yard’s Miss Harriet’s way of filling the space her father left, but I tell you something, Matthew, one day she’s going to have to accept that he really isn’t there. Until she deals with her loss she’ll always be haunted by the fear of everyone leaving her or taking something away from her.’
Matthew gritted his teeth; he would not feel guilty.
‘That girl needs someone who won’t be scared off, someone with a bit of persistence to see the person inside.’ George sighed, staring accusingly at his dog end as if it had stolen the rest of his roll-up. ‘As it is, she’s afraid to trust anyone.’
Matthew tried to prepare the ground. Maybe it was because of this old boy that he was wavering. In other circumstances he would have been glad to get to know him better and to listen to more stories about his life, but that wouldn’t be possible now. ‘It works both ways, George. How is anyone supposed to gain Harry’s trust when she thinks everyone’s out to get her? Look, I can understand her feelings for the boat yard, but she’s flatly opposed to any kind of progress. Hoping that Little Spitmarsh can thrive in a time warp is entirely misguided and when the tide turns against her, as it surely must, that’ll be one more burden added to all the baggage on her back. Surely her father wouldn’t have wanted that?’
George looked at him sharply and Matthew wondered if he’d gone too far. George, after all, would go to hell and back for Harry.
‘Listen, that man was a good friend to me but he weren’t no saint. Who’s to say what he would or wouldn’t have wanted for Miss Harriet? No one ’ad the chance to find out, did they? The fact is that he’s not here and Miss Harriet’s the one dealing with all the mess,’ the old man said, grinding his cigarette butt into the earth and closing the subject. He eyed Matthew craftily. ‘’Course, if someone came along, someone with a bit of money put by, someone who might want to invest it in Watling’s, say, who could give it a bit of a facelift or summat, that would give Miss Harriet a bit of a breathing space.’
Matthew didn’t mention that, thanks to his newly acquired manorial rights, no one in their right mind would want to invest in Watling’s now. ‘Look at it this way; there’s no point at all in making cosmetic alterations if there are no customers to appreciate them. Harry’s got to realise that Watling’s fate depends on the town; if that stagnates, so does the business.’
That, at least, was true; he wasn’t about to invest in a swathe of land and build holiday homes on it to lose money, even if the rights he had just acquired meant he could secure the land at a rock-bottom price. But every instinct told him that Little Spitmarsh was ripening into a potential property hot spot and Harry had just lost her chance to take advantage of it. George was looking very glum and Matthew cursed himself for letting business get so personal. If Harry went under, what would happen to George? Matthew sighed; he wouldn’t think about that now.
Having replaced the drum on the roller reefing she was busy repairing, Harry took a deep breath and prepared to hoist the sail. It was the perfect day to tackle the job, with sufficient breeze to stop the sail collapsing on the deck, but not enough to take her arm out of her socket. All the lovely endorphins the physical effort would send skipping round her body would do her far more good than sitting around worrying about Little Spitmarsh.
Sooner or later everyone who was desperately hoping that some of the money generated by the restaurant would make a difference to their lives would have to wake up to reality: the only people likely to be enjoying lobster on ice any time soon were Matthew’s customers. Without real people creating real jobs, it would still be mushy peas all the way for everyone else. After years of coping with economic marginalisation, the town, as Harry tried to point out, was putting too
Matthew gritted his teeth; he would not feel guilty.
‘That girl needs someone who won’t be scared off, someone with a bit of persistence to see the person inside.’ George sighed, staring accusingly at his dog end as if it had stolen the rest of his roll-up. ‘As it is, she’s afraid to trust anyone.’
Matthew tried to prepare the ground. Maybe it was because of this old boy that he was wavering. In other circumstances he would have been glad to get to know him better and to listen to more stories about his life, but that wouldn’t be possible now. ‘It works both ways, George. How is anyone supposed to gain Harry’s trust when she thinks everyone’s out to get her? Look, I can understand her feelings for the boat yard, but she’s flatly opposed to any kind of progress. Hoping that Little Spitmarsh can thrive in a time warp is entirely misguided and when the tide turns against her, as it surely must, that’ll be one more burden added to all the baggage on her back. Surely her father wouldn’t have wanted that?’
George looked at him sharply and Matthew wondered if he’d gone too far. George, after all, would go to hell and back for Harry.
‘Listen, that man was a good friend to me but he weren’t no saint. Who’s to say what he would or wouldn’t have wanted for Miss Harriet? No one ’ad the chance to find out, did they? The fact is that he’s not here and Miss Harriet’s the one dealing with all the mess,’ the old man said, grinding his cigarette butt into the earth and closing the subject. He eyed Matthew craftily. ‘’Course, if someone came along, someone with a bit of money put by, someone who might want to invest it in Watling’s, say, who could give it a bit of a facelift or summat, that would give Miss Harriet a bit of a breathing space.’
Matthew didn’t mention that, thanks to his newly acquired manorial rights, no one in their right mind would want to invest in Watling’s now. ‘Look at it this way; there’s no point at all in making cosmetic alterations if there are no customers to appreciate them. Harry’s got to realise that Watling’s fate depends on the town; if that stagnates, so does the business.’
That, at least, was true; he wasn’t about to invest in a swathe of land and build holiday homes on it to lose money, even if the rights he had just acquired meant he could secure the land at a rock-bottom price. But every instinct told him that Little Spitmarsh was ripening into a potential property hot spot and Harry had just lost her chance to take advantage of it. George was looking very glum and Matthew cursed himself for letting business get so personal. If Harry went under, what would happen to George? Matthew sighed; he wouldn’t think about that now.
Having replaced the drum on the roller reefing she was busy repairing, Harry took a deep breath and prepared to hoist the sail. It was the perfect day to tackle the job, with sufficient breeze to stop the sail collapsing on the deck, but not enough to take her arm out of her socket. All the lovely endorphins the physical effort would send skipping round her body would do her far more good than sitting around worrying about Little Spitmarsh.
Sooner or later everyone who was desperately hoping that some of the money generated by the restaurant would make a difference to their lives would have to wake up to reality: the only people likely to be enjoying lobster on ice any time soon were Matthew’s customers. Without real people creating real jobs, it would still be mushy peas all the way for everyone else. After years of coping with economic marginalisation, the town, as Harry tried to point out, was putting too
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