I'm Virtually Yours (2 page)

“Can they do that?”

Ben nodded. “Yes. We can only pray that the season starts early and the weather is kind to us this year. And hopefully this 'Worldsend Enterprise' deal comes off.”

“You don't think we could be getting into even murkier waters?” Lillian asked quietly. “We don't know much about them, what with their offer coming totally out of the blue.”

“Just at the right moment as far as I'm concerned,” Ben said. “I know it's a risk but what's the alternative? We can't let the business go without putting up a fight. A sleeping partner prepared to let us continue to run the business sounds like a good offer to me. And at least Worldsend is a nautical business so it must know all about seasonal fluctuations. Not like this bunch of sharks,” and he threw the paper angrily down onto the table.

“Will's not happy,” Lillian said. “He still says we should try and manage without outside investment. The barge will be earning money this season and there's another instalment due on the new-build this month. He reckons if we did some more advertising, set up a website…”

“Show him that letter,” Ben said. ‘He'll change his tune when he sees how close we are to being sold down the river. Can't see a website changing our fortunes overnight.”

“That's another thing. D'you think Worldsend knows how desperate we are?” Lillian said.

“If this woman they're sending to look at the business knows her stuff, they soon will. Just pray she's got enough foresight to see how good our future prospects are.”

“Are you going to tell her about the loan? And,” Lillian hesitated, “other things?”

“She'll see the loan when she opens the books — you got ‘em up to date?”

Lillian nodded as Ben continued.

“And no, I'm not going to mention ‘other things' so don't you go saying anything either. Nothing's happened for a few weeks now so hopefully we've seen the last of it. Right, I'm off to the boatyard. I'll see you later.”

Tiredly Lillian cleared the breakfast things away before going upstairs to get ready for work. Today she definitely needed to apply what Ben laughingly called her warpaint to disguise the shadows under her eyes and to give her the courage to face this high-powered businesswoman Worldsend were sending to inspect them.

Shame she didn't have either the time or the money to get her highlights done. If she wasn't careful she'd end up bald, she was pulling out so many grey hairs recently.

 

Will sat on the deck of the barge enjoying his second coffee of the morning with his breakfast toast and watching the river come to life. He reckoned it was the best bit of the day, waking up out here.

Not for a single moment did he regret his decision to move out and live on the barge the instant the living quarters were renovated. He might have told Ben and Lillian it was a question of security with all the funny business that had been going on, but in reality he'd loved the thought of living out on the river and had grabbed the opportunity.

He was enjoying looking after himself too, cooking in the spacious galley with its gleaming equipment. Lillian had admitted to being envious of the new cooking range on which he'd produced a more than passable lasagne followed by a pavlova the other evening when she and Ben had motored across for supper. Lillian had also been full of admiration for the conversion work he'd done on the barge.

Opening the barge as a floating sailing school was going to work, he knew. Even with some open bulkheads and the few planks that still needed replacing at the stern of its seventy-foot length, the barge was already beginning to feel and look like the sailing school it would become in a few more weeks. But there was still the little matter of finishing it off and buying the necessary dinghies before they could open. Will sighed. They were so close to being ready.

The individual cabins were finished and waiting for the mattresses and the bedding and the other items that would make them a comfortable retreat for the budding sailors. The saloon where the theory lessons would take place before anybody was let out on the water was equipped and life jackets were stowed in the lockers ready for action. All that was needed was the cash for the rest of the equipment.

Throwing the last of his toast to the gulls, Will squashed the question uppermost in his mind: Where the hell were they going to find the rest of the money needed? Negative thoughts he didn't need. He'd get the money somehow.

With hindsight they'd been bloody stupid to take out that loan but at the time… Will shook his head, not wanting to remember how desperate they'd been. At least they'd managed to make a payment last month thanks to that delivery job he'd done over to St. Malo.

