Brandon nodded as though he wasn’t really interested. ‘I guess I’m glad to hear that she’s making out well enough.’ He wondered how much Mary would have told Heath; she did not seem the sort to confide her personal life to anyone, not even her brother. If she had, Brandon thought wryly, Heath would hardly stand in the office looking so affable.
‘Carries great pieces of beef on her shoulders, she does,’ Heath said proudly. ‘Strong woman she is, mind, but I told her she must get a pony and trap, it’s no life for a woman humping sides of meat.’
Brandon shook his head as if to clear it. What Mary did was no concern of his, he told himself sharply; she was responsible for her own fate, she was a grown woman and he certainly owed her nothing.
‘About the job,’ he said smoothly, ‘give it a few days, so that I can break it to Rees that he’s getting moved.’
Heath moved towards the door. ‘Right then, boss and thanks.’ As Heath made to leave, Brandon held up his hand.
‘Wait a minute, how would you like a job for tonight?’ he asked. ‘Mark and I will be taking some loads of tinplate to the railway station. Care to come along, ride shotgun as it were?’
Heath’s face brightened. ‘Sound like a good idea. What time and where?’
Brandon spoke quietly. ‘At the gates, eight o’clock. I shouldn’t think anyone would be expecting us to move at that time of day.’
‘I’ll be there, don’t you worry about that, boss.’
After Heath had gone, striding through the gates as though for all the world he had not just completed a full shift, Brandon settled back in his chair. He stared down at the books open on the desk – things were looking good and if only he could meet the demands for tinbar, the business would be paying dividends before long.
He closed the ledger with a snap, irritated with the way Mary Jenkins kept intruding into his thoughts. He wished now that he had not vented his anger upon her; he should have kept her sweet so that he might continue the affair.
He could not deny that Mary had a strange, almost hypnotic appeal for him. Her ripe breasts and firm silky thighs haunted his dreams. She was a woman full of warmth and strength and there was a clear look in her eyes that became clouded only in passion.
Perhaps, he mused, he might wander down to the market square later in the afternoon and see how she was getting on. It might just be to his advantage to keep her sweet. He felt the throb of desire low in his groin, he wanted a woman, and badly, and for the moment at least Mary Jenkins had the power to assuage the hunger that had eaten away at him ever since he had lost Mary Anne Bloomfield.
The afternoon was still and dull, the clouds of pent-up rain crouching over the huddled town. Brandon strode out towards the market, feeling the need to take an hour or so off work. The wheels were turning well at the moment and the place could run without him for a little while. For now, he had other things beside tinplate on his mind.
He saw her at once. Mary was standing at her stall fastening up the shutters, snapping the locks into place. Brandon moved up behind her, admiring the slimness of her waist beneath the flannel skirt, imagining her body naked and beautiful. God, but he was in need of a woman.
Mary spun round at his approach as though she recognised his footsteps, her face closing up and her mouth becoming a thin line which was quite unbecoming to her. She put both her hands on her hips and stared at him with her head flung back, the white column of her throat running silkily to her breasts which had become partly exposed during her exertions.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t throw my skirts over my head and rape me right here, can you?’
He smiled lazily, ignoring her angry sarcasm. ‘Now how did you know that was exactly what I had in mind?’ he said softly. She stared at him as though bewildered as he moved towards her.
‘I want to talk to you,’ he said more seriously. She jerked backwards as though his eyes were fingers probing beneath her clothing.
‘And what if I don’t want to talk to you?’ she said, but her voice was trembling. She was as keen for a tumble as he was, Brandon thought in triumph and his entire body seemed bathed in heat.
‘It’s about your brother.’ He spoke soberly, sensing that she would need an excuse to go with him, anything to save her pride. She glanced at him quickly.
‘Heath, he’s not hurt is he?’ Her eyes widened and the colour drained from her face.
‘I guess that was clumsy of me,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘No, he’s just fine and dandy, but I want to talk to you about him, it is important.’
