Gina.
Chapter Five
Harry rubbed her eyes. The figures on her screen didn’t look good, but they’d be a lot better if she could only get her clients to pay their bills on time. Was this the shape of her future? Forever hunched over a spreadsheet trying to make the sums add up? Closing the program down, she squashed the faint stirrings of fear uncoiling inside her. What if she couldn’t stop the steady trickle of cash leaking out of the system? What if people got to know about her financial problems? What if they started to whisper that maybe Harry Watling didn’t have what it took to take over from her father? What if she had no choice but to sell off land to pay her debts?
Leaning back to stretch her stiff neck, Harry stared at the ceiling; but her mind stayed as blank as the smooth white surface. Everyone had cash flow problems from time to time; her dad had certainly had his fair share. Getting up, she walked across the room to slide back the glass doors, stepped out onto her terrace and breathed in the fresh night air, seeking reassurance from her realm. Yet across the water, silhouetted against a clear, deep-blue sky, the old clubhouse was changing daily; from its worn, sloughed-off skin, the glistening carapace of something beautiful and sinister was emerging.
And now something with an equally tough shell – but a lot less beautiful – had also crept out from his shed, where he’d been sulking, to poke about in the last of the light. Harry watched George beetling along the pontoons, tugging on mooring lines, which she would undoubtedly have to double-check later, and realigning perfectly well-placed fenders. He walked away from one boat and Harry counted up to six before a rope mysteriously untied itself and a fender plopped into the water. Sometimes she thought she only kept him on because it was what her father would have wanted. Harry sighed and got up to find a jacket. Flaming June it certainly wasn’t, especially at this time of the evening.
George found her fishing in the water with a boat hook. ‘Blow me. That was safe as houses just now – had it tidied up proper.’ He stepped back as a wet fender landed at his feet. ‘Still, at least you found it. Wouldn’t do to have to replace it.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ said Harry, drying her hands on the legs of her dungarees as she stood up. ‘Mind you, if a few people don’t start settling up soon I might have to put some of their kit in safe keeping until they do.’
George cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Trouble?’
Harry shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like sometimes.’ She didn’t even sound convincing to herself, let alone George. ‘Gets a bit tight when none of them can find their wallets.’
George shuffled on the pontoon, which let out a groan. Harry bent down and let out a curse. ‘Someone saw me coming when I bought that last batch of timber. Look at this,’ she said, pointing to a split in the wood. ‘If I fix this tomorrow, will you have a look around and see if any of the other planks have gone? The last thing we need now is someone breaking their ankle and suing me.’
‘Pah!’ said George, frightening a few roosting birds. ‘No one round here would do that. They can’t afford the solicitor’s fees in the first place.’
Harry frowned up at him. ‘They can’t, George, but if Matthew Corrigan gets his way there’ll be a few up here who can. All it will take is for some spoilt wife to trip up and break a fingernail whilst getting her five-minute fix of the real Little Spitmarsh, and we’ll be out of business.’
George hurrumphed to himself. ‘You’re not getting this out of proportion are you, Miss Harriet? Anyone would think the Prince of Darkness ’ad fetched up at yer doorstep. Matthew Corrigan’s only flesh and blood, you know.’
Harry tried not to let herself get distracted by the thought of Matthew’s flesh. She turned to the old man who had been part of her life for so long, and smiled.
Chapter Five
Harry rubbed her eyes. The figures on her screen didn’t look good, but they’d be a lot better if she could only get her clients to pay their bills on time. Was this the shape of her future? Forever hunched over a spreadsheet trying to make the sums add up? Closing the program down, she squashed the faint stirrings of fear uncoiling inside her. What if she couldn’t stop the steady trickle of cash leaking out of the system? What if people got to know about her financial problems? What if they started to whisper that maybe Harry Watling didn’t have what it took to take over from her father? What if she had no choice but to sell off land to pay her debts?
Leaning back to stretch her stiff neck, Harry stared at the ceiling; but her mind stayed as blank as the smooth white surface. Everyone had cash flow problems from time to time; her dad had certainly had his fair share. Getting up, she walked across the room to slide back the glass doors, stepped out onto her terrace and breathed in the fresh night air, seeking reassurance from her realm. Yet across the water, silhouetted against a clear, deep-blue sky, the old clubhouse was changing daily; from its worn, sloughed-off skin, the glistening carapace of something beautiful and sinister was emerging.
And now something with an equally tough shell – but a lot less beautiful – had also crept out from his shed, where he’d been sulking, to poke about in the last of the light. Harry watched George beetling along the pontoons, tugging on mooring lines, which she would undoubtedly have to double-check later, and realigning perfectly well-placed fenders. He walked away from one boat and Harry counted up to six before a rope mysteriously untied itself and a fender plopped into the water. Sometimes she thought she only kept him on because it was what her father would have wanted. Harry sighed and got up to find a jacket. Flaming June it certainly wasn’t, especially at this time of the evening.
George found her fishing in the water with a boat hook. ‘Blow me. That was safe as houses just now – had it tidied up proper.’ He stepped back as a wet fender landed at his feet. ‘Still, at least you found it. Wouldn’t do to have to replace it.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ said Harry, drying her hands on the legs of her dungarees as she stood up. ‘Mind you, if a few people don’t start settling up soon I might have to put some of their kit in safe keeping until they do.’
George cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Trouble?’
Harry shrugged. ‘You know what it’s like sometimes.’ She didn’t even sound convincing to herself, let alone George. ‘Gets a bit tight when none of them can find their wallets.’
George shuffled on the pontoon, which let out a groan. Harry bent down and let out a curse. ‘Someone saw me coming when I bought that last batch of timber. Look at this,’ she said, pointing to a split in the wood. ‘If I fix this tomorrow, will you have a look around and see if any of the other planks have gone? The last thing we need now is someone breaking their ankle and suing me.’
‘Pah!’ said George, frightening a few roosting birds. ‘No one round here would do that. They can’t afford the solicitor’s fees in the first place.’
Harry frowned up at him. ‘They can’t, George, but if Matthew Corrigan gets his way there’ll be a few up here who can. All it will take is for some spoilt wife to trip up and break a fingernail whilst getting her five-minute fix of the real Little Spitmarsh, and we’ll be out of business.’
George hurrumphed to himself. ‘You’re not getting this out of proportion are you, Miss Harriet? Anyone would think the Prince of Darkness ’ad fetched up at yer doorstep. Matthew Corrigan’s only flesh and blood, you know.’
Harry tried not to let herself get distracted by the thought of Matthew’s flesh. She turned to the old man who had been part of her life for so long, and smiled.
Similar Books
