He’d laid his mark on some rolls of barbed wire, evidently no longer required by the authorities but which he was certain he could sell on at an interesting profit in the right quarters. There was also a sizeable dinner service, amounting to over five hundred items from cups and saucers to tea, breakfast and dinner plates. They bore a crest marking them as His Majesty’s Royal Navy but Hubert wasn’t fussy. He’d make a killing out of them, split up into smaller sets.
The auctioneer was calling for order, wanting to make a start. He’d deal with the smaller items first, Hubert guessed, to keep everyone hanging on for the best items later and this was confirmed when the auction began with a collection of cast iron cobbler’s lasts. After that the auctioneer moved on to other ironmongery goods, ladders and various tools.
It was then that he saw Belinda. Hubert jerked to attention, itching to push through the crowds and go over to demand what she was doing here. He strained to see over shoulders, pushed people aside, earning some fierce glares which he ignored, wishing he could tell what it was exactly she was bidding for. He saw her hand go up once or twice and knew something had been knocked down to her. If it had anything to do with that no-good piece of dross he’d give her what for. He would really.
He saw her make her way up the crowded room to a table where she handed over some notes, then turn and quietly leave the building.
Hubert forgot all about the barbed wire and the dinner plates as he followed his daughter out into the street, keeping a safe distance so she didn’t spot him. Where was she going? To arrange transport for whatever it was she’d bought? Damnation but he wished Ron was here. He’d be much less conspicuous. Despite the risk, he continued to follow her, maintaining what he hoped was a safe distance. Hubert saw her turn into Pansy Street and thought she was going to the blighter’s house, but then she peeled off down Nelson’s ginnel, which threw him completely.
By the time he’d reached it and rushed through to its opposite end, he was thoroughly blown for breath and his daughter was nowhere in sight. By heck but he knew where to watch for her though, now. He’d set Ron on the task first thing tomorrow.
It was the second Saturday in June that Belinda told Benny she had some marvellous news. ‘Come with me. I can’t wait to see your face.’
‘Me neither,’ said Lucy, with a wry smile.
Benny stood looking at the shop utterly dumbfounded, wondering why on earth she’d brought him here. Chuckling, Belinda took a key from her pocket, unlocked the door and led the way inside. To Lucy it looked even worse without the last fading rays of afternoon sunshine to lift the gloom, for all it had been cleaned and scrubbed and painted inside and out. It was also fully equipped with a work bench and a battery of tools which any good joiner might need. A glance at her brother’s face told Lucy that all her fears had been justified.
‘Good lord, whoever owns this dump? What a load of junk. I wouldn’t give ‘em tuppence for the lot,’ he said with brutal frankness.
Belinda went white. Lucy, seeing she was too upset to speak, was the first to find her voice. ‘Benny Pride, sometimes I could swing for you, I could really.’
‘Why? What’ve I said?’
Belinda quickly interceded, ‘It’s all right, Lucy. If I’ve made a mistake, the fault is entirely mine. I thought Benny wanted a shop. Obviously I was wrong.’ There was a betraying tremor in her voice, despite her brave words. She was thinking of all the effort she’d put in, the money she’d spent, not simply on things like wallpaper and furniture for the two rooms upstairs, which she still had to show to him but on the equipment to get him started. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. It’s position is excellent, right next to the Co-op and close to the main road. What more could you ask for?’
‘My permission for a start.’
‘But you said you wanted your own joinery business, that you were looking for premises. You agreed I should keep an eye out too. We’ve been looking for months. I thought you’d be pleased.’
This was undeniably true. But then he hadn’t expected her to take him quite so literally, let alone actually rent a place and do it up so that he was committed without the chance to say yea or nay. ‘You should’ve told me,’ he grunted, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘It was meant as a surprise.’
