Between Friends Read online

  ‘I’m never in! When did you telephone? From what you tell me you’re too busy chasing your own tail to get in touch with us.’

  ‘I called a couple of times. That woman of yours said you were out.’

  Meg looked doubtful. ‘Well, I suppose I might have been but it’s funny she didn’t tell me.’

  He had smiled and his eyes had been soft for her and she thought of it now and wished with all her heart he was here so that she could talk to him about it, about this choice she had to make, which was silly because there was no choice. He would understand and encourage her in this step she meant to take for he would realise, as Tom would not, that it was the only one she could take. It was the only one for her. If you did not move on, you stood still and in Meg’s opinion to stand still was to take a step backwards, but oh Lord, how was she to make Tom understand?

  The clock struck twice and as it did so Meg closed the ledger which still lay open in front of her, replacing it carefully where she had found it. She stood up and stretched. The dog watched her as she moved away but did not follow as she walked along the passage towards the stairs. She would sleep now for she had set her active mind to peaceful rest by fixing it on the future and what she meant to have in it!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  SHE MIGHT HAVE proclaimed her intention of buying the crown jewels, the furor it caused and Tom was so astounded for the first time in his life he put his foot down and stated quite categorically that he was not having it! No, not at any cost, not even if they were giving the bloody things away!

  ‘Why not?’ Meg asked genuinely mystified since he had been brought up with them, so to speak.

  ‘Why, for God’s sake? Why Meg,’ he snapped. ‘Throwing cash about like a man with no arms and for what? First it was investments and stocks and shares and such, which you know are beyond me but I trusted you and let you have your own way, but this, this is lunacy. A motor car! Sweet Jesus, what next? I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. What the devil do we want with a motor car? We never go anywhere except into Northwich and there’s a perfectly good train service.’

  Tom’s tall figure, still inclined to awkwardness when he was upset, became quite unco-ordinated and he cracked his elbow sharply on the bar counter, swearing rudely and wincing with the pain of it. He was well aware that Meg liked to have her own way and most of the time she got it. He was also aware that she was usually right for she had a sense for business he did not, but in this he was adamant! A new stove if she wanted one, or a carpet for her sitting-room, but a bloody motor car, never!

  Meg’s face turned to stone. She wanted this motor car! She needed it. She wanted to get about, to travel to other parts of the country to search out the potential site of another establishment. An hotel, though she had not yet broken that news to him and she could not do it without transport. She needed to be independent, to be able to get to places, test them out for their accessibility by motor car since she intended catering to the motor car trade and how was she to do it if she did not know where one could go? There was no question about it. She must have one.

  She made her face smile. ‘Tom,’ she said, perfectly sure in her mind that he would agree if she explained it to him, for if there was anyone who would back her to the hilt it was Tom. For the past two years he had been her staunch support, her right hand in making the inn what it was. They had shared a companionship, a curious relationship which had baffled the community in which they lived, but firm and true, in step all the way in the manner of how they could better the establishment. They had made it what it was but he must be persuaded that it was time to move on. The inn would continue to be a fine, profitable business and if her approach to the bank for a loan with which to purchase a new hotel, with the inn as security, was successful, she intended to put in a manager. One who would be prepared to work under her own supervision, and it would then continue in its prosperity, but she had gone beyond it now. She wanted more. She wanted bigger! Better! Quality! The wealthy and she wanted a motor car to search out the place where they might be found. She had built up this business, it was hers and would remain so but it was time to move on.

  ‘Let me tell you what I want to do.’ Her smile was bright and luminous and she moved across the kitchen to stand before him. ‘You see, if …’ but Tom shook his head.

  ‘No, Meg …no! We’ve no need of one. If you want a bicycle I’d not deny you,’ he added magnanimously, ‘though that bloody hill’d be a killer, no mistake. You could get about on a bicycle, Meg, if you’ve a mind to, but a motor car, well, I’d have to say no.’

  For a second Meg thought she was about to break out in hysterical laughter. A bicycle! To get where she wanted to be on a bloody bicycle. It was utterly ludicrous but something in Tom’s expression stopped her. Her own became set in a cast of mutinous obstinacy, and Tom took a step back for he had seen that look before.

  ‘I don’t think you heard me properly, Tom,’ she said softly. ‘I am not asking your permission to buy a motor car. I am going to buy a motor car! I have already ordered and paid for it so you see it’s too late for argument. I thought you would be with me on this but I can see I was wrong. Nevertheless, I shall have one, whatever you say. Don’t you wish to know why I want a motor car or to hear my plans for the future, nor how the motor is concerned in it? No! Then you are a fool and I suppose it is useless at the moment to discuss it with you.’ She left the room quietly.

  No more was said about the matter during the following days and Tom did not ask to be enlightened about Meg’s plans for her motor car. The routine of the inn went on and though Tom was stiff and quiet with her, he did his work with as much thoroughness as usual and was even heard to whistle a time or two as though he thought the whole thing was a storm in a teacup and would no doubt blow over given time.

  The automobile arrived the next week!