Now though, watching a shag preen itself on the large black mooring buoy the barge was tied up to, he found himself wondering just how long he would be allowed to live on board — how long in fact the
Elizabeth Ann
would remain a part of his life.

As for these ‘Worldsend Enterprises' people who'd suddenly poked their oar into the business wanting to inject money, were they going to turn out to be loan sharks in a different guise? He was damned if he was going to greet them with anything more than politeness until he'd discovered if they had a hidden agenda.

It was his inheritance — his life — that was at stake here and he wasn't just going to give it up without a fight. He'd make damn sure, too, that this Polly Jones woman, whoever she was, knew that when she arrived.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Polly pulled up outside The Captain's Berth with a sigh of relief. It had been a long drive down the motorway and then through ten miles of narrow twisting high-hedged Devonshire lanes. Rosie,
secure in her harness on the back seat, yawned and stretched before sitting up and looking around expectantly.

The Royal, having declined to take her booking with Rosie, had given her the name of this B&B who apparently welcomed well behaved dogs. Hopefully that would still be true after a week or two of Rosie.

Bringing Rosie with her had proved to be Polly's only option in the end. Neither her mum or Marty had been able to help. She'd been hoping that her mum would have Rosie during the week when Marty was at work and Marty would have covered the weekend.

That plan was scuppered though when she discovered next week was the week her mum had promised to man a stall for the local hospice at a two-day charity fundraising do in the middle of the week. “And I couldn't leave Rosie on her own for over eight hours each day.”

Currently working as a doctor's receptionist there was no way Marty could take Rosie to work with her during the week.

“I'm sorry,” she'd wailed. “I can't do the weekend either. Kev is taking me away for two days. We're going on his Harley,” she'd told Polly, her eyes shining.

“Good luck with that,” Polly had said, surprised. “Thought you didn't like motorbikes?”

Marty had shrugged. “I don't — but I do like Kev.”

Polly had looked at her. “Enough to forget you hate speeding vehicles? Enough not to scream as you hurtle round corners? Or fly down the motorway at 70 miles an hour?”

“Harleys don't hurtle like other bikes and Kev's promised not to go fast when I'm on the back,” Marty protested.

Polly had shaken her head. There was no way she'd even contemplate getting on the back of a motorbike if she was as terrified as Marty had always professed to be — not even for the love of her life. Was this Kev going to be the love of Marty's life? She'd yet to meet him.

“The things you do for your boyfriends,” she said. “Just take care.” She hoped Kev was nothing like the men she'd known in the past with motorbikes. If he was, then Marty could be in for a difficult weekend.

At least her mum had insisted they swop cars for the fortnight. “Polly, love, I'll be worried sick if you try and drive all that way in that old banger of yours,” she'd said.

Polly, secretly worried that her car wouldn't even make it down to Devon, had accepted gratefully and promised to look after her mum's treasured car. Which would have to include a thorough vacuuming before she returned it. No matter how much she brushed Rosie, she always left a trail of black hairs wherever she sat.

The door of The Captain's Berth opened.

“Remember girl, you're on your best behaviour this week,” Polly said, leaning over and clipping Rosie's lead on before opening the car door and letting her out.

“Polly Jones? I'm Angie. Welcome. This must be Rosie. I'll take her through shall I? Introduce her to Solo my Jack Russell out in the garden while you get your things in. I've put you in Room 3 at the top of the stairs if you want to go on up. Tea in the kitchen in ten minutes,OK?” and Angie disappeared inside with Rosie.

Room 3 was a large double overlooking the harbour. Light and airy, it had a table in the window recess where Polly placed her laptop and plugged it in. She watched a fishing boat as it rounded the headland and motored into harbour escorted by a mob of screeching, wheeling seagulls. Further out in the bay several yachts were enjoying the stiff offshore evening breeze.

Once her laptop had fired up she sent Daniel Franklyn an e-mail.

“Have arrived in Devon. Will start work tomorrow. Polly.”

As she unpacked her things, putting them away in the old-fashioned chest of drawers, her mail programme pinged a reply.

