Книга - I’m Virtually Yours

I'm Virtually Yours
Jennifer Bohnet


Need a virtual PA? Then Polly Jones is your girl!Polly Jones is taken aback when a new client asks her to investigate the Robertson family business in Devon, after all, a ‘virtual assistant’ doesn’t usually leave their home office! But she needs the work – and less proximity to an endless supply of tea and biscuits can only be a good thing right? So she sets off, with energetic puppy Rosie close by her side.Polly’s new job isn’t quite in her comfort zone… Arriving in the small fishing village where everyone knows everyone’s business, any upsides (all those yummy scones and clotted cream) of course have their downside - she’s completely forgotten to pack her sea legs, and the temptingly handsome Will Robertson is making her job difficult at every turn.It’s so much easier to keep things strictly professional in the virtual world – but with no e-mail to hide behind Polly must admit that Will’s smile is incredibly, deliciously distracting…Praise for Jennifer Bohnet'…it was such a lovely, sweet read that I didn’t want to end!' - Chick Lit Reviews'What a sweet romance, set by the seaside, starring appealing characters, namely likeable Polly, mysterious Daniel and hunky Will. An intriguing plot with a satisfying ending.' - The Virtual Bookcase







Need a virtual PA? Then Polly Jones is your girl!



Polly Jones is taken aback when a new client asks her to investigate the Robertson family business in Devon, after all, a ‘virtual assistant’ doesn’t usually leave their home office! But she needs the work — and less proximity to an endless supply of tea and biscuits can only be a good thing right? So she sets off, with energetic puppy Rosie close by her side.

Polly’s new job isn’t quite in her comfort zone… Arriving in the small fishing village where everyone knows everyone’s business, any upsides (all those yummy scones and clotted cream) of course have their downside - she’s completely forgotten to pack her sea legs, and the temptingly handsome Will Robertson is making her job difficult at every turn.

It’s so much easier to keep things strictly professional in the virtual world — but with no e-mail to hide behind Polly must admit that Will’s smile is incredibly, deliciously distracting…


I’m Virtually Yours



Jennifer Bohnet









Copyright (#ulink_1f94a844-dd96-549e-9edd-24b2e23c6c81)

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Jennifer Bohnet 2013

Jennifer Bohnet asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472074263

Version date: 2018-06-08


JENNIFER BOHNET

is a West Country girl now living in the wilds of rural Brittany, France. She’s still not sure how she ended up there! The saying ‘Life is what happens while you’re deciding what to do’ is certainly true in her case. She’s always written alongside having various jobs: playgroup leader, bookseller, landlady, restaurateur, farmer’s wife, secretary/p,a. — the list is endless, but does provide a rich vein of inspiration for her stories.

For three years she wrote a newspaper column in The South Hams Group of Newspapers (Devon) where she took a wry look at family life. Since living in France it is her fiction that has taken off with hundreds of short stories and several serials published internationally.

Allergic to housework and gardening, she rarely does either but she does like cooking and entertaining and wandering around vide greniers (the French equivalent of flea markets) looking for a bargain or two. Her children currently live in fear of her turning into an ageing hippy and moving to Totnes.

To find out more about Jennifer visit her website:

http://goo.gl/xviqQp (http://goo.gl/xviqQp)

or chat to her on Twitter: @jenniewriter


Contents



Cover (#ua9e49daa-ee41-52e9-95ff-f28d94726338)

Blurb (#u699554b1-0f67-5f14-b3a5-68cb92f9555b)

Title Page (#uf4c305a3-3c91-5005-a67a-39523ed58036)

Copyright (#u83bb261a-5186-5475-abc9-524b4d611e71)

Author Bio (#ue9dfc46c-ca62-5206-8d27-3a752e6e61cc)

Dedication (#u22709817-355a-5ec4-be0a-b5bd8c5517e8)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


To my husband Richard for encouraging me to keep going in the face of rejections.


