Megan of Merseyside (32 page)

Before he could reply she had gone, closing the door firmly behind her.

Chapter Thirty-two

MEGAN HAD NEVER
worked so hard in her life, yet at night, although she was dropping with fatigue and every bone in her body was aching, sleep eluded her.

Long after she was in bed her mind was a jumbled merry-go-round of all the things she had done that day and tasks that still needed her attention. Even when she finally dozed off she would dream about work.

It often amazed her that problems which had seemed insurmountable when she went to bed had a logical solution by the next morning.

Robert was wonderfully supportive. Without his help and guidance, Megan was sure she would never have managed to get her haulage business started. He constantly suggested shortcuts, or ways of doing things, that she just wouldn’t have considered.

It had been Robert who had found a one-room shed with a phone that they were able to rent as a temporary office on the dockside. He’d given it a coat of paint and then bought a second-hand desk, two sturdy straight-back chairs, a typewriter and a filing cabinet to furnish it. He’d even painted her name in black letters on a piece of white board and nailed it to the door.

‘There you are, now you’re in business,’ he told her. ‘You can start writing around, offering your services to some of the local companies.’

‘I’ve already prepared a publicity letter; I only needed an address for replies. I didn’t think it would sound businesslike to have them sent to me at home.’

‘The best of luck, then. It may take a while before you get any response,’ he warned. ‘Half of them won’t even bother to reply.’

Waiting for work to come in was the hardest part, but Robert boosted her morale whenever it seemed to be sagging.

When she told her father that she had swapped the Rolls for two lorries, he had looked at her blankly.

‘What did you do a thing like that for?’ he asked in a puzzled tone.

‘So that we would have vehicles to drive! I’m going to start my own haulage business with you in charge of the transport side of things,’ she told him excitedly.

‘I can only drive one lorry at a time so why do you need two?’ he muttered, staring at her in bemusement. ‘You won’t be able to afford to pay a driver, girl.’

‘I’m driving the other one!’

Her father had scoffed, railed, ridiculed, but she had stuck to her guns. Robert had backed her and insisted on taking her out for a meal.

‘Put your glad rags on, kiddo,’ he ordered, ‘we’re going to celebrate in style. I’m going to take you to the Adelphi for a nosh.’

‘The Adelphi! Will they let lorry drivers in there?’ she teased.

‘No one will know when you’re dressed up, and I won’t let on if you don’t.’ Robert grinned.

The dining room at the Adelphi Hotel was the most magnificent room Megan had ever been in. Its mirrored walls reflected the tables that were spread with gleaming white napery, glittering crystal, sparkling cutlery and pretty flower arrangements as well as the elegantly dressed people sitting at them.

It was all so imposing that Megan felt self-conscious and wondered if her simple, knee-skimming pink dress with its scoop neckline was really smart enough for the occasion.

It was so much easier for men. Robert was wearing a three-piece navy blue suit and had merely substituted a black bow tie for his usual striped one, and yet he looked as correctly dressed as any other man in the room.

Even better than a great many of them, she thought as she admired the square set of his broad shoulders. He was so powerfully built that it wasn’t until he stood alongside other men, and his shock of light-brown hair was way above their heads, that it became apparent that he was over six foot tall.

He was quite a remarkable person, she thought fondly as she listened to him ordering their meal. Quietly confident, he wasn’t in the least daunted by the waiter’s supercilious manner.

They were halfway through the first course before Megan relaxed enough to look around and
take
stock of people sitting at nearby tables. When she did, she was taken aback as she met the gaze of Stanley Martingale, one of Walker’s most valued customers.

She returned his nod of recognition with a smile, but felt disconcerted when she saw him rise and make his way over to their table.

‘I’m sorry to disturb your meal, Miss Williams,’ he murmured after she’d introduced him to Robert, ‘but I wondered if anything was wrong with Miles Walker. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him all week and he hasn’t returned any of my calls and …’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Martingale, but I can’t help you,’ Megan interrupted. ‘I don’t work there any more.’

‘Really! They’ll certainly miss you!’ His shrewd green eyes narrowed under their bushy grey brows. ‘I can offer you a job, Megan, if you need one.’

