I'm Virtually Yours (3 page)

She paused. “If my staying here is going to make things difficult for you with your family, I'll look for somewhere else for Rosie and me.”

“Oh no. Don't do that,” Angie said quickly. “I'm sure Aunty Lillian will understand. Besides, like I said, I need the money too.”

 

The sun was breaking through the clouds the next morning when Polly let herself and Rosie out for a pre-breakfast walk.

Few people were out and about: a road sweeper busily cleaning up last night's debris from a takeaway; a postman beginning his round among the shops and cottages that started on the level near the harbour before rising and clinging limpet-like to the narrow streets that were cut into the surrounding cliffs. Down on the quay fishermen were preparing their nets for a day out at sea.

It really was a beautiful old town Polly thought as she wandered along. Full of atmosphere. Hopefully she'd have time to explore a bit while she was down here. She'd never been to Devon before; family holidays had always been to the Welsh coast, Tenby usually. Dad being a farmer found it hard to get away for long — both because it was expensive to employ somebody to milk the cows and also he didn't really want to be anywhere else other than his beloved Pembrokeshire farm.

Not that there had been any family holidays for a few years now. The recession had hit dairy farmers badly and then Dad became ill. “Summer flu,” the doctor had said originally, but Dad was dead within three months. The farm was sold and she and Mum moved into a cottage on the outskirts of Carmarthen to get on with their lives as best they could. Holidays had been an expensive luxury they couldn't afford.

Polly sighed. That was one of the things she was determined to change when ‘Virtually Yours' finally took off. She was going to treat her mum to a proper holiday. In a posh hotel. Like The Royal she was just walking past, all thick carpets and marble staircase. She could see why they'd turned their noses up at the thought of her and Rosie staying there.

Maybe she'd be able to save some money from this job at Robertsons Boatyard when Daniel Franklyn paid her and bring Mum down here for a weekend at least. Thinking about the boatyard Polly wondered where exactly it was located. It had to be near the water, didn't it?

Robertsons Riverside Services, when Polly found it two minutes later, was situated in what had originally been a huge bonded warehouse The last building on the harbour wall, its slipway formed part of the embankment.

The huge wooden doors were being pushed open by a fair-haired man who smiled at Polly. “Morning.”

Polly returned the smile and the greeting, trying not to stare. Was that the son, Will, Angie had mentioned? Two-day stubble, torn jeans, yellow yachtie waterproof coat and wellies. Good-looking bloke.

Polly turned left and made her way along the quayside towards the ancient fish market. The town's regular fish auction had long disappeared in the interests of economy to a large town further along the coast, but the old quayside market with its decorative wall tiles still stood as a reminder of those times.

A ships chandlery with the name ‘Robertson' above the doorway was the largest of the shops that clustered together around the old market. Clearly the Robertsons tried to cater for all sections of the market. Not being a boaty person Polly recognised nothing in the window display other than some coiled ropes and a display pile of striped Breton jumpers.

A motorbike sped past as Polly turned to make her way back for breakfast, its rider wrapped in the obligatory black leather clothing and face-hiding helmet. Someone late for work, Polly thought sympathetically, remembering the days when she'd had to do an early shift at the office.

The sound of breaking glass and the motorbike roaring away stopped her in her tracks. Seconds later a shrill alarm pierced through the air. Turing she saw that one of the large windows of Robertsons chandlery had been smashed.

Shocked, Polly hesitated, unsure as to what she should do. As she stood there the fair-haired man she'd seen earlier rushed past her, mobile phone to his ear.

“Yes, Dad. They're at it again. This time they've gone for the chandlery. Don't worry. I'm on the case. The police should be here any moment.”

Tightening her grip on Rosie's lead, Polly walked back thoughtfully to The Captain's Berth. So the dishy fair-haired man she'd seen earlier was Will Robertson. Quite a hunk. Working with him could be interesting.

Sitting in Angie's kitchen, a cafetiere of coffee and a pile of toast in front of her, Polly told Angie what she'd seen.

