by Anita Waller
‘Sure. Dawn – milk, no sugar.’
She smiled at him.
‘Milk, no sugar. David, do you have time for one?’
He shook his head.
‘No thanks. I’m meeting Jack Brammah in an hour and I’m already late setting off.’ He crossed to the exit door. ‘Be good you two, and I’ll see you Saturday, John.’
Dawn left the reception area and moved into the cubbyhole they used for making drinks. Her hands were trembling and she clenched her fists tightly. Off limits her brain kept repeating, off limits.
But he wasn’t; he was standing by her in a space hardly big enough to accommodate one person, never mind two.
‘Dawn,’ he said softly, and she turned. Too close. Too damned close.
‘Please, John…’ She knew the words were ineffectual.
He bent and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. For a moment she froze and then pushed past him.
‘I think you’d better make the coffee.’ Her words were tremulous. ‘I’ve some typing to do for when David gets back…’
She looked towards the office door as it opened. David looked around it.
‘Forgot this, John… Oh, where is he?’
‘He’s making the coffee. I want to get these letters done for you.’
John came out of the small room, a half smile on his face.
‘David? Thought you’d gone.’
‘I had but I remembered you saying you wanted a secretary. Done anything about it yet?’
John shook his head.
‘Well, this is the name of a girl who came along for interview for Dawn’s job. I think she’ll suit you. Why not go along and see her? Name is Linda Chambers. Right, I’m off.’
The door closed and Dawn turned to John.
‘And I think you should go, John,’ she said, her voice low. ‘No,’ she held up a hand as he moved towards her. ‘Please don’t come near. I would be stupid to encourage you, I’m no marriage wrecker.’
‘Marriage? What marriage?’ He laughed bitterly before hanging his head. ‘I’m sorry, Dawn. I shouldn’t involve you. God, all I ever do is apologise to you. I’m not apologising for the kiss, though. You’re right, I should go. I’ll see you soon, and on a strictly professional basis, I promise you.’
It was as he was going down to street level that Dawn finally admitted to herself that she wanted him. But there was no chance in the world that she would ever give in to that need. He was a married man.
* * *
Linda Chambers hated her new job. She would have really enjoyed the one at Farmers but had to settle for routine employment in an estate agency and she most definitely did not like the work.
She jumped off the bus and held out a hand, surprised to feel raindrops in spite of the sunshine. She pulled up the collar of her jacket and quickened her footsteps as she crossed the square to her parent’s home; she was disconcerted to find the door already open and her mother waiting for her.
‘There’s a man here to see you,’ she whispered.
‘A man? Don’t tell me – it’s Cliff Richard.’
‘Huh, you should be so lucky, my girl. No, but he looks nice. Something about a job, he says.’
‘A job?’ Just for a moment her heart lifted – could it be someone from Farmers? Her mind cast itself back to the interior of the publishing company offices, to the book covers showcased on the walls, the lovely stained wood panelling, the huge display given over to that biggy author of theirs, John Thornton…
‘Hello, I’m John Thornton.’
She put her hand to her mouth to stifle the small shriek.
‘Are you all right?’ John watched with consternation as colour flooded her face.
‘You took me by surprise,’ she laughed shakily. ‘I had just been picturing that display they have in Farmers of an author called John Thornton and then you said you’re called John Thornton. Just took my breath for a minute.’
He laughed. He liked this girl.
‘I’m not just called John Thornton, that really is me. I wrote those books, which is how I came to have your name. David Farmer passed it on to me because I’m looking for a secretary, but your mother said you have a job.’
‘You mean you want me to work for you?’ Her eyes widened when he nodded. ‘Then I most certainly don’t have a job, Mr. Thornton. Mum was mistaken. And so are Ellis and Gould.’
‘The estate agents?’
She nodded.
‘Ex-employers. And I don’t think they’ll give me a reference because I’m about to walk out on them. I can start anytime, Mr. Thornton.’
He felt a lightening of his spirit – maybe he and Amy would get on better if they didn’t work so closely together. This girl could take away a lot of the pressure on his wife.
‘Then let’s see… today’s Thursday, so shall we say next Monday if you’re absolutely sure you won’t have to serve a period of notice? And shall we say your present salary plus £5 a week?’
‘I don’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to do, Mr. Thornton,’ she said, her eyes dancing with excitement. ‘And the wage is fine. This is even better than working for Farmers, and I really wanted that job!’
He handed her his card.
‘This is where we’ll be working. Now, the way that I work is a bit complicated and you could end up typing, re-typing and re-re-typing but basically I hand write the initial draft. I try to do at least 1500 words a day. The following day I edit it, make any alterations I want and that’s the stage it’s passed over to you. You just keep typing then until we get the polished draft for submission to Farmers. I’m not the sort of author who just bangs away at it until he has the novel down on paper before he edits it – I like to edit it as I go along. You’ll soon get used to the way I work, I’m sure.’ He stood to leave.
‘Thanks, Mr. Thornton. Can I offer you a cup of tea or something?’
John declined with a smile.
‘No thanks, Linda, your mother saw to that. Very nice lady – makes excellent scones.’
