Between Friends (43 page)

They were in Garston, just passing St Michael’s Church when she began to sing and Tom opened his eyes then, turning to stare over his shoulder. Martin was still sitting with the air of a man being taken to his own execution, but the high colour had flooded Meg’s face and on it was an expression of utter and complete satisfaction. He could see her hands on the steering wheel and he realised she was gloriously happy, relaxed and perfectly in control.

‘By God, Martin, she’s not bad, is she?’ he shouted admiringly above the noise of the engine. ‘You’ll have to watch out or she’ll be borrowing this thing to take Mrs Whitley for a spin.’ He then began to roar with laughter at the expression on Martin’s face. Tom was delighted with Meg’s prowess, proud as punch to see the confident way in which she manoeuvred the little car along the narrow country lanes which had not been designed for the automobile but for the peaceful passage of cows and horses. He was not the slightest bit put out that she had mastered the controls so well, having no inclination himself to take part in the supposedly masculine pastime of motoring.

They had reached the outskirts of Warrington and Martin insisted, absolutely insisted, he said, on taking over from her since there was far too much traffic for a beginner to manage. Horse-drawn drays and waggons, carriages and omnibuses, alongside the growing number of motor cars which were increasingly to be seen.

They stopped at Stretton for a cup of tea and when they resumed their journey she begged to be allowed another ‘go’ since it was quiet here and if she didn’t practise how was she to ever become an experienced driver, she said, as they bowled along towards Lower Hargrave.

‘An experienced driver?’ Martin’s face was a study in bewilderment.

‘Yes. I can’t get the hang of it in one day, can I, and if I’m to be any good at it I’ve got to practise. It’s like anything else …’

‘Practise!’ Martin looked at her as if he had never heard such lunacy.

‘Of course!’ Meg was becoming exasperated and she pressed her foot down a little harder on the accelerator, thrilled with the way the motor car surged forward.

‘Just a minute, lady. What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Martin’s voice was becoming quite dangerous for though he had allowed her to drive, teaching her, however reluctantly, with a quiet patience not usual in him, he was not prepared to be taken over, so to speak, in the way which Meg seemed to find increasingly easy these days. She was used to giving orders now and having them obeyed. She had loved every moment of the last couple of hours and was well pleased with herself in her new capacity as ‘lady driver’ and could see no reason why she should not continue.

‘Just slow down a minute, if you don’t mind …’

‘What for? There’s nothing on the road and I …’

‘Slow down, Meg! Take your foot off that accelerator and put it on the brake and then get …’

‘Oh come on, Martin, don’t be such a wet blanket. I’m perfectly able to drive now and well you know it.’

And so he did! She was a natural driver, the car running as sweetly as though he himself was at the wheel but his strange male ego, that which had been brought up to believe that women were unable to equal a man in almost every aspect of life, could not admit it to her. For weeks now, ever since he had been brought home from Weybridge on a stretcher he had been careful with her, avoiding her if he was honest for he could make neither top nor tail of the strange emotions she awakened in him. When he had heard of what Benjamin Harris had tried to do to her he would have killed him if the law had not got to him first. His own rage had frightened him, though he had not even told Tom who had shared his anger. She was exactly the same as she had always been now, despite the terror she had been through but he felt awkward with her, vulnerable to her sharp and often wicked wit which once he would have answered with his own. She was smart, clever, beautiful, good at what she did and she knew it, and he
wanted
her to be soft, soft as she had been on the day he had returned.

Now Meg’s panache, her almost careless handling of his smart little car infuriated him and he wanted nothing more than to see her
out
from behind the wheel and in the passenger seat where she belonged!

