‘Go, Em, that’s the spirit. You’ll find a way. We can’t lose The Chocolate Shop by the Sea, or you. How awful would that be? The shop is such a special place. And there’s no way I’m going back to the greasy chippie to work.’

Emma let out a sigh. ‘Thanks, Holly. I’ll just have to make sure I give it my damned best shot then. Time for the masterplan to swing into action.’

‘Wow, have you got one?’

‘Well, let’s just say I have some ideas up my sleeve to get started with.’

‘Brilliant.’ Holly beamed. ‘And me and the whole village will be right there beside you.’

Deep breath … just walk in … shoulders up … smile. The worst they can say is no.

She so didn’t want them to say no.

Emma was about to try her first sales pitch, and was loitering nervously outside the main entrance to the Seaview Hotel, two hundred metres up from her chocolate shop. She was armed with a bag of goodies, including a selection of mini truffle boxes and some packs of fudge and raspberry white-chocolate hearts. She was pitching that they take her chocolates to trial as a turndown gift for their guests. It could work as a lovely gesture from the hotel, hopefully getting them good reviews and repeat custom, as well as raising awareness of her little shop down the road, where they might come to buy more.

She’d done some research and the hotel had twenty-four guest rooms. She had worked out her costs and was going to ask what she felt was a fair price (reduced from the normal shop retail) at 95p per box of two chocolates, all wrapped and tied with thin ribbon, and the hotel could choose either a white or gold box. Emma had even matched the shade of ribbon to the royal blue of the hotel’s logo. Fingers crossed that they’d like the idea.

Maybe she should have phoned or e-mailed before she just turned up like this. But she was here now. All she could do was give it her best shot. Right, enough dilly-dallying around, Em. If they had a security camera on the front door they’d wonder what the hell she was up to, loitering there.

Go girl! You can do this thing.

She pushed open the hotel’s swing door and found the reception desk, recognising the girl there as being from the village.

‘Hi, Emma.’

‘Oh, hi, Laura.’ She was the daughter of the lady who ran an art gallery in the village.

‘How can I help?’

‘Would it be possible to have a word with the manager?’ Em asked.

‘Ah, sorry, she’s not in this morning. I could ask the assistant manager, if you’d like? Is there a problem?’