by Lucy Gordon
Grumbling, he showed her, then hurried to the field to find out if his harvester was damaged. Sarah stayed where she was to guide the ambulance, -which mercifully arrived quickly. She led the way to the scene of the accident. Justin had ripped off Hal’s damaged sleeve and used it to make a rough tourniquet. He handed over to the medics with relief.
“What about me, eh?” Will raged. “Who’s going to pay for my machine?”
Hal groaned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Merton—”
“Sorry’s no good to me!”
“It’s a damned sight more than you’re entitled to,” Justin told him furiously. “You had no right to make him mend that machine. If Hal’s got any sense he’ll sue you.”
“Me?” Will gibbered. “Me?” But he fell silent under the contempt in Justin’s face.
“I’ve got to tell Hal’s wife,” Sarah said as the ambulance drove off. “Poor woman, how’s she going to get to the hospital? They haven’t got a car.”
“Mr. Merton will be delighted to drive her,” Justin said, with a look at the man that dared him to argue. Merton said nothing, cowed by the force of Justin’s personality.
In the end it was Sarah who drove Mrs. Jones to the hospital, while Justin returned the horses to the riding school. She’d expected him to join them as soon as possible, but there was no sign of him. She comforted Hal’s wife as best she could, but there was no denying that the situation looked black.
“What’s the point of suing Merton?” Mrs. Jones asked bitterly. “He’s such an old miser, you can bet he hasn’t kept up the payments on his insurance.”
Sarah was silent. Even if Hal didn’t lose his arm, it was unlikely to regain its full strength.
At last the doctor came to tell them that the news was good so far. Hal’s arm was saved. “But it’ll be a good while before he can use it properly.”
He didn’t say, “If he ever can,” but the words hung in the air.
Sarah drove Mrs. Jones home, then returned the car. She found Justin sitting in the kitchen of Will’s lovely old farmhouse, talking to him calmly. Remembering his contempt for the man, Sarah was surprised. He rose as soon as he saw her.
“Come in,” Will said, sounding almost affable. “I’ve got some sherry somewhere. We’ll have a celebration.”
“Thank you, but we must be going,” Justin said, slipping his arm around Sarah and drawing her to the door.
“What’s he celebrating?” she asked.
“He’s just sold the farm, and he’s a happy man.”
“Sold the farm? Who to?”
“Me.”
“But what are you going to do with a farm?”
“It won’t be a farm when I’ve finished with it. Don’t look like that. I’m not going to turn it into a shopping complex. But I’ve got plans. And they’ll include a job for Hal, and full pay until he’s strong enough to work.”
“That’s wonderful!” She threw her arms about his neck. “Do tell me, what are you going to do?”
“Not yet. Trust me, Sarah.”
He was thoughtful on the way home. “What’s the matter?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know—at least, I do, but I can’t put it into words. None of this has worked out as I’d hoped.”
“But you’ve won. You saved Haven.”
“But not in the way I wanted to. I did it with money and power, and that’s not—I don’t know.”
“Money and power are important,” she said, echoing the old Justin.
“Yes, they are. But I wanted people here to accept me as a friend, not just as a rich man who happened along.” He gave an awkward laugh. “I suppose I mean that I want them to like me.”
“You say that as if you were embarrassed to admit it.”
“Well, I may not know what I was like this last two years, but I remember myself before. Being liked didn’t come high on my list of priorities. But now— these are good people, nice people. I want them to feel the same about me.”
“But they liked you before this happened. It was going into that bell tower that really made you one of us.”
He sighed. “I’m asking for the moon, aren’t I?”
“Why not? Sometimes you get given the moon.”
“I won the moon on the day you said you loved me,” he said, touching her face. “Why should I want anything else? It’s just that I can’t separate you from this place.”
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Be patient. Your chance will come.”
Chapter Ten
Hal Jones was popular, and at first everyone was concerned for him. But when they were sure his wound would heal, consternation settled over the village. As usual, the mood found expression in the Haystack.
“We’re sunk,” Colly declared dramatically.
“Finished,” the vicar agreed sadly into his sherry.
“Haven’s last chance gone,” Uncle Nick sighed. “Fill it up, Ted. I feel the need of strength tonight”
“Hey, what is this?” Justin demanded, while Ted filled Nick’s glass. “Since when did Haven’s future ride on Hal’s back?”
“Not his back, his limbs,” Colly explained. “Best pair of legs in the county. Thighs all muscles. Arms like tree trunks. We’d have won this year.”
“Won what?” Justin demanded.
“The tug-of-war,” Ted explained. “We have one every year with Eltonbridge.”
Eltonbridge was a village about ten miles down the road, of roughly the same size and population as Haven. Centuries ago they’d been sworn enemies, raiding each other’s crops and carrying off each other’s women. All that was left now was the tug-of-war at the annual Haven harvest fete. Eltonbridge had won for the last five years, but then Hal had moved into the area. This year Haven had felt its chance had come, until Hal’s accident.
“Maybe someone else will turn up just as good,” Justin observed.
“We’ve got two weeks,” Ted observed. He looked at the vicar. “A miracle would be handy.”