‘Shock, more like,’ Benny pouted, feeling cornered. Had he been wrong to fall so badly for Belinda? The Clarke family must all be a bit queer in the head. On the one hand there was brother Ron bringing messages from Pops to keep out of his precious daughter’s life, and on the other Belinda herself taking over his life, lock, stock and barrel. Much as he was desperate to have her, the cheek of it left him momentarily breathless. ‘What the hell do you know about joinery tools anyroad?’
‘Don’t use foul language on me Sergeant.’
‘And don’t you dare organise my blasted life, Corporal,’ he shouted back.
Belinda had never felt more angry and exasperated and yes, disappointed, in her life. Tears smarted the backs of her eyelids though not for a moment would she allow them to fall. ‘Drat you,’ she yelled, as if joining in the slanging match made everything better. ‘You were right, Lucy. I should’ve listened to you.’
Lucy didn’t answer, merely backed away, not wishing to get involved.
Belinda was struggling against a ridiculous urge to cry. She’d been so certain he would be as thrilled as she was by the way the shop had turned out. A rough diamond he may be, but she liked Benny Pride. He was cheerful, considerate and quite good looking in a roguish sort of way, and there was something about him that excited her. Perhaps his hunger to make something of himself, his youthful arrogance, so certain he could do anything he wanted in life, now he was out of the army. Let’s face it, she fancied him like crazy though she certainly had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of telling him so.
She gathered up an armful of tools and flung them at his feet with a resounding clatter. ‘There. Be a bloody joiner. That’s what you said you wanted.’ She was panting with the effort of controlling her emotions, which made her breasts heave, a phenomenon which Benny didn’t fail to notice. ‘Don’t think I care one way or the other what you do. You’re not at all the sort of man my father would choose for me, nowhere near as eligible as Frank Fenton for instance but ...’
‘A damn sight more exciting,’ Benny finished for her.
‘I didn’t say that.’ She was furious with him and didn’t quite know why. What did she want from Benny Pride anyway? For him to sweep her into his arms and promise to spend his life building a business and a home for them? Or did she just want a bit of fun before moving on to something more suitable? She had the strangest feeling that unsuitable or not, she was already more than half committed to this man so he could at least show some gratitude for her efforts on his behalf. What was wrong with the fool? Just because he didn’t find the shop himself, she supposed. Wounded male ego.
She bit her lip, looking up at him from under her lids. ‘I bought this lot at auction. At a good price, but don’t worry. If it’s no good, I can get rid of the stuff in exactly the same way.’ She flung the words at him with such force he could taste the warmth of her breath before she flounced away to stand at the window with her arms folded. When he didn’t come after her but remained sunk in a silent pout, she added in a voice tight with anger, ‘At least it’s my own money I’ve wasted.’
‘Oh aye, and you’ve money to burn, of course.’ His tone mocked her.
All the heat and fury drained out of Belinda, to be replaced with a rush of sympathy as she suddenly understood. She’d insulted Lucy over bugs she didn’t have, now she’d insulted Benny over money. She turned and ran to him, grasping him by the arms. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? I’ve hurt you by using my money. Is that all? Why didn’t you say?’ She put back her head and gave her full rich laugh and, unable to help himself, Benny found his eyes drawn to the slender whiteness of her throat, moving down to where it dipped into the open vee of her shirt and swelled into full firm br
easts.
‘I’ve money of me own, if you want to know,’ he said, thinking that perhaps he should go on letting her think this was the reason, so he could perhaps salvage the ruin of their promising friendship before it was too late. Benny was beginning to appreciate that he might have shot his mouth off a bit too loud, and all because she’d called his bluff. What he knew about joinery could be written on the back of a chisel.
He could try it anyway, he thought, reckless with need, for if he didn’t have her soon he’d go mad. Maybe she was worth the sacrifice of his other dreams.
