"All I hope is that you don't end up working yourself to death,'' she answered dryly.
"With you here to watch me?"
"Fat lot you listen to me!" She turned her eyes from the distant view of the factory and looked at her father. He was too pale and thin and she knew instinctively that during his weeks alone here he had worked longer hours than he should have. "It's silly to drive yourself so hard. Grantley's has waited so long to build this place, what does it matter if they wait a few more weeks?"
"The question is academic, lass. We're already in production!"
"But you said it would take at least six weeks!"
"That was before I met Andrews. He makes a fireball look like a dying ember!"
"Who's Andrews?"
"General manager. He used to be works manager and got promoted. It was a big step up for him. He's still on the right side of thirty."
"An ambitious northerner, I suppose? Or was it family influence?"
"The only influence he had was his bootstraps."
"His what?"
"To pull himself up with," her father explained. "He's come up the hard way and proud of it."
There was no doubting the sarcasm and Laura was irritated with herself for having caused it.
"I'm sorry, dad. It's just that I'm tired and…" Her voice trailed away. "Don't take any notice of me. Once we're home I'll feel better. We can have supper and then you can tell me all the news."
"I won't have much time tonight, I'm afraid. I was going to stay in but some new blueprints arrived from London and I promised Andrews I'd get back to the factory and look them over with him."
Laura's contrition dissolved into anger. "On my first evening here? Surely you… "
The rest of her words were drowned by the sudden roar of a train and, startled, she looked around to see they were driving alongside a railway line. Fuming, she remained silent as the carriages flashed past. The name Wallsend on one of them sent her thoughts in another direction, and when it was quiet enough to speak again she changed the subject.
"Isn't Wallsend where Tim is working?"
"Aye. It's a mile the other side of Manchester."
"Then he's much nearer than I thought. Perhaps he could live with us?"
A shadow flickered across her father's face, or it might have been the uneven illumination of the street lights, for when he spoke his tone was cheerful.
"You can't expect Tim to live with us anymore. He needs his freedom. I told you that when we were in London."
"I'll ask him myself when he comes over. I suppose you've seen him?"
"Last Sunday for an hour. He wanted to show off his new motorbike. He said he would try and get over to see you this weekend if he could."
If he could. The words were bitter in Laura's ears and she felt the sting of tears come into her eyes, making her realize how much she had been depending on her twin to sweeten her self-imposed exile.
"I wish he'd come back to Grantley's," she said. "I know he's getting more money at this new place but surely if you—"
"No!" The word was sharp enough to silence her. "It's better for Tim to work for another firm."
Once more unease tugged at her mind and she was more certain than ever that her father was hiding something from her. Yet now was not the time to ask him. In a few weeks, when they had settled down together, she would tackle him about it.
"Here we are," her father commented, as he brought the car to a stop outside a small house set back from the roadway behind a narrow hedge.
It was far nicer than she had anticipated; the more so after the red-brick monstrosities she had seen earlier. Because of this it was no effort to give her father a beaming smile, as though this mundane example of provincial living was everything she had been longing for.
"Grantley's has done you proud, dad. And it's got a garage, too!"
"And a fair-sized garden at the back. You'll be able to grow those herbs you're always going on about." Pleasure at her reception to the house had driven the tiredness from his voice, and he busied himself with her luggage.
Laura pushed open the gate and walked up the narrow gravel path to the porch. As she reached it a light came on and the door was opened by a large-boned woman enveloped in a flowered apron whose red roses matched her ruddy face.
"Wipe your feet 'afore coming in," she boomed by way of greeting. "Pity to muck up't' hall."
Surprised, Laura did as she was told, and as soon as she set foot in the house itself her hand was taken and pumped vigorously.
"So you're Laura. Just like your father said you are. Pretty but too thin. Still, you'll soon fatten up here. I'm pleased to meet you."
"I'm afraid I-"
"Mrs. Rampton," the woman interrupted. "But call me Nell. Never did abide by all this Mrs. and Miss stuff. The Lord gave us Christian names, so we might as well use 'em!"
Laura froze at the woman's familiarity. Trust her father to find someone like this to work for them! Already she could envisage the arguments over who was to reign supreme in the kitchen. Stiffening her shoulders, she spoke in her coolest tone.
"If you could tell me what time we're having supper, I'll go and change. I'm rather tired after the journey and I would like to eat as soon as possible."
A hush followed her words and Laura was aware of her father's quick intake of breath.
"You've got it wrong, girl," he said. "Nell doesn't work for us. She's our next-door neighbor."
Their neighbor! Scarlet-faced, Laura mumbled an apology. "I had no idea… please forgive me. My father never said a word and when I saw you at the door wearing an apron…"
"Most women 'round here wear aprons in the house," Mrs. Rampton replied. "But next time I come in I'll wear my Sunday best." Ignoring Laura, she gave a broad smile in John Winters's direction. "I've left a pie in the oven for you."
"It was very kind of you to bother," Laura said before her father could reply.