‘I’ll bring some for our tea break,’ Linda promised. ‘So, I’ll see you Monday. Nine o’clock okay, or do you want me earlier?’
‘Nine is good, Linda,’ he laughed. ‘And if I’m not up, ring the bell until someone answers!’
* * *
‘You’ve hired a secretary without consulting me?’ Amy’s eyes filled with tears. At one time John talked everything over with her.
‘Yes. But it’s for a reason. I think it’s time we did something about adopting a baby,’ he said gently. ‘You won’t have time to do any of my work with a little one to look after.’
‘But I’m not ready! We’ve only been married four years.’
‘I’m ready, Amy. Pilot’s a cute little thing and I love him dearly, but he’s not ours. And we have so much to offer a child – financial security, a lovely home, and we’re still young.’
Stop it, stop it, her mind screamed. Don’t ask this of me. Change the subject, must change the subject.
Once again Amy used sex for her own ends. John put the adoption plans on hold as he revelled in his wife’s attentions – with the occasional superimposing of a face over hers, a face that belonged to Dawn Lynch.
* * *
Linda Chambers arrived early but John was already in his study trying to make sense of a particularly difficult place in the novel. He was just deciding it was divine retribution for the way he had tried to con David into believing he had a problem with the plot, when the doorbell pealed.
He glanced at the clock and grinned. Fifteen minutes early – that he liked.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Come in and I’ll show you where everything is.’
He gave her a guided tour of the downstairs, terminating in the study.
‘And this is where the real work is done. I’ve arranged for a desk and a new typewriter to be delivered tomorrow and they promised faithfully it would be here before lunchtime.’
‘Which suppliers?’
‘Dodd’s in P
adstow.’
‘Right.’ She picked up the telephone, rifled through the directory and dialled. ‘Dodd’s? You’re making a delivery to Mr. John Thornton tomorrow but we need it now. How quickly can you get it here, please?’
There was silence for a moment.
‘I see. No, don’t worry about it. We’ll cancel the order and go somewhere else. I expect the Typewriter Company can accommodate us… oh, I see, so you can get the van here within half an hour? That will be fine. Thank you.’ She replaced the receiver.
John stared in amazement.
‘I think you’ve just earned your first week’s salary, Linda!’
‘They tried to waffle saying it would be here by four o’clock tomorrow. My mum says it’s always best to check up on delivery times.’
‘Then I owe your mum. So, your first job is to make coffee, I think. There’s very little you can do until that typewriter gets here. I’ll see if Amy wants a drink.’
‘Amy?’
‘Oh, sorry. My wife. She gets up around 9.30, usually. I’ll go and find her.’
Linda wandered around the study looking at the hundreds of books lining the walls. The copies of Francophile, Rest in Pieces and Grave Matters had a small shelf all to themselves.
She had spent the weekend reading his books and knew she was going to working alongside a writer of considerable expertise in spite of his youth. How old was he? Twenty six? Twenty seven? With three books behind him and a fourth one well on the way to completion, it was pretty impressive. And she knew her mum would think it was wonderful. Funny how he hadn’t mentioned a wife until now, though.
‘Hello.’
Linda turned around and her first impression of her employer’s wife was of a beautiful fawn, a golden haired Bambi.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Linda Chambers.’
‘I know. John told me.’ There was frostiness in Amy’s voice that she didn’t bother to disguise. Okay, so this Linda was no raving beauty but she definitely had a certain charm. She’d have to keep a close watch on this young secretary.
‘Have you two met?’ John stood behind his wife in the doorway of the study, his hands resting on her shoulders.
Amy nodded.
‘Yes, and I think Linda was just going to make some coffee.’
All three turned their heads at the sound of the doorbell. Linda checked her watch.
‘Ten minutes,’ she said with a grin. ‘Not bad, I suppose.’
John stared at her.
‘You don’t think that’s Dodd’s, do you?’
‘I’ll answer the door, shall I, so we can find out?’
‘And I’ll make the coffee, I suppose,’ Amy said coldly. Somehow she felt she’d just lost the first round.
In the kitchen Amy took out three beakers and spooned coffee into them. She stood them in a neat row, meticulously regimented, and switched on the kettle. Amy didn’t feel the little nips on her arm, unaware she was hurting herself. She felt inner rage that John had invited another woman into her home, a young woman who had the potential to be a rival.
She carried the coffees through to find John and Linda rearranging the study to accommodate the extra desk.
‘It was Dodd’s, Amy.’
‘Fancy that,’ she said drily, not really understanding John’s surprised attitude. Hadn’t Dodd’s promised a morning delivery? ‘Here’s the coffee – I’ll be upstairs if you want me.’
But already John and Linda were bent over the typewriter, with Linda showing her employer the intricacies of the machine.
The disquiet in Amy continued all day, even after she watched Linda leave for the night. And then she knew just what she had to do – the one thing that would tie John to her for infinity.
‘John,’ she said to him as she lay in his arms that night, ‘tomorrow we’ll see what we have to do to adopt a child.’
21
‘You know, Brenda, I’ve been thinking.’
