A Bee in her Bonnet Chapter 7: To be Frank, an emma fanfic

It's barely 11:am but already Gemma is quite at the end of her tether:

"Look, Agnes," she says, "if you're such a fan of the man then perhaps you should sleep with him, then get the lectures in how to run this business and decolonise India."

"If I slept with guys maybe I would. Plus I hate to see him bummed. It's Dylan."

"Precisely. It's Dylan, who's never been known to take anything seriously. He'll get over it, trust me, he's good at that. Now Montage just got into the building, so can we please focus on the meeting ahead, rather than remembrance of sex past? It's really not that big of a deal and we need to focus, Agnes, focus. We can't mess this up, now are you with me?"

"Of course I am. Don't worry! I'm not going to mess up and you never mess up anyway."

"OK. Good. So you're ready?"

"Ready, you?"

"Born ready."

Not ready for this, as it turns out. Gemma takes one step out of her office, turns around, shoves Agnes back in, and pulls the door shut behind them.

"Frock!"

This is the closest Gemma gets to swearing, i.e. a major emergency has occurred, namely:

"What the frack is Hot French Guy doing on our reception sofa?"

"Hot French Guy's here?"

"He is! Why?!"

Agnes reopens the door and leans out to cop a good and none too discreet look.

"He is shit hot," she nods, appreciative, "Hell, I'd consider doing that."

High praise indeed, but what on earth is he doing here? How does he know where she works? Gemma racks her brains. She's only ever spoken to Hot French Guy at the organic salad bar outside her gym. They usually debate whether the cheese cubes in the quinoa are halloumi or manouri, agree that beetroot is a much-maligned vegetable, all the while looking a little too intensely at one another. A bit of harmless and very good fun indeed. For goodness' sake, look at the man! But they've never discussed where she works so…

"What is he doing there? Why is he stalking me?"

Agnes shrugs.

"Why should he be stalking me? Oh for goodness's sake, I can't be dealing with this right now! I've got at meeting with…"

They both gasp.

Hari walks in:

"Didn't you get my message? Your Montage guy is here and he is hot hot hot!" she giggles, until the look on her bosses' faces makes her stop. There's silence, followed by more giggles, and then Gemma remembers:

"Ladies, please. Remember, we are queens."

"Sure," Agnes says, "But fuck me, Gem, if this is Frank from Montage, then Dylan's in a whole new world of fuckin' trouble."

"So you see, Daddy, it could all have been quite awkward," Gemma says that evening in her father's study, "but it wasn't. No thanks to Agnes and Hari, of course. The poor man had probably never been stared at so hard in his life, but Frank bore it very well."

"And they liked your presentation?"

"Yes, I actually paused on the EBITDA margin slide to give them time to object, but they were fine, all fine. They get us: finally someone does!"

"I told you: only the French would be right for your business. They understand things, you know, things that are not merely made of money."

"And: they have an AI warehousing specialist in their portfolio!"

"They do automated warehouses now?"

"Absolutely. Montage said they could put us in touch. Apparently they could have us up and running in three months, can you believe it?"

"That's amazing, darling. Well done."

"Well, it's not done yet but… Oh, it sounds so promising, Daddy! So… serendipitous, you know, stars aligned, everything clicking into place, finally."

"Only because you've made it work, darling. You've worked hard for this. Unless that young Frenchman of yours is after more than a stake in your business?"

"Oh, Daddy, I don't think so. It's so unfair how people… just because he's got a nice face and lovely manners – which is such a rarity nowadays - people immediately jump to conclusions. Well, enough men have jumped to those conclusions about me when I'm merely being polite, I'm not about to do the same with Frank. I'll tell you what I wouldn't mind doing though."

"What's that, dearest?"

"His colleague, Vikas, he would be so perfect for Hari. So much smarter than that Martin guy from Dylan's office. He had the most beautiful suit on today, Daddy. And a baby pink silk tie, I rather think it was from Hermes two years ago. He had a very smart shirt and very very good manners. Asked some very good questions and he even kept it together when Agnes went off on one about tropilaelaps. He and Hari would look so cute together... now all I need to do, is get him to come and pick up a few documents that might mysteriously vanish from the virtual data room, and…"

"You and your schemes, Gemma. Must you match everyone in Greater London?"

Mr Woodhouse still believes that Gemma was solely responsible for bringing Agnes and Adrienne together, when all she did was suggest Agnes try Dylan's new yoga teacher after a day when she'd been particularly hyperactive.

Unlike her father, Gemma would never award herself full credit for that happy outcome, but she does believe that everyone has a unique gift, one thing they are very good at, whether it be baking or knitting or tending bees. Hers is tending people, and bringing them together, for their own good.

"I'd very happily match everyone in North London apart from you, Daddy. I could never find anyone good enough for you."

