by Joy Wodhams
“You're a cold fish, Gabriella, and like so many of your kind you can't bear to see others enjoying normal relationships. Perhaps I should feel sorry for you but really, my dear, there are other more serious matters to concern me at the moment. But I warn you, Gabriella, if you ever try to pass judgment on me again you;ll wish you had'nt.”
He held her eyes and she felt herself shiver. In the narrowed gaze and the voice that had dropped to a quietness she had to strain to hear she sensed an anger greater than her own, and for a moment she found herself conjecturing what form his anger would take if he allowed it to escape his tight control. Then the injustice of his words brought her own temper to the fore.
“My God, you're so arrogant! How typical of your kind to assume that any girl who doesn't succumb to your charms is a cold fish. And as to passing judgment – what the hell do you think you're doing?”
For a long moment he stared at her, then a rueful smile smoothed the anger from his face. “You're right. We're both guilty. I apologise.” He moved to his desk and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Gabriella.”
She wished she could shake off her own anger as rapidly. She longed to lash out at him with further accusations. Silently she took the seat he offered, watched as he moved things about on his desk, her eyes caught by the deftness of those long blunt fingers with their clean square cut nails.
“Our truces never last long, do they?” he said.
“Whose fault is that?”
He sighed. “Gabriella, this isn't going to work unless we can learn to cooperate. Accept each other's failings.”
“Can it work at all?”
“It has to. There aren't any other options, we're in too deep now.”
She nodded. “All right. I'll try my best.”
He smiled. “That's all any of us can do. Now let's try to make some decisions. The wedding first. Your church or mine?”
The next week passed like a whirlwind. Gabriella had never realised how much time could be consumed in arranging a wedding. Meetings with the vicar at her parish church, which fortunately could accommodate them on the required date, with the hotel she had chosen for the reception, with the dressmaker who was designing gowns for herself, Jenny and Rachel, an old school friend whom she had invited to be her other bridesmaid. There were flowers to be ordered, wedding cars to be booked, a guest list to be prepared and invitations sent out. Rod helped, but he was deeply involved with bank managers, machine suppliers and the production team at Englands in a bid to get the new company policy under way within the next three months, and Gabriella found the bulk of responsibility for the wedding falling on her own shoulders.
She was thankful that she had already arranged for her mother to enter Rosebank, a nearby private hospital, the following Monday. They had debated postponing the hip operation until after the wedding, but Mrs Stevens was determined to have it done as soon as possible.
“They say the pain goes immediately,” she told Gabriella, “and I'd rather walk into the church with a zimmer frame than be wheeled in in a wheelchair.”
If she felt any apprehension it was well hidden. So immersed was she in preparations for the wedding that she seemed to live in a permanent state of feverish excitement, and Gabriella could almost believe that she scarcely gave the operation a though.
“What about your trousseau?” she asked one day. “You haven't bought anything new yet and if you're going abroad you may need a warm weather wardrobe.”
“Going abroad?”
“Your honeymoon, dear.”
“Honeymoon,” Gabriella repeated. How could she have overlooked something so obviously expected of the bridal couple. The prospect filled her with dread and she wondered frantically if she could plead pressure of work to avoid it. But her mother would find it strange if she and Rod didn't at least disappear for a weekend.
“My mother wants us to have a honeymoon,” she told him that night. With their days so busy they had taken to meeting in the evenings for dinner or a drink and to compare notes.
He laughed. “Your mother's wishes shall be granted. In fact, I've already booked something.”
“Really? Might I ask what? And where?”
“No, you may not. It's a surprise.”
“I don't think I appreciate that sort of surprise. In fact, in the circumstances I find the whole idea of a honeymoon quite distasteful.”
A corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “But it's expected of us, darling. Don't worry, you can always like back, shut your eyes and think of Englands.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I don't find that in the least funny!”
“No? I thought it was quite a good pun. I'd forgotten you had so little sense of humour. Ah well, at least I can still enjoy getting a rise out of you.”
“I'd like to know exactly what you've arranged.”
His eyes teased. “Warm seas, blue skies, velvet nights with the soft music of guitars beneath our window ...”
“If you think we're going to – to -”
“No, Gabriella, I don't think we're going to – to anything! Really, my dear, if you think I intend to force myself on someone so cold and unwilling, you're quite mistaken. You'll be relieved to know that I've booked separate bedrooms – adjoining, I'm afraid, but it would have seemed odd to ask for rooms at opposite ends of the hotel.”
She bit her lip. Why did he always succeed in putting her in the wrong?
“How long will we be away?” she asked.
“Just a week. I don't think either of us can afford to leave Englands for longer at the moment.”
“And of course you wouldn't want to be away from Sue.” The words were out before she could stop them but she was unprepared for the suddenness with which he reached across the table for her wrist and pulled her towards him until their faces were only inches apart.
“You jealous bitch!” he hissed. “If I'm taking Sue Landon – and maybe a dozen others – to bed, why should it bother you?”
“It doesn't,” she lied. But it did. And she hated herself for caring.
They parted that night in an angry silence and she slept badly, tossing and turning as she relived the things they had said to each other. But in the morning he was waiting for her when she arrived.
