The Emerald Valley (47 page)

‘Right, Cliff, we'll just run over the terms of employment and then you can make a start right away,' she suggested.

It was two days later that Amy heard the sound of a motor car in the yard and looked up from her books to see Ralph Porter drawing up outside.

At once her pulses quickened and her hand flew to tidy hair through which she had been running her fingers as she worked. But at the same time she was aware of feeling something like dismay. She had hoped he might stay away from her for a while; his presence was altogether too disconcerting, occupying her mind and senses when she needed every bit of strength and wit for coping with the endless problems of day-to-day life.

Over the past few days she had thought about Ralph Porter more than once and was no nearer understanding his sudden change of stance. Why had a man she had always considered arrogant, rude and overbearing – typical of the ruling classes who ground ordinary families underfoot – become not only a man she felt able to turn to in a time of emergency but also someone whose company she actually enjoyed? Almost as puzzling was her own attitude towards him. Dislike and awe had given way to something uncomfortably like attraction and Amy had to admit that, like Ralph Porter or hate him, he was certainly a man it was impossible to ignore.

Away from him, and worrying over the mish-mash of emotions he had aroused in her, Amy was sure of nothing – not sure, even, if she completely trusted him. Was there some ulterior motive behind his apparent change of heart? Did the leopard ever change his spots? But if there was a reason, she was unable to fathom it – and unable too to prevent the quick flash of pleasure she felt when she saw his car in the yard outside.

She half-rose from her chair, but before she could reach the door he had come in, stopping for only a quick, perfunctory knock.

‘Good morning.'

‘Hello,' she said a trifle breathlessly. ‘What brings you here? Is everything all right with the lorry?'

His eyes twinkled darkly.

‘Now why should you assume this had to be a business visit? I've come to make sure you keep your side of the private bargain we made. You're going to have dinner with me – remember?'

Her pulses gave another involuntary leap. ‘Oh – I don't know about that …'

‘Well, I do! It was definitely part of the arrangement and I was going to suggest New Year's Eve. Then we could see in the New Year together.'

‘Oh no, I couldn't possibly stay out that late. The children …'

‘Get someone to stay with them.'

‘Oh no, not that late. Besides, I'd never be fit for work next day – and I don't think you would either!'

His mouth twisted humorously. ‘Let me worry about that.'

‘No – I really couldn't. Not on New Year's Eve.'

‘I hope this doesn't mean that you're going back on your part of the bargain?'

There was something about the way he was looking at her that sapped her will; she felt it draining from her like blood from an open wound and reacted as she always did to weakness – by using the quick weapon of her tongue.

‘I wish you wouldn't hustle me this way! Just because I had to ask you to help us out …'

He laughed outright. ‘If I didn't “hustle”, as you put it, I wouldn't be where I am today. Anyway, it's not such a bad idea, is it? I thought you enjoyed our ride.'

She didn't answer.

‘All right, then,' he said. ‘If you can't make New Year's Eve, you can't … but there has to be another evening. You can't make excuses for every night of the year.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I should be very offended and you wouldn't want to offend a client, would you?'

‘That's blackmail!'

‘No, it's not, it's a fact. So give in gracefully, Amy, and have dinner with me?' As she hesitated he went on, ‘Pheasant's in season and my housekeeper cooks it to a turn. I'll pick you up and take you home too – perhaps that will sway the balance seeing it's my car you're interested in, not me!'

His eyes were twinkling, his mouth trying not to laugh and she felt the wicked imp of desire twist within her.

‘Well …'

‘Does that mean yes?'

‘I suppose it does.'

‘When shall it be, then? The day after New Year's Day?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘You sounded almost enthusiastic then! Shall we say seven?'

She nodded. ‘Seven.'

‘Good.' He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to be going, but I shall be looking forward to our next meeting.'

When he had gone Amy found herself totally incapable of continuing with her work. Over and over again she kept hearing his voice, seeing his face with its half-mocking smile.

