I'm Virtually Yours (7 page)

“Already on order,” Marty giggled. “Though it has to be said it's not the most flattering of stuff to wear. So, you been working all weekend?”

“On and off. Had a spot of retail therapy with Angie my landlady on Saturday. Went for a long walk on Dartmoor Sunday morning. Rosie loved it.”

“Alone?”

“With Will,” Polly said hesitantly. She really didn't want to get into a discussion with Marty about Will. “Anyway Marty, I'd better get on. Aren't you at work?”

“Yes. Better go. See you at the weekend. You can tell me all abut Will then.”

“Nothing to tell,” Polly protested.

Thoughtfully Polly closed her phone. Unless something unexpected happened this week, there wouldn't be a lot more to tell Marty when she returned home.

Because she was anxious to do the best job she could for both Daniel and Will, Polly spent hours at her desk (with the curtains firmly closed so that the view wouldn't distract her) on Monday and Tuesday, going over the boatyard figures and assessing whether Will's plans for the barge and the boatyard were viable.

It was Wednesday afternoon when she'd decided they were and finally e-mailed her report to Daniel Franklyn detailing the important points. She omitted to type in the seriously large amount of money the company would need invested in it to keep it solvent. She'd give him that figure the next time he rang.

Polly didn't mention the vendetta in her report either. That was something else she knew would be better explained than set down in an e-mail. It would be interesting to hear DF's reaction to it.

Switching off her laptop, Polly slipped her mobile into her jacket pocket where she'd be able to hear it ring, rather than flinging it into the depths of her handbag where it often languished unheard.

Time to join Angie for a drive out for supper at a well-known beachside restaurant where Angie had promised her “The best fish and chips you'll ever eat. We'll take the scenic route so you'll get to see a bit of the countryside as well.”

Daniel hadn't replied to her e-mail by the time they left that evening. Polly couldn't help worrying that she hadn't sent him what he wanted to hear — or he didn't think she'd done her job properly. He normally responded to mails promptly. Of course he could just be having a busy day at work, Polly decided.

Angie drove out along the coast road. “Wind's picking up,” she said. “Forecast's not brilliant for the next twenty-four hours. Think we're in for a big storm. The last one closed this road for five weeks.”

“At least we're on dry land. Don't know why people are so keen on boats,” Polly said shuddering as she saw the waves breaking against the rocks that lined this particular stretch of the coast.

“How are things going with your virtual employer? I still can't get my head around you working for someone you've never met,” Angie said.

“Technology is a wonderful thing,” Polly smiled. “Things are going OK. Obviously can't discuss the business with you but I can tell you I'm waiting for a response to my report about how big an investment is needed. Also their reaction to the plans Will has for the business.”

“D'you think they'll go for them? Or is that a question too far?”

Polly shrugged. “Don't know. Did Lillian or Will tell you I met Jack Pettyjohn the other day? He seems,” she hesitated, “unnaturally interested in the boatyard.”

“It's a major fear of Lillian and Ben's that he'll get his hands on the business. It would kill Ben if that happened — although I think he or Will would kill Jack first. Right, here we are,” and Angie drove into the car park of The Fisherman's Arms. “Let's have a stroll along the beach first? Blow the cobwebs away.”

By the time they returned to the pub Polly was breathless and ready for her meal. Her mobile rang as they decided on a table in the window. Daniel Franklyn.

“I'll go and order shall I?” Angie said. “Straightforward fish and chips. Glass of white wine?”

“Thanks,' Polly nodded, pressing the button. “Hi.”

“My internet died for a couple of hours this afternoon so only just received your report,” Daniel said. “A quick look tells me I'm probably looking at a quarter of a million pounds initial investment. That the kind of ball-park figure you're coming up with?”

“More or less.” Polly hesitated. “Daniel, there's something I didn't put in the report which is likely to affect things.” Polly looked around and lowered her voice even though there was nobody within earshot. “There have been a lot of incidents in the past few months that have affected business.”

