A Mersey Mile (27 page)

He had a home. Reassured by the farmer’s wife that he would not be asked to share his caravan with another labourer, Brendan Hall settled in immediately. There was electricity wired in
from the house, a good bed with clean sheets, a sink, a cooker, a table and a padded bench. After a couple of months on the road, this was the life of Riley.

Mrs Acton, the farmer’s wife, had taken his word when it came to his list of skills, but he had told no lies. He could milk, he could churn, he could bring home a herd. Ploughing, planting
and harvesting he had learned as a child. Root crops and top crops were all the same to him; he was capable of retrieving anything. ‘But I can foretell neither rain nor sun, Mrs Acton. Over
those two extremes, only God holds sway.’

‘I’m Gladys,’ she said.

‘Then I’m Brendan. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and thanks for the job and the caravan. I’m grateful to you, so.’

He worked twelve hours a day every day. As well as helping locals to bring the harvest home, he swilled the yard, mended farm machinery, unblocked drains, fed pigs and hens, even slept with a
shotgun by his side in case foxes should approach chicken coops in the night. Mrs Acton came to depend on him, and there was no sign of her husband. She pretended he’d gone away to a series
of stock auctions, but one of the casual farmhands put that right. He’d buggered off.

‘He buggered off,’ said Paul Cropper casually as he sat in the yard with Brendan over soup and sandwiches one sunny lunchtime. ‘Went with a younger woman from the stables over
to Beresford’s Drift. Play your cards right, and you could be in with old Gladys. It’s her farm, not his. Well, it’s her dad’s. He still lives upstairs, bad health, getting
on in years. She’s a nice woman and you’re a good worker who knows what he’s doing. It’s a match made in heaven, because you’re about the same age.’

‘Children?’ Brendan asked casually.

‘No.’ Paul swallowed the last of his tea, belched and stood up. ‘She couldn’t have them, and she’s past the age now, about fifty, I think. I’ve worked here on
and off since I was a lad, and looking back, remembering what my mother said, Mrs Acton was heartbroken over it. He wasn’t bothered, but she was. When it came to adoption, he didn’t
believe in it. Anyway, I reckon she’s better off without him. Take my advice, Don. Get your feet under her table, treat her well, and you’ll be out of that caravan in quick
sticks.’

Like most people, Paul Cropper called his co-worker Don rather than Dan, which represented the second syllable of the chosen name. Perhaps it was as well, since Dan Hall rubbed close shoulders
with damn all. As they left the barn, Don looked over his shoulder. It was a fine house and a valuable farm. Oh, and she was a good cook.

The paperwork was done and dusted, seals set, ribbons tied, deposit paid, and the searches and surveys were all finally completed. This was the end, and Elaine Lewis was in the
dumps. She wanted Frank Charleson and, for as long as she remembered, she’d found little difficulty when it came to achieving her own way. He looked at her sometimes with what she imagined to
be desire in his eyes. He looked, but he never touched. As this was to be her biggest effort so far, she had dressed to ensnare him. She was graceful, beautiful and perfectly packaged.

She had the keys to the Rice Lane property, and this was probably the last occasion on which she would have a legal and practical reason for seeing Frank. Today, Aladdin took possession of his
cave or his lamp, depending on which name he chose to adopt. He would do well. Although not an overbearing man, he owned a quiet strength and the sort of dedication that said a great deal about his
character.

They were meeting for an early lunch, because as from noon the shop and the living accommodation were legally his, and she would hand over the keys. She had been wrong about him, since his
entrepreneurial skills were going to become legendary. This was husband material after all. So it was possible to marry for love, then. Because insofar as Elaine Lewis was capable of concentrating
on someone other than herself, she had formed an attachment to the man.

He had taken seriously none of her attempts to entrap him. After the meeting in the Liver pub, there’d been a dinner in a crowded restaurant, then an evening in the communal sitting room
at his Bootle bed-and-breakfast place, and today was to be their last supper. Yes, it was only lunch, but there seemed to be a finality stapled to it. Reasons for meeting him had been used up; from
now on, she could be no more than a customer in his shop.

A shadow loomed over her desk. She didn’t need to look up. ‘Hello, Bob,’ she said, patience etched deeply into the words. ‘And how are you today? Overworked
again?’

