Promise Made (10 page)

‘Henry thought he could get through,' Daniel said in defence of his brother. ‘It is a pity but he was too ill to manage the business. If I had been home it might have been different.'

‘Great shame. Don't like to see it, Dan. If you're interested in selling those fields of yours, I'll give you a good price.'

‘Thanks,' Daniel said. ‘I haven't made up my mind yet, but I'll speak to you first if I sell.'

‘Good man,' Danby said. ‘I think I'll get off now. I have an appointment in Ely. It's a sorry day, Daniel. Your father wouldn't have liked this.'

‘No, he wouldn't.'

Daniel cursed inwardly. As if he needed reminding! Robert Searles would have fought tooth and nail to keep his land! He felt as if he had failed his father, the shame of seeing the family brought to this sat like a sour lump in his chest. Yet he had been powerless to help stuck in that damned prisoner of war camp. He felt icy shivers down his spine as he recalled the hell of those wasted months and years. The nightmares still haunted him and they didn't always come in the hours of darkness.

He'd had enough of this shameful business! Daniel turned and walked off. Cley had promised to give him the five hundred pounds this afternoon. He had wanted the whole two thousand, but Cley wouldn't budge. Daniel knew that he might have to settle for what he could get. At least for the time being.

With five hundred pounds he could at least get started. There was a barn behind the house he'd bought for Alice. He could work on renovating second-hand cars there for a while – until he could find enough money to set up the garage he wanted with a forecourt, showroom and petrol pumps. It was a long way from what he had planned, he reflected grimly, but it looked as if he was stuck with a bad deal.

He had arranged to take the pig sties and a few pigs from Mary, which would give her a little money. He had room in the orchard that backed on to the house in the fens, and he would keep hens and chickens there. Perhaps a few geese as well, and of course he would grow all the vegetables they needed.

He frowned as he recalled what had got him into this fix. He had given into Margaret's blackmail the night Cley had raped her. He ought to have refused, let her call the police. Cley deserved a prison sentence for what he'd done to her.

Daniel shook his head, smiling grimly as he admitted to himself that he could never have done it. Poor Dorothy would have been wretched over it, and Frances would have felt humiliated. Emily would have hated it too, though she would have got on with things – and she was away from it now. He was glad she hadn't been here today to see the way things had gone.

Daniel felt some of the bitterness ease as he thought of his favourite sister. Emily had wanted to help him get started, but a man had his pride. He wouldn't ask Emily for money unless he was desperate.

Frances frowned as she approached the bus stop in Ely and saw the bus drawing away. The hairdresser had kept her waiting while she finished putting the dye on someone else's hair, and that meant Frances was stuck here for at least another hour. Muriel was looking after Charlie, but she would be wanting to get off home soon.

‘Want a lift?'

Frances looked to her left and saw that Sam Danby had drawn up to the kerb in his car. It was a large, shiny Daimler and very expensive. She hesitated, because the last thing she wanted was to be alone with him, and yet she couldn't let Muriel down or she might lose her.

‘Yes, all right, thanks,' she said. ‘I've just missed the bus.'

‘I saw it leaving,' Sam said and smiled at her. ‘Hop in then, Frannie, and I'll soon have you home.'

Frances did as he suggested. She pulled her coat over her knees, sitting primly, her hands on her lap. Sam glanced sideways at her and smiled but made no comment.

‘Your hair looks very nice,' he said as the car nosed out into the road. There wasn't a great deal of traffic in Market Street, just a lorry and one other car. The only time the street was really busy was on a Thursday when everyone came in from the villages for the market.

‘I like the way they do it here,' Frances said, putting a hand to her bouncy style. ‘I'm not sure that Marcus does. He liked it when it was longer, but it is easier to manage like this.'

‘Marcus doesn't know what he wants,' Sam said with a sneer. ‘Your hair is modern and pretty. It suits you – and you should do what you want, not what he says.' He took his eyes off the road for a moment. ‘Does he give you enough money, Frannie? For yourself, I mean. You should have good clothes and nice jewellery. A woman like you deserves the best money can buy.'