“Great. First thing tomorrow go to the lawyer — he's got the first of your expenses money for you. I've told the boatyard to expect you at about ten. DF.”

When Polly went downstairs she found Rosie and Solo playing ‘catch me if you can' around the kitchen cum conservatory.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said making a grab for Rosie. “She's not normally this mad indoors.”

“Don't worry. She and Solo clearly like each other,” Angie said. “They'll settle down.”

Angie, friendly and full of information about the town, was just the right side of inquisitive about her guest.

“Down on holiday are you?” she asked, pushing a plate of scones and cream across the table towards Polly before pouring the tea. “Bit early in the year. Place hasn't woken up totally from winter yet. Not that it's that quiet in winter these days, what with the second homes brigade coming all year round. Not to mention the OAPs and their cheap awaydays.”

“I'm down here for work,” Polly said. “But I'm hoping to see some of the local area as well.”

“You working for someone I might know?”

Polly shook her head. “I'm a Virtual Assistant and the people I'm working for aren't actually in the area.”

“What the hell is a Virtual Assistant? Sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie. You got a time machine parked outside?”

Polly laughed. “It's quite simple really. People just employ me whenever they need a secretary, book-keeper, P.A., or whatever. They pay me for my expertise and my time. No office overheads for them as I normally work from my own place. Everything is done over the internet. This job is an exception.”

“God, wish I could do a virtual B&B,” Angie said ruefully.

“How long have you been running this place?” Polly asked. She guessed Angie was about her own age — on the young side to be a landlady. And to be honest, with her pink and blue streaked hair and hippy-type clothes she was far removed from Polly's experience of seaside landladies.

“I took over from my parents when they decided to run away to Spain. They didn't run away really,” she added, seeing the look of surprise on Polly's face. “Just decided to retire. I was unemployed at the time so…” She shrugged. “Think they thought it was an opportunity for all of us. Give me a proper grown-up job and them the chance of some sun. It's worked out well all round but the overheads are increasing all the time and quite frankly becoming astronomical. I need to average at least three guests every week to break even.”

Angie picked up the teapot and offered Polly another cup. When Polly shook her head, she topped up her own. “Still, at least I don't have the money worries my aunt and uncle do down at the boatyard.”

Polly stiffened at the mention of a boatyard and looked at Angie questioningly. But Angie shrugged.

“Sorry. Mustn't bore you with my family problems.”

“Are there many boatyards in town?” Polly asked, hoping to keep Angie talking.

“Not now. Used to be half a dozen, all specialising in different crafts. Pettyjohns would deal with the small day boats, Phillips built some large ocean-going yachts and during the war Leadbetters even landed contracts from the government.” Angie shook her head. “But now there's just Lillian and Ben's yard struggling to survive. Jack Pettyjohn's got a puny effort up at Woodside Creek but that doesn't count as a proper yard in anybody's book these days. It's got such a reputation for shoddy workmanship. Much like the man himself.”

Polly began to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach about DF and the boatyard he wanted her to investigate.

“It just makes me so mad,” Angie continued. “To think that the Robertsons' family business could go to the wall after all these years because of the credit crunch, despite Ben and Lillian's efforts to keep everything afloat.”

Polly's heart sank at the name Robertson. Now she was sure this was the company she was investigating for Daniel Franklyn.

“Angie, do you know much about your aunt and uncle's financial problems?” Polly asked carefully, not wanting to appear nosey.

“Not really,” Angie said. “They're pretty private about things like that but they did say recently somebody had approached them with a view to investing in the business. They're hoping it will be the answer to their prayers. But Will, their son, isn't keen. And to be fair, he does have lots of ideas for modernising the business.”

Polly sighed. “Angie, I can't give you any details, but that's the ‘somebody' I'm working for. I have to check out everything at the boatyard and see if it's a viable proposition. In other words I have to see whether Robertsons Boatyard is worth investing in — or not.”