“Like?”

“Engines being sabotaged, windows being broken and the other night the barge was set loose from its mooring and damaged an expensive yacht. Somebody seems to want to put the yard out of business.”

There was a couple of seconds' silence at the other end of the line before Daniel said, “I'll sort it once I'm there.”

“So long as you know what you're getting into,” Polly said. “Are you planning to be a hands-on investor then? Ben seems to think if you're not an asset stripper you'll be a sleeping partner.”

“With the amount of money we're talking about I'll definitely be more hands-on than sleeping — or absent — I can assure you,” Daniel said. “Thanks for the info. Speak tomorrow.”

Polly closed her phone thoughtfully as Angie returned with the drinks.

“That the virtual boss?”

Polly nodded. “Apparently he's planning on being more hands-on than a sleeping partner. Wonder how Will's going to like that.”

She sipped her wine before saying. “You'll have to let me know what happens when D… when somebody from Worldsend turns up in person? I'll be back home by then. I can't help wondering how Will will get on with someone else besides Ben having a say in how the business is run.”

Since their walk on Dartmoor she'd been disappointed not to see Will in person. She'd had to be content with glimpses of him as he got on with boatyard work. She knew he and Ben had been busy this afternoon pulling the wooden day boats out onto the slipway ready to launch them later when the season got in full flow.

“Are you going to this pre-season party Will's invited me to?”

Angie nodded. “Definitely. Got to give the season a good kick-start. It's usually a brilliant evening — so long as the weather is good.You going to be all right with it?”

Puzzled, Polly looked at her.

“Will did tell you it's on board one of the tourist boats didn't he? That we cruise up the river for a bit before coming back down to the harbour?”

“He must have conveniently forgotten those little details,” Polly said. She sighed. “I was so looking forward to it too.”

Angie looked at her. “You like Will a lot don't you?”

“Right this moment? No. Why didn't he tell me the party was on a boat? He knows I would never have agreed to go if I'd known.”

“That's probably why,” Angie said quietly. “He's determined to help you get over your phobia. But you'll need to trust him.”

Polly looked at her friend. How could she explain that her fear was so deeply ingrained, she doubted she would ever be able to conquer it. Even with Will's help.

It was dark when the girls left the restaurant and began the drive home. The wind had developed into a full-blown gale and shingle and small rocks were being showered across the coastal road as waves broke against the shore.

Angie sighed with relief as they reached a road junction where she was able to turn left, and go inland slightly away from the worst of the winds and they finished the journey back to The Captain's Berth safely.

Half an hour later, tucked up in bed trying to concentrate on a book and ignore the sounds of the gale howling outside, Polly gave up and closed her book. Hearing the wind and the rain lashing against the window she hoped that the weather was too bad for anybody to be out on the river causing trouble for the boatyard and Will.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

The force 8 gale was whipping the river up into a frenzy of choppy waves as Will and Ben drove the workboat back down towards its mooring. An emergency call from the Harbour Master asking if they could secure a yacht that had broken its mooring half a mile upstream had sent them upriver an hour ago.

Ben carefully drew up alongside the barge moored to the pontoon and Will checked everything there was secure.

“You definitely not staying on the barge tonight?” Ben asked.

Will shook his head. “No. I'll kip down on here. Right, everything is secure. Let's get you ashore.”

Visibility was poor and the wind-lashed heavy rain poured down the glass windscreen of the wheelhouse as Will slowly made for the workboat's own mooring nearer the quay. Not a night to be out on the river. Which was precisely why he intended to spend the night on the workboat. If, as he suspected, Jack Pettyjohn planned to cause more trouble tonight under cover of the atrocious weather, he wanted to be ready and waiting for him.

Once Ben had gone ashore, Will secured the workboat to its mooring, made himself a flask of coffee, switched the lights off and settled himself in the wheelhouse. It was going to be a long uncomfortable night, that was for sure.

