The Pollyanna Plan (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

W
ill made his way down the narrow corridors of the paint
factory
late the next morning, hoping his father was in his office and not prowling around on one of his many spot checks. His ability to chat with each and every one of the
workers
—and to know their jobs inside out—made him a great boss, but not one that was easy to track down.

Will rubbed his forehead, a dull ache spreading behind his eyes. The events of the past few days had caught up with him, and his body was telling him to slow down. But how was he supposed to do that? He’d stayed up for hours last night, Meg excitedly babbling about the concert as she slurped her hot chocolate. Then, once she’d finally been persuaded to go to bed, the rest of them had finished off a few bottles of wine as they chatted. It had been way too late to call a cab to head back to London, so Emma and Will had bunked down in Emma’s old room.

They’d got an early start this morning because Emma needed to get to work by eight at the latest in order to leave by five. Will still couldn’t believe, despite everything, she wanted to be with him. And apart from that, she was going to help him and the company.
God, Cherie would never—

He shook his head. No more comparisons with Cherie. She was gone now, receded into the past. And for that, he was truly grateful.

‘Dad?’ Will glanced around the half-open door. Hunched over the desk, his larger than life father seemed shrunken somehow.

‘William!’ Dad ran a hand over his face. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were spending Christmas at the villa.’

‘I changed my mind,’ Will said, trying to hide the shock at his father’s appearance. The grey beard was neatly combed and his hair slicked back with the usual pomade, but his once lively face now drooped with fatigue, deep lines forming crevices. ‘Look, Dad,
I w
ant to help with the company. I’ll come back as VP if you think it’ll get the board on side.’

His father waved a hand in the air. ‘Thank you, Son, but the last thing I need is for you to return under pressure. I don’t know what
I w
as thinking, asking you in the first place. You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about working here.’ He paused. ‘Maybe it is time for me to retire and let all this go.’

A thread of alarm weaved its way into Will. He’d thought his dad could handle the takeover with one hand tied behind his back. Now, though, his father looked defeated, as if someone had pulled the plug and his energy was draining away. He’d worked so hard to build up the business that choosing to leave without a fight was unimaginable.

Will shook his head, thinking life was all about making choices—choices no one could force upon you but
you
. For the first time since setting foot in the factory all those years ago, the mistaken weight of expectation on his shoulders fell away. He was here because he had chosen to be—because he was excited about the future of the business.

Will stepped inside the office and settled onto the chair across from his father. ‘I was wrong to say you made me work here,’ he said, ‘and I really believe Ballard Paints can become a modern paint company.’ He quickly explained his plans for a whole new range of colours to reflect the trends in Britain today—maybe even creating some of their own—and how he’d found someone to help stage sets for a photo spread to show the board they were on the right track.

Finally, he came to an end, and his father nodded with an impressed expression. ‘You’ve certainly thought this through, and those sound like solid ideas.’ His dad’s face dropped again. ‘But as pleased as I am that you want to help, the board is meeting on Friday to make the final decision. That’s not enough time to pull it all together.’

Will swallowed. Friday? Not counting today, that left two days. He and Emma could work fast, but could they work
that
fast? Still, he’d only have to mix up sample batches of paints, and the colours had been crystallizing in his mind. It wouldn’t take long for Emma to do some sketches—hell, they could probably tweak a few of the ones he’d already seen, they were that good. All they needed was to find the right props, then hire a photographer and a studio, but that could be done last minute if they paid a premium
…
yes, it might be possible. A wave of determination washed over him, filling every cell with energy.

‘I think we can do it, Dad. I really do. Anyway, it’s worth a sh
ot, ri
ght?’

Hope spread across his father’s face, transforming the downcast expression. ‘It certainly is, Son.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘I
think I’ve got everything I need.’ The photographer flicked through the last few photos he’d taken, nodding. ‘Yes, all looks good. I’ll just put these on a CD for you.’

‘Great, thanks.’ Will’s voice sounded exhausted, and Emma glanced over with worry. It was Thursday night and they’d been working around the clock for the past couple of days: Will, in the paint lab for hours, putting together the new range; Emma, sketching the room designs, then sourcing the products she’d need to recreate her vision. Thank God for online shopping. Not only had she managed to buy almost everything she wanted, but she’d also pulled it off within their tiny budget. And when she couldn’t find the perfect item online, she’d scoured the markets, popping out of Plumtree at lunchtime to duck into nooks and crannies at Camden and Portobello.

It’s funny,
she mused, running her eyes over the set in front of her. Once she’d been so engrossed in insurance, even eating lunch had seemed a waste of time. But now, after working on this new project, it was obvious what really excited her. Maybe she
should
start thinking seriously about interior design. It didn’t need to be all or nothing, either. She could make a living wage at Plumtree, start her business small by taking on a few commissions and go from there
.…

Satisfaction filled her as she glanced at the shots on the monitor. The sets she’d created reflected the moods of the paints: a vibrant red; a green that was a mixture of grass and pine; and her blue, fittingly named ‘Blue Sky Infinity’. The range Will had developed was unlike anything she’d ever seen, and initially she’d worried she wouldn’t be able to do it justice. Now, though, Emma was proud of her efforts.

‘Let’s get this CD to the printers so they can plug in the
photos
for the mock catalogue.’ Will smiled tiredly at Emma, putting his arms around her. ‘I can’t believe we actually managed to finish. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

A geyser of warmth exploded inside. ‘I reckon you would have found a way,’ Emma said, soaking up his words. ‘I hope the board likes it.’ She sighed, wondering how on earth they’d endure waiting until tomorrow afternoon, when the meeting would be over, to hear the verdict.