What is the matter with me? she asked herself. Why can't I put him out of my mind? And why do I go so weak inside when he looks at me the way he does? Is it because there is some truth in what Ollie Griffin said … that I have been too long without a man, so that when one who is attractive and masterful comes along, I can't resist?

The thought shot a streak of shame through her.

Oh, Llew – am I betraying you by feeling this way? I love you still … is it wrong to want the company of another man? But I don't even know if I
do
want his company. I'm not sure of anything any more …

There was also the worry of what to do about the children for the evening. Ruby Clark would sit with them, she was sure, but would Huw prove difficult? She would have to have a word with him – and with Ruby, asking her to keep a special eye on him.

As she had hoped, Ruby agreed to come in during the evening and on New Year's Day she broke the news to Huw.

‘I'm going out tomorrow night, Huw. Ruby will be here to look after the girls and I want you to be especially good and help her all you can.'

‘Why?' Huw asked.

‘What do you mean – why? Because Ruby's a friend and I don't want you to cause her any worry.'

‘No – why is she coming at all?'

‘Because I can't leave you and the girls alone.'

‘Why not? I always stayed on my own when Mam went out.'

‘That's as maybe, but it's not something that I do.'

His face told Amy what he thought of it, but he didn't say any more. Little by little she was gleaning glimpses of his past – and a pretty unsatisfactory past it had been in her opinion. Small wonder he was wild – the miracle was that he was not far, far worse. What kind of mother would go out and leave small children alone? she wondered. Not the kind Llew would have wanted for his son.

Any doubts she might once have had about Huw's parentage had disappeared now; she had put them out of her mind. Had she not thought Llew was Huw's father, she could never have coped. It was as simple as that.

The following evening she planned to get everything ready for Ruby in good time, but last-minute hitches made her late. Maureen's clean nightdress had mysteriously gone astray, the milk for Barbara's good-night drink had boiled over and Huw was obstinately late coming in from playing around the block. In the event she had precious few minutes left to get herself ready and was still trying to finish her make-up and brush her curls into some semblance of order when she heard the sound of a car and, looking out of her bedroom window, saw the Morgan outside.

Grabbing her bag, she rushed in to kiss the girls and issued a few last-minute instructions to Ruby and Huw on her way out.

‘The girls should settle down now – I won't be late. And Huw – you will behave yourself, won't you?'

Then she dashed down the path.

‘Sorry, I meant to be ready, but you know how it is …' ‘No, I don't.'

No, of course he wouldn't. Everything in his house would run on well-oiled wheels, she thought.

There was a slight awkwardness between them when they reached Valley View, made worse by Amy's memories of the last time she had visited his house. Ralph took her coat and showed her into the drawing-room.

‘Sherry?'

‘Thank you.'

The glasses and decanter were heavy crystal in which the sherry glowed rich amber. Sipping it, she felt the beginning of lightheadedness. Careful, she thought; she was not used to alcohol and had not eaten all day.

‘Dinner's all ready, Mr Porter.' The voice from the doorway was slightly reproving and Amy turned to see the voluminous figure of Mrs Milsom, the housekeeper, hovering there.

‘Thank you, Mrs Milsom. We shall be in directly,' Ralph said, cool as ever, but when the housekeeper had wobbled out he gave Amy a wry smile.

‘I think perhaps we should drink up and not be long about it! Mrs Milsom is an excellent cook, and she gets very upset if her meals are kept waiting in the kitchen.'

‘Oh dear, that's my fault,' Amy said. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Not to worry. Are you ready?'

He led the way along the dim hall. The dining-room door was standing ajar and he pushed it open and stood back for her to go in. Amy registered a large, pleasant room, sparsely furnished as was the drawing-room with furniture of plain, dark oak, but no trouble had been spared to make the table attractive. Here, heavy silver cutlery and crystal goblets had been set out on snowy white damask, candles glowed red in a silver candelabra and Christmas roses had been arranged in a low bowl. But only two places had been set, she noticed.

‘Isn't your sister eating with us?' she asked, surprised.

‘She's away.' Ralph drew out a chair for Amy to sit down. ‘We had a quiet Christmas, but now she's gone to spend New Year with cousins of ours in Gloucester.'