Mary pocketed the keys to her stall and swung a leather pouch more securely over her arm. She had taken the bait, Brandon told himself in satisfaction.
‘I’ve got a job for him tonight,’ Brandon said. ‘It will pay well enough and once I know he can handle it, he’ll get more of the same.’
‘What job is that?’ Mary allowed him to lead her away from the market square and down into the main street of the town. He took her past the soft waters of the river and into a patch of ground that was thick with trees and shrubs.
‘It’s nothing very demanding,’ he said gently. The sun pierced the branches, throwing a mellow light upon the drying grass. ‘And my manager will be along, so will I incidentally. It’s just a matter of seeing some tinbar safely on to the railway.’
Mary sighed softly. Brandon was actually talking to her as though she was a thinking human being instead of simply a woman to tumble whenever the mood took him.
Her eyes searched his face. ‘Brandon, I know my brother will be willing to help you in any way he can. Heath thinks highly of you.’
‘And you, Mary, what do you think of me?’ He stared down at her for a long moment and the silence seemed heavy around them. ‘I know I’ve treated you badly,’ he whispered, ‘but you’re a fine woman, you deserve only the best.’ His voice faded as he watched the changing expressions on her face.
Mary turned away from him, her head bowed, and he wondered what she was thinking. He had been a fool to treat her so casually. Mary Jenkins was a special woman, she had strength and character and he wondered how she had ever tolerated him.
‘Mary, you’re so beautiful,’ he said and his hand rested on her shoulder. She glanced up at him and he stepped back a pace, knowing that any advance he might make would be rejected. Then she sighed softly and moved away from him and as he watched the curve of her cheek and the soft flutter of her lashes, something stirred a chord within him. He no longer thought of Mary as a woman to roll in the hay with, he was slowly but surely falling in love with her.
‘Lovely Mary, so proud so beautiful,’ he murmured softly but she didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring through the trees as though beyond his reach, so far removed from him that he might have lost her forever by his careless use of her.
But he was realising all these things too late, he told himself. Mary must be thoroughly disillusioned with him by now, thinking of him as an animal with needs but no finer emotions.
‘You think Heath will come along and help tonight then, do you, honey?’ he asked as though he had nothing more important on his mind. Mary nodded her head and a wisp of silky hair came free of the pins, drifting across her face in a soft caress.
‘Oh, yes, he’ll help.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘If that’s all you want to say, don’t you think we’d better make our way back?’
As he took her home, walking through the mean streets, passing Copperman’s Row he heard the haunting sound of music playing in the soft dimness of the twilight.
Mary looked up at him, her face shadowed, her eyes those of a woman who kept her own counsel. He no longer felt sure of himself, he did not know this new strong Mary who stood before him.
‘I’ll see you, Mary, soon?’ He spoke softly without touching her and then, turning, left her outside the door of the shop where she was lodging.
Why hadn’t he taken her more seriously from the beginning, he mused as he strode away down the street. Sh
e was a beautiful, passionate woman and she had the gift of making him feel he was the only man in the world.
Did she use the same tactics on Dean? he wondered heavily and yet he could have been wrong about her all this time. Had he underestimated Mary’s strength of character?
Brandon took his watch from his pocket and glanced at it, frowning. He would have no time to return home, he would go straight down to the steelworks and wait for Mark and Heath Jenkins to show up.
In the office, he lit the gas lamp and sat down in the leather chair, feet up and resting on the top of the stove that was still warm. He had plenty of time to think about Mary and yet it was the last thing he wanted to do. He closed his eyes and her image was before him, haunting and beautiful.
Mark was the first to appear, smiling jauntily. The young manager had a white silk scarf around his neck and he seemed to be in good spirits.
‘Not missing your courting too much, then?’ Brandon said dryly.
‘Not missing it at all, sir, just postponing it ’till later.’
Brandon smiled good-naturedly and Mark raised his eyebrows.
‘I don’t see you going without a woman for much longer,’ he said quickly. ‘Got the looks that the girls go for, I’d say – dark and brooding, like.’