"It's no bother to be neighborly. Reckon it's true what they say about folks down south. Live in the same street all their lives and not so much as know their next-door neighbor."
"That isn't quite true." Coolness returned to Laura's voice. "But London is a big place and people don't have the same interest in anyone else's affairs."
It was Mrs. Rampton's turn to change color. "I won't be needing this again," she said, taking a key from the pocket of her apron. "You know where I live, and if there's aught I can do for you, you've only to pop next door and ask me."
The door closed behind her and John Winters looked at his daughter. "You certainly put your foot in it that time!"
"How was I to know she was a neighbor? You should have told me she was going to be here."
"It slipped my mind."
"I didn't mean to offend her, but she wasn't all that polite herself."
"You rubbed her the wrong way."
"And how do you think she rubbed me? All that rot about people in London never talking to their next-door neighbor!"
"Well, did you? We never even knew the name of the tenants opposite!" Her father picked up her case. "Still, Nell won't bear a grudge. Make her one of your own pies when you've settled down, and you'll have her eating out of your hand."
"That's what I'm afraid of!" She moved toward the stairs. "I'd like to see my bedroom, dad."
"Of course." Holding her cases, he led the way. "Everything's new here. You might want to move things around and buy different-colored curtains, but otherwise I doubt if there's much else to do."
Looking at her small room with its mass-produced furniture, she marveled at how little her father knew of her tastes. Only in the kitchen did she feel a lightening of her spirits, for the equipment was elaborate and the most up-to-date, and included an eye-level oven, a rotisserie and a large refrigerator.
"I never expected anything like this!" she exclaimed. "I thought I'd have to cook on a coal range!"
"You can thank Jake Andrews for it all." Her father grinned. "This is the most modern kitchen in E
ddlestone. I told him you were a dietitian and all that, and he went out and ordered you all this."
"It's the nicest part of the house."
"You can soon alter the rest to suit your taste. But Andrews thought you'd be more concerned about the kitchen."
Curiosity about the general manager stirred in her. To have achieved such success while still so young spoke for determination and ruthless drive; to find he could spare the time to organize her kitchen was a facet that did not fit in with her picture of him.
"He knows you weren't keen to live up here," her father went on. "I daresay he guessed how worried I was about your being happy here."
So much for Mr. Andrews's solicitude for her welfare! He was obviously a believer in keeping his employees happy at all costs—even if it meant the price of a kitchen!
"Let'seat,"shesaid quickly."I'm starving."
Mrs. Rampton's pie proved surprisingly appetizing and for the next half-hour they were too busy eating for more than desultory conversation.
Supper over, Laura cleared away the dishes and then went into the lounge—an overfurnished little room with a three-piece suite in maroon damask and flowered carpet and curtains. Deliberately she found her father's slippers and set them in front of the largest easy chair, then settled herself close to the electric fire.
Coming in, pipe in hand, John Winters looked at her sheepishly." 'Fraid it's no good, lass. Much as I want to stay, I can't. Andrews is expecting me at the plant."
"At least have a minute's rest. I'm sure—"
The ringing of the telephone cut her short, and her father disappeared into the hall to answer it. A moment later he came back, his overcoat across his shoulders.
"Mr. Andrews, I suppose?" she said.
"He's been waiting for me for an hour."
"It's only half-past seven now!"
"Folks eat early in these parts."
"So I see." Tight-lipped, she followed him to the front door. "What time will you be back?"
"I'm not sure. Once Andrews gets going, there's no saying when he'll stop.''
"Then you stop him. You're not as young as he is and-"
"Don't tell me what to do," her father said with unusual exasperation.
"Mr. Andrews does!"
"He's my boss."
"Your boss?" The words were furious. "Have you taken on this wonderful promotion so that you can be told what to do by someone half your age? Honestly, dad, if-"
"That's enough, Laura. Andrews may be half my age but he's still the general manager. And that means I work for him. I won't have any of this childish nonsense about not taking orders. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were turning into one of those militant students!"
The last remark, meant as a joke to soothe the earlier harshness of his tone, made Laura force a smile to her lips, but as she closed the door and went into the kitchen, her expression was anything but pleased. What chance did she have of finding any pleasure in this dreary town if tonight was anything to go by?
Sighing, she went to her room to unpack, but even when everything had been put away it was still only nine o'clock, and she returned to the sitting room and switched on the television. The program was an unfamiliar one, reminding her yet again that she was in a strange part of the country, and she turned off the set irritably and tried to concentrate on a book.
The printed page did not hold her attention and her thoughts wandered to the unknown Mr. Andrews. What had her father called him? Jeff? No, that wasn't it. Jake… yes, Jake. It was an unusual name. It sounded more like a film star's than that of a North Country yokel. Stop it, Laura, she chided herself. You're letting your prejudice show. And that put her on a par with Mrs. Rampton, whose own sweeping statement about Southerners was equally as prejudiced.