‘Oh, I see.' Amy was half-relieved, half-disappointed. She was curious to meet the reclusive invalid who was a mystery to half the town, but perhaps having to make polite conversation would have been an effort. Would Ralph have invited her had his sister been at home, she wondered?

As if reading her mind, he laughed.

‘It's all right – you'll be perfectly safe with me,' he said in an amused tone.

Hardly were they seated than the first course was served –creamy home-made soup – followed by the brace of peasants Ralph had promised. There was no doubt about it; Mrs Milsom was a superb cook and with Ralph constantly refilling her glass with a fine wine the like of which she had never tasted before, Amy felt her lightheadedness returning.

It was not an unpleasant sensation though, she thought. At least the awkwardness had gone now and words seemed to trip off her tongue with enjoyable ease. She found herself recounting stories which had never seemed funny before and laughing at them; Ralph too was entertaining – or so it seemed to Amy. Even when the talk turned to business, there were amusing moments as Ralph described the ‘steamers'he had bought for his business some years earlier.

‘Not one of my best ideas,' he admitted, ‘though they seemed the way forward at the time.'

‘I suppose they made all your drivers seasick!' Amy giggled. ‘What could you do with a steamer in Hillsbridge? The river's hardly big enough for a rowing-boat!'

‘Not steamer
ships
, steamer
lorries
,' he told her mock-sternly. ‘Big Fodens. Superb things to look at, of course, but much too heavy. The unladen weight was 6-7 tons, so by the time you added on the fuel and the water to make the steam, it was almost up to maximum.'

‘Maximum?' A bubble of wine went up Amy's nose.

‘Maximum weight. You do know, I suppose, that you can only go up to 12 tons.'

Amy giggled again. ‘Of course I know. Why do you think all my drivers are so amazingly thin? I pick them that way on purpose. And my lorries never, ever get pulled in to a weighbridge by the police. Don't you think that's something?'

‘I certainly do. I also find it most surprising. If I were a policeman, I'd pull your lorries in whenever I could in the hope that I'd find an offence – and an excuse to call upon the very attractive lady owner.'

‘Mr Porter! I think that is scandalous!'

‘Mrs Roberts! I thought we had agreed you were going to call me Ralph.'

‘When you blithely talk of arresting me? Not likely! Anyway, go on – I want to hear all about your steamers. How did they work?'

‘Just like any other engine – with a fire and a funnel.'

‘And you had to light the fire every morning?'

‘Well, yes. It could be kept in overnight if you wanted an early start, but that left a lot of clinker. No, the best way was to clear out the fire box and start again.'

‘Oh, I shouldn't want to be bothered with that!' Amy declared. ‘It's bad enough having to do my kitchen grate every morning, without having to do a lorry as well!'

‘They had their advantages and at least they didn't have to keep going to Bristol for overhaul, the way the petrol lorries do.'

‘That,' Amy said, feigning a haughty attitude, ‘is not my problem!'

‘But think of the time saved!'

She shrugged. ‘Well, if they were so marvellous I am just amazed you no longer have them. What did you do with them?'

‘Sold them for scrap.'

‘Oh, that's a crying shame!'

‘Would you have wanted them?'

‘No.'

‘Well, there you are. You can't expect anyone else to want them either.'

‘Oh, I don't know. It seems such a terrible waste! “Waste not, want not,” Mam always said. Though you don't seem to be wanting for anything, do you?'

Her face had gone serious suddenly, the laughter dying. He leaned across the table, his fingers covering hers.

‘Amy, you are getting maudlin.'

‘Maudlin? What's maudlin?'

‘What happens sometimes when you drink too much wine!'

‘I haven't!' But her head was singing and his face in the candlelight was a little blurred. She blinked, focusing, and as her eyes met his she became suddenly, startlingly aware of his fingers on hers. There was a tingling in her skin like the sharp but feather-light prickles of a small electric shock and the warmth where his fingers lay seemed to be spreading a glow that suffused her body.