To Dream Again Page 10

  Mara stared at him. "Apparently not," she murmured.

  She watched him turn to Styles and jerk one thumb toward the door. "You heard Mrs. Elliot. Get out."

  "What?" The man glanced from Mara to Nathaniel and back again. "I'm still supposed to take orders off this piece o' fluff?" He pointed at Mara, jabbing one finger into her shoulder and pushing her. She stumbled backward.

  Nathaniel's fist slammed into the man's belly before Mara even regained her footing. Styles's body jerked in response, and Nathaniel's other fist caught him on the jaw, snapping his head to the side and sending him crashing to the floor.

  He looked down at the man who rolled onto his back with a groan. "No, Mr. Styles," he said calmly. "You don't have to take orders from anyone here. You're fired. You can pick up your wages on Monday."

  Styles struggled to his feet and lifted his clenched fist as if to strike back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nathaniel move ever so slightly as if preparing to defend himself against the blow. For a long, tense moment, everyone in the room remained silent and motionless, waiting to see if Styles would try to take a swing at the other man, but he didn't. He touched a hand to his swollen jaw and glared at Nathaniel. "You'll be sorry for that, mate."

  With that, he staggered to the door and left.

  Nathaniel placed his hands on his hips and turned his gaze to the other men who were watching the scene in silent amazement. "Is there any other man here who doesn't want to load these crates?"

  ***

  Mara wrapped the rag more securely around the pieces of ice she'd chipped from the block in Mrs. O'Brien's icebox and climbed the last flight of stairs to Nathaniel's office. He hadn't shown any sign of pain after the blow he'd dealt Styles, but Mara had immediately gone for ice. She'd never hit anyone in her life, but she imagined it must hurt.

  Once again she considered Nathaniel's suggestion to let Michael take over as supervisor. Part of her still rebelled at the idea of handing over control to someone else, but she didn't want a repetition of this morning's events. She had thought she'd gained the respect of the men and that it was Nathaniel who had taken it away, but perhaps she'd only been fooling herself.

  When she entered the office, she saw him at the far end of the huge room, bent over a table littered with bits of metal, building some newfangled contraption. She glanced around the room. "I see Boggs has put on the first coat of paint."

  Nathaniel looked up and watched her cross the room toward him. "This morning," he answered and gestured to the walls. "Be careful not to touch. Paint's still wet."

  She halted beside him and looked down at the bits of tin and wood on the table. "What are you building? More railroad track?"

  "This? I'm trying to design an even smoother track," he answered as he continued putting pieces together. "I'm not satisfied with the figure eight. I think it could be better. It's all a matter of geometry." He launched into an explanation of planes, angles, and curves. After a sentence or two she was lost, but she listened anyway, liking the sound of his voice.

  She watched as he put the pieces of track together, studying his hands. She noticed people's hands, perhaps because she always kept her own hidden within the protection of gloves. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbow, and she could see the muscles of his forearms flex, could see how the brown hairs glinted gold in the light, could see the strength and sureness in his hands as he worked. She thought about that night in her office when they'd eaten sandwiches, when his fingers had brushed beneath her chin. A warmth hit her in the stomach and shimmered outward like the ripples on a pond, wider and wider.

  "What's that?"

  His question broke into her thoughts, making her realize he was no longer talking about geometry.

  "What?" Blankly, she looked up and watched him nod to the bundle in her hand. "Oh. Ice," she answered and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling foolish, realizing she'd forgotten all about it. "I thought perhaps...umm...your hand might hurt."

  She thrust it toward him. "Take it. My fingers are becoming numb."

  He laughed and accepted the melting gift.

  "How is your hand?" she asked.

  He clenched and unclenched his right fist. "A bit sore," he admitted, pressing the ice over his knuckles. "This will help. Thank you."

  She cleared her throat and lifted her head, but she still did not look at him. "I thought you said you never lose your temper."

  "You think I lost my temper with Styles?"

  "You did hit him."

  "I didn't think he was in the mood to discuss the situation amicably, and I felt a punch or two would do him a world of good. I was angry, yes, but if I'd really lost my temper, I'd have thrown him through the window."

  "You didn't throw me through the window."

  He grinned. "No, but the thought did occur to me."

  Suddenly, both of them were laughing. He looked at her, startled by her smile and the way it softened her features, blurring the hard edges until only the beauty remained. He realized he'd never heard her truly laugh before. Slowly, their laughter faded into silence.

  "I'm sorry Styles pushed you," he said quietly.

  "Yes, well, these things happen." She made a restless

  movement, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and her black skirt swayed with the motion. "I should be on my way. I have work to do."

  Despite her words, she made no move to leave, and Nathaniel sensed there was something else she wanted to say. He waited.

  She drew a deep breath. "Mr. Chase, you were right," she finally said. "It makes much better sense for Michael to be the supervisor."

  The admission had been a difficult one for her to make, but Nathaniel felt no sense of triumph. "Mara, that man did what he did because he thought he could get by with it, a conclusion he probably came to after that incident with the handkerchief. What happened this morning was my fault."

