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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