“Can we talk privately?”
She braced herself, his scathing comments still echoing in her mind. Unnecessarily as it happened. This morning he was concerned only with Englands.
“Telling Jenny they were not to be disturbed, he closed Gabriella's door.
“I'm not happy about Frank Fuller,” he said abruptly. “He's being very negative about these changes we want to make.”
“Frank's used to having a free rein in Production but I'm sure he'll come round when he realises all the benefits. Most people don't like change.”
“It's more than that. He's opposing me every step of the way and I think he's been working on his people too. The whole department has become pretty hostile. And something else – I know most of our machinery is old but we're having more breakdowns than would seem reasonable. Little things mostly, but each one halts production and we're slipping behind.”
“Sabotage?” Gabriella found that hard to believe.
“I hate to think so but – I'm worried about Werner. If we let him down this time it will be the end.”
“Rod, don't you think it's time we told the staff we're the new owners? As long as they think we're only acting managers we'll never have any real authority.”
“We're not the new owners yet.”
“But what could go wrong now? Ben had no relatives so no one's going to turn up and contest the Will, and Mr Brewster said the papers are all ready to sign as soon as we are.”
Rod frowned. “I'm just reluctant to make any announcement until it's definitely in the bag.”
She stared at him, trying to read his face. “You think I may still back out of the marriage, don't you?”
He hesitated.
“There's no way I could back out now,
whatever my personal feelings. Too many other people are involved, my mother, Jenny and Rachel, the Vicar – and everyone here knows now.”
“You're absolutely sure, Gabriella?”
“I'm absolutely sure. Look, I gave my word, but if you want me to give it again I'll do so.”
His dark eyes bored into hers. Then he relaxed. “All right. We'll call a general meeting. Three o'clock today?”
“Fine. It'll be a relief to tell them. Several people have asked if Englands is going to be sold and I haven't been able to give them an answer.”
“The vultures are already gathering,” said Rod. “One of them, anyway. Minerva Enginerring. I'm seeing them at noon. They want to take me to lunch. I think you should come too.”
“All right. It'll be interesting to hear their proposals.”
“They know the set up here – that we're responsible for running the Company, although they think it's only temporary. They also know we're getting married, by the way.”
“Do they?”
“I wonder who told them.”
****
Concealed behind the oversized menu at Blanchards, one of the most expensive restaurants in town, Gabriella wondered what it was about Jeremy Turvill, Managing Director of Minerva, that she disliked so intensely.
Charming almost to excess, his manners were excellent – rushing to open doors for her, beating the waiter to pull out er chair at the table – and he was full of compliments. But none of them rang true.
She was hardly more impressed with Ellis Kemp, his Finance Director. The man seemed colourless, with little to say, but his eyes were cold and watchful.
Rod, true to form, kept up a stream of genial small talk, making sure that Gabriella was included and that Turvill and Kemp were aware that he and she were very much equal partners at Englands. Although so far there had been no talk of business.
Turvill clicked his fingers and a waiter moved silently forward to pour more wine.
“And now a toast,” he said. “To Rod and Gabriella and their future happiness. I understand you're to be mazrried in a matter of weeks.”
“That's right, Jeremy,” said Rod. “But how did you know?”
Turvill's eyes, a bright blue with a curious flatness to them, turned vague. “Can't remember now, can you, Ellis? But you know what company grapevines are like. Someone must have mentioned it. Anyway, Rod, I must congratulate you. You're marrying a beauty. Brains, too.” He lifted his glass to Gabriella.
Stretching her mouth into a weak reflection of his warm smile, she wished that she could disguise her true feelings more easily. It might have been better if she hadn't come. Well, at least the food was good, she thought, tucking into the Sole Veronique the waiter placed before her.
“Of course, you know that Rod and I are old pals?” Turvill was saying.
She looked up. “No, I didn't know.”
“Oh yes. Rod was with us at Minerva for many years. One of our shooting stars until he suddenly upped and left us for Englands. Wanted a challenge, he said. Well, you certainly got one there, didn't you, old chap?”
Rod smiled. “It's been interesting.”
“But not very rewarding, perhaps. Here you are, with Ben Englands dead, a lot of clapped out machinery, some major production problems and your European distributors threatening to desert you.”
Rod's eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a great deal about the Company, Jeremy.”
“I make it my business to.” Turvill leaned forward. “Look, Rod – and Gabriella too, of course – let's lay our cards on the table. Ben's solicitors are the Executors, aren't they?”
“That's correct.”
“They'll have to put Englands on the market pretty soon. You can't afford to buy it, and I shouldn't think you'd want to in its present situation. But we'd like to make an offer.”
“By all means do so,” said Rod, smiling.
“We'd like your cooperation.”
“In what way?”
Ellis Kemp joined in. “We're prepared to pay a fair price, Rod, but we don't like throwing money away. Two other firms are planning to make bids. You could find out what they're offering.”
“And, of course, recommend us to the Executors,” added Turvill.
“That's a lot of cooperation,” said Rod. “What's in it for me?”
