Beaumont Brides Collection Read Free

wasn’t a solution.
    ‘Is there money left from the bank loan?’
    ‘Not to spare. There are enough bills from building contractors to paper my office walls.’
    ‘Just as well it’s so small, then,’ her father said, in an effort to make a light of the situation.
    She conceded a smile. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Very small and very shabby. She wasn’t a star and didn’t need a glamorous setting in which to shine. ‘But it’s the bank loan that will be the main problem. If only I hadn’t gone ahead with the restaurant. I should have waited another year.’ She let it go. Her father had no interest in the financial side of the station. He lent it his name and his stature to Pavilion Radio, the rest was up to her.
    ‘You just need a good season, Fizz,’ her father said, trying to be kind. He continued to run on optimistically, but she wasn’t listening, she was too busy trying to think.
    In a worst-case scenario, assuming Harries’ sponsorship was totally withdrawn it would take a lot more than optimism. It would need a great deal of patience and understanding from the young merchant banker who had been so flatteringly eager to provide the loan for the new restaurant in the restored Pavilion.
    Flattering eager to take the relationship rather further than banking, if she had given him any encouragement. Her sigh was imperceptible.
    It had seemed such a brilliant idea, how could it possibly fail?
    They already had an informal chat and music show live from the foyer of the Winter Garden every morning in the summer season and on Saturdays in the winter. It had seemed so simple to capitalise on an audience already in a happy mood, to offer good food with the best view in Broomhill Bay and a gift shop full of locally made souvenirs, including their own Pavilion Radio merchandise to spread the word.
    It would make money, she knew it would, but it would take time. She had worked so hard and it had all been going so well. If they could hold on until Easter came, bringing the first visitors.
    She turned to stare once more at the letter on her desk, then picked it up. ‘Devlin has asked you to phone him. Have you done that?’
    ‘Not yet. I thought you should do it.’
    ‘Me? Don’t be silly, he’ll gobble me up and spit me out. I’ll brief you of course, but it’s probably better that he thinks he’s dealing with you.’
    Everyone thought she was station manager in name only, that she had been given the job by her father because he felt sorry for her. Because she didn’t have the talent of her glamorous big sister. Because she was the only Beaumont who couldn’t act.
    She preferred it that way.
    And her father’s sheer physical presence was usually sufficient to mesmerise people into doing what he wanted. Her father’s expression suggested he had other plans.
    ‘At least until we can work out what his mood is,’ she wheedled.
    ‘Fizz, darling, I’m up to my eyes with the joint schools’ production of Much Ado just as the moment. And my new television series is facing a bit of a crisis.’
    ‘What kind of crisis.’
    ‘Financial. What other kind is there? A couple of the backers have pulled out. I’ve got to find someone else or put up the money myself.’
    In other words don’t ask me to help with the cash flow?
    ‘And Claudia telephoned last night in a bit of a state over the film with Sean Deveraux, so I’ve got to go up to town today.’
    ‘Dad, please!’
    ‘Look, darling, I know absolutely nothing about running the station and a man like Devlin will see through me in a second. I really think it would be better if you talked to him, put all your cards on the table. Michael trusted your judgement, why shouldn’t he?’
    Michael had just lost the company his family had built from nothing. It wasn’t much of a reference. Her father had picked a hell of a time to step back and leave her to prove she could handle it.
    Hidden away in her office she managed the station, made decisions, produced the