by Joy Wodhams
Gabriella would. Having borne the brunt of Werner's displeasure she was quite happy now to relax, enjoy a good lunch and watch Rod put his own special skills to work.
The restaurant he had chosen, The Exchange, had once been a merchant bank. The new owners had retained the superb mahogany counter, caged in heavy Edwardian brass, as a bar and notices of old foreign exchange rates decorated the walls. The menus were handwritten in oldfashioned bank passbooks. It was a popular place, crowded on this Friday lunchtime but Rod managed to find an empty table by one of the huge Gothic windows.
“Well, Karl,” he said when they had ordered. “We've been planning some radical changes and I'm sure you'd like to hear how they will improve your deliveries.”
“I would indeed,” said Werner.
“I think you will have realised that in the past there has been a certain opposition to change. Ben had great talent, great business acumen, but it was, I'm afraid, difficult to convince him that policies have to change with the times. We shall all miss him very much but at the same time we are now able to press ahead with improvements and investment.”
The German took a long swallow of his lager and replaced the glass deliberately on the table. “Go on, Roderic.”
Rod leaned forward. His eyes, holding the other man's, glowed with enthusiasm. There was an aura of confidence about him that must surely, Gabriella thought, be irresistible. “We're already running two shifts and that's increased production nearly one hundred per cent. Incidentally, it's brought our unit costs down quite noticeably. Our prices are already competitivwe so we'll be putting the savings made there towards more machinery and possibly additional workers. Several of our machines are old, slow and inefficient. We'll be replacing them with new computer-aided machines.” He smiled at Werner. “I don't have to tell you the effect that such investment will have.”
“No,” said Werner, “you don't. It is a pity, my friend, that the English have never seen the importance of investing in new machinery, new technology.”
“Some of us have,” said Rod. “But you're right, we're a shortsighted nation on the whole.”
“All this will take time,” said Werner. “In the meantime, how will you ensure our orders are ready when agreed?”
“We're going to rationalise our product list. It won't affect you directly, Karl, because most of the components we cease to produce will be small-order parts only required here in the UK. But it will mean that we can standardise and produce to order. Fast.”
Werner nodded slowly. “I see. As you say, these are radical changes for Englands. You have the authority?”
Had they? Gabriella stole a glance at Rod.
“Yes, he said confidently.He was watching Werner like a hawk, watching for the first signs of weakening. “One thing more, Karl. Although it may be some time before we can attain maximum production, you have my personal promise that from this moment Englands will be absolutely straight with you. The delivery dates we give you will be realistic – but guaranteed.”
“Guaranteed?”
“Yes.”
Gabriella held her breath. Surely this was the clincher. Her personal feelings were submerged beneath an unreserved admiration for Rod's masterly technique. Time after time she had watched him turn customers about face, from indifference or even downright hostility to a willingness to do business with him.
But Werner hadn't yet surrendered. “There is still one matter that concerns me. I have heard that another organisation is interested in acquiring your company. If this should happen, what of all your fine plans? Englands may well be taken out of your hands.”
“It's not going to happen, Karl.”
“You seem very confident.”
Rod turned to Gabriella with an almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows. A question hung between them, silent, but she knew what he was asking. She hesitated. Once he told Karl Werner, there was no turning back. But she was already committed, wasn't she? For another agonising moment she hesitated, then nodded.
Rod's face relaxed briefly, then he was leaning towards Werner. “Listen to me, Karl. This is confidential information. You are the first to hear, and I trust you to keep it to yourself. Ben Englands has bequeathed the company to Gabriella and myself.”
“Indeed!” Werner's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “How interesting!”
“And we're not selling,” Gabriella told him. “Not at any price!” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rod turn to look at her and wondered if he was as surprised as she was at her outburst.
When the lunch was over and they had escorted Karl Werner to his car Rod walked back with her to her office. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and for a long moment they gazed solemnly at each other. Then his face broke into a broad grin.
“We did it!”
“You did it,” Gabriella corrected him.
“I just carried on with what you started. But you disarmed him. Telling him how bloody awful we've been, it was a crazy thing to do but it worked!”
Gabriella found herself smiling like an idiot, exhilarated by their success and the two glasses of wine she had consumed.
“You and me, Gabriella, we're going to make this company! What -” Suddenly he lunged forward and swung her up into his arms. “-a-” He spun her giddily round and round. “- team!” And then he was kissing her, his lips firm, warm, tasting faintly of wine, and she was letting him. His arms tightened around her and she felt her body, fiery, boneless, shape itself against the shape of his. His lips moved, burning a message into hers. She wanted to surrender to the message, wanted him more than anything before in her life.
Later she was grateful for the shrill ring of the telephone that stopped her making a fool of herself. But when she broke away she had to lean against her desk for support and her voice came husky, shaking.
“I – I think I'm a little drunk.” She looked at him, this man who was undermining all the defences she had built up over the years, and panic hit her like a punch in the diaphragm. She couldn't, wouldn't, give in to him, and in a gesture only half conscious she raised a trembling hand and wiped the back of it across her mouth, as if to erase the kisses that still burned there.