CHAPTER ONE (#u0e09585b-2873-5116-9e4d-dab56c864685)



Daniel Franklyn’s e-mail arrived late Thursday afternoon just as Polly was about to stop work for the day.



“Hi. I need a VA for 7—12 days in the West Country starting Monday. Interested? DF.”



Irritated, Polly looked at the computer screen. Of course she was interested in taking on a new client and more work but didn’t ‘DF’, whoever he was, understand the whole point of a Virtual Assistant was that they didn’t have to be physically present to do the work? She could stay right here in Carmarthen and do the work in her office.

Briskly Polly typed her reply:



“Dear DF, am interested in being your VA but question the necessity of going to the West Country — particularly at such short notice. Have attached my business brochure detailing the services I offer and my charges. Regards, Polly Jones.”



Polly sighed, looking across at the growing pile of bills on her desk. Electricity, rent and car tax were currently top of the pile. She knew without looking, too, that her not very generous redundancy money in the bank was on its last double figure. She could definitely have used the extra money ‘DF’ would have paid this month.

“You wait, Poll,” Marty, her best friend since forever, had said only last night. “Virtual Assistants are just taking off. I reckon you’ve chosen the best time to go it alone. A couple of months from now and you’ll be so busy you’ll be looking to employ someone to help you with all the work.”

Polly hadn’t bothered pointing out that she hadn’t had much choice but to go it alone. When the national travel firm she’d managed a local branch for had made her redundant in a cost cutting cull, she hadn’t fancied working at the local chicken processing factory, the only opportunity the JobCentre appeared to be able to offer her. Instead, she’d taken a deep breath and decided to use the redundancy money to become her own boss.

“I’m beginning to think my life is jinxed at the moment. Losing my job, no social life to speak of, ‘Virtually Yours’ taking longer than I thought to bring in the business.” Polly had shaken her head. “Can’t help but think I’ve done everything all wrong. Nearly 28 and I’m still struggling to get things right.”

“Don’t be daft,” Marty said. “You’ve got loads of things right. This is just a bit of a blip. You’ll see.”

“Ever the optimist,” Polly had laughed. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

Deep down she knew it took time to establish any sort of new business, especially in these hard economic times. She’d only set up ‘Virtually Yours’ eleven weeks ago, dreaming of instant success. Which of course hadn’t happened.

Lots of enquiries and promises of future work but so far she hadn’t exactly been rushed off her feet. She’d even started sneaking looks at the Sits Vac in the local paper for office work. Signing up with the local temping agency for a few hours’ work each week was beginning to look like a good idea — although the thought of being a lowly typist again didn’t appeal one bit.

A new client account today would certainly have been a boost to her current regular batch of three, but she doubted that Daniel Franklyn would bother to respond now she’d queried the need to go haring off down to the West Country.

Her mobile rang as she was about to log off and close down her computer. She didn’t recognise the number showing on the small screen, or the voice.

“Hi. Daniel Franklyn here. I know it’s unusual for VAs to travel but this is a special case. I really need someone to represent me in the West Country for the next week or so.”

“It’s very short notice,” Polly said. “I do have other work commitments,” she added, crossing her fingers. Not that many and nothing she couldn’t work on from the depths of, “Where exactly in the West Country?”

“Devon. Down near Dartmouth. I’ll obviously pay all expenses plus a bonus at the end of the job. You’ll have full powers to act on my behalf. Be my proxy. With luck it will take less than a fortnight to tie things up. If I could do it myself I would. Unfortunately I’ve been delayed.”

“What exactly do you want me to do down there? Why can’t I do it from here?” Polly asked. “Sorry I didn’t catch that — your voice keeps disappearing.”

“I want you to check out a boat business for me before I commit to investing in it. You’ll need to look at the books, talk to the workers, generally get the feel of the place. Suss out whether I’d be putting my money into a going concern.”