“I’ll get to work on it,” George promised. “Although Haven’s been blessed with so many miracles recently that I hardly like to ask for another.” He nodded in Justin’s direction, and the others grunted agreement.
Justin became aware that a silence had fallen. Colly, Ted and the others were looking at him appraisingly.
Miss Timmins, who was sipping a port and lemon with Crosspatch on her lap, suddenly observed, “Sarah’s an excellent cook. I’ve often said so.”
“She’s terrific,” Justin agreed cautiously.
“I remember you when you first came here. Skin and bone. And look at you now.”
They all did so. Justin’s shoulders had broadened, and hours in the saddle had thickened his thigh muscles. Feeling selfconscious under this scrutiny, he looked at himself, and realized that none of his sharp city suits would fit him now. But then, he’d grown out of that life long ago.
“Of course, it’s a lot to ask of you,” George said thoughtfully.
“It is. I’ve never been in a tug-of-war before,” Justin said quickly.
George sighed. “It’s been a dream of mine to coach the winning team and watch them go up for the presentation of the victory medals. They’re lovely medals, you know. Ted, show him.”
Ted turned to the display behind the bar where a row of metal disks confirmed that Haven hadn’t always been on the losing side. “The players all get a medal each,” he said. “But the team medal is hung here, so that the world may wonder and admire.”
“I’m getting old,” George said regretfully. “I don’t suppose I’ll see another victory in my lifetime.”
“Cut it out, George,” Justin ordered, grinning. He looked around the expectant faces. “All right, of course I’ll do it.”
There was a cheer from everyone in the pub. All other conversations had died as the important negotiations at the bar had become clear. Ted produced a foaming tankard “On the house!” he roared.
Somehow the news got around Haven in a few minutes, and the ot
her team members started to arrive. They looked Justin up and down critically, pronounced him passable and demanded an immediate trial of strength. George fetched the rope from the vicarage where he stored it with his vestments, and they lined up, three on each end.
Like many men who’d never tried it, Justin had vaguely imagined that a tug-of-war was easy if you were strong enough. He was soon put right. The haul used muscles he’d never known he had. In a short time he was aching all over, perspiration was dripping into his eyes, and his arms felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets. But he hung on, knowing he was at a turning point in his relations with Haven.
He ended the evening on the ground, covered in dust, while George lectured him on how to dig his heels in. The rest of the team hauled him to his feet, slapped him on the back and pronounced that he’d do. Sarah later told him that this was high praise, but he’d already worked it out for himself.
That evening was the first of many. Justin found that his vision had narrowed from the wide world to a tin medal. He’d won medals before, international awards for business achievement. None of them had mattered like this one. When he’d earned it, and proved himself, he would be in a better position to demand a final answer from Sarah.
Gradually the fete became the focus for all the things that were changing in the village. Greenfield Estates had held its first meeting with the Haven committee, as it was now officially known. Miss Timmins had reported that all was well. Jack Redham, representing Greenfield, had taken detailed notes of the villagers’ opinions. There was also generous remuneration for the committee members, which was particularly welcome as the price of cat food had gone up. Best of all, she was happy to report, Jack seemed to have a sense of the fitness of things. Knowing Miss Timmins’s high standards, everyone relaxed after that.
In only one way had the meeting proved a disappointment. No arguments or blandishments had induced Jack to admit that Justin had anything to do with Greenfield. The farthest he would go was a nervous, “It would be more than my job’s worth to tell you that, ma’am.” This seemed to everyone a kind of confirmation, especially in view of the personal interest. Justin was taking in the rebuilding of the hall.
Greenfield had booked a stall to display a model of the new hall. It was to be a larger building then the old, giving the Haven Players scope for their ambitions. The architect had incorporated what was left of the bell tower, and the outside was to be made of local stone, to blend into the village. Justin had personally picked his way through the burned ruins, salvaging gargoyles that would find a home on the new walls.
He’d also rescued Great Gavin. After its final triumphant effort the bell had been left misshapen by its fall. Justin had it restored, polished and hung on display at ground level. There was a plaque giving its history, including that final night when it had saved Haven.
The heat wave continued until three days before the fete, when the weather took an abrupt turn for the worse. The temperature fell overnight, and Haven awoke to pouring rain. It pelted down all day and all the following night. Next morning the sun was out again, but there was still a nip in the air.
Greg Hallwood, driving toward Haven, was dismayed to find himself going along narrow country tracks. He reflected that if he’d known Justin had buried himself in the back of beyond he wouldn’t have brought his brand-new car.
It was the love of his life, one of the first of this year’s registration. Justin had taught him the value of being seen in an up-to-date vehicle, and he’d rather hoped to impress his brother. Now, bouncing in and out of holes that threatened his suspension and hearing the ominous rasp of twigs on his paintwork, he regretted the decision.
It was evening as he neared Haven, and the rain was starting again. In the distance he could see lights and hear noisy laughter. As he grew closer he made out a patch of grass lit by the glow from a nearby pub. Men were on each end of a rope, straining against each other and constantly slipping on the wet ground. Around them stood a crowd, drinking beer and cheering them on.