‘That’s very kind of you but I’ve gone into business on my own account,’ she blurted out, her colour rising.

‘You have! Let me guess … hairdressing … a beauty salon … one of these new secretarial agencies. Send me the details and I’ll put the word around …’

‘It’s nothing like that. I’ve started my own haulage business.’ His startled expression made her smile. ‘So if you need anything moving …’

‘Well, I do! That’s why I’ve been trying to contact Miles. I’ve got a consignment due in first thing tomorrow on the
Marie Louise
, one of the Magda Line boats …’

‘And you want it moving right away?’

‘That’s right! I haven’t any storage space available in my warehouses so I want it taken straight off the boat and up to Newcastle. Could you handle a job like that?’

‘Certainly. I’ll collect the papers from your office first thing in the morning,’ she told him crisply.

‘Dammit, you mean it!’ Laughter convulsed him, making him cough and splutter as he shook his head from side to side, staring at her in disbelief.

‘Don’t you mean it, Mr Martingale?’ asked Megan stiffly, her cheeks scarlet.

‘By God, I do. Let’s shake on it.’ He extended his hand and pumped hers energetically. ‘It’s good to do business with you. Enjoy your meal.’

Stanley Martingale was still shaking with laughter as he went back to his table. Minutes later he sent a waiter over to their table with a bottle of champagne.

Delighted by the turn of events, Megan clinked glasses with Robert in a toast. ‘To the success of my very first order,’ she murmured, then turned and raised her glass in Mr Martingale’s direction.

Although Robert was pleased for her, he was more than a little irritated by its timing. It spoiled the evening as far as he was concerned. He had chosen the Adelphi because it was the finest hotel in Liverpool and he had felt it would be the perfect setting in which, once again, to ask Megan to marry him.

Now, after Stanley Martingale’s interruption, it didn’t seem to be the right moment to do so … not if he wanted his proposal to be taken seriously.

He remembered the first time he had seen her,
not
long after the Williams family had arrived in Liverpool. She had been so shy, her elfin face so serious, and the soft lilt in her voice so captivating that he had felt unexpectedly protective towards her. Her demure aloofness had intrigued him.

She’d changed since then, both in character and appearance. Her dark hair was no longer caught back behind her ears, but sculpted to her head in a style that framed her cheeks. The wispy tendrils over her ears and forehead emphasised her long lashes and dark eyebrows, imparting a gamin look, especially when she was wearing her working outfit of a jacket and trousers.

The elegant dress she was wearing for their outing, a sheath of glowing pink, skimmed her body in a figure-flattering way. A single strand of pearls added a touch of sophistication.

His hand went to the pocket of his jacket, feeling the small square box secreted there, longing to slide the ring that nestled inside it onto her slim finger.

When he had first heard the rumours linking Megan’s name with that of Miles Walker, he had been incensed. For the first time in his life he had known what it was to be jealous. He had debated whether or not to warn her that Miles was a philanderer, but hesitated in case by doing so he put his own friendship with her on the line.

Providing a shoulder for Megan to weep on when she learned that Miles was to marry Carol Brocklehurst had not been easy. It became an even greater torment on learning that she was pregnant with Miles’ child. His offer then to marry her had not been made lightly. He would have
been
prepared to accept the child if by doing so he stood a chance of winning her love.

That was all in the past, he reminded himself.

Now, sitting across the table from her, watching her dark eyes glow with excitement at securing such a sizeable order for her new business venture, his spirits sank and he deplored his own diffidence. If he asked her now she might think it was because of her business success.

The moment the thought crossed his mind he rejected it. He knew her too well ever to believe she would think that. His hand went once more to his pocket, fingering the little box hidden there. Should he do as he had planned and pop the question as the climax to their meal?

What if she should refuse? He didn’t want to contemplate that, not for a moment. Yet, if she did, he would be more than ready to agree she should have time to think it over. He’d even planned for such an eventuality by making arrangements to go on a walking holiday so that she wouldn’t feel pressurised into giving him an immediate answer.