“Err — I wouldn’t have to actually go on board any boats, would I? I’m not good on boats.” The actual word was ‘terrified’ but Polly didn’t think Daniel Franklyn needed to know that.

“No,” Daniel answered shortly, his transatlantic accent cutting through her protests. “You can stay on terra firma at all times.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility to give a VA you don’t know,” Polly said. “Are you sure you don’t have a business contact down there who can act on your behalf?”

“My lawyers are doing all the checks they can but I want a more personal view of everything. You’ve got a Business Management qualification haven’t you? So you’re more than capable of assessing this company for me. So do you want the job? Yes or no? You come highly recommended but you’re not the only VA around you know.”

No, Polly thought silently, I’m not. But I’m probably the only one free enough to drop everything to go and work in Devon for however long it takes.

On the other hand though, it did sound like a dream assignment and one, if she did a good job of course, that would help spread her reputation out into the big wide world. Fleetingly she wondered who had recommended her to Daniel Franklyn.

“OK,” she said taking a deep breath and coming to a decision. “I’ll drive down this Sunday. E-mail me all the info so I can familiarise myself with things before I go. Oh, and as I’ve not worked for you before, I’d appreciate some money before I start accumulating too many expenses like petrol and hotel bills.”

“Sure thing,” Daniel said. “I’ll transfer some dollars to the lawyers tonight.” He named a three-figure sum that took Polly’s breath away. Whoever Daniel Franklyn was, he certainly didn’t appear to be short of money.

“That should cover things for the first few days,” he added. “Just one more thing. If anyone asks, you are working for a company called Worldsend Enterprises. My name is not to be mentioned. Got that?”

Before Polly could ask “Why not?” Daniel continued.

“Book yourself into the best hotel the town has to offer — I hear The Royal has a great spa. Right, got to go. Something’s come up. I’ll be in touch.” And the line died.

Polly closed her mobile. A client with a no-expenses-spared attitude was a welcome addition to her client base but what did she know about Daniel Franklyn? So far her clients had come by personal recommendation and although he’d said she came highly recommended she knew nothing about him. And this thing about not mentioning him by name — what exactly was that about?

Thoughtfully Polly typed ‘Daniel Franklyn’ into Google. Nobody there on the first two pages sounded as if they could be ’her’ Daniel Franklyn. Next she typed ‘Worldsend Enterprises’ into the search box and found their web page — which was ‘Under Maintenance’ and unavailable. A brief notice apologised and said to check back in a few days when the site would be up and running again. Hmm. Fat lot of help that was.

Polly bit her lip. She’d committed herself to going down to the West Country now and she did need the money. Apart from the bills on her desk, her ancient car was coming up for its mot next month — her car!

She’d forgotten the state it was in. Would it get her all the way to Devon? There was a strange knocking noise when she went round corners that would probably turn out to be expensive to fix. And she’d completely forgotten about Rosie. What was she going to do with Rosie?



Ben Robertson pushed his breakfast toast away and finally opened the letter he’d been ignoring for the past ten minutes.

“The loan company are getting heavy. Say if we miss another payment, they’ll call in the loan immediately.”

Lillian rubbed her eyes tiredly. Sleep had again evaded her for most of the night as she’d tossed and turned worrying about the business. They so didn’t need the loan company piling additional pressure on. She looked at Ben.

Seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the worry lines across his forehead she knew he hadn’t slept much either. She’d be glad when everything was sorted — one way or the other. She hated seeing Ben like this. At their time of life she’d expected things to be getting easier, not more difficult. All this business with the yard and finance was definitely taking its toll on both of them.

“Can they do that?”

Ben nodded. “Yes. We can only pray that the season starts early and the weather is kind to us this year. And hopefully this ’Worldsend Enterprise’ deal comes off.”

“You don’t think we could be getting into even murkier waters?” Lillian asked quietly. “We don’t know much about them, what with their offer coming totally out of the blue.”