  "This isn't the first time something like this has happened. I try to maintain an air of authority, but it can be difficult." She clasped her hands behind her back and ducked her head, looking suddenly shy. "Thank you for coming to my aid. And thank you for supporting me in front of them."

  He knew she hadn't expected his help, and he knew she would never have asked for it. "Mara, we're partners. I'll always back you up in front of others, even when I don't agree with you. All I ask is that you do the same for me. That's what a partnership is all about."

  "I wouldn't know. I've never had a partner."

  Nathaniel had, and he knew what a misery partnership could be. Voices invaded his mind, furious raised voices from long ago.

  “This would never have happened if you d...didn't work them so hard. Children, for God's sake!" He could see himself at twenty-two years of age, standing in Adrian's office, leaning over the desk, shaking with fury. "Fourteen, sixteen hours a d...day, doing things you c...couldn't pay a g...grown man to do. No wonder they fell."

  His brother had been so logical, so callous. "Their families need the money. If their mothers don't care, why should I?"

  He'd shouted, he'd raged, but to no avail. Adrian hadn't given a damn. "I remind you, little brother, that I'm in charge here."

  True enough. Adrian had been in charge, and two eleven-year-old boys had paid the price. One had stumbled on a scaffold, too tired at the end of a sixteen-hour day to watch his step, and the other had tried to catch him. Both of them had fallen sixty feet and died. His brother had coldly suggested that if Nathaniel didn't like the way things were run, he could always sell his share and leave. Nathaniel had, and had caught the first boat to America, leaving Adrian to slowly destroy the Chase Toys empire alone, leaving Mai Lin behind when she refused to accompany him, leaving behind everything he'd ever wanted.

  "Does the ice help?"

  He heard Mara's voice and the memory shattered. "Yes," he answered and tossed the sodden rag onto a chair. "How is that cost analysis coming?"

  She bit her lip and turned away, walking across the room to study
the train on the table. "I haven't started it yet. I've been busy."

  He stared at her rigid back, feeling her resistance coming up again. He knew she was stalling, hoping to change his mind about the trains. "Mara, I've had a partner before, and I can tell you from experience that trust and faith is required for any partnership to succeed."

  "Trust?" She choked out the question. "You use words like trust and faith and partnership, but that's all they are. Words."

  "No." He strode over to stand beside her. "They're more than that."

  "Are they?" she asked, staring down at the train set. "I told you that I didn't want to make trains, that I didn't want to take that kind of risk, and what was your answer?" Before he could respond, she went on, "You basically said that's a shame, but we're making trains anyway." She gave a humorless laugh. "So much for partnership."

  She started to turn away, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Mara, if I hadn't come along, you would have certainly lost the business."

  "Perhaps, but that isn't the point." She shook off the hand on her shoulder. "When I signed that agreement, I didn't know what you intended to do. You could have told me, but you didn't. You waited until after I'd signed the papers. You knew I would never agree to your plans if I'd known."

  He felt a flash of guilt. That was true. He hadn't told her the whole truth because he'd seen the doubts in her eyes. He'd been certain that he could banish her doubts later, but now he wasn't so certain. "I know if I'd told you, you might have refused," he admitted, "but what would that have accomplished? You would still have lost the business."

  She lifted her chin. "It seems I've lost it anyway."

  She brushed past him and ran for the door. He didn't try to stop her. He could see the fear in her, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could not stop now. This time, he would fight for what he wanted. He was determined that nothing would stand in the way of his dream, not even the sad gray eyes of Mara Elliot. This time, he intended to win.

  "You haven't lost anything, Mara," he told the empty doorway. "We shall succeed. I know it, and before I'm finished, you'll know it, too."

  ***

  The following afternoon, Nathaniel began his campaign to convince Mara Elliot that making trains was a good idea. He found her in her office, working, of course. "Good afternoon," he said, pausing in the doorway.

  She spared a glance at him before returning her attention to the ledgers spread across her desk. Undeterred, he crossed the room and leaned over her desk to repeat his greeting. "Good afternoon."

  She did not look up. "Good afternoon," she answered politely.

  "What are you working on?" he asked, refusing to be ignored.

  "Payroll. It's Friday afternoon, and I must have figures ready so that I can pay the employees on Monday."

  He watched her add a column of figures and waited until she had entered the total at the bottom of the page before he spoke again. "Mara, I want you to stop working on payroll and put your ledgers away for the rest of the day. I need your help with something else."

  That gained her attention. She looked up at him. "But I have to make sure the figures are correct before I go to the bank Monday morning."

  "You can do that later." He circled her desk and closed her ledger. "Right now, you're coming with me."

  She tried to open the ledger again, but he grabbed it. When she jumped to her feet and tried to reach for the book, he held it out of reach.

  "I don't have time for this nonsense. I have work to do."

  "No, you don't." He tossed the ledger on her desk and gently dragged her by the arm, away from her paperwork. "You are taking the afternoon off."

  "What?" Astonished, she stared up at him. "I can't do that."

