by Rosie Harris
St Hilary’s church was already packed when Megan arrived. Relatives of the Walkers and representatives from the leading shipping and haulage companies that operated from Liverpool docks filled the front rows.
Two rows in the centre of the church had been reserved for Walker’s employees and as she and Robert took their seats Megan was aware that many eyes were on them.
She felt quietly confident, knowing she looked her best. Her cream coat over a blue and cream floral dress was pretty yet restrained. The blue hat, banded in cream, suited her colouring and struck just the right note of formality.
For a moment as they took their seats she felt her senses spinning and the congregation became a blur. She breathed deeply, clutching tightly hold of her cream handbag, in an effort to stop herself shaking. Then gradually her heart stopped pounding and she was able to take stock of who was present.
She quickly spotted Mavis, resplendent in a vivid yellow dress and matching hat, sitting next to Olive. She’d heard them discussing the details of what they would be wearing so many times over the past weeks that it was like seeing the rerun of a technicolour film.
Mr Newbold, wearing a grey suit, was sitting in the same row accompanied by a stout middle-aged lady in flamboyant pink whom she assumed must be his wife.
Simon Gregson and Bob Donovan, the two shipping clerks, were sitting together and as they nudged one another and stared at her and Robert she gritted her teeth, knowing there would be plenty of gossip about them being together.
Then she caught sight of Miles in his flawlessly cut morning suit; he had never looked more handsome. He seemed completely at ease and Megan wondered what he was thinking as he waited for Carol Brocklehurst to arrive.
How could he be so poised and self-possessed knowing the many lives he had wrecked? Had he wiped from his mind how he had two-timed her, flirted with Lynn at the Stork Club and the circumstances that had caused Lynn’s death.
She shivered. If he could put all that behind him and live only for today then perhaps he really was the monster her mother claimed him to be.
As the music changed, signalling the bride’s arrival, she watched in growing anguish as Miles and his best man took their places at the altar steps. Her world rocked as if the past was closing round her, a dark curtain shutting off any chance of happiness.
As Miles half turned, and she saw the welcoming smile on his face as he watched his bride approach, Megan felt her heart would break. For weeks now she had steeled herself to hate him, to despise him, to resent the way he had used her as an object for his lust and then discarded her when she needed him most. Yet deep down she knew that his effect on her emotions was as powerful as ever.
She hated her own weakness in still loving a man who had shown so clearly that he had no respect whatsoever for her and who sought her company for one reason only. A man who could discard her without a second thought when he no longer needed her.
With a supreme effort, Megan brought her thoughts back to the present and forced herself to concentrate on what was happening around her as Carol Brocklehurst came down the aisle on her father’s arm.
As they passed by, the sheer blanket of whiteness that filled her vision made Megan catch her breath. For a terrifying second, it was as if she was back in the hospital where everything, walls, ceiling, bedding and furniture, had all been stark white.
When Robert’s hand reached out and took hers, squeezing it reassuringly, it was almost her undoing.
She glanced sideways, studying Robert’s profile and the firm set of his broad shoulders. He was kind and gentle; good-looking in a rugged sort of way, and she knew he loved her deeply. So why hadn’t she accepted his offer of marriage?
As she returned the pressure of his hand she felt like a traitor to her own feelings, to her family, and most of all to Robert. Was she making him endure the same emotional trauma as Miles had made her suffer? she wondered guiltily.
Perhaps it was time she stopped turning to him whenever she was in trouble. Maybe she ought to break the tenuous thread of friendship that kept him at her side and leave him free to find the happiness he deserved, she thought sadly as she struggled to focus her attention on the service.
It was like some terrible, endless dream listening to Miles and Carol Brocklehurst exchanging their vows. Then came the interminable wait while the bride and groom, and close family, adjourned to the vestry to sign the register.
She felt a surge of relief when the service was over and the newlyweds headed the procession that began to move slowly down the aisle. It would be the start of a new life for her, too, she vowed. From now on, she really would put Miles right out of her mind. Forget the past completely; forget all that he had meant to her.
As they drew level with the pew where she stood alongside Robert, Miles stared straight at her. Shocked and mesmerised, she was conscious that Robert’s hand had grasped her arm tightly as she stiffened. With a sharp intake of breath she managed to hold her head high. Inwardly she prayed that no one else had noticed the way Miles had looked at her.
At the reception, she forced herself to chat casually to Mavis and Olive. Mr Newbold, looking far less authoritative away from his books and ledgers, introduced his wife to them all.
She felt utterly lost when Robert momentarily left her side in order to collect some food. She longed to leave, but knew that it would be noticed if she did. Her father’s plea that she didn’t let Miles know how much he’d broken her heart and wrecked her life kept her resolutely talking and smiling.
When the announcement was made that the bridal pair were about to leave on their honeymoon, she made no attempt to join the laughing crowd making for the front door to wave them off.
‘Come on,’ Robert urged. ‘You’ve played your part too well not to take the final curtain.’