With determination she switched on the television again and forced herself to concentrate on it. It was a broad domestic comedy set in a town so much like Eddlestone that she half expected Mrs. Rampton to appear on the screen. The accents were alien to her ears and the broad vowels eventually grated so much that her good intentions vanished and she switched over to the B.B.C. She must give herself time to get acclimatized; and she must also remember that her own voice would sound prim and affected to the people with whom she was now going to live.
Slowly the hours ticked by and she had fallen into a doze when she heard her father's key in the lock. His steps were quiet and she called out to him.
"It's all right, dad, I'm not in bed."
He came into the sitting room, his face tired. "You shouldn't have waited up for me. It's past midnight."
"I thought you'd like a hot drink.''
"Andrews brought along a flask of cocoa and some biscuits."
She forced herself to say nothing. A flask of cocoa indeed! He had certainly made no pretense of intending to have just a short meeting.
"I suppose you've been working late most nights?"
"I expected it. But it won't be so bad in a few months. It's always hard in the beginning."
Keeping her voice bright—for she sensed that was the only way she could make any criticism of Mr. Andrews- she said: "I have a feeling it's always going to be hard with your new boss. He doesn't sound the type who could ever take things easy."
Her answer was a noncommittal grunt as her father leaned against the lintel. "Talking of taking things easy, I don't suppose you'll be happy till you've got yourself settled in a job?"
"You know me too well," she smiled. "I intend doing something about it right away. You said there was a small hospital here, didn't you?"
"Aye. But Andrews mentioned tonight that he was looking for someone to run the works canteen. He wondered if you'd be interested in taking it on."
Laura's deep blue eyes darkened with anger. "I'm a dietitian, not a canteen supervisor. Thank him for the offer but say the answer is no."
"Why not tell him yourself? I'd like to have him over for a meal one night."
"Not for the next couple of weeks," she pleaded. "Give me time to settle in."
"Let me know when you're ready, then. I'm longing to show you off."
"When I've found a job, we can have a dinner to celebrate."
But in the days that followed Laura doubted if the celebration dinner would ever materialize, for the small hospital that served the district was too short of funds to employ a dietitian and relied on part-time assistance from either Manchester or Leeds.
"I only wish we could afford you," the matron had said with regret." It's such a waste of your teaching if you can't utilize it."
"I agree—but I can't seem to find a job!"
"Then you'd better change your career! But leave me your address anyway. If I do find I can afford you, I'll let you know."
Leaving the hospital, Laura could have wept with despair. So much for her hopes of doing something useful. Walking along the High Street, past the poky shops with their antediluvian window displays, her depression was so deep that she was tempted to tell her father she could not stay here. But by the time she reached home she had regained her control and was able to prepare dinner and get through the evening without disclosing her sense of futility.
In an effort to keep herself occupied she bought some material in one of the local shops and made new chintz curtains for the entire house; then she set about recovering the damask three-piece with loose covers in beige linen. But even this did not keep her occupied for long. Without friends and without a job, each day had the same quality of oppressive sameness, and no matter how slowly she spun out the housework and the shopping, by two in the afternoon she had nothing to do.
"You mope around the house too much," her father said one evening when she forgot to wear her usual forced smile. "I'm sure there are lots of people here of your own age. Why don't you join some clubs? Perhaps if you asked at the church or went to the town hall to inquire—"
"No thanks," she interrupted. "They wouldn't be my type anyway."
"How can you be sure until you've met them?"
"Then so should you," came the firm answer. "You're wasting your life here, my dear. I've realized it for a while now. If you could have gotten a job in the hospital it would have been different, but the way it is…Why not go back to London?"
"I wouldn't be happy away from you."
"Don't talk foolish. You're not a baby."
"But you are!" She reached over and caught his hand. "I'm staying here, dad, so don't talk about it anymore. I'll find something soon and once I have, I'll feel better."
But nothing materialized and Laura advertised under a box number in the local paper. But the only response it drew was the offer to be a receptionist to a doctor in a village ten miles away, and even that required typing and shorthand.
Seeing this as probably her only solution, she decided to take a private course in both subjects, and for three hours each afternoon went to an elderly spinster who had retired from the local secretarial college and was grateful to earn some extra money.
"You really are loving it here!" Tim exclaimed when Laura poured out her feelings to him on the fifth Sunday after her arrival. "If you'd had the sense to ask my advice before you decided to come and live here, I'd have told you what you were letting yourself in for.''
"I knew without your telling me."
"Then what are you complaining about? "
"Because I want sympathy," she snapped. "Though I suppose it's too much to hope you 'll give me any."
"Sympathy won't help," her twin replied. "It will only make you more weepy."
Appreciating the truth of this, she forced herself to change the subject to something more convivial. Besides, Tim could never sustain sympathy for anyone for more than a passing moment, and to be weepy with him was one way of insuring he would not come to see her.
Soon she was making him laugh at her description of her lessons with Miss Rendell, playing up the woman's accent and appearance to make the story more amusing.
Rachel Lindsay - Rough Diamond Lover Page 2