Mr Woodhouse smiles indulgently.

"Oh but it's so sad for Hari! I don't know why she has such low expectations of herself as to consider someone like Martin. If he were at least a little bit attractive…"

Her phone buzzes on the armrest. A text from Dylan, asking about the meeting. She sighs.

"Everything OK, darling? You are not pining for this Monsieur Frank already?"

"Oh, Daddy, of course not! But I think I'd better go and take this next call upstairs."

Mr Woodhouse watches his daughter finish her small glass of vermouth and place it back on the silver tray of the gueridon by the fireplace. Theirs has been a short chat tonight, she's not waited for all the ice in her glass to melt. But she looks happy as she walks over and kisses his forehead, and that is all that matters. He remembers of how Floris used to bend over their daughters' cots to kiss them on the same spot.

"Good night, darling, don't work too late."

"Good night, Daddy."

"Hi, Dylan, is now a good time?" she asks minutes later. She usually calls him once she's in her PJs and ready for bed, but tonight that does not feel appropriate. Not yet.

"Hey, Gem. If we're still talking then yes, anytime's a good time."

"Why, of course we're still talking. Why would we not?"

"Oh I don't know. Wait a sec."

Whatever music he'd been playing, it stops.

"Were you in the middle of something?"

"Re-watching Three Idiots. Reminding myself that all is well."

"Of course all is well."

"Gem, rhino hide never looked better than it does on you, but allow me to lick my wounds for a day or two, OK?"

She says nothing. How typical of him to assume he is the only one with wounds to lick.

"So I take it your meeting went well," he asks.

"Very well, thanks, it's nice of you to care."

" 'course. So are you going to…"

"Frank said that all being well we could get a letter of intent within the next 48 hours – well, that would be about 40 hours now, so fingers crossed."

"Wow, and so…"

"So?"

"So that's it: you're going to hand over control of Queen Bees?"

"What? No, of course not! We've offered them a 40% equity stake."

"And they've taken it?"

"Well not yet, and I expect they'll ask for more, but that's why we've left plenty of headroom below 50: they know we're not giving them a controlling stake."

"Hmm."

"As in?"

Silence.

"Dylan, for once in your life, could you just say: well done, Gemma, that sounds amazing?"

"It does, it sounds amazing. You know what else always sounds amazing?"

"What?"

"Too good to be true."

"Oh, Dylan, seriously!"

She can't be sure what to be more cross about. That he's raining on her parade, yet again? Or that him doing so has made her realise just how much she was still hoping for him to back her, for once in his life.

Well, that was silly, wasn't it? Just silly.

"Sorry, Gem, it does sound good, but what's in it for them?"

"You mean apart from 40 plus percent of a wonderful business?"

"That's right. They're venture capitalists, Gem: if they were philanthropists they'd start by paying taxes."

"To name a few: they get to partner in our growth at a time when the alternative is sitting on a lot of dry powder, they lock in very attractive valuation of a stock which could do very well indeed should we decide to list. You have heard of ESG being the next investment theme, haven't you?"

"Environment, tick. Social Snowflakes, defo. Governance – debatable, given your margins."

"For your information there's not enough ESG companies out there for all the money trying to move out of oil stocks. Montage are being smart and getting in early."

"OK, Gem, but have you checked the rest of their portfolio? Are they going to make you buy some loser business they can't flog to anyone else?"

"What? No, we talked about that. They do have a German herbal cosmetics company but we've agreed the market's staying fragmented, so we're not doing mergers. We said we'd consider selling on a digital platform of theirs in the rest of Europe, but what they do have in their portfolio is an AI solution for our French warehouse. How cool is that?"

"Very cool - at the right price."

"Oh for goodness's sake, Dyl!"

"What?"

"Sour grapes, much?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Well?"

Silence. Gemma sighs and stares at her reflection in the dresser's mirror. She pops a drop of Bee Kind Eye Makeup Removing Lotion onto a small washable flannel pad and starts dabbing at her left eye. A tiny bit gets into her eye and it stings a bit, and that's good.

"Gemma?"

She changes hands and gets on with making her right eye sting too.

"Gem, about Saturday, couldn't we…"

"No, clearly we can't, this was my point in the first place, Dylan: if you can't even be happy for me about this then what on earth…"

"I'm happy for you, Gem, I just don't know whether you should trust this guy."

"I can't be running my business like this, Dylan! Just because a guy's hot and not you, doesn't mean they're not trustworthy."

He exhales as if someone had just punched him in the stomach, then silence. She grabs another flannel pad and more lotion and starts rubbing at her face in increasing circles. If only Agnes could come up with a lotion that lifts mistakes as well as makeup.

"Well thanks for that, Gemma, I think your work here is done."

"Almost done, Dylan. I'll let you know when we do get that letter of intent."

"You do that," Dylan says, and hangs up.