Molly

by Molly (retail) (epub)

  “We will.” Meg scurried into the hall, shrieking for her sister. A little glumly, Molly followed.

  Danbury’s was still a long way from being out of trouble. Molly sat in the office poring over figures, leafing through files, nibbling her thumbnail, a straight line of worry between her brows. She sat back, sighing. The crippled carting firm was still on a knife edge. Fortunately the agency was doing well; but for how long could it bring in enough to subsidize Danbury’s? How long before the agency, too, began to suffer?

  “There’s a gentleman here to see you, Mrs Benton.” William Baxter put his head round the door. “A Mr Jefferson, from Forrest’s. Says it’s important.”

  Molly’s lips tightened. She had not seen Adam since that embarrassing day he had overheard her asking Joseph Forrest about him. To have him see Danbury’s, now, in chaos, was galling. “Send him in,” she said, grimly.

  Adam, personable as ever and looking a little out of place in the working yard and untidy temporary office, doffed his hat politely as he came into the room. Molly saw the swift look of appraisal that took in the cracked and hastily taped window, the patchwork roof, the cramped and uncomfortable office.

  “It’s temporary,” she said, shortly, indicating her surroundings with a wave of her hand. “The fire destroyed the offices as well as the stables and a lot of the warehousing. It’s more important to get them rebuilt first.”

  Adam glanced through the dirty window, but with some restraint forbore from pointing out that at the moment nothing at all was being rebuilt. “I guess it must be something of a struggle,” he said pleasantly. His eyes on her were surprisingly warm. Molly was aware of her own ink-stained and dishevelled appearance. With as much dignity as she could muster she removed the pencil from the tangle of hair behind her ear, where she had thrust it while she was working.

  “Business is picking up quite well now. It could have been worse,” she said, coolly. The very last thing that she needed from Adam Jefferson, she thought savagely, was his sympathy. “You wanted to see me?”

  He looked at her speculatively for a moment, and almost she could see his mental shrug. The tiniest sprig of olive branch had been offered and refused. “We’ve a shipment coming in on Monday,” he said, his voice now brisk and businesslike, “and one of our clerks made a mistake when he sent the documents through. I was coming in this direction – I’ve brought the correct ones.” He held out the envelope he carried.

  “Thank you.” She rummaged in a drawer. “Is it the Australian shipment?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you need the other documents back?”

  “Yes, we do, I’m afraid.” Still the very polite tone.

  Molly waved a slightly harassed hand. “Won’t you sit down? I’m not quite certain who had them. I haven’t been in the office for a couple of days and – I’ll have to ask Mr Baxter.”

  William Baxter looked up as she put her head round the door. “The documents for the Australian shipment? Yes, Mrs Benton, I know where they are. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I gave them to Smithson, to be ready for Monday. Would you like me to get them for you?”

  “Yes, please.” Molly managed to keep the relief from her voice. She shut the door and turned to find Adam, still standing, watching her with a totally unfathomable expression on his face. They looked at each other in silence. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Molly said, suddenly nervous, “won’t you sit down? It is all a bit silly, isn’t it, this ‘Mrs Benton’ and ‘Mr Jefferson’ stuff? We’re grown-up people, after all. We should be able to behave in a civilized fashion. There’s no law that says we can’t be—” she sucked her lip, looking for the word.

  “Faintly friendly?” Adam was laughing. He reached for the chair that Molly had offered. “I must say that the same thought had crossed my mind. It would certainly be less wearing than the present hostilities.” With some care he lowered himself into the chair. “This beastly leg still gives me gyp sometimes,” he said, and Molly found herself noting that it was the first unguarded thing that either had said to the other since that first time they had come so unexpectedly face to face in Joseph Forrest’s office. She perched on the cluttered desk, watching him.

  “How did it happen?” she asked straightforwardly.

  “I was driving to the exhibition in Chicago, last autumn. A truck coming the other way ran out of control and hit me head on.”

  “How horrible.”

