Phyllipa watched him leave the room, she turned to Steven. “You and I have made my father very happy.”
“I’m glad. He’s a wonderful guy!”
“Yes that is why I always wish to be near him. I don’t want him growing old alone.” Suddenly the tone in her voice changed. “Now back to business. Let me ask you something …”
“Whoa! Hold it. Before we go any further I just have one serious question for you that must be answered.”
“Fire away.”
“What is going to happen to the new Yorker?”
“What do you mean?”
“I will never be able to use it. I will never be able to bring myself to inflict pain upon you whether it is your pleasure or not.”
She looked at him, a strained look in her eye. Although she had forgiven him for calling her what he called her, the nettle beating she had received wasn’t that easy to forget. It wasn’t the pain or the rash that dwelt in her memory, it was that, when it suited him, through anger, fury or whatever, he could bash away with the best of them.
“I know what you are thinking.”
“Go on then.”
“If I had really wished to hurt you on that day, I would have brought a walking stick with me or a cane or something. As I told you at the time, I bought the nettles in for drying out in the boiler room! I’ve done it hundreds of times!”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“In my temper, I grabbed the first thing that came to mind.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know they would hurt you. If they had been thorn less roses I would have still used them…”
“Roses, eh?” Phyllipa mused, interrupting him. “Soft French classical roses?… yes they would have been different.” Her eyes gleamed. “But please leave the thorns on.” She bought herself back to reality. “Oh well. You didn’t mean to hurt me then?”
“Of course not!”
“That’ll do for me.” She smiled. “As I have often told you, I can feel explanations.” Opening her handbag, she bought some papers out. “Now where was I?”
“Just a minute.” He quietly said. “Can we get back to my original question?”
“What was it?”
“The new Yorker!”
“Oh that old thing. Don’t worry about it. I gave it to June and Clive for their wedding present! Now where was I?”
Steven gazed at her, almost mesmerised. “I don’t know, but wherever it was, it is bound to be intriguing.”
“Right! Pay attention. Why do you go out to work?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I like designing things.”
She frowned. “That is what you like doing Steven. What is the basic reason for your labour?”
“That’s easy. money!”
“I’m glad you said that. Now I can tell you what is going to happen to your company.”
He sat upright in his bed, an apprehensive look on his face. “Say again?”
She laughed. “Don’t get excited. Everything will need your signature, not mine. If you don’t like what I have done we’ll forget it.”
“What have you done?”
“I’ve sold it!”
Pulling the sheets over his head, he pushed himself deeper into the bed. “We are talking about SG Packaging?” the muffled voice was anxious.
“What else?” she asked him, cheerfully, pulling the sheet back from over his head. “When you become my husband, you will have no time to run manufacturing companies. You will be too busy working with me.”
“Why what are we going to do?”
“Breed horses! That is if it is ok with you.” She added hastily.
He pulled himself upright again. “Thoroughbreds?”
“Yes we already have a stallion, Sultan. All we need is some good mares.”
“You are making all my dreams come true, but I am wondering what I am going to do for money. There will not be much left from the sale of the company once all the debts are paid off.” He gave her a warning look. “I don’t want yours!”
“Good because I am not offering you any.” She assured him.
Extracting a single sheet from the pile in her hand, she held it up for him to read. “Perhaps this will help.”
He looked at the pencilled figures and gasped in astonishment. “The company isn’t worth that. I know what those machines cost and I know what the buildings cost. I bought them.”
“Nearly half the price is for the “Good will” factor.”
He laughed. “What “good will” factor?”
Phyllipa smiled. “The Kristex contract! For ever and ever. Amen!”
Pulling her towards him, hugged her. “Once upon a time.” He began. “I had a packaging company with a large overdraft and a small order book.” His hands tightened around her waist. “Today I have no packaging company, my overdraft has magically disappeared, and I have four point eight million pounds in the bank. “ He looked into her eyes. “English pounds?”
“Absolutely!” she studied his face intently. “As you can see I have deducted the overdraft loan which I made to you, leaving just one outstanding invoice covering the cost and rental of office furniture plus one leather armchair.”
Steven hesitated… “But I thought they were yours?”
Phyllipa nodded. “They were. But as they have now been sold with the rest of the company, I want paying for them. Nothing comes for nothing Steven, you know that.”
He ruffled his hair with his hand. “Yes O.K that’s fair enough but I’m glad you explained it to me.” He looked at her challengingly. “I can feel explanations and that one feels about right.”
“He’s encroaching on my modus operandi again.” She whispered to herself. “It will have to stop.”
“Who were the buyers?”
“Your old bank. The Imperial!”
He chuckled. “Bloody hell! You are priceless , absolutely priceless.”
“I did a deal with their chairman.” She explained. “I had already taken a large account from him and he didn’t want any more trouble. I suppose you could call it my very first package deal!” lifting her legs on to the bed, she snuggled closer to him, kissed his mouth and nibbled playfully at his ear.
“Please Phyllipa, this is not fair.” He shifted his body, trying to move away from her. “You are taking advantage of me again.”
“I know I am.”
“My nurse may come in.”
“Three isn’t a crowd at this game .”
Sighing he shook his head. “I just heard you tell your father that you wouldn’t have anyone with a broken leg in your bed.”
Her fingers tripped across his bared stomach. “This is not my bed!”
He groaned. “ I’m an invalid.”
“I love you.” She said, wrenching his face towards hers and covering it with kisses.
“I won’t always be laid up.”
“Promises, promises.” Pressing her body even further into his, she massaged his good leg with her own.
“As much as I would love to love you.” He muttered. “I’m pretty helpless. We proved that before.”
“We were enemies then, now we are lovers.”
“But there is nothing I can do with this leg!”
“It’s not your leg that I am after.” She whispered, unbuttoning his pyjama trousers, a wide painful smile spread across his face…
THE END
In loving memory of my dear friend Stewart Vaughan,
Brian Deville
His Lordships Daughter Page 21