‘Those aren’t your usual work clothes,’ he accused her. ‘You look ready for a wedding party or a visit to Buckingham Palace.’

‘That’s because this is fiesta time,’ she replied. ‘My childhood friend moves today, so his mother, my mother, he and I are going out to celebrate at lunchtime.’
The lies slid out so easily.

‘Ah. Might you bring a friend?’

She laughed.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘No, I think not. It’s a landmark in our lives, so no one outside our circle would appreciate its significance. Frank and I have always been close to our mothers. And our mothers
will now look after each other all the time.’

A clock on the wall ticked. ‘Why? Are you moving away from home, too?’

‘Soon.’ She had scarcely considered it, but it might be a good idea. ‘Finding somewhere decent for the right price could be a long job,’ she said.

‘I could help. You’d have no trouble getting a mortgage. I shall keep my eyes open.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked back at their dinner date. He had chosen the wines and had even ordered her food along with his own. But she had stopped the waiter in his tracks and asked to
see the menu for herself. Bob needed a great deal of training, it seemed. Could she really be bothered to teach this man that a woman had a mind of her own, that the days of male superiority had
ended a few decades after the death of Victoria?

‘That’s a beautiful dress,’ Bob said. ‘The colour suits you very well.’

‘Thank you. It’s one of my favourites, too.’

He stared through the window at the Liver Building, saw the river glistening behind it. ‘Will you marry him?’

‘Er . . . no. Have you heard of familiarity and contempt?’

He nodded. ‘And I’ve noticed the glow on your skin when you’re going to meet him.’

‘It’s makeup.’

‘Ah. Will you marry at all?’

She was getting just a little bored with the inquisition. ‘No idea. But if I do, I shall be with a man who recognizes that a woman is born free. He will be clever enough to know he’s
with a clever female.’

‘So you’re clever?’

‘Oh, definitely. Oxford at seventeen, here by the age of twenty-two, first-class honours, now law. There’s nothing average about me, Bob. I can read menus and make my own choices. I
am in control of my own life, so I don’t really require a husband, since I want no children.’

He took a few seconds off, as he needed a rest. Elaine was desirable, but she was also hard work. ‘Ah,’ he said eventually, ‘so you’re the boss?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, boss, your bra strap’s on display at the top of your left arm.’ He stalked back to his own office. It was time to give up on her for a little while.

The fury that rose in her throat was not commensurate with his remark about a bra strap. She seethed. He was a dolt, and she hated him immediately. The fact that he’d walked away without
being dismissed was annoying enough, but a bra strap? He might be a partner, but he should keep questions and opinions to himself. She could get a job anywhere in this city, anywhere in the
country.

In the powder room, she sorted out her strap, checked stockings and shoes, repaired her makeup. It was a beautiful dress, in a gentle turquoise shade, made in lace on top of silk of a similar,
though subtly different colour. There was no silk on the arms, where flesh without bra strap now showed through the openwork. At her throat, a darker turquoise hung from a silver chain; this was
echoed in a bracelet, though her earrings were plain silver studs. She was stylish; she was perfect, and she was probably looking for another job.

Meanwhile, Frank Charleson leaned casually against a wall outside the newly opened bistro in which he would buy lunch. It was a place that served meals representing many countries, and the
novelty made it popular with younger moneyed folk. At this end of town, close to the business sector, a restaurant like this should thrive.

He was waiting for Elaine Lewis for what he hoped was going to be the last time. She was fashionably late, as usual, and he was running out of patience. There was something dangerous about her,
an occasional flash of fury in displeased eyes, a sudden straightening of the spine, the tapping of perfectly manicured nails on a hard surface, a frown deep enough to interfere with faultless good
looks.

But Frank had arrived armed to the teeth on this occasion. Today was Nurse Linda’s day off, which she usually spent with her mother, but she was standing in for Polly through the midday
period. Polly, inside the bistro, studied the menu while Frank waited for his lawyer. All she knew was that Elaine Lewis was a manhunter who simply wouldn’t give up on Frank, and she accepted
the fact with equanimity, because he was gorgeous and the poor woman could scarcely be blamed.

Elaine arrived. She was stunning, and her attire was immaculate.