Sitting there in the darkness listening to the howling wind and the rain drumming on the wheelhouse roof as the boat was tossed around by the turbulence of the gale, a picture of Polly laughing at Solo and Rosie's antics on Dartmoor flashed into his mind.

He doubted that she'd be laughing now if she was on board. She'd be terrified. He'd never had a girlfriend who'd been afraid of boats before — they'd mostly been like Angie and Lisa, keen sailors themselves.

Will sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Boats and the river were his life. He really liked Polly but not only did she have this phobia about boats, she lived miles away. When would they ever get to see each other again? Carmarthen might only be a couple of hundred miles or so up the motorway but timewise it might just as well be a thousand. Still, they could probably work something out — meet halfway or something. No. The really big problem was Polly's aversion to boats.

He should have told her though about the party on Friday night being on one of the tourist boats. He'd been afraid she'd immediately say no and he did so want her to go to the party with him.

Could he get her on one of his own boats before the end of the week? A sort of practice run? Try and convince her she was safe with him there? Would she even try if he suggested it? He'd never forget the look of sheer terror on her white face the day he'd wanted her to get in the dinghy.

Will drained his coffee. He had to try. Tomorrow he'd come clean about Friday night's party and suggest that he take her for a ride in the workboat to help her overcome her fear before then. Insist, if he had to, that she boarded the workboat for a ride out to the barge. Put pressure on her by saying she wasn't doing her job properly for Worldsend if she didn't inspect the barge.

But even as he settled on this masterful plan he knew that if Polly became distraught at his suggestions he would find it difficult not to put his arms around her, say it didn't matter and kiss her unhappiness away.

Will glanced at his watch. 12.30. If Jack Pettyjohn was going to do anything tonight it would probably be within the next hour. He stood up and stretched, glancing across towards the boat yard slipway as he did so. Shit. The wind and the rain had masked noises he would normally have registered.

Black Sam was rowing the tender from Pettyjohn's yacht towards the slipway with Jack Pettyjohn himself sitting on the bulwark. Will's eyes narrowed as he saw the can between Pettyjohn's feet. Petrol.

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

The gale force winds died down overnight and by the time Polly made her way along the harbour towards the boatyard Thursday morning, the sun was shining and things were getting back to normal.

To her surprise the big wooden doors were still shut and padlocked. There was some sort of commotion going on down towards the slipway and Polly could see Ben waving his arms angrily. Jack Pettyjohn was standing to one side watching — a curiously triumphant smirk on his face.

A police car, its blue light still flashing, was parked askew across the road blocking any further traffic while two police officers tried to calm Ben down.

“Ben, you're overreacting. Calm down,” one of them said. “Otherwise I shall have to arrest you for disturbing the peace and I really don't want to do that.”

Ben glared at him. “You know as well as me, there's others here a darn sight more guilty than me. Arrest them,” and he jerked his head in the direction of Jack Pettyjohn. “I want to know where my son is. You sure you haven't got him in a cell somewhere on trumped up charges again?”

The policeman shook his head. “We were hoping you'd be able to tell us where Will is.” He turned his head away as his radio crackled into life and listened intently.

Polly touched Ben on the shoulder. “What's going on?”

Ben sighed. “Wish I knew, Polly. Apparently Black Sam has gone missing overnight. Jack Pettyjohn here has told the police that Will threatened them both recently when they had a row so now the police have turned up here wanting to question Will. Trouble is he's disappeared too. The last time I spoke to him was late last night after we'd been upriver to sort out a broken mooring. He was planning on staying on the workboat.”

“You've been over to the barge?” Polly asked.

Ben nodded. “Yes. No sign of him. And that's another thing. I had to go over in the dinghy — the workboat is missing from its mooring.” Ben looked at the empty space where the thirty-foot boat with its wheelhouse, heavy-duty winches and generator was usually moored.

“Could Will have had an emergency call from someone and taken the boat upriver to help? Or maybe a fishing boat along the coast needed help after the storm?” Polly asked.