“Just at the right moment as far as I’m concerned,” Ben said. “I know it’s a risk but what’s the alternative? We can’t let the business go without putting up a fight. A sleeping partner prepared to let us continue to run the business sounds like a good offer to me. And at least Worldsend is a nautical business so it must know all about seasonal fluctuations. Not like this bunch of sharks,” and he threw the paper angrily down onto the table.

“Will’s not happy,” Lillian said. “He still says we should try and manage without outside investment. The barge will be earning money this season and there’s another instalment due on the new-build this month. He reckons if we did some more advertising, set up a website…”

“Show him that letter,” Ben said. ‘He’ll change his tune when he sees how close we are to being sold down the river. Can’t see a website changing our fortunes overnight.”

“That’s another thing. D’you think Worldsend knows how desperate we are?” Lillian said.

“If this woman they’re sending to look at the business knows her stuff, they soon will. Just pray she’s got enough foresight to see how good our future prospects are.”

“Are you going to tell her about the loan? And,” Lillian hesitated, “other things?”

“She’ll see the loan when she opens the books — you got ‘em up to date?”

Lillian nodded as Ben continued.

“And no, I’m not going to mention ‘other things’ so don’t you go saying anything either. Nothing’s happened for a few weeks now so hopefully we’ve seen the last of it. Right, I’m off to the boatyard. I’ll see you later.”

Tiredly Lillian cleared the breakfast things away before going upstairs to get ready for work. Today she definitely needed to apply what Ben laughingly called her warpaint to disguise the shadows under her eyes and to give her the courage to face this high-powered businesswoman Worldsend were sending to inspect them.

Shame she didn’t have either the time or the money to get her highlights done. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up bald, she was pulling out so many grey hairs recently.



Will sat on the deck of the barge enjoying his second coffee of the morning with his breakfast toast and watching the river come to life. He reckoned it was the best bit of the day, waking up out here.

Not for a single moment did he regret his decision to move out and live on the barge the instant the living quarters were renovated. He might have told Ben and Lillian it was a question of security with all the funny business that had been going on, but in reality he’d loved the thought of living out on the river and had grabbed the opportunity.

He was enjoying looking after himself too, cooking in the spacious galley with its gleaming equipment. Lillian had admitted to being envious of the new cooking range on which he’d produced a more than passable lasagne followed by a pavlova the other evening when she and Ben had motored across for supper. Lillian had also been full of admiration for the conversion work he’d done on the barge.

Opening the barge as a floating sailing school was going to work, he knew. Even with some open bulkheads and the few planks that still needed replacing at the stern of its seventy-foot length, the barge was already beginning to feel and look like the sailing school it would become in a few more weeks. But there was still the little matter of finishing it off and buying the necessary dinghies before they could open. Will sighed. They were so close to being ready.

The individual cabins were finished and waiting for the mattresses and the bedding and the other items that would make them a comfortable retreat for the budding sailors. The saloon where the theory lessons would take place before anybody was let out on the water was equipped and life jackets were stowed in the lockers ready for action. All that was needed was the cash for the rest of the equipment.

Throwing the last of his toast to the gulls, Will squashed the question uppermost in his mind: Where the hell were they going to find the rest of the money needed? Negative thoughts he didn’t need. He’d get the money somehow.

With hindsight they’d been bloody stupid to take out that loan but at the time… Will shook his head, not wanting to remember how desperate they’d been. At least they’d managed to make a payment last month thanks to that delivery job he’d done over to St. Malo.

Now though, watching a shag preen itself on the large black mooring buoy the barge was tied up to, he found himself wondering just how long he would be allowed to live on board — how long in fact the Elizabeth Ann would remain a part of his life.

As for these ‘Worldsend Enterprises’ people who’d suddenly poked their oar into the business wanting to inject money, were they going to turn out to be loan sharks in a different guise? He was damned if he was going to greet them with anything more than politeness until he’d discovered if they had a hidden agenda.