She looked up at him, startled. She’d been congratulating herself on how convincingly she had been behaving. That Robert had realised that it was merely an act filled her with chagrin. Numbly, she stood by his side on the driveway, well back from all the well-wishers clustered round Miles’ car, everyone laughing and joking as they tied an assortment of good luck tokens to the bumper.
Carol came out onto the drive on her own. She looked stunning in a pale green dress and jacket that complemented her vivid auburn hair. Envy and jealousy brought a lump to Megan’s throat.
‘Lost him already, Carol!’
‘You’ll have to watch him!’
‘We all know what Miles is like …’
Laughter and wisecracks came from all sides. Carol looked nervous as she settled herself in the passenger seat of the car and wound down the window so that she could reply to the banter.
Megan felt a hand on her shoulder and her heart raced as she turned and saw it was Miles. There was an inscrutable look on his face and for what seemed eternity they stood there staring at each other. She wanted to speak, to say something so cutting that it would sear into his heart, but her mind was blank.
Without saying a word, his lips brushed her cheek.
For a moment she thought she had imagined it, but the enraged look on Robert’s face told her she was not dreaming.
As Miles took his place behind the wheel of his car she saw the bewilderment on Carol’s face. She looked away quickly, knowing that everyone else must have seen what had happened and found Mrs Walker’s gimlet gaze, livid with hate, directed at her.
Heart thudding, her face burning, she reached for Robert’s hand. This time, he remained unresponsive.
As Miles started the engine and pulled away down the drive, the crowd shouting good advice and good luck, Robert freed his hand from her grasp.
‘We’re leaving,’ he said sharply. Tight-lipped, he strode towards his parked car. Abjectly, Megan slid into the passenger seat, staring straight ahead as Robert manoeuvred out into the road.
Neither of them spoke on the drive home. When he stopped outside her house, Robert left the engine running. He sat with both hands still on the wheel, not
looking at her. He made no attempt to open the door for her, but sat staring fixedly in front of him, waiting for her to get out.
Megan didn’t know what to do or say. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asked as she fumbled with the catch.
‘No!’ His tone was clipped, cold and decisive.
‘Please! They will be expecting you. My dad is probably waiting to hear all about the wedding,’ she persisted.
‘In that case I’m sure you will be better on your own, then you can tell him as much as you want him to know and no more,’ he said with studied irony.
‘Robert, it wasn’t my fault. You saw what happened. I couldn’t stop him …’ She placed her hand on his arm in a pleading gesture, silently beseeching him to understand.
He shook her hand away, irritably, as if she were a fly or a speck of dust. ‘No more acting, Megan … not with me,’ he exclaimed, revving the engine impatiently.
As she closed the car door he pulled away, savagely crashing the gears, leaving her standing in the roadway.
‘Isn’t Robert coming in?’
‘No, he thought it better not to do so.’ Quickly she blinked away her tears as her father met her in the doorway.
‘I’m glad in a way,’ he told her in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It might be better if you didn’t say anything about the wedding … Your mam is still very upset.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t want to talk about it. I have a terrible headache so I’m going straight up to my room! Goodnight.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
WHILE MILES WAS on his honeymoon, Megan found that work became a palliative. She felt more relaxed and no longer dreaded going into Mr Walker’s office to take dictation. When Miles had been in the room she’d found it very difficult to concentrate, knowing that he was watching her from beneath lowered eyes.
Her relationship with Mr Walker also underwent a subtle change. Although he was considerate to work for she had always been intimidated by him. She admired his business acumen and high standards. In her first week as his secretary she had been dismayed by the number of times she had been asked to retype a letter because it contained an error or he detected that she had made a correction. Only perfection was acceptable.
‘Look at it this way, Megan,’ he explained when he had seen she was almost in tears. ‘In the shipping business, we handle commodities on behalf of other people that are worth many thousands of pounds. If we can’t take the trouble to send them a correctly typed letter, or invoice, then how can they be confident that we will safeguard their goods and interests?’
As she came to know Mr Walker and his methods better, Megan realised that this meticulous attention to detail was the cornerstone on which Walker’s Shipping Company had been built up over the years.
Miles relied more on personality than efficiency. After making him a director, his father was proud of his son’s flair for carrying off big deals and bringing in new business. Now, in Miles’ absence, he was shocked beyond belief when he discovered the slipshod way the paperwork connected with these deals had been handled.
He took Megan into his confidence and a new rapport developed between them as they tried to sort out the muddles Miles had created. Mr Walker discussed each transaction with her in great detail and she found herself playing a far more decisive role.
Mr Walker was still far from well and the strain of Miles’ wedding seemed to have taken its toll of his strength. He tired easily and often arrived late or left the office just after lunch. Without Miles there to deputise for him, Megan found more and more responsibility seemed to be falling on her shoulders.
In many ways, she felt she was replacing Miles. This feeling increased even more towards the end of the first week when Mr Walker asked her if she would drive him to Manchester.
‘My meeting tomorrow with The Docks and Harbour Board is very important so I want to arrive feeling fresh and I still find driving something of a strain,’ he explained.