Rod watched her, his breath slowly calming, his expression veiled. Without a word he turned on his heel and was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Roses to your taste?” Rod asked, referring to the bouquet that had awaited her yet again in her office.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied stiffly, careful not to look at him as they drove towards the town centre. Outwardly calm, inside she was trembling and her heart raced. The meeting this morning with Mr Brewster would bind her even more firmly to Rod. She felt as if she had stepped on to a roller coaster and was no longer in control of her own actions.
“Come on, Gabriella, it's not the end of the world,” Rod tried to rally her. “Is it?”
When she made no reply he lapsed into silence.
Mr Brewster's approval was tinged with scepticism when they announced they had resolved their differences, but he congratulated them on their forthcoming marriage in a courteous manner.
“The initial contract's ready to sign,” he said, “and I'll start to prepare the other documents so that all the transfers can go ahead immediately you're married.”
“Does that mean we can't get anything before we're married?” asked Gabriella. “What about the money?”
“It's only six weeks,” said Rod. “Can't you wait?”
“I expect Miss Stevens wishes to purchase her trousseau,” said Mr Brewster mildly. “I think in the circumstances we can make a small advance.”
“I need about seven or eight thousand,” said Gabriella. “Maybe ten.”
“My God!” Rod clapped a hand to his forehead. “At this rate we'll be bankrupt within months!”
“It's not for a trousseau.”
“Then for what?”
“If you must know -” Gabriella's voice was ice. “it's for my mother. For an ope
ration.”
Rod stared at her, the anger slowly retreating from his dark eyes. “I see. I'm sorry. Of course, in that case I agree – if Mr Brewster is willing.”
Mr Brewster hesitated. “I can of course use my discretion. However – forgive me – but if you should then change your mind, if the marriage should not take place … I assume you would be able to replace the money from another source?”
“The marriage will take place, Mr Brewster,” said Gabriella. “You have my word.”
“And mine,” added Rod.
Mr Brewster examined the papers on his desk thoughtfully. “Very well,” he said at last. “I'll arrange a payment to your, Miss Stevens. And I hope your mother will soon be fully recovered.”
“Thank you,” said Gabriella.
“Now to Englands,” said Mr Brewster. “It was clearly Mr Englands' wish that you continue to run the Company jointly. I assume that is still your wish also?”
“Definitely,” said Rod.
“I'm aware that the Company is perhaps not as financially stable as it might be, but I understand there might be a possible buyer. It could be in your interests to consider that.”
Gabriella shook her head. “We both believe we can make it profitable again. We're prepared to take the risk.”
“All the same,” said Rod, “we'll be asking for substantial loans from the Bank. I'd feel happier if we pruned down our own personal expenses where we can. I was thinking we should get an up-to-date valuation on White Gables. It's a bit of a white elephant where we're concerned, but if we sold it and invested the money -”
“No,” said Gabriella.
“No?” Rod repeated. “But you can't want to keep it! The place is enormous, at least twice as big as we need. It will gobble up cash like a bear eating honey.”
“I want to live there.”
“No, Gabriella, it doesn't make sense. We can find something half the size at half the price – an old place, if that's what you want – but we must sell White Gables.”
“Mr Brewster, the house can't be sold without my approval, can it?”
“No, of course not, Miss Stevens.”
“Then I refuse.”
Rod's face darkened. “For heaven's sake, Gabriella -”
“Perhaps you should take a little time to discuss this between yourselves,” Mr Brewster cut in. “It is an expensive property to maintain, but I can understand Miss Stevens' natural desire to return to her old home.”
She had forgotten that Mr Brewster had handled Ben's purchase of White Gables all those years ago. Well, Rod was bound to find out sometime. And what did it matter? She felt his gaze on her and shrugged her indifference.
“Mr Brewster's right,” he said at last, his voice giving nothing away. “Let's leave it for now and get on with the more important details.”
But in the car he returned to the subject.
“You constantly surprise me, Gabriella. Why didn't you tell me about the house?”
She shrugged. “What difference would it have made?”
“Possibly a great deal. Is that why you finally agreed to marry me?”
She shrugged again. “Partly.”
“And your mother? The operation?”
“She's been waiting two years. I know it doesn't sound a lot of money nowadays but there just wasn't anything to spare – and she refused point blank to let me borrow.”
“Ben would have helped.”
She lifted her chin. “I don't like asking favours. And Ben had already done a great deal for me, giving me a job, paying for training.”
Rod withdrew the key from the ignition. “Got any appointments this morning?”
“No.”
“Let's play hookey, then. There's a coffee shop across the road.”
It was too early for the mid-morning invasion of shoppers and they found a quiet table by the window. Rod ordered cream cakes with their coffee.
“Bad for you,” she said.
He laughed. “I'm afraid I give in to my sweet tooth now and then.”