  "Of course you can. We own this company. We don't have to be here all the time. That's one of the reasons why we made Michael the supervisor, remember? This particular afternoon, we aren't staying locked up in the factory. I have something very important to do, and you are coming with me."

  She made a grab for her reticule as he ushered her toward the door. "And where are you taking me?"

  He stopped and reached to the hook beside the door for her straw bonnet. "Outside is a cab waiting to take us to the West End," he informed her, setting the hat on her head.

  "The West End? What for?"

  "Some shopping." He studied her face beneath the hat brim, then pushed the bonnet to a rakish tilt and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. He gave a satisfied nod. "Much better. That way, it complements your face."

  She ignored that comment and obstinately pushed her hat back to a properly dignified angle. From her reticule she took out her hat pin and secured the hat in place before he could make any other attempts to change it. "I don't have time to go shopping. Besides, there isn't anything I need."

  "It's necessary that both of us go on this particular shopping trip."

  "But—"

  He reached out and pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her protest. The tip of his finger felt warm against her mouth, and she smelled the clean, spicy fragrance of soap. "Do me a favor," he said. "For once, don't argue with me. Just trust me and come along."

  Again he gripped her elbow and walked out of the room with her in tow. They went down the corridor and across the production floor, pausing long enough to tell Michael they would be out for the rest of the afternoon. Nathaniel's grip on her arm did not relax until they were outside of the building, where he let her go and pointed to the cab waiting in the street.

  "This is silly," she mumbled as the cab rolled down Holborn toward Oxford Street. "Why do you need me to go shopping with you?"

  "Because I value your opinion. Just wait. We'll be there soon."

  When the cab pulled up in front of Harrod's department store, Nathaniel jumped down and held out his hand to help her down. Then he turned to the driver and instructed him to wait.

  "What are you buying?" she asked.

  He shook his head and started toward the entrance doors. "Nothing."

  She sighed and followed him. "I don't understand why you always talk in riddles."

  "Don't you like riddles, Mara?"

  She didn't answer that. "I thought you said we were shopping."

  "We are. I believe it's called window shopping."

  When they entered the huge building, Nathaniel passed by the grocery, haberdashery, and dress materials, making for the stairs to the upper floors. She followed, more puzzled than ever.

  A few moments later, she found herself following him into the toy department on the first floor. She came to a halt. "You want to look at toys?"

  He grinned and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "It's called studying the competition. Let's have a look around, shall we?"

  Waving the sales clerks aside, he proceeded to walk amid the tables and shelves of brightly painted toys. Mara followed, wondering why on earth he'd brought her along. She knew nothing about toys. He went straight to the trains located at the far end of the room.

  Mara paused beside him. She watched as he pulled his spectacles from his jacket pocket and put them on. Then he lifted a locomotive in his hands, staring intently at the solid brass construction. "A dribbler," he commented. "Good design, very high quality, but damned expensive to make."

  "Why is it called a dribbler?"

  "It's steam powered. When the train moves across the floor, it leaves dribbles of water all over the place. An unfortunate problem with steam," he added, setting the locomotive back down.

  He picked up another. "Well, well, well," he said to himself. "Adrian, your trains are pitiful."

  "This is one of your brother's trains?" She frowned. "It looks all right. What's wrong with it?"

  "Everything. This train has the same design my grandfather used. It's outdated." He ran one finger along the top of the boiler. "He's using very cheap tin, and the riveting is poor. He's covered it with pretty paint, but this thing will fall apart in a matter of weeks."

  He set the train back down
and studied a few more of the locomotives made by Chase Toy Company, finding none of them to be of high quality. After examining them herself, Mara agreed. "Using such poor materials doesn't make sense," she said. "It never pays off in the long run."

  Nathaniel smiled grimly. "My brother is relying on the Chase reputation, but he's never cared much for quality. Someday, it will catch up with him. I intend to be there when it does."

  His expression suddenly hardened. It was so unexpected, and so unlike him, Mara suddenly felt cold.

  "Why are you so determined to compete with your brother?" she asked.

  Nathaniel's hands tightened around the toy train, and she watched as the ruthlessness faded away. "Making toys has always been my dream. Adrian makes toys, too. Competition is inevitable."

  He set down the toy and moved a few steps to the right, but Mara remained where she was, staring after him, shaken by the determination she'd seen in his eyes.

  "Ah," he said, "now we're seeing some interesting ones."

  He looked over at her and smiled. It was that special smile, the one meant to reassure, to charm and cajole. The darkness she'd seen only a moment before was gone, and Mara wondered if she had only imagined it.

  He studied these locomotives appreciatively. "The Germans know how to make trains. Look at the detail. And the quality is outstanding. I'll wager that ten years from now, the Germans will be our toughest competition."

  Mara doubted they'd be in business to compete with the Germans ten years from now, but she refrained from saying so. She followed him silently as he made a thorough examination of every train in the toy department.

  When he was finished, he pulled off his spectacles and put them back in his pocket. "Now that we've seen what everyone else is offering, tell me something. What is it about our train that makes it so different from all of these?"

  Mara glanced back at the toys. "I don't know much about trains."

  "Use your eyes. Open your mind, Mara."