on our reds from this year onwards,’ said Beaumont. ‘I calculate that we should increase our production of them substantially over each of the next five years.’

  ‘Economies of scale will depend on us shifting everything we produce,’ pointed out Davies. ‘We’ve had to work very hard to clear all the reds in the last couple of years.’

  There was a tension between him and Beaumont which everyone in the room could feel. Beaumont was a man who didn’t like to be challenged too openly or too far, whilst Davies for his part was not prepared to let anything go which might cause him trouble in the future. The Welshman now said, as though making a concession, ‘The new sparkling wines have gone quite well. Quality and flavour don’t seem to be too important with sparkling wines.’ He glanced up at the faces in the quiet room, wanting to see their reactions. ‘A lot of the people who drink sparkling wines don’t seem to be wine drinkers at all, you see. It’s used mainly to celebrate family or group achievements, and everyone has a glass or two.’

  Beaumont knew that their latest champagne-type wines were better than that, but decided that he would not be insulted. ‘So long as we sell whatever we produce in the way of sparkling wines, we need not concern ourselves too much with what motivates the drinkers,’ he said affably. ‘How is the beer we agreed to stock selling in the shop?’

  ‘The Dog’s Whiskers pump? Surprisingly well.’ Davies spoke eagerly, as if he too were anxious to move on from controversial ground. ‘The brewery gave us an astonishingly good margin because they were so anxious to get in here, so we couldn’t really lose on it. Nevertheless, it’s sold well. There are still quite a lot of real ale enthusiasts who come in here to buy our wines.’

  Beaumont nodded. ‘We are talking about the heartbeat of our business when we discuss shop sales. Everything else is driven by the profits from the shop. Are there any comments from our financial director?’

  Alistair Morton had spoken not a word throughout the meeting, confident that his expert view would be demanded if he bided his time. For better or worse, accountants controlled the finances and thus the policies of many businesses nowadays. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I think it’s time we began to distinguish between the retail activities of the shop and the mail-order business, which is increasingly important. It may be a better indication of the way we should plan for the future than the changing week-to-week takings in the shop. In my view, it is the orders we secure for many cases of wines at our discount rates which are a better reflection of our progress than anything else.

  ‘There is now a steady take-up on our products from restaurants – not all of them local – and some of the specialist wine shops. As our production expands over the next few years, it is this wholesale trade which is essential to ensure that we sell in the quantities required.’

  It was a long speech and a prepared one, but none the worse for that. People listened carefully because they expected considered, not spontaneous, views from people who advised about finance. Even dullness was allowed, if it made commercial sense; indeed, to some people, dullness was almost a guarantee of accounting respectability and reliability.

  Beaumont nodded his agreement. ‘And what do you foresee for us in the next two or three years, Alistair? There are plenty of prophets of gloom and doom about, but I think we are better placed than most to come through a recession.’

  Alistair Morton took his time. ‘No one can make reliable forecasts, because no one knows yet how deep or prolonged this slump is going to be. There are two key factors for us, as for any business: turnover and margins. As with any other agricultural crop, we have to be certain that each year we can grow and market a good harvest. Assuming we can do that, our success or otherwise will then depend on what profit margins we can maintain on those products. So far, we have managed to maintain our overall net profit margin at eleven to twelve per cent. Whether we can do that during the next two or three winters remains to be seen.’

  Gerry Davies said a little mischievously, ‘But it’s your view that we can do that?’

  ‘There are too many imponderables for me to say that. We shall have to see whether demand remains buoyant when most people haven’t as much to spend on luxuries. Despite our increasing turnover, all the evidence is that English wines are regarded as luxury spending.’

  Morton glanced at Beaumont at the head of the table. ‘So far, we have managed to keep a healthy margin on all of our wine sales. We shall have increased supply again this year – probably twenty to thirty per cent more in the reds and ten per cent in the whites, if we have a decent harvest. Whether we can continue to increase demand and keep sales buoyant during the biggest recession on record will be the great question for all of us in the next two years.’

  Beaumont said, ‘I don’t think times are going to be as bad as that, as far as spending power goes. We are a much richer nation now than in the thirties.’

  Alistair Morton decided that as the supposed expert on the economy he would offer a little comfort. ‘That is certainly true. And the world seems to be determined to be less passive about this slump than the one in the thirties. More important, we are a completely new industry, which didn’t exist in the thirties. We should be able to think on our feet and devise solutions for ourselves. I am encouraged to hear talk of economies of scale. It might be possible to reduce our prices per bottle over the coming decade, whilst keeping our overall profit margins the same.’

  Beaumont nodded. ‘That should be our overriding thought, I think. It is something which none of us can achieve alone, but which we should be working for as a team. Unless anyone has any other urgent thoughts, I think we should leave it at that for this morning.’

  He hastened to close the meeting on an upbeat comment. ‘I’d like you to reassure all our staff that no one’s job is in danger at the moment. We have a good workforce. I want to keep it intact if I possibly can.’

  Martin Beaumont sat for a while in his office after everyone had left. The meeting had gone well, he thought. No one had raised anything that was particularly embarrassing. He thought he’d succeeded in putting some important people on their toes for the year ahead.

  He was much bette
r at estimating his own performance than other people’s reaction to it.

  THREE

  Detective Sergeant Bert Hook was not usually nervous. The roughest young thugs of Gloucestershire and Herefordshire had often found that out the hard way when they had thought to intimidate him. Proficient batsmen in the Minor Counties competitions had found themselves hopping about on the back foot when they had underestimated his pace as an opening bowler.

  Yet today Bert was uncharacteristically uncertain. He turned the white foolscap envelope over and over between his short, strong fingers. He decided several times to slit its flap decisively with his paperknife, yet each time desisted and went back to looking at his neatly typed name and address on the address label. He knew whence this missive had come and knew its purpose. Yet he could not bring himself to meet its simple message. It was one of those letters where you dearly wanted to discover the contents, yet at the same time feared to know them. If the human brain is a complex thing, the human mind is even less predictable.

  ‘It’s come, then.’

  He leaped at the sound of the familiar voice, as though detected in some criminal act. ‘I didn’t know you were there,’ he said accusingly.

  His wife Eleanor smiled down at him as he sat at the kitchen table. ‘I do live here. And I didn’t creep up on you. It’s just that you were miles away.’

  Bert resumed turning the letter between his fingers, as if he had been interrupted in some ancient and essential preliminary routine. ‘I knew it was coming, didn’t I? Now that it’s here, I almost wish it hadn’t come. It’s like being a child again. It brings back the Barnardo’s home and having to open the letter with my GCE results.’

  ‘This will be as positive as they were.’

  For a moment Hook was back in that boyhood world, at the long table in the office of the institution’s principal, fingering that other envelope. ‘I enjoyed that day. They told me at the home that I’d done well enough to get into the police, if I could meet the other criteria. I felt as if I’d won the lottery, getting myself a job – any sort of job.’ He could hear again the cut-glass tones of that well-meaning lady who had chaired the governors of the home, telling him on the day that he left that he had done well for himself, that he should continue to give thanks for the grace of the good Lord, who had seen fit to reward him for his rectitude.