But if she ever told her father that she’d loaned her ‘soldier-boy’ money to get started up in business, he’d really be in hot water then. Benny didn’t care to think just how hot that might be. ‘I’d pay back every penny, and it would have to be our secret,’ he said, just to be on the safe side. Lord, he thought, what am I saying? Why am I agreeing? This was all a terrible mistake. Her lips were moist, full and sweet and the pain in his loins was growing so that he was certain he’d shame himself soon. He wondered desperately if there were something else he could do with the place other than joinery and despite the workbench and array of tools. It certainly wasn’t big enough for a furniture store.
‘What does money matter?’ She was smiling at him again, and it was as if the sun had come out, warming him, searing him with new heat. ‘You can pay me back when you get going. Oh, Benny, you silly man.’ Then she had her arms about him, pressing that ripe luscious body against his and he thought he might burst with pain. She was kissing his cheek, his mouth, saying something about not letting pride stand in the way of what could be a good future for them, though her voice came from such a far distance he wasn’t too sure.
From the corner of his eye he saw Lucy quietly closing the shop door as she slipped away. Belinda was telling him she had yet another surprise, waiting upstairs and he made no further protest for Benny knew now that he must go along with the plan whatever the cost. He was lost completely.
Chapter Ten
Hubert made up his mind that it was long past time he cracked the whip and brought his recalcitrant daughter to heel. He set out his shaving brush, soap mug and cut-throat razor on the bathroom shelf with painstaking care while his mind buzzed with plans. Ron was supposed to have seen off soldier-boy but she was still mooning over the young whippersnapper.
It wasn’t like him to fail. The one good thing about his son was that he had very little brain and even less imagination, therefore was always willing to carry out whatever task his father set him. What he lacked in the brain department he more than made up for in native cunning. If a child told him her mam wasn’t in, he’d wait round the back of the house till the woman emerged and squeeze a bob or two out of her even if she did claim her family to be starving. And if it were a chap who refused to pay, Ron usually found a way to make him regret that daft notion.
So why hadn’t it worked with young Benny Pride?
Hubert began to lather his chin with his best badger bristle brush. This was the cause of half his problems at the moment. Folk weren’t listening any more, and weren’t paying up. The world had gone haywire and everyone thought they could avoid unpleasant responsibilities just because the war was over. As well, some of the returning service men objected to coming home and finding their wives in debt. As if it were his fault that they couldn’t find a job.
He had an appointment today with Eric Wilnshaw, his accountant and he didn’t expect the news to be particularly good. He’d made a lot of money over the past few years but sadly had spent a good deal of it almost as fast. But then he did have a lot of commitments, some of them quite delightful ones, which brought a smile to his face as he applied the soap with greater care. He needed to look his best today. After the accountant he had another meeting, a much more interesting one.
Myra was the kind of woman any man would hock his soul for. Unlike his wife, for whom he had every respect, naturally, as the mother of his children. But Myra knew how to excite a man. She knew how to peel off her stockings in the most tantalising way imaginable, how to carry out a chap’s every fantasy while adding a few of her own. Her imagination had provided them with countless sensual diversions and she knew better than any of the many women he had enjoyed over the years, how to bring him to a fierce climax and still leave him panting for more. Myra was a bad girl, in the best possible sense of the word.
So if he’d been a touch too generous with her in his gratitude of late, didn’t she deserve it? This slight cash flow crisis could be quite easily rectified, given time and energy, of which he still had plenty. Credit trading was suffering just at present. The firms who supplied his clients with goods were getting greedier, cutting their discounts, demanding payment up front. And the bank was squeezing him to reduce his loans, fearing the change of government might damage trade, that the coming of peace had bequeathed them all as many problems as it had solved. But he was impatient to further his ambitions and move ever upward in the city of Manchester, without sacrificing these pleasant diversions which surely any hard working businessman deserved.
Hubert slid his cut-throat razor over his throat, the scraping sound it made on his rough skin echoing in the stark Victorian bathroom. A liaison with Fenton Chemicals would have fitted the bill nicely, providing him with the extra kudos he craved, would perhaps have led to himself and George Fenton fixing up some sort of partnership deal. Hubert was not averse to having his fingers in many pies.