  “Not something to make a habit of. There was too much damage to make a complete repair—” he laughed easily “—to me or to the car. So they scrapped the car and did their best for me. It won’t always be this bad, so they tell me.”

  “Does it hurt still?”

  He held her eyes for a long moment. “I don’t for the life of me know, Molly Benton, why I should tell you something that I rarely admit to anyone, but, yes, it does. Like hell.”

  “You don’t show it,” she said.

  The old derisive gleam was in his eyes. “Would you expect that I would? Of all the emotions that I might excite in others I think that sympathy is my least favourite. I will not have the world pity me.”

  She remembered the spasm of pain that had crossed his face as he had sat down. “It must be hard sometimes?”

  He laughed. “Save your concern, Molly. Pure unadulterated pride is the key. And neither vanity nor a perfected talent for self-preservation are qualities particularly to be admired, except in oneself.”

  “You haven t changed a bit,” she said.

  He tilted his dark head, looking up at her. “But you have.”

  She said nothing, waiting for him to go on, but he did not. He stood up, and it was obvious that he had much more difficulty in doing this than he had in sitting down. Unbalanced and awkward, he had to turn, holding on to the back of the chair to prevent himself from falling. He quirked his dark eyebrows at her. “You see?” He walked to the window and stood looking out into the sunshine.

  “Mr Forrest told me that you were divorced,” Molly said quietly.

  He turned a little, stood outlined against the light. She could not see his expression. “Yes.” The single syllable gave absolutely nothing away. He stood stone-still, for a moment. Then, in the sunshine she saw the sudden flash of his smile. “Serves me right, don’t you think? Would you sell the yard to me?” The last sentence was said with the same lightness as the first. Molly stared at him. In the office beyond the one in which they stood there were sudden, girlish shrieks of laughter.

  “Kitty, you idiot! Wait till I tell Mum—” The door burst open to reveal Meghan, scarlet with laughter and beautiful as a poppy, and a rather downcast-looking Kitty.

  “Mum! Guess what Kit just—” Meghan stopped, her eyes wide on Adam. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Adam smiled, his eyes appreciative. Meg blushed even brighter.

  “Meghan, Kitty, how many times have I told you not to burst into a room like that?” Molly was conscious that her irritation was not just with their bad manners.

  “Don’t worry on my account.” Adam was laughing. “Far be it from me to object to being interrupted by two such beauties! Your daughters, Molly?”

  “Yes.” Molly made the introductions brusquely. “This is Kitty. The noisy one’s Meghan. Girls, this is Mr Jefferson, of Forrest and Jefferson.”

  “Adam,” said Adam easily as he held out his hand.

  “Hello,” Kitty said shyly.

  “How do you do, Adam.” Meg was pert. She glanced up at him from beneath long lashes as she shook the proffered hand delicately.

  Adam’s look was openly admiring. “Well, thank you,” he said formally.

  “Now out,” Molly said succinctly. “We’re talking business.”

  Meghan tossed an affronted head. Since she had come into the room her whole appearance had subtly changed. She had fallen through the door a laughing, shouting child. Her poise now was that of a girl much older, her voice was composed. “We’ll wait for you outside. It’s nearly time to go home. You promis
ed Dad you’d be back for lunch. He’s got Mr Langton coming.”

  “Meghan, I don’t need you to organize my life for me, thank you. Just go and play for half an hour. I’ll be ready then.”

  As the door closed she turned back to Adam. “Did I hear you right? Did you just offer to buy the yard?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want it.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  He hesitated.

  “Did you walk around before you came in?”

  Again, the slightest hesitation before he nodded.

  “Then it can’t have escaped your notice that we haven’t exactly got ourselves back on our feet yet?” She dismissed his ironic glance, reading into it exactly what he was thinking. “All right. I know what I said earlier. What else do you expect? You aren’t the only one with—” She smiled suddenly, her eyes crinkling with laughter. “What was it? – ‘vanity and a perfected talent for self-preservation’?”