  Meg thought she had never seen anything quite so magnificent and from the first moment she sat behind the steering wheel she loved it, just as she had done when she drove Martin’s little Austin. She loved it with a passion which was to influence her life and colour her days with the joy and excitement only those with boldness and daring in their blood can know.

  It was blue, somewhere between the brightness of a cornflower and the royal richness of a peacock. It had two headlamps, one at the level of the dashboard and the other slightly lower, in front of the bonnet. They were of a gleaming, polished brass. It was a solid little machine, capable of twenty-four miles an hour, reliable and simple to drive.

  ‘Most suitable for a lady, if I might say so, Madam,’ Megan was told by the mechanic who delivered it. It was the very latest Austin and had cost her £115. She thought Tom would faint when she told him, for really, the very idea of chucking away £115 – when years ago they would have been hard pressed to find a spare sixpence was quite alien to him. But he had had time to calm down in the last week and was prepared to listen when she drew him into their own small sitting-room and sat him down.

  ‘It’s only fair that you should know how and why this money is being spent, Tom, since the inn and it’s profits belong to you just as much as to me. The motor is in both our names,’ she said for she was always honest with him, ‘and I’m sorry that I was so secretive. Well … not secretive exactly, but just … careful I wanted to have all my facts and figures secure in my head before I brought you in on it because I know how you worry. Yes, you do, so don’t argue but you know you can trust me, don’t you? Yes! Well, trust me just once more, Tom and hear me out before you have your say.’

  Her gaze was candid and the truth shone from her eyes into Tom’s, and he was aware that it did not really matter what she said, should she speak of Timbuktu or Shangri-la, or indeed of any place in the world to which she had a fancy to travel he would go with her. In the motor she had bought which sat now at the front of the inn waiting for the journey to begin, in one of the flimsy butterflies which Martin assured them would soar into the sky, and fly; across the waters
of the earth in a canoe if she cared to, she had only to look at him as she was doing now, take his hand as she was doing now, smile at him, speak his name and he would simply stand up and follow her. It did not matter what she was about to reveal. It was of no concern what her plans for them might be, she was his star, the one he knew shone only for him, lighting his life and his heart.

  ‘You see, Tom,’ she was saying earnestly, ‘I have discovered that in business you just cannot stand still. If you want to get on you have to be prepared to accept change, to move with the times. Do you understand?’ Tom nodded his head and drifted in the sweet contemplation of the tawny beauty of her eyes.

  ‘This place has been fine for us. We’ve made a success of it the two of us, but you see, we’ve gone as far as we can with it. It will never be anything else but a country pub. A place where the locals will come and have a pint and play dominoes and have a meal of steak and kidney or peas and faggots and I can do more than that, Tom.’

  Her steady gaze became unfocused as she regarded some unseen vision way beyond Tom’s comprehension. ‘This business and the property is ours now, all paid for and with no outstanding debts. I got word today from Mr Chancellor that, with the inn as security and taking into account our record, the bank is willing to lend us the cash to purchase another property. I’m going to put a manager in here, keep it as it is and with you, or me to keep an eye on it, once a month, say, it will continue to make us a fair profit. The “carriage” trade won’t come here, Tom and that’s what I want. It’s what I’ve trained myself for. The cyclists and hikers and the young people who can afford no better will come here and will keep it as a viable concern. It has been a stepping stone, if you like, leading us to what I’m really after, so you see …’

  She paused and Tom stared as though hypnotised into her dream-filled eyes.

  ‘There’s this house. A lovely house down towards Matlock, Georgian, square with a slate roof and bow windows. It was once a rest house for waggon freight carriers. It has two acres of land with it, a small lake and twelve bedrooms. There are smaller rooms which could be made into bathrooms and even private suites if we had a mind to … and I have! The estate agent in Northwich showed me a picture of it and a plan of the outlay and it looks exactly the sort of place we want. It would be a hard uphill slog, Tom, but I know we could soon have it as successful as this. I could do all the recipes I learned at the Adelphi, and then perhaps a chef, who knows and it would be ours, Tom, the second business we have started towards a …’

  Meg’s face was flushed as she ran out of words. Her eyes were a blaze of excitement as she was carried along on its peaking wave. The vision she had burned into her mind of a lovely, stately, elegant hotel where those who were used in their own homes to luxury and comfort, would find it under her roof. Where they would feel themselves to be welcome guests and not paying boarders. It was a dream she had held since her days at the Adelphi. She had sensed their approval of their surroundings then, even though she herself had not created it but she had known how to please those at ‘Hawthornes’ and she would do it with the new concern. She had her own style and charm, yes, charm and it had brought them back again and again. If she could manage it in a country inn which was all she had to work with then, what might she achieve with a proper setting. She knew she could do it. She knew she had it in her to be a successful hotelier and she must make Tom see it too. Tom had stood shoulder to shoulder with her, lent her support and encouragement in establishing ‘Hawthornes’ and he had shared in its success. Now he must do the same with this new venture.