She watched as he bit into an eclair, his teeth white against the dark chocolate, and licked the cream from his fingers. He ate as he did so many things, with obvious enjoyment. She chose a slice of lemon gateau and nibbled at it, thinking that it still felt strange to be with Rod outside the purposeful environment of Englands but relaxing despite herself.
Rod poured more coffee for them both.
“I haven't been here before,” she said. “Nice décor.”
He glanced around him. “French Provencal.”
“You're interested in interior design?”
“Amongst other things. Are you?”
“I suppose so. Although I haven't had much opportunity to exercise my taste lately.”
“No, I see that. Gabriella, I hadn't realised you were short of money.”
“There was no reason why you should.”
Absently he reached for another cream cake and slid it around his plate. “Look, I owe you an apology and I'd like to make it now. It's obvious that I misjudged you.”
“Really?” But I didn't misjudge you, Rod Nicholson. You're still a bastard, even if you have had the decency to admit for once that you were wrong! “I suppose it was natural enough in the circumstances.”
“If there's anything I can do to help – if you'd like me to find a good hospital for your mother -?”
She glanced across the table. He had that tender look in his eyes again. Well, she knew how much that meant. “Rod, I've managed my own life – and my mother's – for several years. I'm perfectly able to cope, and quite honestly I'd prefer that you didn't interfere.” She didn't look at him again but she could hear the coldness in his voice when he replied.
“Very well, Gabriella, but I assume you'll want your mother to live with us at White Gables and you can't get away from the fact that, however it comes about, she's going to be my mother-in-law for the next five years. I think you'll find that I can't avoid interfering as you call it. Besides, I liked her. And I think she liked me.”
“My mother is a romantic. She believes handsome men are handsome through and through.”
He smiled without humour. “And you believe just the opposite.”
“In your case, perhaps.”
“We'd better go.” He caught the waitress's eye and gestured for a bill. “I assume you'll allow a dyed-in-the-wool reprobate to pay for your coffee and cake?”
“I'll pay for my own.”
“Don't be silly.” Pulling a £20 note from his wallet he slapped it down on top of the bill. “I wasn't wrong about one thing, Gabriella. You've no sense of humour!”
She stared pointedly out of the window as they drove back to Englands. It was a fine day with a hint of strength in the sum, and the people on the pavements registered the beginning of Spring with a lightness of step and smiling faces. Her own face felt stiff and tense.
Rod did not speak until they drove into the firm's car park. “I assume you still want to go through with it?”
“Of course. I gave my word.”
“And your fiance? What will you tell him?”
“That's my problem. I'm seeing him tonight. By the way, my mother ...” She paused, an unwanted embarrassment creeping over her.
“Yes?”
“Well, she believes our relationship is genuine.”
“I won't do anything to disillusion her.”
“I had to promise her – that we'd have a white wedding. With all the frills.”
For a long moment Rod stared at her and then he threw back his head and laughed until the tears came.
“Oh Gabriella,” he said at last, wiping his eyes. “I'm sorry, but somehow I find that terribly funny. Naturally,” he added, laughing again at the sight of her enraged face, “I don't expect you to be amused!”
Amanda, the office junior, was seated at Jenny's desk when Gabriella reached her office. She looked up, her spiky little face apprehensive.
“Jenny came in but she had to go home aga
in,” she said. “She was sick in the cloakroom.”
“Oh dear. I'll phone her later. I hope it's nothing serious.”
“She thinks it was the shrimps last night. They had take-away Chinese and she's allergic to shellfish but she didn't realise they were in the sweet-and-sour until too late. Her friend finished them but Jenny said even one's enough to start her off. She was really bad, Miss Stevens, Sue Landon drove her home, with a bowl from the kitchen, and she said she'd try to come in tomorrow. Jenny, I mean, but I'm to help you today.”
Gabriella sighed. “All right, Amanda, but I'm afraid there's quite a lot to do. I gave Jenny a long report yesterday that's rather urgent. It's already keyed in but there are a lot of amendments to be made. Do you think you can get on with it?”
“I put your flowers in water. They're lovely, aren't they?”
“Thank you, Amanda. Now about this report.”
The apprehension in Amanda's face deepened. “I've already started -”
“Good girl.”
“But – I think it's disappeared. I only pressed -”
Gabriella closed her eyes. Amanda was willing but inexperienced and apt to panic. “Let's have a look. Perhaps we can find it again.”
She was able to retrieve the report and bring it up on to the screen. “There it is. Now, let's make two copies and you can work on one of them. Then you needn't worry about losing the original again,” she said, patting the young girl's shoulder. “Just remember to save each page as you finish it.”
“Yes, Miss Stevens.” Amanda looked up at her, her face wreathed in devotion. “Miss Stevens?”
“Yes, Amanda?”
“Is it true you and Mr Nicholson are getting married?”
“Who told you that?”
“Sue Landon.”
Gabriella frowned. So Rod had given Sue the news before anyone else and once again without consulting her first.
“Can you keep a secret, Amanda?” she asked, knowing that the girl couldn't.