It was his inheritance — his life — that was at stake here and he wasn’t just going to give it up without a fight. He’d make damn sure, too, that this Polly Jones woman, whoever she was, knew that when she arrived.


CHAPTER TWO (#u0e09585b-2873-5116-9e4d-dab56c864685)



Polly pulled up outside The Captain’s Berth with a sigh of relief. It had been a long drive down the motorway and then through ten miles of narrow twisting high-hedged Devonshire lanes. Rosie, secure in her harness on the back seat, yawned and stretched before sitting up and looking around expectantly.

The Royal, having declined to take her booking with Rosie, had given her the name of this B&B who apparently welcomed well behaved dogs. Hopefully that would still be true after a week or two of Rosie.

Bringing Rosie with her had proved to be Polly’s only option in the end. Neither her mum or Marty had been able to help. She’d been hoping that her mum would have Rosie during the week when Marty was at work and Marty would have covered the weekend.

That plan was scuppered though when she discovered next week was the week her mum had promised to man a stall for the local hospice at a two-day charity fundraising do in the middle of the week. “And I couldn’t leave Rosie on her own for over eight hours each day.”

Currently working as a doctor’s receptionist there was no way Marty could take Rosie to work with her during the week.

“I’m sorry,” she’d wailed. “I can’t do the weekend either. Kev is taking me away for two days. We’re going on his Harley,” she’d told Polly, her eyes shining.

“Good luck with that,” Polly had said, surprised. “Thought you didn’t like motorbikes?”

Marty had shrugged. “I don’t — but I do like Kev.”

Polly had looked at her. “Enough to forget you hate speeding vehicles? Enough not to scream as you hurtle round corners? Or fly down the motorway at 70 miles an hour?”

“Harleys don’t hurtle like other bikes and Kev’s promised not to go fast when I’m on the back,” Marty protested.

Polly had shaken her head. There was no way she’d even contemplate getting on the back of a motorbike if she was as terrified as Marty had always professed to be — not even for the love of her life. Was this Kev going to be the love of Marty’s life? She’d yet to meet him.

“The things you do for your boyfriends,” she said. “Just take care.” She hoped Kev was nothing like the men she’d known in the past with motorbikes. If he was, then Marty could be in for a difficult weekend.

At least her mum had insisted they swop cars for the fortnight. “Polly, love, I’ll be worried sick if you try and drive all that way in that old banger of yours,” she’d said.

Polly, secretly worried that her car wouldn’t even make it down to Devon, had accepted gratefully and promised to look after her mum’s treasured car. Which would have to include a thorough vacuuming before she returned it. No matter how much she brushed Rosie, she always left a trail of black hairs wherever she sat.

The door of The Captain’s Berth opened.

“Remember girl, you’re on your best behaviour this week,” Polly said, leaning over and clipping Rosie’s lead on before opening the car door and letting her out.

“Polly Jones? I’m Angie. Welcome. This must be Rosie. I’ll take her through shall I? Introduce her to Solo my Jack Russell out in the garden while you get your things in. I’ve put you in Room 3 at the top of the stairs if you want to go on up. Tea in the kitchen in ten minutes,OK?” and Angie disappeared inside with Rosie.

Room 3 was a large double overlooking the harbour. Light and airy, it had a table in the window recess where Polly placed her laptop and plugged it in. She watched a fishing boat as it rounded the headland and motored into harbour escorted by a mob of screeching, wheeling seagulls. Further out in the bay several yachts were enjoying the stiff offshore evening breeze.

Once her laptop had fired up she sent Daniel Franklyn an e-mail.

“Have arrived in Devon. Will start work tomorrow. Polly.”

As she unpacked her things, putting them away in the old-fashioned chest of drawers, her mail programme pinged a reply.

“Great. First thing tomorrow go to the lawyer — he’s got the first of your expenses money for you. I’ve told the boatyard to expect you at about ten. DF.”