Greg’s first thought was that he’d come to the wrong place. He began to walk across the grass in search of someone to ask, wondering if he’d be able to make himself heard above the riotous jollity. At that moment the two teams collapsed as their feet slid from under them. There was more laughter and cheering. Someone yelled, “Okay, that’s it for tonight!” and the men picked themselves up to head for the pub.
“Excuse me!” Greg hailed one of the muddied oafs. The man turned, grinning, and with a shock Greg recognized him.
“Justin?”
“Greg? What the devil are you doing here?”
Justin looked dismayed, as well he might, Greg thought, being caught in such an undignified situation. It was scarcely possible. “It is you—isn’t it?” he asked in a dazed voice.
“I’m honestly not sure,” Justin said. “You may not think it’s me.” He looked around and saw they were attracting attention. “Look, come over here.” He took Greg’s expensively clad arm and felt his brother flinch. “Sorry,” he said, making vain efforts to wipe out the muddy fingerprints.
“You’re making it worse,” Greg complained, tightlipped.
“Sorry,” Justin said again.
“Leave it!” Greg snapped.
“Hi, Justin!” someone called. “Coming for a drink?”
“Not tonight,” Justin called back. To Greg’s relief his brother made no introductions, but steered him away. “We can’t talk here. Have you got somewhere to stay?”
“No. Where are you staying?”
“Er—there’s no room for you there. Better try Market Dorsey, down the road. They’ve got a good hotel. I’ll get cleaned up and join you in the Haystack.”
He appeared half an hour later, without the mud, wearing jeans and a tweed jacket, looking more informal than Greg had ever seen him. “Shall we make tracks?” he asked without sitting down.
“Don’t you want a drink first?”
“Er—no, it’s getting late. I’ve called the hotel to book you in, but if we don’t get there soon you won’t be able to get a meal. I’ll wait outside while you finish.” He vanished.
Greg followed him immediately. As they drove he grumbled, “Anyone would think you didn’t want to be seen with me.” He hadn’t meant it seriously, for such an idea was preposterous, but to his astonishment Justin reddened awkwardly. “You have to be kidding,” Greg said in outrage.
“Don’t make a big deal of it,” Justin said with a reluctant grin. “I just can’t afford to be seen talking to someone in a car like this.”
“But don’t they know who you are, what you’ve done for them?”
“They know I’m connected with the land purchase, but not how closely connected. I’m trying to play that side of things down. Being seen with you could ruin my image.”
“Which appears to be that of a yokel,” Greg said stiffly.
“Well—let’s just say that if you got a pair of jeans and drove an old banger it would be easier for me to admit you’re my brother.”
“I think you’ve gone totally off your head,” Greg snapped, then added quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“No problem. Take the next right turn and we’re there.”
They reached the Grange Hotel just in time for a meal. Greg checked his room out, changed his pawmarked suit and joined Justin in the restaurant with a heavy heart. “You’re different,” were his first words.
“So are you. What happened to the little brother I was always telling off for not taking things seriously?”
“You left him in charge of the firm, and it’s been a good education. I could fool around when I was your assistant, but my fooling days are over. At last I’ve understood the point of a lot of the things you taught me.”
“Oh, Lord!” Justin exclaimed in dismay.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Greg stopped as the waiter appeared with their meals. “I didn’t order.”
“I ordered for you. They w
ant to close soon.”
“Steak and kidney pie?”
“It’s the best steak and kidney for miles.” Justin addressed the waiter. “Tell the cook Sarah’s expecting some fresh asparagus tomorrow.” The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“What have I wandered into?” Greg demanded faintly.
“That’s the way things are done around here.”
“What about the telephone? Or hasn’t it reached “ this place?”
“Sure. And there’s a young woman in Haven with a computer that’s more state-of-the-art than anything we’ve got. But talking to people is nicer.”
“And who’s Sarah?”
“She and her uncle keep the shop where I’m lodging. I help out when I can.”
“You help out in a shop?”
“It’s the least I can do after all she’s done for. me. I was a shadow when I walked into this place, and she got me fit again.” Justin looked up as he saw the waiter trying to catch his attention. Under Greg’s fascinated gaze, the man held up both hands with the fingers splayed. Justin returned a thumbs-up sign.
“The cook wants ten bundles of asparagus,” he explained.
“Justin, what the hell were you doing back there?”
Before he could reply, Justin began coughing. He controlled it and said cheerfully, “Practising for the tug-of-war. It’s the big day tomorrow. We have high hopes of beating Eltonbridge, but it’s going to be a fight.”
“We? You mean you and the rest of the yokels? You talk as if you were one of them.”
“They’re not yokels,” Justin said seriously. “They’re intelligent, sensitive human beings, and if I thought they saw me as one of them I’d feel honored. But I’ve got a way to go yet. Perhaps if I help them win I’ll cross the last hurdle.”
“Why don’t you just tell them you bought the land?” Greg demanded. He was growing more unsettled by the moment. “Surely they’d be grateful for that?”
“I don’t want it getting about,” Justin said quickly. “I think they suspect, but they can’t be sure. I want them to accept me, not my money.”
“Show people a fat wallet, and they’ll accept you fast enough,” Greg said. “Your own words.”