Brenda looked at the man sitting across the kitchen table from her and smiled. She had never regretted for one minute giving him the job three years earlier; she had come to recognize his particular talents and skills and to give them the appreciation they merited.
‘Serious thinking, or just thinking?’
‘Serious thinking. I know I don’t speak much about my life up north – it’s all in the past – but I had a cheque last week. Oh, not an enormous one but my ex-wife has finally realised I’m not going back and the cheque was for my share of the little house we had.’
Brenda lifted her cup and drank from it. Remaining silent seemed to be the order of the day – Ken wanted to talk.
He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. He’d spent most of the previous evening wondering how to conduct this conversation, to show her the benefits in their true light and now he felt like a silly young boy who couldn’t string a sentence together.
‘You see, the thing is I’ve watched you in that greenhouse. You’re a marvel with our seedlings… I think we can capitalise on that. Expand the business. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to buy into it.’
For a long time Brenda didn’t speak, just stared at him. She could tangibly feel the tension in him and wondered just how long he’d been bottling up his thoughts and dreams. She smiled.
‘What would we need? Be more specific, Ken. What sort of increase in business are you proposing?’
‘Something more than just a market garden. A garden centre. We would need two large greenhouses to start with and naturally we’d need to buy quite a large amount of stock – and set on a youngster to help…’
‘Whoa!’ She held up a hand, laughing. ‘Slow down, Ken. I think it’s a wonderful idea but where are you planning to site this garden centre? You know the extent of our land and every inch is utilized.’
He grinned.
‘That field at the back. It belongs to Mrs Troon’s brother and he’ll rent it to us.’
‘But he farms it.’
‘Not anymore. Him and the widow Troon are going to live in Spain. His son’s moving into the farmhouse but he’s something big like a solicitor and doesn’t want the land. I took the old man for a drink, mentioned we might be interested and he jumped at the chance.’
Her brain was whirling.
‘Can we do it, Ken? It’ll take a fair bit of money.’
‘I have ten thousand pounds. I’ve got a bit more but I’ve to find somewhere else to live.’
‘Somewhere else to live?’
‘Mmm. Not happy about it but with Mrs Troon deciding to pack it in for the Costa del Sol, we’ve all to be out in a month. I thought I’d try and find a cottage to rent a bit nearer to here.’
‘Ken, let me think this through. When does Joe Williams want an answer about the land?’
‘I told him we’d let him know by the end of the week.’
‘Fine. The main thing that puts me off is am I a bit old to be expanding the business? I’m forty five now; can I keep up the hard work?’
He laughed.
‘Brenda, I’m no spring chicken but I’m prepared to sink everything I have into this. We’ve nobody else to worry about, what’s to stop us? And,’ he paused, and she watched as a blush began to creep up his face, ‘you certainly don’t look forty-five. You’re very pretty…’ His words died away as it occurred to him that he had overstepped the boundaries of their working relationship.
Her eyes twinkled.
‘Ken Buckingham, I do believe you’re flirting; pretty indeed. Amy’s pretty – and she gets her looks from her dad, not me.’
‘So,’ he said in his slow Yorkshire way, ‘if I’m flirting, will you go for a drink with me? Tonight?’
For a moment she was at a loss for words. Knowing Ken as she did she recognised how much courage it had taken for him to ask her and she had to be so careful how she declined.
But she didn’t decline.
‘That would be lovely. And we can perhaps thrash this idea of yours about a bit.’
He pushed his chair aw
ay from the table.
‘I’ll go and clear a few weeds then. Eight o’clock be okay? I’ll pick you up in the van.’
He had bought the van two weeks earlier to help with the work-load. She now realised it had been bought with the expansion of her business in mind.
‘That’ll be fine,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll be ready.’
To her surprise she enjoyed the evening very much. She got on with Ken, liked his quiet nature and had grown fond of his quirky Yorkshire sayings.
The pub he had chosen was out in the countryside, small and comfortable. She ordered a fruit juice. He laughed and ordered a pint. She noticed, without passing any comment, that the pint was shandy and she gave him full marks for consideration – it was a long drive home.
He produced a file that contained several sheets of handwritten notes, diagrams drawn to scale and costs he had already investigated. She looked at him with new respect.
‘Well, Ken,’ she said softly, ‘you’ve stunned me. I always knew you were a hard worker but it never occurred to me that you could plan something like this. You know what I’m going to say, of course; we’ll do it if you think it’s viable.’
He laughed.
‘God bless you, Brenda Andrews. I’m not sure what viable means – we don’t use posh words in Yorkshire but I am sure we can make this work. I’ll be late in tomorrow, got to go and see about the field. We mustn’t waste any time.’
‘There’s something else I’d like you to think about.’ She reached across and touched his hand. He stared at it for a moment then met her gaze. ‘Your accommodation problem,’ she said.
‘Oh that. Look, if I’ve to buy a tent I’ll have something by the end of the week,’ he said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about that, that’s the least of my worries.’
‘Then move into Stonebrook.’
He looked startled.
‘What? What would people say? I can’t do that.’
‘What do people say about Mrs Troon?’
‘Well, nothing I suppose, but that’s different. She takes in lodgers…’
‘But that’s what I’d be doing, taking in a lodger.’