When Polly went downstairs she found Rosie and Solo playing ‘catch me if you can’ around the kitchen cum conservatory.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said making a grab for Rosie. “She’s not normally this mad indoors.”

“Don’t worry. She and Solo clearly like each other,” Angie said. “They’ll settle down.”

Angie, friendly and full of information about the town, was just the right side of inquisitive about her guest.

“Down on holiday are you?” she asked, pushing a plate of scones and cream across the table towards Polly before pouring the tea. “Bit early in the year. Place hasn’t woken up totally from winter yet. Not that it’s that quiet in winter these days, what with the second homes brigade coming all year round. Not to mention the OAPs and their cheap awaydays.”

“I’m down here for work,” Polly said. “But I’m hoping to see some of the local area as well.”

“You working for someone I might know?”

Polly shook her head. “I’m a Virtual Assistant and the people I’m working for aren’t actually in the area.”

“What the hell is a Virtual Assistant? Sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie. You got a time machine parked outside?”

Polly laughed. “It’s quite simple really. People just employ me whenever they need a secretary, book-keeper, P.A., or whatever. They pay me for my expertise and my time. No office overheads for them as I normally work from my own place. Everything is done over the internet. This job is an exception.”

“God, wish I could do a virtual B&B,” Angie said ruefully.

“How long have you been running this place?” Polly asked. She guessed Angie was about her own age — on the young side to be a landlady. And to be honest, with her pink and blue streaked hair and hippy-type clothes she was far removed from Polly’s experience of seaside landladies.

“I took over from my parents when they decided to run away to Spain. They didn’t run away really,” she added, seeing the look of surprise on Polly’s face. “Just decided to retire. I was unemployed at the time so…” She shrugged. “Think they thought it was an opportunity for all of us. Give me a proper grown-up job and them the chance of some sun. It’s worked out well all round but the overheads are increasing all the time and quite frankly becoming astronomical. I need to average at least three guests every week to break even.”

Angie picked up the teapot and offered Polly another cup. When Polly shook her head, she topped up her own. “Still, at least I don’t have the money worries my aunt and uncle do down at the boatyard.”

Polly stiffened at the mention of a boatyard and looked at Angie questioningly. But Angie shrugged.

“Sorry. Mustn’t bore you with my family problems.”

“Are there many boatyards in town?” Polly asked, hoping to keep Angie talking.

“Not now. Used to be half a dozen, all specialising in different crafts. Pettyjohns would deal with the small day boats, Phillips built some large ocean-going yachts and during the war Leadbetters even landed contracts from the government.” Angie shook her head. “But now there’s just Lillian and Ben’s yard struggling to survive. Jack Pettyjohn’s got a puny effort up at Woodside Creek but that doesn’t count as a proper yard in anybody’s book these days. It’s got such a reputation for shoddy workmanship. Much like the man himself.”

Polly began to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach about DF and the boatyard he wanted her to investigate.

“It just makes me so mad,” Angie continued. “To think that the Robertsons’ family business could go to the wall after all these years because of the credit crunch, despite Ben and Lillian’s efforts to keep everything afloat.”

Polly’s heart sank at the name Robertson. Now she was sure this was the company she was investigating for Daniel Franklyn.

“Angie, do you know much about your aunt and uncle’s financial problems?” Polly asked carefully, not wanting to appear nosey.

“Not really,” Angie said. “They’re pretty private about things like that but they did say recently somebody had approached them with a view to investing in the business. They’re hoping it will be the answer to their prayers. But Will, their son, isn’t keen. And to be fair, he does have lots of ideas for modernising the business.”

Polly sighed. “Angie, I can’t give you any details, but that’s the ‘somebody’ I’m working for. I have to check out everything at the boatyard and see if it’s a viable proposition. In other words I have to see whether Robertsons Boatyard is worth investing in — or not.”

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.”





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