‘Of course,’ she agreed willingly. ‘I’m not sure you will find my car all that comfortable, though!’ She smiled apologetically. ‘It may seem rather cramped after …’
‘We’ll be going in my car,’ he interrupted.
‘You mean in your Rolls!’ she exclaimed in astonishment. ‘It’s rather a responsibility,’ she demurred. ‘Supposing I had a bump …’
‘It’s fully insured,’ he told her curtly. ‘Give it a try. If you find it’s too much for you then next time I’ll make other arrangements.’
Before she left work that evening, Mr Walker asked her if she would like to familiarise herself with the controls of the car she was going to have to drive next day.
The gleaming blue Silver Cloud, with its personalised number plate MW 100, was in sleek, showroom condition. To Megan it seemed as big as a bus. Nervously, she sat behind the wheel, conscious of the luxurious softness of the upholstered seats. The instrument panel looked so complicated that she felt alarmed.
She listened attentively as Mr Walker explained the driving mechanism and instrument layout. When he switched on the ignition, the powerful purr of the engine made her realise the enormity of what she was undertaking in agreeing to drive it.
‘Right then, Megan. How about trying it out?’ He smiled encouragingly.
She made one false start because she was so nervous. That mistake corrected she found driving the gleaming monster was simplicity itself. She went home that night looking forward to their trip to Manchester.
The car behaved beautifully when they set out next morning. The swift acceleration made her nervous at first, but the ease of steering, and the instant positive response when she braked, soon restored her confidence. She found driving it exhilarating. Even nosing through city traffic was less traumatic in the Rolls than it would have been in her own small car.
When they returned to the office later in the day, Mr Walker’s compliments on her driving ability brought a flush to her cheeks.
‘Perhaps it responded so well to your touch because it carries your initials on the number plate,’ he commented jocularly.
‘I enjoyed driving it,’ she told him. ‘Sheer magic!’
‘So you won’t mind acting as my chauffeur again if I need you?’ he commented, a twinkle in his keen blue eyes.
‘I would consider it a pleasure,’ she assured him.
When she told her father about it he was so proud of her skill that he relayed the episode to Robert the next time he came to the house.
Robert was far from pleased. ‘He employs over a dozen professional drivers so why not use one of them if he needs a chauffeur?’
‘He’s probably afraid the rest of you will go on strike if he does,’ Megan flared. She felt annoyed, Robert’s criticism was ruining what had been such an enjoyable experience.
There had been a rift between them ever since Miles’ wedding. Robert’s anger over Miles kissing her before he’d left on his honeymoon had deepened. Whenever they met he was curt and unfriendly, going out of his way to criticise or make scathing remarks, until she wished he’d stop coming to the house at all. Surely he saw enough of her father when they were at work? If he wanted to meet him in the evening for a drink then why couldn’t they meet at a pub? she thought angrily.
As she was leaving the office the following Monday evening, Mr Walker called her back.
‘Megan, do you think you could drive me to North Wales tomorrow? I have to collect some papers that I left behind when I was staying there over the weekend.’
She agreed nervously, although longing to refuse. Mostyn was the last place she wanted to visit again. It would be embarrassing meeting Sybil Jones, but she had no excuse ready.
Next morning, knowing what lay ahead, only will-power and her determination to forget the past gave her the courage to go to work at all.
‘We take the main Chester road as far as Queensferry,’ Mr Walker told her as he spread out a road map on his desk and indicated the point they were making for and the route he wanted her to follow. ‘After
we cross into Wales I’ll direct you.’
She nodded, afraid to speak in case she said something that divulged the fact that she had been there before and knew every inch of the route they would be taking.
Once she was behind the wheel, the need to concentrate and the sheer joy of driving the Rolls helped to put all other thoughts out of her mind. The car responded to her slightest touch, its six-cylinder, automatic gearbox tuned to perfection.
It was a perfect early autumn day. The ride was so smooth that the scenery seemed to flow past the window, alternating between green open spaces and ribbons of houses. Once they reached Queensferry and were over the border into Wales, Megan felt exhilarated. With the River Dee flowing into the Irish Sea on one side and the Halkyn mountain rising up against the blue sky on the other, she felt as if she was flying as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the car cruised at high speed.
When they reached Holywell, Mr Walker suggested stopping for coffee at the Bell Hotel. Afterwards, he took her to see St Winefride’s Well from which the small town took its name.
‘At one time it was said to be the largest spring in the country,’ he told her. ‘The water never freezes, no matter how low the temperature may drop. The legend behind it is that, in the seventh century, Caradoc, son of the local chieftain, was in love with a young girl called Winefride. When he tried to force her hand she fled, but Caradoc gave chase and when he caught up with her cut off her head with his sword. Where her head fell a spring of water burst from the ground and, at the same time, the ground opened and engulfed Caradoc.’
‘What a strange story,’ Megan murmured. Even though the sun glinted warmly, Megan felt a chill run through her and she was relieved when they moved away.
At Mostyn, as she turned into the narrow sandy lane that led to Tynmorfa, every detail of her previous visit, the idyllic weekend when she had believed Miles to be as much in love with her as she was with him, flooded her mind.