Will nodded, his stubble scratching her cheek. ‘Me, too.’ He gave her a final squeeze before pulling back. ‘Let’s head out. I can’t wait to crash.’ He shot her a look. ‘After having my way with you, of course.’

Emma grinned. It was hard to believe they hadn’t driven each other mad after spending so much time together these past few days. Instead of clashing, their minds seemed to work along the same track
…
in bed and out. With George, she couldn’t wait to get back to her own space and let down her guard. But with Will, she was just herself. Every night when they’d done as much as possible at the factory, they’d gone back to the boat, waving to Lou—who insisted on wafting sweet grass towards them to bless their union—then making love and falling asleep to the sound of water lapping the sides of the vessel.

‘Come on. Hope you can manage to keep me awake.’ Emma let out a giant yawn, then raised an eyebrow impishly.

‘I can think of a few ways. I’m more than happy to test them out!’

This is it,
Emma thought the next day as she nervously flicked the glossy pages of the catalogue, awaiting the board’s judgement. Th
e m
ock-up was the culmination of all their efforts, and it looked bloody good. If she was in the market for a new shade of paint, she’d be buying one of these pronto.

But was it enough to convince the board that Ballard Paints could be successful in the future? She hated to think of Will’s reaction if it wasn’t. He had barely slept at all last night. After they’d made love, she’d heard him pacing up and down the narrow space as she drifted off. He’d looked so handsome this morning in a dark suit, but his hands had shaken so much, she’d had to knot his tie. No matter the outcome, he’d need to rest when this whole thing was through.

A sharp pang hit that the project was over. She’d loved doing up the sets!
But this is just the beginning,
Emma reminded herself. Now that she had a spare second—not to mention a portfolio—she’d look into those design courses again and seriously investigate starting her own business. It wasn’t a question of whether she should include something creative in her life, but how.

Shaking her head, Emma reflected on how much she’d changed. Just two months ago, she’d never have pitched in to help a struggling company. Businesses were black-and-white propositions on a loan application to be judged by one set of criteria. And
family
businesses
…
well, any family involvement was to be avoided at all costs.

Now, Emma had moved beyond the defined boundaries of insurance; made a start at strengthening family ties; and embarked on a relationship with a man who might struggle with his health at any given moment. With every step, she’d willingly opened herself to hurt, disappointment and pain.

Yet despite all that, she was happier than she could remember since her father had died. Life and the things you loved were worth fighting for. You didn’t have to be Pollyanna and stick your head in the sand, but you didn’t need to hide behind a protective coating, either. Emma had finally found a balance that worked.

‘It’s perfect.’ Will’s voice came from behind her, and Emma turned to face him. ‘The mock-up is exactly what I wanted to showcase the company. Now, don’t you think you’ve stared at it enough?’

Emma laughed. ‘I know. It’s just
…
’ Casting a worried glance across the corridor where the board meeting was in progress, she tried not to look at her watch for the zillionth time. She’d hurried over straight from work, hoping there’d be an outcome. An hour later, they were still waiting. Even though Will said his presentation on the new paint range had been enthusiastically received, she couldn’t help wondering what was taking so long.

Will slung an arm around her waist. ‘Maybe we should go for a walk? Get away from here for fifteen minutes or so?’

Emma nodded, but the opening of the door across the hall made her eyes widen. ‘They’re coming out!’

Will pulled her closer, and Emma felt his heart beating quickly as they watched his dad shake hands with board members. They nodded warmly to Will as they passed.

‘It must be good news, right?’ Emma hissed into Will’s ear. ‘I mean, they wouldn’t smile at you if it wasn’t, would they?’

Will shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I won’t know what to think until we talk to Dad.’

Finally, the room emptied. Will’s father leaned against the doorjamb, his face unreadable.

‘Well,’ he said, staring over at the two of them.

‘Well, what? Come on, Dad!’ Will’s impatient voice filled the tiny room.

‘Well
…
’ The older man paused, and Emma felt like she was going to explode into a million nervy bits. ‘We did it! Or rather, you both did it. They loved your vision, loved the catalogue, and they want to give Ballard Paints another chance.’

Will’s body sagged with relief. ‘That’s great news,’ he said, sinking into a chair and pulling Emma onto his lap.

Will’s dad nodded. ‘It is. They want to keep the option of a sale open if our revenues slide, but they’re giving us a year to see what we can do. And I’m confident that, thanks to you and Emma, we’ll be successful.’ He beamed over at them, and Will hugged her close.

‘Now’—Will’s father opened a drawer, removing a bottle of champagne and three glasses—‘I brought these in today, just in case. Let’s celebrate!’ Emma grinned as he sloshed fizzing liquid into the flutes, then handed them each one.

‘To Emma and Will!’ He raised his drink in the air, his face already flushed with happiness.

Lifting her dewy glass, Emma gazed around at the smiling faces. ‘Cheers!’ Her flute clinked against the others with a satisfying twang, and she sipped the champagne. A warm glow was building inside, but Emma knew it wasn’t the alcohol. It was her life—a life she’d crafted for herself by taking risks and stepping out of her comfort zone.

Technically, she still believed thinking positively wasn’t going to stop heartbreak. Bad things happened to good people; her father and Will were enough to prove that. But it was how you responded to those bad things that made a difference. You could wrap yourself up and prepare for the worst, or you could embrace the unknown, hurt and all, and live the hell out of it.

‘Here’s to life,’ she said, lifting her glass in the air again.

Will and his father raised their flutes, too. ‘To life!’ they
chorused
.

And as the bubbles danced down Emma’s throat, she couldn’t wait to see what lay ahead.

THE END