‘Stop this car at once!’ His voice was expressionless and Tom turned to look at him in surprise. There was nothing he himself would have liked better than for the bloody car to be stopped. The skin of his buttocks was bruised, he was sure, from long contact with the luggage rack but there was something in Martin’s voice he did not like. He himself could see nothing wrong with Meg’s handling of the machine and indeed after the first bone-shaking half hour he had relaxed considerably and if he had had a cushion to sit on would have enjoyed the day immensely for he knew just where Meg was heading. Meg continued her smooth journey along the empty lane to Lower Hargrave and the pretty village of Great Merrydown beyond, just as though Martin had not spoken and Tom felt rather than saw the sudden tightening of his body. Nevertheless he was almost thrown off the back of the automobile as it came to a screeching, jerking standstill, slewing across the lane to end with its front wheels hanging perilously over a ditch.

Meg turned haughtily in her seat.

‘I don’t know why you did that, Martin Hunter, since I was going to stop anyway. Look.’ She lifted her hand to point and Tom smiled for she had always had a strong sense of the dramatic.

They both looked obediently and Tom waited, smiling.

‘What is it?’ Martin asked the very same question he himself had asked all those years ago.

‘Its our place.’

‘Your …?’

Martin was bewildered, his anger forgotten as he looked at the tumbledown building surrounded by what seemed acres of overgrown wilderness. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that this is the place you and Tom have …’

‘Yes! Isn’t it absolutely beautiful?’

Martin watched as Meg climbed down from the vehicle and with the air of one who has come home, began to walk towards the old farmhouse.

‘
IF YOU WILL
sign here, Mr Fraser and you too, Miss Hughes, and also here, if you please, the property is yours.’

Tom stared, quite mesmerised, at the solicitor and though Meg acknowledged that the man was a pompous ass and enough to make you squirm, he knew what he was about in the world of the law. He had been recommended by Mr Hemingway as the man she needed to negotiate the details of the purchase of the farmhouse on Merrydown Hill and though it was only three months since the day they had rediscovered it, it would, in a moment legally belong to herself and Tom. The property was to be in their joint names, of course. She had insisted upon it. The old gentleman, Mr Hemingway, unimpressed by Tom’s easy-going, and in his eyes, quite careless manner on the subject of business, which after all, this was to be, had been hesitant, saying might it not be more realistic if the property was put completely in Megan’s competent hands, and name! He was thinking of the loan the bank had made her, on his surety, naturally, and having absolute faith in her ability to repay it had had no hesitation in backing her – particularly when he had been made aware of the sum she had saved in her three years at the Adelphi which was to be added to it! Not that the one hundred guineas she had asked the bank for had constituted a
risk
but he did not want the girl brought down by an unreliable partner and if the business was in her name only she was safe. Fraser was a hard-working young man. He had proved his worth in the years he had been at Silverdale but was he the kind of chap who could ‘make a go’ in the world of commerce? Robert Hemingway had his doubts.

Still, she would not be moved and grudgingly, admiring her loyalty, he had agreed to Fraser’s name on the documents.

Surreptitiously Meg put her toe against Tom’s foot and gave it a gentle nudge and when he turned to look at her she nodded to let him know it was alright and that he should go ahead with the signing. They were together in this, her shining eyes said, as they
had
always been and what was there to fear? He grinned, then winked as though to say the whole thing was really a great joke anyway and picking up the pen signed his name to the document which made he and Meg the new owners of the farmhouse.

It had taken all of Meg’s formidable will and the desperation of her belief in what she did to persuade him to it! What did he want with an
inn
, he said bewilderment written all over his boyish face, when he had a perfectly good job, one which he thoroughly enjoyed and, more to the point, he was good at. He liked the outdoor life and the satisfaction of watching what
he
had planted, grow and mature and be enjoyed by those for whom he worked. He loved the animals he worked with. He liked the feel of a bit of wood in his hands and the way he had learned, under the guidance of Bob, the carpenter employed on the estate, how to use a hammer, a saw and all the other tools he was allowed to tinker with. He was no good with figures, he pleaded with Meg, and had no head for business and besides, he and Jess …

Like all those with an uncomplicated and facile nature he could be stubborn but he was no match for Megan Hughes in the end! She had all the answers to his every argument. They were to be the perfect team, she told him. In fact, she could not do it alone for without him she would be working, as it were, with only one hand. He was to be the other, the hand which would be employed with all the manual jobs
her
hand could not manage.