“You'd run it for us. At least double your present salary. Plus perks, of course. There's an apartment in London – in one of the Docklands developments – that's surplus to our requirements. Nice for weekends and shopping trips. Bonuses. A car upgrade, naturally.”
Gabriella stared at her plate. Was Rod seriously considering the bribes Torvill was offering? She felt slightly sick. And it wasn't the Sole Veronique.
“What about Gabriella?”
Turvill's eyes shifted slightly, then he turned and smiled at her. “If Gabriella wishes to continue working after your marriage I'm sure we can find a suitable opening. By the way, my dear, I'm told I have excellent taste. I shall very much enjoy selecting an attractive wedding present.
Somehow she managed to smile at him again but inwardly she was seething. Not me, Jeremy Turvill, you revolting toad. You may be able to bribe Rod, but not me
Rod was folding his napkin. “Well, thank you for lunch, Jeremy, it was most enjoyable.”
“You'll be in touch?”
“I doubt it. You see, although your information was up to date, it wasn't complete. You said I couldn't afford to buy Englands. The truth is, I don't need to. Gabriella and I already own the company – under the terms of Ben Englands' will.”
Just for a moment Gabriella saw the true Turvill. Then he was smiling again. “A further cause for congratulation! If I hadn't a long drive ahead of me I'd order a bottle of champagne.”
“Another time, perhaps,” said Rod.
“Yes indeed.” Turvill paused. “Rod … I'm sure you and Gabriella realise the risks you'll be running. One needs a great deal of collateral for such a risky venture. I sincerely believe you'd still be well advised to sell. And as an old friend, I'd be prepared to make you a very good offer – far greater than we'd originally contemplated.”
“Thank you, Jeremy, but we have no intention of selling. As you well know, I enjoy challenges.”
“If you should change your mind -”
“You'll be the first to know. By the way, Jeremy, as an old friend … perhaps now you'll tell me who your informant was.”
“Fuller,” said Turvill without a moment's hesitation. “Your Production Manager.” He spoke with such indifference that Gabriella had no doubt. Jeremy Turvill was well used to throwing people to the lions.
****
“For a time there I thought you were going to agree,” she said when the two men had departed.
The smile left Rod's face. “You seriously thought I'd accept bribes and dump Englands? My God, Gabriella, what exactly have I done to you to deserve such a low opinion?”
Flushing, she stammered, “I didn't really – I just -”
“Shall I tell you what would happen if they bought Englands? Do you remember Steelite? And M.P. Engineering? Both were bought out by Minerva within the last two years. Within months all but a handful of staff who might prove useful in their own Company had been made redundant, the bulk of the customer base had been transferred to Minerva, the machinery had been sold off and the buildings demolished. They'd already, of course, put in planning applications to redevelop the sites.” He glared at her. “Minerva are asset strippers, Gabriella. They've no interest in playing Nanny to shaky companies.”
“Mr Turvill said - “
Rod smiled without mirth. “Oh, I've no doubt there'd have been a job for me – I've too much on Turvill for him to sell me down the river – but everyone else, including you, would have lost their jobs. Can't you see that's why I was so determined to keep Englands out of their hands?”
Gabriella felt the tears that came so easily in the last few weeks springing to her eyes and she blinked them fiercely awa
y. Oh, why did she keep getting it so wrong? Was she no longer capable of making judgments?
“Well, it's not the end of the world.” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed, a little roughly, at her face. “This is becoming a regular thing.” He looked down at her. “Do you really think I'm the bogeyman, Gabriella?”
“I - “
He placed a finger across her lips. “Never mind. Let's just keep the peace. All right?”
She sighed. “All right.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Word of Minerva's visit had spread and there were anxious faces at the meeting that afternoon.
Rod wasted no time. “I think most of you will already know that the Managing Director and the Finance Director of Minerva Engineering approached Miss Stevens and myself this morning with a proposal to buy Englands. Before we go any further, I want to tell you that their offer has been refused.”
There were murmurs of relief from the staff but Gabriella was watching Frank Fuller. His face had turned grey and he seemed to sway in the crowd. Then he moved forward until he stood directly before Rod and Gabriella.
“Surely their offer has to go to the Executors?” You don't have the authority to turn them down.”
Rod gazed at him calmly. “As a matter of fact, we have.” He looked around at the hundred or so men and women who crammed the canteen. “We called this meeting to make an announcement that we hope will please and reassure all of you here. As from the beginning of next month Miss Stevens and I will be the new owners of Englands.”
He put up a hand to quell the buzz of voices. “There'll be no sale, no redundancies. We're going to run this Company and with your help we'll make it one of the most successful in the Midlands. We've had some production problems recently -” His eyes rested briefly in turn on Fuller and several of the production personnel - “but I think they've come to an end. New computerised machinery is on order, with possibly some additional minders. But we'll also be retraining several people here to operate them.” He grinned. “That'll mean an increase in salary, of course. As you know, we produce a huge range of products – many of them small orders, which means short runs. But every time we run a different specification we have to stop production and retool or reset the machines. There's more wastage and a greater risk of error. I want to scrap most of the specials and concentrate on our more popular lines. The quality we're renowned for will still come first, but one of our most important aims will be to guarantee delivery – even at short notice.”