  And besides, Meg needed to share her exhilaration with someone. She needed to talk about it, to endlessly make plans for the alterations she had in her head for the as yet unseen house. There would be redecorating and the installation of private bathrooms, the engaging of staff, experienced and trained in the hotel trade and those she would train herself and the planning and sheer, bloody size of the whole undertaking. There was the financing to be discussed with Mr Chancellor and the consideration of the repayment of the loan they had agreed, and if she did not get started on it soon she was afraid the lovely dream she had conceived in her head might turn out to be just that, and she would wake up one day in her bed at Great George Square where it had all begun. She knew it was right. She could feel it with some instinct, some sixth sense which had deserted her at Hawthornes in the matter of catering to the gentry. But she would not make that mistake again.

  ‘This might not be the right place for us Tom,’ she went on. ‘It might be too inaccessible, too big, too small, not suitable for alteration. It might be over-priced, run down and not worth the expenditure and that is why I must go and see it and that is why I need a motor car. I have to know that a motor car can reach it, and if it’s not what we want then I shall look at other places until I find it.’

  She took Tom’s big, work-worn hands, wrapping her long, capable fingers about them and looked up into his face. There was something there she did not recognise but there was also agreement and the willingness to trust in her judgement. He would support her his expression said, as he had always done but the reason for it was hidden from her for she did not really wonder why!

  ‘D’you see, Tom? D’you see where we’re heading?’

  ‘You’re a clever woman, d’you know that, Megan Hughes.’ The answer surprised her and she stood back to look more closely into his face.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means we could be millionaires before we reach twenty-five if we go on at this rate.’ He was laughing now and though his hand still held hers, softly caressing the base of her thumb with his, she did not notice for she was too carried away with the joy of it all.

  ‘Hold on, lad. Don’t get too enthusiastic! There’s a few things to be got out of the way before we start entertaining the aristocracy.’

  The journey of fifty miles or so which was to take Meg from Great Merrydown to Matlock must be prepared for with the utmost care and eye for detail, since it was no small feat to embark upon such a momentous undertaking alone. Her motor car was the most up to date and mechanically sound of its day but the expectation of her arrival time in Matlock, or even that she was to arrive at all, could not be taken for granted. She would travel as far as the roads, the weather and the automobile allowed and if necessary put up at some inn on the way.

  She was the talk and wonder of the whole open-mouthed community. She was cheered wherever she went for naturally Tom insisted she put in a few days of practice before setting off into what was to him as fearsome as venturing into darkest Africa.

  She was dressed for the journey in a long, caped coat, very serviceable and suitable for motoring the advertisement had said, made in navy alpaca. It was double breasted and warm for though it was summer there was no protection from the elements in her little runabout. Her boots were sturdy and knee length and her stockings were made of wool. Her skirt and bodice were comfortable and made to keep out the sharp breeze which was whipped up by the forward movement of the machine and on her head she wore a navy blue toque hat. It covered completely her luxuriant mass of hair and brought into sharp focus the beauty of her high cheek-boned face. Her eyes glowed hotly, the golden brown of a tobacco leaf and her face blazed with excitement. She was absolutely magnificent as she strode from beneath the porch of the inn, pulling on her thick leather gauntlets.

  Though it was August the day was bleak. Tom stowed away her luggage and cranked the starting handle for her and when the engine fired she let it turn over for a moment as she had been instructed.

  ‘Now Tom, don’t worry,’ she said, hugging him to her. ‘I’ll be back before you know it and Edie is as capable as me in running the kitchen. You see to the bars and keep old Zack in order and look after the dog for me.’

  She knew she was talking nonsense, but really he looked as though she was off to the bloody moon and she must say something to take that anxious look from his face. He had put his arms about her, holding her tightly and h
is face was buried in her neck and she became quite alarmed for what would Edie and Zack and the rest of them think as they stood by the porch to see her off. She pulled herself gently away from him, smiling into his eyes, then turned to Edie.

  ‘Take care of it, Edie,’ she whispered, knowing she would understand, ‘and don’t let Tom brood.’

  She turned at the gateway and her heart moved strangely in her breast for he looked so lonely already as though the moment she was out of sight he would not have the slightest notion of what to do with himself.

  A flicker of something, unease? dismay? touched her for a moment with cold fingers then the changing of the gears in all their complexity took every bit of her attention and in a moment she was away down Merrydown Hill waving her hand to all those who came to see her away.

  She reached Macclesfield the first night without incident and caused a sensation when she drew up unperturbed before the porch of the small hotel she had picked from the Cyclist Touring Club’s booklet. Though it was on the list and offered reduced terms to its members it was rather smart and Meg was pleased with her choice.

  She turned every head in the reception area, mostly male for few women as yet frequented hotels such as this and never unaccompanied and the male receptionist was thrown into wild confusion as she turned her brilliant smile on him. She was not the slightest bit put out, nor overawed by the covert looks she received, the chicness of the little hotel, nor her own lack of male protection. Though she knew this would happen everywhere she went she was well prepared for it and in fact was enjoying herself immensely.

  ‘May I help you, madam,’ the receptionist stammered looking beyond her in hopeful expectation of some masculine person who might be in charge of this confidently beautiful woman, but sadly none appeared.

  ‘I would like a room please,’ Meg said courteously. ‘Just for one night. I shall be travelling on to Matlock tomorrow.’