Angie sighed. “We were all hoping that this kind of nonsense had stopped.”

“Are you going to tell me what exactly is going on down here?” Polly asked. “ Has there been a lot of trouble involving the boatyard?”

“Not broken windows but stuff going missing from the boatyard, engines being sabotaged, graffiti being sprayed everywhere, that kind of thing.”

“Any idea who and why?”

“No.”

Polly drank her coffee thoughtfully. It looked as though she was in for an interesting time. What exactly was going on with Robertsons Riverside Services?

“Right, I'd better be off,” she said. “Can you point me in the direction of the solicitors offices?”

Polly walked quickly along Victoria Road following Angie's short-cut directions to the solicitors.

“The Robertsons are expecting you, Ms Jones, so if you'd just sign the receipt you can be on your way,” the solicitor said, handing Polly the large wad of cash Daniel Franklyn had promised.

Formalities over, Polly made her way back down towards the harbour. She debated about calling in at The Captain's Berth to pick up Rosie but Angie had assured her it wasn't a problem leaving her there.

“Solo seems to have taken a shine to her,” she'd said. “Much better for Rosie to be here — leaves you free to concentrate on work for your first morning.”

Walking past the chandlery Polly saw the window had been boarded up, a large sign across it proclaiming ‘Business as Usual'. She stood for a few moments opposite the entrance to the yard, trying to get a feel of the place.

Pavarotti in full voice was blasting out of a radio somewhere in the depths of the workshop but failing to drown out completely the work noises coming from inside several boats that were wedged and propped into position with huge balks of timber.

Near the door a man was planing a piece of wood, a pile of wood shavings mounting at his wellington-clad feet. The smell of resin and paint wafted out through the open doors. Taking a deep breath, Polly opened the door marked ‘Office'.

“Good morning. You're expecting me?” She smiled at the woman behind the desk as she held out her hand and the authorisation letter the solicitor had given her.

“You're Polly Jones from Worldsend Enterprises?” Lillian said blinking as she shook Polly's hand. “You don't look old enough. Sorry, that is so rude of me. I'm Lillian Robertson.”

Polly laughed. “Don't worry. You're not the first. I'm always being asked for my ID as if I was still a student. Think it's my curly hair that does it!”

“Ben and Will are in the yard somewhere. They'll be here in a moment,” Lillian said. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Thanks. Black no sugar please,” Polly said, glad that at least Lillian was friendly and approachable.

“Back in two ticks then. Make yourself comfortable.”

Left alone, Polly looked around the office. Making herself comfortable would be difficult. Two filing cabinets, a large desk with a computer, a few shelves holding volumes of
Jane's Fighting Ships
and piles of
Yachting Monthly
, a couple of chairs, a rack of waterproofs and a few pictures on the wall. A large framed chart of the local waters dominated the far wall. No space for her to work in here then with Lillian, that was clear. She moved across to look at the pictures.

Several were faded black and white photographs of the harbour in its heyday when it had been a busy port, used by coal barges, fishing trawlers and the occasional ocean-going liner. One picture, an oil painting of a wooden ketch, had a silver inscription screwed to its frame: ‘
Mary-Jane
. Built 1938. Robertson, S. Devon.'

As Lillian returned with two cups of coffee, Polly asked, “Do you still build boats like the
Mary-Jane
?”

“Not many wooden boats built anywhere these days,” Lillian said sadly. “We are building a fibre-glass 40-footer at the moment though. You'll see it later.”

“Is the
Mary-Jane
still around or do boats not last that long?” Polly asked.

Lillian smiled. “There are boats on the river over a hundred years old. The
Mary-Jane
should definitely still be around but we have no idea really.” She paused slightly before adding, “All we know is that she went to the States in the fifties.”

Before Polly could ask any more questions, the door opened and Will Robertson walked in.

“Will, this is Polly,” Lillian said. “Come to look us over for Worldsend.”

