Megan of Merseyside (28 page)

‘I’m most appreciative of all the sterling work you’ve been doing, Megan,’ Mr Walker told her as she completed the filing on the Friday night and tidied her desk before leaving for home.

‘I’ve enjoyed the challenge,’ she told him with a brief smile.

‘I thought maybe you had. I’ve noticed how well you rise to difficult occasions. That’s why I’ve decided to give you a new challenge.’

‘Oh?’ She frowned, mystified, waiting for him to explain further.

‘Miles will be back at his desk on Monday. You’ve seen for yourself the mess he can get into so I want you to act as his assistant. Let me finish!’ He held up his hand as she was about to interrupt. ‘There will be a secretary to attend to letters, filing and routine work, leaving you free to handle the new deals or contracts as they are instigated.’

‘How will Miles feel about such an arrangement?’

‘Relieved, I should imagine. Miles has a flair for bringing in new business, but if it is left to him to organise the servicing of these new accounts we will end up in chaos. I know you can handle that side of things very efficiently. So, do you accept?’

She imagined how delighted her father would be when she told him the news. Then her spirits sank as conflicting thoughts rushed through her mind. Her mother wouldn’t approve; nor, for that
matter
, would Robert Field. There’d be gossip around the office, too. Above all, would she be able to stand the strain of working so closely with Miles? she wondered.

‘It’s a challenge,’ Mr Walker repeated, watching her keenly, ‘but one I am quite confident you can handle.’

The sharp directness of his blue eyes brought the blood rushing to her cheeks. For a moment she wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the work or her relationship with Miles.

Squaring her slim shoulders she met his shrewd gaze. ‘Thank you, Mr Walker, I accept.’ This was her chance to prove that Miles no longer meant anything to her and that she was in control of her own destiny, she told herself.

Chapter Twenty-eight

WHEN MILES FIRST
heard about Megan’s new status he felt extremely nettled that, in his absence, she had gained such a foothold and that his father regarded her abilities so highly. Tight-lipped, he riffled through his files and ledgers, frowning heavily, hoping to spot some inaccuracy. The neat preciseness of the entries fuelled his resentment even further, but he knew better than to show how he felt.

It had taken a lot of patience and persuasion to convince his father that he was experienced enough to be made a director and he had no intention of jeopardising his newly acquired power.

When his father summoned them both to his office and told him that, from now on, Megan would be acting as his personal assistant, he accepted the situation with outward charm that hid his deep resentment. Inwardly, he was fuming.

Throughout the meeting, Megan remained courteous, though cool, which unnerved him. He felt suspicious about her motives when she ignored his smiles and pleasantries and turned a deaf ear to his quips. She even looked different, he thought uneasily. She was wearing a smart grey suit and crisp white blouse and her hair was in a new style that made her look very sophisticated.

In the weeks that followed, the change in Megan disturbed him greatly. She was so confident and efficient. She ignored his outbursts of temper, even his sarcasm and irritability.

He was forced to agree with his father that she was an asset and to admit that the enthusiasm he felt when he first met a new client soon faded. He found working out schedules, checking references, and all the more mundane aspects of opening a new account, tedious.

Megan was extremely conscientious about such details. Her secretarial experience helped her to deal with all the paperwork in a methodical manner.

Mr Walker was delighted with her progress. In the past, he had suspected that there was some sort of relationship between Miles and Megan and it gave him considerable satisfaction to see how she was putting her career first and keeping Miles at a distance.

Miles’ marriage had brought rich rewards to Walker’s Shipping Company. They now acted as agents for most of the cargoes transported by the Brocklehurst Line. Their success was further enhanced when Mr Brocklehurst’s associates also began to use them as shipping and forwarding agents.

Such rapid expansion made it necessary to take on more office staff. Myra Thornton became Mr Walker’s secretary. A more experienced secretary, who could keep up with the mountain of correspondence generated by Megan and Miles, was also appointed.

Another large dockside warehouse was leased
to
cope with the increased volume of cargo they were handling. Additional lorries were bought and they took on a number of new drivers.

