Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

summoned me over.
    ‘There are a couple of bottles of champagne in the fridge. Would you open them for us, Cassie?’ he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘And then could you ask everyone to join us in the meeting room for a quick celebratory drink? Yourself included, of course.’
    The investors, venture capitalists from a small but successful private equity company, had agreed to pay half a million pounds for a slice of stock (how much was not disclosed to the rest of us) in the company. Whatever the percentage they had purchased, Rupert and Olly seemed to think that they had negotiated a very good deal. We toasted our new partners and the future success of the business. Once the investors had gone, Olly raised a glass to me.
    ‘To Cassie, our new assistant-slash-interior decorator, without whom we might not have done such a fantastic deal.’ Rupert rolled his eyes dramatically, but he raised his glass anyway.
    Life at Vintage Organics became a lot more hectic – and the learning curve a great deal steeper – once the cash injection had been received. With some money in the bank the firm could afford to seek out new suppliers in order to broaden its range: Peter and Fabio weredispatched to Spain and Italy respectively to carry out in-the-field research. I was required to take on quite a bit of their workload, which involved dealing with suppliers, arranging meetings with possible new suppliers, endless correspondence negotiating prices and discounts on orders and a huge amount of desk research. I actually started to look forward to making the coffee and sorting the post as at least it gave me a chance to do something which wasn’t incredibly mentally taxing.
    I found myself working long hours – eight in the morning until seven at night was not uncommon – with half an hour for lunch if I was lucky. I even had to go into the office on Saturdays to catch up with admin that I hadn’t been able to get finished in the week. I was still required to run all over town delivering urgent post, I was still asked to do the more boring, assistant-type jobs like picking up dry cleaning, managing Rupert’s diary and booking flights and hotels for Peter and Fabio, but I was also getting more and more involved in the real running of the business – and I was loving every minute of it.
    The downside, of course, was that I was completely exhausted. I’d make it home by eight thirty, hastily cook myself something to eat and crash out on the sofa. My social life had died a very sudden death – I was just too tired to go out in the evenings. Jake and I spoke almost every night, but every time he asked whether I felt like doing something, I turned him down. After a couple of weeks of this, he sent me atext, saying, If you’ve changed your mind, just say so . I rang him straight away.
    ‘Changed my mind about what?’ I asked.
    ‘About me.’ He sounded a bit sulky.
    ‘I haven’t, Jake, I’m just absolutely exhausted. I know it sounds ridiculous, but honestly, I’d be no fun if we did go out. I’m just feeling wiped out.’
    ‘Well, why don’t you come round to my place tomorrow then? I’ll cook, we can watch a DVD. Nothing strenuous, I promise.’
    ‘That sounds perfect. Around eightish OK? I’ll bring the wine.’
    At seven fifty the following evening I was still at work, on the phone with an irate customer who had not received an order due to be delivered that afternoon. All my attempts at appeasing him – offers of discounts, vouchers, money back – were doing no good whatsoever; he had ordered the wine because he was having a drinks party that very evening. His guests had arrived and he was going to run out of booze in about an hour’s time thanks to our incompetence. I rang the delivery company. They couldn’t explain what exactly had gone wrong, but the two cases due to be delivered to Mr Richard Eames of 12 Gowan Avenue, Fulham SW6 were still sitting in their dispatch office. I suggested they deliver them straight away.
    ‘We don’t do deliveries after seven,’ came the reply.
    I argued with, pleaded with and cajoled the delivery man for the best part of fifteen minutes, to no avail. There was nothing for it. I would have to do it myself.I worked out that if I could borrow Ali’s car, I could get to the delivery company in Wandsworth by around eight thirty (traffic permitting), and then across to Mr Eames’s place by nine.
    The first hitch was that Ali’s car was not available – it was in