“Hi.” Polly said, her smile fading as she looked at Will's set face and sensing his animosity towards her now he knew who she was. Blast. More of an enemy than a friend then. Still, if that was the way he wanted to play it, she was only here to do a job after all.

“We've just made Will a partner in the business. He's got some great ideas for improving things,” Lillian said proudly.

“That's if I get the chance,” Will scowled. “You come to tell us we haven't a hope in hell of surviving without the help of your bosses?”

“No,” Polly said steadily. “I'm merely here to see if you're worth investing in.”

“It's not the first time Robertsons have struggled financially,” Will said. “We got out of it before and I'm damn sure we can now, given time.”

“Let's hope so,” Polly said.

“I suppose you're going to want a tour of the yard. Suss out where we're going wrong,” Will said glaring at her. “I've got an appointment in half an hour so it'll have to be a quick one.”

“Let's go,” Polly said, grabbing a notebook from her bag and following Will out into the yard. There was no way she was going to let him accuse her of delaying him.

“It's a working yard so watch your step,” Will said curtly.

It might be a working yard, Polly thought, struggling to keep up with Will as he showed her around, it's certainly chaotic. And in need of a good clean-up. There were piles of discarded stuff everywhere.

She counted fifteen boats of varying sizes, all shored up with wood or in cradles, all in different states of repair. Some, hidden under tarpaulin covers, were still clearly in storage from the winter, others were already being prepared for the summer season with overall-clad men anti-fouling their hulls.

“D'you employ all these people?” Polly asked, narrowly avoiding tripping over a bundle of work tools left in a narrow alleyway between boats.

“You're joking. Costs too much to employ more than three permanently. We make do with casual labour in summer for here and in the chandlery,” Will shrugged. “We'd like to employ more but right now it's better to rent out the space and let the owners do their own maintenance. The main workshop equipment is down here at the back,” and Will pointed to the machinery lining the far wall.

He glanced at Polly before asking, “This ‘Worldsend Enterprises' lot you work for. Decent company are they?”

“Never worked for them before but they seem fine,” Polly answered, wondering how to describe the large machine in the corner in her notes.

“Not what they call ‘asset strippers' are they?” Will demanded. “Because if they are they can sling their hook right now.”

“Your guess is as good as mine on that score,” Polly said. “I honestly don't know. I'm just here to work out the value of your business. Now, those boats over there,” she said pointing to several wooden boats of the same size all pushed together. “Yours or storage?”

“Ours for the moment. We rent them out as day boats to the grockles,” Will said. “Holidaymakers,” he added seeing her puzzled look. “But these days the public liability insurance is so huge we're thinking of selling them after this season and ploughing the cash back into the business.”

He led the way down between two motorboats shored up with giant props of wood before stopping alongside a gleaming fibreglass hull in a comparatively clean area of the yard.

“This is our new-build,” he said. “Want to look inside? See how it's being fitted out?”

Polly shook her head. “Not right now thanks. Maybe later.”

“Suit yourself,” Will shrugged.

“Grand tour finished or is there something else I should see before we return to the office?” Polly asked. “Where's the Dutch barge I've been told about?”

“In the middle of the river,” Will said. “I'll have to take you out on the workboat. Can't do that today though, I'm too busy. Have to be later in the week. I've got my folders and ideas for the business over there. You'll want to see them too I suppose.”

“Can you bring them over sometime please?” Polly said. There was no way she was going out on the river. As for looking the barge over — well, she'd just have to find a good excuse. Daniel Franklyn had assured her she could stay on terra firma at all times.

“OK. I'm off then,” Will said.

“One thing before you go. Nobody has mentioned the spot of bother down at the chandlery this morning. I gather it's happened before,' Polly said. “Can you tell me who
exactly
is targeting you and why?”

Will glared at her before shouting, “If I knew the exact answer to those questions I'd bloody well do something about it. As it is, I'm collecting evidence and biding my time. But believe me — I'll get the bastards in the end.” And he turned on his heel and left her standing.