Megan welcomed the constant pressure. Her mother was still grieving. It was impossible to divert her thoughts from what had happened to Lynn. She remained deeply depressed, shedding tears at the slightest reminder of the accident. Listless and unhappy, she grumbled incessantly and was completely uninterested in what was going on around her.

It was ironic, Megan thought, that now she could afford to take her mother out and about, and buy her new clothes, or anything else she fancied, shopping sprees had lost their appeal. Her mother neither cared about what she wore nor what she ate. She never shopped for food and rarely cooked a meal, leaving it to Megan, or Watkin, to do both.

Robert seemed to be the only one who could persuade Kathy to take any notice of what was going on outside her own four walls. Occasionally, he would persuade her to go out and would take her to King’s Parade promenade where she would sit, staring at the sea, lost in her own dream world.

She had completely lost all interest in their home. The house in Belgrave Street, which she had been so proud of when they had first moved in, and described as a ‘little palace’, was no longer of any importance. Had Megan not cleaned it the place would have been unlivable in.

‘You shouldn’t be doing this, Megan,’ Robert commented when he dropped in unexpectedly one
Sunday
morning and found her scrubbing the kitchen floor.

‘If I don’t do it, then who else will?’

‘I pay a woman to keep my place clean, and to do my shopping so that there’s food to hand when I want to make a meal,’ he told her.

‘But it’s my mam’s job to do all that!’ She frowned.

‘It
was
. She doesn’t seem to be able to cope at the moment, though, does she?’ he pointed out. ‘Get someone in to help out until she is better and well enough to take over again. She’s on her own far too much. If you had a woman coming in each day there would be someone around the place for her to talk to.’

Robert was right, Megan admitted reluctantly and felt annoyed that she hadn’t thought of it herself. When she discussed it with her father, he looked as taken aback as she had been.

‘Do you think she would stand for having a stranger about the place … messing around in her kitchen and so on?’ He frowned.

‘You could ask her.’

‘No.’ He shook his head dubiously. ‘I think it might be better coming from you. She might think I was criticising her for the way she’s been neglecting everything lately.’

‘She’d certainly resent it if I said anything,’ Megan argued. ‘She would probably think I was complaining because I’m having to help out.’

For days neither of them could think of the right approach. Then the answer came to Megan in a flash. The person to suggest it to her was Robert.

Robert not only persuaded Kathy that it was a splendid idea that someone should come in three mornings a week but he also found the ideal person for the job.

Mrs Brown, a perky little widow in her early sixties, was more than happy to have the chance of earning some extra money to eke out her pension. She reminded Megan of a chirpy robin. She was just five foot tall with a large bust and spindly legs. Her small dark eyes were like two polished buttons shining brightly above her red cheeks.

She was a hard worker and within a few days it was easy to see the improvements. There was a general air of freshness throughout the house. The furniture was dusted and polished; the windows sparkled.

In a very short time, Kathy was going out with Vi Brown. At first it was only as far as the local shops in Liscard Village. Gradually, a more adventurous routine was established. On the days Vi came, she and Kathy would spend the morning doing the chores together and then, after lunch, go across to Liverpool to do some shopping.

It made life easier for Watkin as well as Megan. He no longer had a strained, haggard look. He now had time to sit down in the evening and read the
Liverpool Echo
and he even began going out again for a drink with Robert. Megan, too, found she could relax when she came home from work and at the weekends had time to go shopping for herself, instead of for groceries to last them through the coming week.

It was all so idyllic that she knew it couldn’t
last
. Three months later, Mrs Brown dropped her bombshell by giving in her notice.

‘I’m leaving Wallasey to go and live with my married daughter in Yorkshire,’ she told Megan.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll all miss you. It’s wonderful to see how much happier my mother has been having you as a friend.’

Kathy Williams seemed less perturbed by the change than Megan or Watkin. At first she seemed to be able to retain her new standards. She kept the house clean, went to the local shops and had a meal ready and waiting for them each evening.