Brandon was saved from answering by the appearance of Heath. He was slim and handsome and with a strength about him that reminded Brandon of Mary.
‘Well, come on, let’s get rolling.’ Brandon rose to his feet. ‘The sooner we see this delivery of tinplate safely at the railway yard, the better I’ll be pleased.’
It was a dark night with little moon and the night shift was tapping out the blast furnaces. The glow tore the sky asunder, sparks flying upward with a sound as though the end of the world had come. The spectacular scene never failed to excite Brandon and he breathed in the acrid smell of the works with satisfaction. He was on his way to success; there must be no hitches, not now.
‘Duw!’ Mark stopped dead in his tracks. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’
Brandon moved forward, his teeth gritted together in anger. The gateway to the works was blocked with heavy timbers, it would take hours to clear it.
‘Get any of the men we can spare from the foundry,’ Brandon said briskly and Mark hurried away into the darkness.
‘Come on, Heath, I guess we’d better make a start.’ Together they lifted one of the heavy beams of wood. ‘Just throw it to one side,’ Brandon panted. ‘If I could only get the bastard who has done this, I’d string him up.’ He paused, pushing his hand through his hair. ‘Who in God’s name is giving out the information? Only you, Mark and I knew of the plan for tonight.’
Heath rubbed at his face. ‘Well, it wasn’t me, boss,’ he said quickly. ‘I was never one for cutting off my nose to spite my face.’
That made sense, Brandon thought and then a chill came over him. There was one other person who knew about the moving of the tin and that was Mary. The bitch! he thought in fury. She must have gone straight away and blabbed to Dean. What a fool he had been to think she was anything more than a cheap floosie.
The delay cost them an hour and Brandon finally brushed the dust from his hands, looking in Mark’s direction. ‘Not as bad as it could have been,’ he said. ‘In fact, the effort it cost to put the timber across the gate doesn’t seem worthwhile. We’d better keep our eyes peeled on the journey though, in case anything else happens.’
But nothing did. The roadway leading to the railway was silent under the gas lamp and not even a rat stirred in the shadows. ‘Very strange.’ Brandon said. ‘Something’s going on, I’m sure of it.’
When he returned to the works, Joe Phillips was waiting for him. The man was off duty, wearing a cap and a rough jacket instead of his moleskin trousers and sweat shirt.
‘Been a fire, Mr Sutton, sir,’ he said without preliminary. ‘Old Evo sent me to tell you – the press is ablaze, sir, don’t seem as anything inside will be saved.’ Brandon stared at Mark. ‘So that’s what the bastards were up to! Blocking the gate was just a diversion. Come on, we’d better get over to the press right away.’
By the time Brandon arrived on the scene the fire was raging. Flames issued out of the roof and the heat was almost unbearable. Thick choking fumes hung in the air and charred fragments of paper littered the ground. Evo’s face was blackened by smoke, his eyes red and watering.
‘My building and machinery all gone up in flames, Mr Sutton,’ he said in despair. ‘I was only out an hour and by the time I got back it was too late.’
Brandon stared at the flames, a great bitterness and anger filling him. He had spent long hours of study working out prices, gauging hours of work involved in the making of tinplate. Both in Philadelphia and here in Wales he had worked on it, and what had come out of it all but this terrible scene of destruction.
Evo shook his head. ‘Your book is finished. Every copy available was in there, nothing left of it now.’
Brandon gazed up at the billowing flames. There was one copy, the one he kept for himself.
‘We’ll have to start again,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m damned if I’ll give up now.’
The fire raged for hours and by the time the last flame flickered and died, Brandon could taste and smell charred paper. He moved among the ashes, kicking at the curls of paper with anger burning within him. Something caught his eye and he bent and retrieved a button from amid the dirt. He cursed for the object was hot, but he could detect the sign of an eagle in the blackened metal. He frowned, he had seen it somewhere before but where?