  He laughed with her, but his eyes were wary. “I’ll give you a good price. I’m not trying to get something for nothing.”

  “That makes a suspicious change.” She sobered, shook her head. “No”

  “You drive a hard bargain. A very good price.”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t heard what’s on offer.”

  “I don’t care. Danbury’s isn’t for sale.”

  He lowered himself into the chair again, looked up at her with thoughtful eyes. “Why not?”

  “I don’t have to tell you that, any more than you have to – or intend to – tell me why you want it.”

  This time he threw back his head and laughed in genuine amusement. “By God, I was right when I said you’d changed! The old Molly wouldn’t have come back at me that smartly!”

  “Don’t be patronizing,” she said, unruffled, “it doesn’t become you at all.”

  Into the watchful quiet he asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all.”

  She watched as he took out a cigarette case that glimmered dull gold in the sunlight. He extracted a cigarette with some care, tapped it on the case and then in sudden interested afterthought offered the case to her. “I’m sorry. Do you?”

  She shook her head. “Not one of my vices.”

  He lit the cigarette, watched the wreathing smoke lift into the air. “I’m thinking of going into business myself, in a small way.”

  She waited, and when he did not elaborate asked, “Not carting, I assume?”

  “No. A very small, very modern cold store.”

  “But Forrest and Jefferson have their own cold stores.”

  “Of course. And I’m not thinking of leaving Joseph. This would simply be an extra venture of my own.”

  “So you need land,” she said shrewdly. “Land that is fairly well situated, close to the docks and—” she hazarded a guess, “—and near the rail terminals, as we are?”

  “Almost right. But there’s another consideration. I’m looking for something that is close to the heart of London. I have in mind a very exclusive trade.”

  “A piece of land like that would be fairly hard to come by. Most of it is built on already.”

  “So I have discovered.”

  “And that’s why you want to buy Danbury’s? To close it down and build this – exclusive cold store of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not? I told you I’d pay a good price. There’s a lot of land here, counting the odd bit beyond the stables.”

  Irritation stirred. “You really did have a good look round, didn’t you?”

  “You don’t think I’d have made the offer if I hadn’t, do you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Well?”

  She walked round behind the desk and sat down. “Adam, Danbury’s is not for sale. I’m sorry, but there it is. The answer is no. Jack needs this place. I’ve worked my guts out for it. I’m not selling out, and that’s that. We aren’t beaten yet.”

  He was looking at her in an oddly calculating way. “What exactly have you been doing here for the past couple of months?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Me?”

  “You.”

  She shrugged. “Selling, mostly. Convincing people that we aren’t finished. Drumming up new business.”

  “As you did when you first started the agency?”

  “Much the same sort of thing, yes. Why?”

  He struggled to his feet. “I’m not sure. An idea, that’s all. Something I need to think about.” He nodded to the door. “The fairy princess out there said that you were expected home for lunch?”

  “The fairy—? My God, don’t let her hear you call her that. You’ll turn her head completely. Yes, I do have to go.” Oddly reluctant, she walked before him to the door. “I can’t think where Baxter’s got to with those – ah.” As she opened the inner door William Baxter entered from the outer door, waving triumphantly a rather grubby envelope. “Here they are.”

  She handed the envelope to Adam. “And thank you for taking the trouble to come,” she said, a little formally.

  “I happened to be passing, as I said.”

  “And it did give you a chance to look over a piece of desirable property?” She could not resist the gibe.

  He laughed. “Something like that.”

  As if by magic Meghan and Kitty appeared at the door. Meg sent her brightest and loveliest smile in Adam’s direction. Adam smiled back.

  “Time to go, girls,” Molly said brusquely. “Say goodbye to Mr Jefferson.”

  Kitty whispered something.

  “Goodbye, Adam,” Meg said, and danced before her mother down the path towards the road. Just inside the gate stood a shiny motor car, dark green, its chrome flashing in the sunlight. “Is that Ad – Mr Jefferson’s, do you think?” Meg asked, darting a look at her mother from under her eyelashes.