‘Marcus hasn't got that much to spare for the moment,' Frances said. ‘He helped Mary, as I told you – but don't think we're short, because we're not.' They didn't have a lot to spare but they were managing for the moment.

‘Marcus is a fool,' his father said again, sounding annoyed. ‘If he came to see me we might be able to sort this out, but he is as stubborn as his mother.'

‘I think you can be pretty stubborn too, Sam – when you want.'

‘You're right about that, Frannie.' Sam took his left hand from the steering wheel, laying it on her knee for a moment. ‘When I want something I just keep after it until it comes my way.'

Frances removed his hand from her knee. ‘I am grateful for the lift, Sam, but let's get something clear. I am Marcus's wife and I don't play fast and loose.'

‘No, you don't,' Sam said and obligingly returned his hand to the wheel. ‘That's a pity because I like you. As a matter of fact, I fancy you something rotten. I know you don't fancy me, Frannie, but just remember that I could do a lot for you. I wouldn't ask much, just to visit once a week. You could be nice to me and I would be nice to you – a mutual arrangement. Marcus doesn't need to know.'

‘What would Rosalind think if she knew what you had just said to me?'

‘It wouldn't surprise her in the least,' Sam said. ‘She gave up caring what I do a long time ago. We live our own lives. I don't interfere with her and she leaves me to do as I please.'

‘Oh . . .' So much for Emily's idea that she could speak to his wife. ‘I don't think I could agree to anything like that, Sam. I love Marcus and I wouldn't want to let him down.'

‘Well, I have to respect that for the moment,' Sam said. ‘I'm not going to force anything on you, Frannie – I like you too much. It is a pity you weren't more amenable to my suggestion, but there's always another day. You might change your mind in the future. My offer will still stand when you realize that Marcus is never going to amount to much.'

‘That's a horrid thing to say about your own son!'

‘But it is true,' Sam replied, glancing at her face. ‘Don't poker up, Frannie. You know it in your heart even if you aren't ready to admit it yet. Marcus is weak. I don't know where he gets it from, certainly not me. Rosalind's father was a bit of a drip, thought himself above trade and all that stuff, so maybe that's who he takes after. You're an ambitious girl, Frannie. You want more than the life Marcus is offering you. When you decide you've had enough of being a housewife come to me. I could show you a different sort of life, believe me.'

‘You are saying things you shouldn't,' Frances warned him. ‘I'm going to let it go because I don't want more trouble in the family – but I shall never be what you want, Sam.'

‘No?' His brows rose and there was a hateful smile on his lips. ‘If Marcus keeps drinking the way he does, you will change your mind soon enough. I'm a patient man, Frannie. I can wait a bit longer.'

Frances bit her lip. How did Sam Danby know that Marcus drank too much? She had imagined that he was cutting back, that he was almost normal again, his nightmares behind him. How had Sam got hold of the idea that his son was drinking too much?

Frances looked at the clock on the mantle. It was almost eight o'clock and she had been expecting Marcus home for dinner more than an hour ago. She had had to put his meal in the oven to keep warm and she knew it would have spoiled by now. She had tried to eat her own, but most of it had gone out in the bin, because she couldn't get the food down. She was worried sick, because Sam Danby's words kept echoing in her mind and she was afraid that Marcus had been drinking more than she'd imagined.

Hearing something in the hall, she looked expectantly towards the parlour door. Surely Marcus would come in and tell her that his car had broken down on the way home or that he had been kept late at work? She heard something fall and then the sound of footsteps going upstairs. She went out into the hallway, seeing that an umbrella stand had been knocked over, the walking sticks and other paraphernalia lying on the floor. Frances bent to pick them up, her heart beating faster than normal. Was Marcus drunk? Surely not? He had promised he wouldn't do it again! She hesitated and then went upstairs. A light was on in the bathroom, and as she paused outside the door she heard a retching noise – he was being sick. Perhaps he was ill!

She opened the door and looked in, seeing Marcus on his knees in front of the toilet, his head bent over it as he vomited.

‘Are you ill?' she asked, hesitating to approach him.

‘Get out of here,' he muttered. ‘Leave me alone or you will be sorry.'