‘Dear God, Tom, have you any idea what it would cost me to buy fresh vegetables if we don’t grow our own? Fruit? Eggs? Milk? Cheese? Butter? With our own kitchen garden, fruit trees, greenhouse and with a cow, a couple of pigs, hens, we could be completely self-supporting and within a year be showing a healthy profit. I need a man I can trust in the bar, when it opens and someone to supervise the men who will do the repairs. I can’t be everywhere, Tom. I shall have the financial arrangements to see to, staff to organise, the renovation of the inside of the inn for I mean to take in guests as well as do meals and …’

‘Confound it, Meggie, don’t go so bloody fast. I have to have time to think …’

‘What is there to think about? Either you want to do this with me or you don’t!’

‘It’s not as easy as that. There are other things to consider besides you.’

‘I appreciate that, Tom, and I realise how much you enjoy
doing
what you do at Silverdale but you can still work at exactly the same thing at the inn, only you will be working for yourself!’

‘I don’t see how …’

‘Because we’ll be partners! It will belong to
us
. You and me, and every penny we make will be ours.’

‘But I can’t just up and leave the Hemingways after all …’

‘Why not? He has a dozen men to do what you’ve been doing. Not as well, I give you that …’ She grinned but he was not to be distracted.

‘And what about …’

‘What, for God’s sake?
What
? Give me one good reason why you should stay at Silverdale. Go on!’

‘It’s a steady job, Meg. One I like and which I can stay in for the rest of my life.’

‘Good God, Tom Fraser! You’re twenty-two years old and all you want is
safety
!’

‘Now look here, Megan, there’s nothing wrong with liking a bit of security. I might want to get married …’

‘Married! Who to?’

‘Well, me an’ Jess have …’

‘Bring her with you. She can work in the kitchens, or the bar …’

‘Here, hold on! I didn’t say I was going to …’

‘Well, stop making excuses then. Listen Tom, listen to me.’ Her voice became soft and she took his hand between hers. She looked up into his face with all the earnest entreaty of a child who longs to be allowed this special, special favour. From his chair in the corner of Mrs Whitley’s kitchen where he sat, his mending leg resting on a stool, Martin Hunter felt his heart go out to his life-long friend for how, how was he to withstand the enchantment of Meggie Hughes when she had set her heart on something? She was absolutely glorious, irresistible and he could see Tom’s determination begin to falter. Tom really did not want to leave Silverdale. He was completely happy here. It was his place and he was entirely suited to it but then, knowing his nature as he did, would he not be just as satisfied doing exactly what he did here, in the place Meg had marked out for him? She was the driving force. She would guide the business, and Tom with it, along the path of success, for she would
be
successful. There was no doubt about that but Tom was afraid to gamble what he already had on an uncertain future.

‘Tom,’ Meg was saying and both Martin and Mrs Whitley held their breath. ‘Tom, please come with me. Come and help me in this. I can’t do it alone, Tom. I need you, please Tom, please.’ Her eyes swam with unshed tears and Martin watched as Tom’s open face, so expressive that every emotion showed there, became uncertain, soft with his fondness for her. As Martin turned away his eyes met Mrs Whitley’s.

He stood up abruptly, his gaze fleeing from the understanding he saw in her face and the stool crashed to the floor and the tabby cat which had curled itself in its own tail on the hearthrug before the fire sprang to its feet, spitting in fright.

‘I must be off,’ he said harshly. ‘I can’t stop here listening to you two bickering about your bloody future. I’ve my own to see to!’ He reached for the stick which he still leaned on when he was tired and for a dreadful moment he felt as though he was about to fall.