  “Undoubtedly,” Molly said.

  “Don’t you think he might give us a lift home if we asked him?”

  Molly turned repressive eyes onto her daughter. “I have no intention whatsoever of asking him, so we’ll never know, will we?” she asked, sharply.

  Before they turned out of the gates she glanced back. Adam was standing, hands in pockets, in the middle of the yard, his eyes ranging the burned-out buildings, the derelict, weed-choked spaces. Molly turned away and hurried home.

  * * *

  “Ee, that was champion.” Bernie Langton’s north-country accent was as pronounced as Jack’s had once been. He leaned back in his chair. “Beet champion,” he repeated with some satisfaction.

  “I understand you’re in the building trade, Mr Langton?” Molly said politely.

  “Aye. That’s reet. There’s a lot of brass to be made in the building just now, Mrs Benton. A lot of brass. And I’m makin’ it.” His tone indicated total satisfaction with himself and all his doings.

  “May we leave the table?” Meg asked demurely.

  Molly nodded. Danny and the girls rose with a great scuffing of chairs. At the door Danny paused. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day,” he said, too casually.

  Molly looked at him sharply. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, just to meet someone—” he said vaguely, and was gone before she could remonstrate.

  “Boys will be boys, Mrs Benton.” Bernie Langton was smugly expansive. “Can’t keep the lad tied to your apron strings for the rest of his life, eh?”

  With great difficulty Molly resisted the temptation to tell him to mind his own business. She had taken what she was certain must be an unreasonable dislike to Bernie Langton the moment she had met him.

  “Will you take a glass of port, Langton?” Jack asked.

  “Port? Oh, aye, I can always manage a drop o’ that.” The builder was a chunky, red-faced man with few social graces. Molly found that the surprised lift of his eyebrows as he saw that Jack was pouring not two but three glasses of por
t irritated her out of all proportion to the action. The interview with Adam that morning had disturbed her strangely. She could still hear his voice, still see that sudden characteristic lift of his head. Bernie Langton’s boorishness seemed to rasp on nerves already laid bare.

  “I’ll tell Effie she can clear the table,” she said, and stood up. Jack, at the sideboard and standing without his stick, took a step and staggered a little. She was by his side in an instant, supporting him with a now-practised shoulder. “You’re doing too much, still, Jack. Remember what the doctor said.”

  “That’s right, Mrs Benton, you tell him.” Langton slapped his solid thigh jovially. “Got to get him back on his feet, eh? The sooner you can do that, the sooner you’ll like it, eh?”

  Molly had had enough. “I beg your pardon?”

  Jack’s strong arm squeezed her shoulder, gently warning. “I think what Mr Langton’s trying to say is that the sooner I’m better the sooner you can get away from the yard.”

  “Reet you are,” the other man said. “Not that I don’t think that you’re a plucky little woman, mind, doin’ what you have, but speakin’ plain, it don’t seem fitting to me. Women and business don’t mix, to my way of thinking.”

  “Oh really?”

  The challenge in Molly’s voice went completely unnoticed. “That’s reet. You’ll never convince me that a woman wants anything but this—” he tapped the polished table complacently. “That’s the way it’s always been, don’t see any reason why it should change now on account of a few hysterical females that need a good thumping. No, Mrs Benton, you stick to what you know. Them’s fine kids you’ve got there, and this is a fine house. A credit to you. You’re not going to tell me you need anything else?”

  Molly saw Jack wince, his eyes on her face. She took a deep breath; the man, after all, was Jack’s guest. “I believe you gentlemen have some business to discuss?”

  Jack nodded.

  “In that case I’ll leave you to it. I’ve business of my own to deal with. I’ll be in the office, Jack. I’ve some reports to go over. Effie will clear away and bring you coffee. Have her bring one in to me, would you? Goodbye, Mr Langton.” And with barely a glance at their decidedly sobered guest she picked up her port and left them.