As ever, Frank admired her beauty. She was like a perfect statue into which breath had been pushed by a force that was not benign. ‘Ah, good,’ he said. ‘Are you going on
somewhere afterwards?’

‘No. I wore this just to please you. I know you appreciate pretty things.’

‘Delightful.’ He led her into the bistro and to their table. ‘Elaine Lewis, this is Polly Kennedy, my fiancée.’ Polly was beautiful inside and out. Her personality
shone from her face, because she had never been a statue. She smiled expectantly at the vision before her. ‘Hello, pleased to meet you at last,’ she said. ‘Thank you for all
you’ve done for us.’

Although Elaine often congratulated herself on her sangfroid, she didn’t realize that her immediate reactions gave her away to people who looked closely. For us? She had done nothing for
this young woman. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and the smile she offered resembled a silent snarl from a member of the cat family. She shook Polly’s hand, placed Frank’s keys on the
table, and remembered another appointment back at the office. ‘So sorry about this,’ she said rather quickly. ‘It slipped my mind completely until I was on my way here. I
mustn’t lose a client.’

Polly closed her gaping mouth and watched the woman rushing out into the street. ‘There’s something wrong with that one,’ was her delivered opinion. ‘Beautiful, but not
quite with us.’

‘I know. She’s unreal. There’s a creepy side to her. What are you having?’ he asked, seamlessly altering the direction of their conversation.

‘That stringy stuff looks interesting. See that woman over there sucking it up? I’ll have string.’

He grinned. ‘You’ll need knitting needles with that, Pol. Or a crochet hook.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s spaghetti, I think.’

‘Have you had it before?’

‘Only out of a tin with tomato sauce. But there has to be a first time for everything.’

He studied his darling girl. She wore a simple pink and white summer dress with a tiny bolero. Apart from a bit of lipstick, she appeared to be free of makeup. Polly wasn’t one for
spending hours on her appearance, though he might have bet his last quid on Elaine Lewis staring for an age at the reflection of the person she loved most of all.

‘She dressed up for you, Frank.’

‘I know. She always has done, so she must have noticed my perfect good looks before we met. I know she recognized me from the start when she stopped me in the street, but her mother does
work at Brookside five days a week.’

‘Perfect good looks? If your nose was a ski slope, there’d be broken legs all over the place. Other than that, you’ll do, I suppose. You have sexy eyes.’

He lowered his tone. ‘Madam, your knickers are with me. I happen to know that they concealed several freckles on your bum. To have freckles in that area, you must have exposed yourself to
sunlight.’

‘And?’

‘And you’re a loose woman.’

‘Fair enough. Seeing that you’re paying, I’ll have smoked salmon and avocado to start.’

‘Avocado’s an acquired taste.’

‘So are you, but I managed.’

This was normality; this was what Frank needed in life. Polly was strong, feisty and beautiful; she joked, laughed at herself, loved her brother, was unafraid of hard work and would be a good
mother. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.

‘You’d better, because I am sick to death of bloody timewasters. Hattie’s veg man let her down last week, something to do with a gearbox. I didn’t know he had one,
because he’s definitely brainless. Without an engine, why would he need gears?’

Frank burst out laughing.

‘Well, he’s as thick as a piece of Stonehenge or the Great Wall of China.’

‘You’re a terrible girl, Polly Kennedy.’

‘And you wouldn’t want me any other way, so shut up.’

Oh yes, this was his Polly, the right one for him. She definitely had an engine in full working order, and her transmission was as smooth as a baby’s backside. ‘You’re going to
be a lot of trouble, aren’t you?’ he asked. A bundle of naughtiness wrapped in sunshine, she was.

‘With luck and a good following wind, yes, I’ll do my best to bring you up properly. A woman’s first child is her husband.’

He lowered his tone yet again. ‘When can we have another go at splicing the main brace, Captain Kennedy?’

Polly awarded him a severe look. ‘Dangerous business, that. Sailors had to be drunk to take it on, because the enemy always aimed for the main brace.’

‘But I’m not the enemy, sweetheart.’

She shook her head. ‘You were bad enough one-handed. God help me now you have both. I suppose I could emigrate. New Zealand sounds nice, or I might try Canada.’