Instinctively, though, Megan knew all was not well. Some evenings when she came home her mother was in high spirits and exceptionally talkative. At other times she would be withdrawn and seemed morose and depressed. Megan put her mother’s erratic moods down to the fact that she was missing Vi Brown.

‘Why don’t you join a club or something and make some new friends, Mam?’ she suggested.

‘Leave me alone. I don’t tell you what to do,’ her mother snapped.

When she mentioned it to her father he brushed the matter to one side. ‘You’re just looking for trouble,’ he protested. ‘Give it time and she’ll adjust. She’s missing having Vi Brown around the place.’

‘She needs to get out and meet people,’ persisted Megan. ‘Why don’t you take her out, Dad? Take her to the pictures or out for a drink. I tell you what, why don’t all three of us go out next Saturday night?’

‘Splendid idea, and Robert could come along as well,’ Watkin agreed, his face brightening.

‘Robert?’ She frowned. ‘I imagine he has something better to do with his time.’

‘If he has then I’m sure he’ll cancel it for the chance of an evening out with you,’ her father told her.

Megan bit her lip, refusing to comment. She thought she had made it quite clear to both Robert and her father that her career was all that mattered to her these days and she didn’t think of Robert in that way.

Kathy seemed to be inordinately pleased by the idea of going out for a drink on Saturday night. She spent hours upstairs getting ready and came down wearing a dress Megan hadn’t seen her in before.

‘Come on,’ urged Watkin. ‘Robert will have given us up.’

Robert was waiting for them in the lounge bar of the Nelson. It was quite crowded but he had managed to keep seats for them near the window. As they settled down with their drinks, Megan was relieved to find that Robert was devoting most of his attention to Kathy.

Company was what her mother needed, Megan decided as she watched the way her mother’s eyes were shining and the rapt attention she was paying to what Robert was saying.

As the evening wore on, however, Megan became increasingly concerned as her mother grew more and more voluble. Heads turned to look at them as every few minutes her laugh shrilled out.

‘Perhaps we’d better be going, Megan,’ Watkin muttered. ‘I think your mam has had a drink too many.’

‘She’s only had two gin and tonics,’ protested Robert. ‘She can’t be drunk on that!’

When they stood up to leave, Kathy proved him to be wrong. She swayed and stumbled, knocking into chairs and tables as they helped her outside. Once in the fresh air she became much worse. Her legs seemed to buckle beneath her and it took Robert and Watkin all their time to hold her upright. She was giggling helplessly as they helped her into the car.

When they reached Belgrave Street, Robert and Watkin supported Kathy indoors. She struggled and protested as they half carried, half dragged her upstairs. Then she collapsed on the bed, giggling inanely, before passing out.

‘Why don’t you go downstairs and make some coffee, Robert, while I help my dad to get her into bed,’ suggested Megan.

‘We’ll just take off her shoes and cover her over to keep her warm,’ Megan said when they were on their own.

‘We’d better take her dress off as well,’ fussed Watkin. ‘It’s a new one and she’ll be upset if it gets all creased.’

It was a struggle, but eventually they managed it and Megan made her mother as comfortable as she could on the bed.

‘You go on downstairs and I’ll hang up her clothes and make sure she is OK,’ Megan told her father. As she opened the wardrobe to hang
up
her mother’s dress, Megan stared in disbelief. It seemed to be full of bottles. She took them out and lined them up. There were dozens of vodka bottles. Some of them had dregs in the bottom but most of them were completely drained. Hidden behind a pile of shoes she discovered even more bottles … full ones.

She was still kneeling on the floor, stunned by her discovery and trying to work out how long her mother had been a secret drinker, when her father came back upstairs.

‘
Good God!
What’s happening here, then?’ His eyes narrowed as he looked from the bottles to Megan and back again. ‘How long has this been going on?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sat back on her heels, shaking her head. ‘I have no idea at all.’

‘She must have been drinking even before we went out tonight. That’s why two gin and tonics sent her over the top!’

‘It accounts for her moods. Sometimes she’s on cloud nine. At other times she’s so depressed that she doesn’t even give you the time of day.’