He withdrew his hand from his pocket. The question and the ring must wait. It would be far better if he went on holiday as he intended, and asked her when he came home.

Chapter Thirty-three

WATKIN WILLIAMS WAS
apprehensive when Megan told him she would be transporting incoming cargo for Stanley Martingale.

‘You do know he is one of Walker’s main customers?’ he cautioned.

‘Of course I do! I worked in the office long enough to know every customer they had, didn’t I?’ she retorted sharply.

‘Well, is it right, girl? Poaching like this, I mean.’

‘I’m not poaching.’ Her eyes flashed as she defended herself. ‘He came to me, I didn’t approach him.’

‘From what you said, Martingale simply asked you if you knew why Miles Walker wasn’t returning his calls.’

‘And I told him I didn’t know because I wasn’t working at Walker’s any more.’

‘Ah well.’ He shrugged. ‘If, as they say, “all is fair in love and war”, then I suppose the same thing applies in business as well.’

With Robert, they planned the best method of unloading the
Marie Louise
, and which of the lorries to load first, how long the trip would take and the most suitable route.

‘Megan, are you sure you’ll be able to drive …?’ Watkin asked apprehensively.

‘Look, Dad, let’s get it straight once and for all. I’m in charge and I drive whenever there’s enough work for two lorries,’ she insisted. ‘Right?’

‘That’s the worst of having a woman boss,’ lamented Watkin. ‘They always get the better of you,’ he added with an indulgent smile.

‘Well, at least you know where you stand!’ Robert laughed. ‘I hope things go smoothly. I’m off tomorrow on a walking holiday in North Wales. Shall I say “hello” to Beddgelert for you?’

‘You can certainly do that, boyo!’ enthused Watkin, his eyes lighting up. ‘I wish I was going with you.’

‘Oh, Dad!’

‘Only joking, girl,’ he said quickly, seeing the expression of dismay on Megan’s face. ‘This job is much more important.’

‘You do miss the mountains, though … and so do I,’ she added wistfully.

‘We’ll go back to Beddgelert again, some day. You make a fortune for us, and then we can retire back there. In the meantime, we can always look across to Wales from King’s Parade, and see the mountains outlined against the skyline, and know they are still there waiting for us.’

Megan and her father left home just before seven next day. The morning was grey and raw. Megan turned up her collar and pulled on thick gloves, trying not to let her father see that she was already shivering with the cold.

When they arrived at the docks, Watkin went to check over the lorries and to make sure they were filled up with fuel, that the tyre pressures
were
right, and that there were adequate ropes and tarpaulins for their loads. Megan went to find the captain of the
Marie Louise
.

Captain Johann Ingers was a short, blond Dutchman with huge shoulders and massive muscles. His light blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed the slim, dark-haired girl with her serious manner and light lilting voice who had come on board to claim the cargo he had brought from Amsterdam.

‘Is it not to go into a warehouse here on the dockside?’ he asked in surprise.

‘No. We are transporting it straight to Newcastle.’

‘You have papers authorising collection?’

‘Not yet. I still have to collect them.’

‘No papers, no cargo.’ He shrugged dismissively, his massive shoulders heaving.

‘I’ll have them when I bring my lorries alongside at nine o’clock, so be ready to unload,’ she told him curtly.

Leaving him still bemused, Megan went to collect the documents from Martingale’s office, then headed for the bay where the two lorries were parked.

A grey mist swirled over the Mersey, cutting down visibility and lending an eerie mystery to the noisy, busy quayside as the day’s work began. Gulls circled overhead, winged scavengers screaming raucously as they swooped onto the dockside in search of food.

When Megan found her father, he was white faced and shaking. ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Are you ill?’

‘I’m all right. It’s the lorries! They’ve been sabotaged. Some bastard has taken a pickaxe to the fuel tanks on both of them! Can’t you smell it, girl? Look on the ground, there’s diesel everywhere!’

‘Who on earth would do a thing like that? Could it be kids messing about?’

‘Don’t talk so bloody daft! It’s someone out to get us, someone who knew about that load and was making sure we didn’t take it.’

They stared at each other, dark eyes locked in consternation.