Frances backed out of the room. Her throat was tight and she wanted to weep. Marcus had been drinking, his sickness self imposed. He had broken his word to her!

Sam must have known that Marcus was drinking too much. He had hidden it from Frances when he was in the house, but other people had known. She felt angry and humiliated, imagining what people must be saying and thinking. As if it wasn't enough losing the farm! Did Marcus really have to get himself into this state?

She went back downstairs and picked up a copy of
Vogue
magazine that she had purchased in Ely. The illustrations of beautiful girls in expensive clothes made her feel even more resentful than she already was. It was ages since she'd bought herself anything good. Marcus wasn't mean, she knew that, but he simply didn't have the money for clothes like this – and as for jewellery . . .

Frances shook her head. She wasn't going to let herself think about things like that, because that would mean that Sam had won. He had tried to taunt her, to make her realize what was lacking from her life – from the life she had imagined would be hers when she married Marcus. He came from a wealthy family and she'd had every right to expect that she would have all the luxuries she could desire.

Frances stared at herself in the mirror. It wasn't that she was greedy or dissatisfied with what she had now. She would be perfectly content if only Marcus didn't drink so much . . . but he was changing, becoming a man she didn't know or like very much.

‘Oh, Sam,' Rosalind Danby said as her husband came in that evening, ‘I wondered if you could advise me. There are rats at the bottom of the garden again. They are after the rabbit food, I suppose.'

‘We should get rid of them.' Sam said. ‘The war is over, Rosalind. We don't need them for food – and I've never been fond of rabbit anyway.'

‘I keep them for Charlie's sake,' Rosalind said. ‘He likes to pet them – not that he comes here very often . . . but he likes to stroke them when he does.'

‘Keep them then,' Sam said, because if he cared about anyone's wishes it was his grandson's. ‘You can leave the rat poison to me, Rosalind. You wouldn't understand what you were buying. A lot of the stuff they sell you at the ironmonger's doesn't work. I know where to get something stronger.'

‘Oh . . . well, if you think so, Sam,' Rosalind said. ‘I am sure you know best. Can I get you some cocoa – or would you prefer a drink?'

‘I'll get my own,' Sam said. ‘Don't fuss, woman. You know I can't stand it. Just get your own and let me be.'

Rosalind turned her head. She had put up with his rudeness, his coarse manners and his careless dismissal of her as a person for years. Sometimes she felt as if she couldn't bear it anymore, but she didn't know what else she could do. She was trapped here with Sam, and as far as she could see there was no way out.

‘I'm sorry, Fran,' Marcus said when he came down the next morning. It was half past nine and he was dressed in a pair of grey slacks and an informal shirt. ‘I was a bit the worse for wear last night.'

‘You had been drinking,' she said giving him a reproachful look. ‘You promised you wouldn't, Marcus.'

‘I have tried to cut back,' he said looking at her sheepishly. ‘But something happened – I was sacked yesterday. Not doing the job properly so they said, but that's a lie – there was another reason. Jackson couldn't look me in the eye when he told me. I swear he had no reason to complain of my work. He sacked me for some other reason.'

Frances looked at him doubtfully. She hated his drinking and what it did to him, but he was still her husband – and she was still on his side.

‘Sam gave me a lift home from Ely yesterday after I missed the bus. You don't think . . .'

‘That is exactly what I think,' Marcus said wrathfully. ‘He probably gave Jackson a huge order for farm machinery on the condition that he sacked me. He wants me to go crawling back to him, Fran – but I would rather starve.'

‘Oh, Marcus,' Frances said. She went to him, putting her head against his shoulder. She wasn't sure that getting Marcus to work for him was the whole of Sam Danby's plan. He might want to humiliate him, to make her see that he wasn't the successful man his father was – because he wanted her. ‘I'm so sorry, love. So very sorry.'

Marcus moved away from her, a look of belated pride in his eyes. ‘No need for you to be sorry, Fran. It's not your fault. I know I shouldn't have let it get to me that way – but I couldn't help it. I thought I was doing a good job and then . . .' He shook his head. ‘I needed a drink and one led to another . . . but it won't happen again. I give you my word.'