He nicked himself and cursed, sticking a piece of tissue paper on it to stop the bleeding. Myra preferred a close shave which wasn’t always easy to achieve. But then nothing worth having, came easy. Despite the difficulties there was no question that he would survive. The answer, surely, was to increase his holdings and therefore his profits.
His accountant, at their lunchtime meeting held at the Rising Sun, confirmed this diagnosis, adding that Hubert’s latest set of tax returns were even now in the process of being prepared. They in no way revealed the true picture of his affairs, for what the Inland Revenue didn’t know, couldn’t hurt either them or Hubert. Much of his trading was done on a cash only basis (Hubert never referred to it as the black market) with no invoices or paperwork of any kind to show that it had taken place. All those details were in his head with the money carefully deposited in obscure places, saved for a rainy day and his old age.
‘The difficulty is, Hubert, that this kind of trading will gradually disappear.’ Eric informed him. ‘So you need to look in other directions to expand.’
‘There’ll always be those who prefer to deal in cash.’
‘True, but opportunities will be reduced once the allocation of materials are relaxed. Nothing lasts for ever, Hubert old chap. You need to be thinking more creatively.’
Hubert puffed on his excellent cigar and smiled through a swirl of smoke. Creative thinking, when it came to business, had never been a problem. ‘Right then, let’s order another malt and put our brains to steep.’
It was pointed out to him how, in the past, he’d often taken over a failing enterprise in lieu of debt. That this was, in fact, a useful way of building an empire and there was really no reason why he shouldn’t do more of that in the future. The secret was to latch on to a business that was new and overstretched, suffering from insufficient capital or some other problem such as an unsettled workforce or division between the partners. There were a surprising number, once you started to look. Hubert judged this idea a fruitful one to pursue.
Tactics and planning were, of course, of the essence. He couldn’t simply go barging in but must carefully manoeuvre and manipulate his target into just the right weakened state ripe for a take-over, rather like a cat battering a mouse. Fortunately he was strong on patience and could devise all manner of interesting tactics to bring this happy situation about. All he had to do now, was keep his eye open for a likely victim.
Yet another awkward breakfast was over. Belinda had taken a week’s holiday from her job as she hadn’t been feelin
g too well lately, though it wasn’t turning into quite the rest she’d imagined as there was still a great deal of work to be done on the upstairs rooms at the shop. She packed sandwiches and a flask of tea into the bag she took with her each day.
She’d never intended to let things go so far the day she’d taken Benny upstairs to the rooms above the shop. She’d meant only to try to explain to him how much better the rooms would look once she’d finished the painting and decorating, and that with one or two bits of furniture he could enjoy the independence he’d so craved. But somehow the explanations had been lost in their need to touch, to kiss, to express the burning passion they felt for each other. Within moments he’d had her backed up against a wall, her legs up around his solid waist while he thrust into her, her cries sounding embarrassingly loud in the empty room.
Now, it seemed, she must rue the consequences and she still hadn’t got round to telling him - or her father. Belinda hadn’t even allowed herself to dwell on the problem, preferring to push it to the back of her mind. Time, she was only too aware, was fast running out. The problem could no longer be ignored.
‘Frank’s called here regularly, most days in fact, and you’re never in.’ Hubert was saying, sounding peeved.
Belinda reached for a couple of apples and stuffed those into the bag too, studiously refusing to allow him to rile her. ‘I’ve already told him that it isn’t on, that whatever there was between us before the war, if anything, is well and truly over. We were little more than children, which we definitely are not now. He understands. Why don’t you?’
Her calmness inflamed him. ‘Don’t take that tone of voice to me, young lady. Show some respect when you’re living in my house. Who do you think you are, running wild, not helping your mother properly, wearing trousers, not to mention refusing to have anything to do with a fine young man from a good family. You’re so determined to make yourself cheap, you can’t even be civil. Are you listening to me, madam?’
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