‘Duw, there’s a mess,’ Heath said in an awed voice. ‘Someone must hate you real bad. Mr Sutton.’
Brandon pocketed the amulet and strode away from the ruins of the press building which had been little more than a shed. ‘Aye, that’s for sure,’ he replied. And he knew just who hated him that badly, he thought angrily. But he could hardly tell Heath that his sister Mary must have gone running off to Dean at the earliest opportunity, bent on betraying one brother to the other.
‘There’s nothing more to be done here tonight,’ he said. ‘We might just as well go home.’ He took one backward look at the still smoking ruins and bitterness filled his mouth like bile. But he would not accept defeat. He would start again and one day soon the handbook would see the light of day in spite of everything.
* * *
Dean Sutton sat in the bar of the Cape Horner and mused on the old days. Once before he had sat here in the same place, planning with Rickie Richardson to destroy Rickie’s brother Sterling. Now, two years later, Dean was working against Brandon, his own brother. It was strange how history had a habit of repeating itself. He considered communicating the thought to Gerwin Price who sat alongside him, but the man was a moron. His hair stuck up in tufts on his head, he had a button missing from his coat and his chin and jaw jutted like those of bulldog. All in all, he was perhaps the meanest man Dean had ever seen.
When Rickie entered the bar he had beside him an older man, his face like leather, his hands gnarled. This then must be the one feeding the information to Rickie about the Beaufort Steel and Tinplate Company.
‘Are we late?’ Rickie said with a smug smile.
‘No, I guess I was early,’ Dean replied affably, tipping back his hat, his narrowed eyes missing nothing.
‘This is the furnaceman I told you about,’ Rickie said. ‘Rees has no reason to be friendly to Brandon Sutton.’
The man had perched on a stool. ‘There’s never a truer word been spoken,’ he said. ‘Going to chuck me out on the scrapheap they are! I heard them talking, hear more than they give me credit for, been on the cards for some time now that I’d be shoved off into the wash house.’
Dean ignored the man. He seemed the sort who would bear anyone a grudge if the price was right.
‘Is it over?’ he asked Rickie. The other man nodded.
‘Of course. The press is burned to the ground. A very unfortunate accident, can’t think how the fire start
ed.’ He exchanged a look with Gerwin Price. ‘A place like that, made of wood and filled with paper, didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.’ He laughed. ‘All I’m sorry about is that I didn’t see Brandon’s face when he arrived on the scene. Silly sod, trying to make fair wages for the workers indeed, he must be mad.’
‘He is, I guess,’ Dean agreed laconically.
Rickie grinned. ‘Not so daft though. I saw him with a big busty wench going into the woods; only one thing on his mind and something no man can be blamed for, I’d say.’
Dean felt as though he had been thrown into a cold river. He knew that Rickie was describing Mary and it still rankled that Brandon had got to the girl first.
‘Nothing’s more stupid than trying to bring out a book for the workers when most of them are too ignorant to read it,’ Dean said harshly.
The furnaceman was shifting uncomfortably in his seat and Dean pinned him with a stare. ‘I suppose, being one of the workers concerned, you don’t agree,’ he said flatly.
The man shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’
Dean felt vicious. He longed to hit out at someone and this furnaceman who was now superfluous would do very nicely.
‘Then get out of here and forget the money you were going to earn from me.’ If he had expected the man to beg, he could not have been more wrong.
‘To the blazes with you and your money then!’ Rees rose to his feet and stared down at Dean with fierce brown eyes. ‘Stuff your money right up your arse and don’t ask anything of me again.’
Dean watched him go and slowly lit a cigar. ‘I think you should arrange for the man to have a little accident, Gerwin,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We don’t want anyone who can point a finger at us.’
Gerwin immediately rose to his feet, violence being something he understood very well. He loped out of the bar like some wild animal set free and Rickie shook his head.
‘Don’t trust Gerwin. I know he works well but he has no intelligence, moves on instinct like a big cat. I think he’d cut his own granny’s throat for a shilling.’
Proud Mary Page 24