The Emerald Valley (2 page)

Herbie scratched his head again and settled his cap back squarely over it.

‘Well, if you'm sure you know what you'm doing …'

‘I'm sure.' She reached up to open the cab and climbed up onto the running board, showing enough leg to make Herbie glance sideways in embarrassment – what were girls coming to! Then she was easing herself into the plump curve of the leather seat, as yet unsoiled by the daily round of grubby trousers, holding the wheel between her hands and stretching her feet out towards the pedals that were the touchstone of the mystery of driving.

‘Now just tell me, Herbie – this one's for when I want to go faster, is that right? And this one for when I want to stop?'

‘You can't reach them, can you?' he accused.

‘Of course I can!' It was an effort, but she could do it, just, by really stretching. If only I were a bit taller, Amy thought, as she did so often. Five feet two was something and nothing – she would have loved to be tall and willowy. But none of her family were big people and she just had to accept it. ‘Now what?' she asked.

‘Start the darned thing, I s'pose,' Herbie muttered.

‘Will you do it for me, then?'

Shaking his head to emphasise that this whole episode was against his better judgement, Herbie cranked the handle and the engine spluttered into life. As the cab began to vibrate about her Amy felt a moment's panic, but this gave way quickly to exhilaration.

‘Can I try the gears?' she shouted above the racket.

‘Yes … but put your clutch in first. Thick pedal there!' Herbie cried, pointing.

She did as he said with a great deal of crashing at first, but gradually she got the feel of it.

‘And where's reverse? How do I go backwards?' she asked, remembering Llew's first lesson.

‘Back'ards? I shouldn't think'ee wanna go for'ards first!' Agitation was thickening Herbie's Somerset dialect from his first careful, ‘talking to the boss's wife'mode of conversation. Then, catching the flash of impatience in her eyes, he added hastily, ‘'Tis'ere, look. You d'do it like this …'

‘Can I try now? Can I go round the yard?'

Herbie cast around a quick, concerned eye. With Llew away with the other lorry there was not much she could hit, he supposed. Only the pile of chippings they had managed to save off the half-dozen loads they had run for the council, because Llew had thought they would fill up the worst of the potholes in the yard, and the latest load of pit-props waiting to be delivered to Midlington Pit. Midlington Pit was only half a mile back up the lane and as always the nearest was the one that got left until last …

‘Go on then if you d'want to,' he said with a sigh.

That was enough for Amy. With legs and toes stretched almost into cramp she manipulated the pedals and the lorry jerked forward so suddenly that it made her almost cry out.

‘Oh – I did it!' she wanted to say, but of course there was no time. The fence post was rushing up at her and, knuckles white with tension, she yanked on the steering wheel.

‘Ease up! Ease her up now!' Herbie shouted, running after her. As she did as he said and the lorry straightened out, running along parallel with the river that bounded the yard on the south side, she felt the sense of exhilaration returning along with the quickening adrenalin.

This was fun – and it was easy! Press this pedal and the lorry surged forward, press that one and it slowed down. Pull the wheel – yes, and round it went – easy as riding a bicycle, easier really for Amy had never felt very safe wobbling along on two wheels. But here, high in the lorry cab, lip held tight between her teeth in a paroxysm of concentration, nerves and muscles strained to singing life, she was enjoying herself – just as she had known she would.

At the bottom of the yard were some outbuildings and a tarpaulin-covered shed with a wood-plank step that Llew used as an office. As she neared them she swung the wheel again so that she travelled in a loose arc to face the way she had started. Then she stopped for a moment to savour her success.

‘There you be then, missus. Done now, 'ave you?' Herbie came panting over, a look of relief lightening his permanently anxious expression.

She tilted her head, looking at him directly out of the side window of the cab, her eyes sparkling.

‘No, I haven't done, Herbie! I've only just started!'

He swore under his breath and though she did not hear what he said she sensed that he might be about to put his foot down. A new wave of determination surged through her; if he thought she was going to get this far and give up, he was very much mistaken!

With a quick, decisive movement she banged the lorry into gear again and juggled the pedals. As it jerked forward Herbie shouted, ‘Hoi!' and ran after it while Amy, afraid he might jump onto the running board and forcibly stop her, pressed her foot down harder on what she thought of as the ‘Go'pedal. With Herbie still running after it, the lorry careered across the yard, out through the gate and, slowing slightly, across the river bridge. Then, with a yank of the wheel Amy turned right, driving for the first time in her life on the highway.

Llew Roberts'Transport Depot was situated in a finger of valley that followed the river out of Hillsbridge. It was bounded on one side by steep green fields that fell away from the road to Frome and Warminster, and on the other by the railway embankment and, beyond that, ridges of ‘batch'as colliery waste tips were known in this part of the world. Twenty-five pits the faulted Somerset seams had thrown up, and the narrow ridges of waste that ran along above the railway lines and in the shadow of the larger, mountainous mounds had come from only two or three of them. There was no tipping now on the section that overlooked the depot – the trucks carried the waste further along to a new incline – and in an effort to hide the ugly black ridges fir trees had been planted in neat rows. At this time of year – late April – they looked attractive, fresh and green but in summer it would be a different story. The sparks from passing trains would set the trees … or the coal-dust … or both alight, and the fires would burn for days, running along in the combustible ground to emerge in a new spot, spreading devastation and leaving behind charred brown skeletons.

Sometimes the fires had to be tackled from above, but mostly the fire-engine approached them across the very bridge where Amy was now driving, taking water from the river to try to douse the flames.

Today, however, there was no fire and the bridge and the road were mercifully clear. Amy swung the lorry out into the road, jogging steadily along the flat valley floor with the fields becoming steep, well-kept allotments to her left and the impressive wooden mill buildings rising on her right. The river shelved here into a small weir and the mill made use of the water power as it had done for generations to grind wheat to flour and process animal feedstuffs. As always the mill was hard at work; a sack of grain was on the pulley halfway up the tall mill-tower as Amy chugged by and the man manipulating it stopped for a moment to turn and watch the lorry pass.

A few yards and the lane became a slope, curving up towards the main Frome Road. Briefly Amy felt a qualm of fear as she faced the decision: which way to turn? Undoubtedly it would be easier to swing round to the right and go down the hill past Starvault Pit. But that way would lead her inevitably into the centre of Hillsbridge, and for all her natural bubbling confidence Amy did not think she was quite ready for that. Besides, the two colliery horses were pulling a load of trucks on the lines that ran across the road from the pit to the sidings – more waste to be taken to the black ‘batches'and tipped – and she was not quite sure she would be able to stop.

‘It would be awful if I were to run into them,' she thought, and choosing the lesser of the two evils she put her foot hard down on the ‘go'pedal and pulled the wheel round to make the sharp left turn that would take her on up the hill.

For a few moments the lorry juddered and protested and Amy thought it was going to stop altogether. Then somehow it pulled itself together. Going uphill might be slow, noisy and bone-shaking, she thought, but at least there was less chance of hitting something at this speed. Up, up, she crept – the hill seemed to go on for ever. Up, up … with houses on one side of the road and allotments and fields falling away on the other – those same fields that bounded the valley where she had been just a few moments ago. With the road clear and empty ahead of her, Amy risked a quick peep. Yes, there was the depot yard – and that minuscule man-figure in cap and blue overalls would be Herbie, still there, still pacing, probably wondering what on earth to do next. Amy giggled. It was easy to imagine the kind of things he would be muttering through the Woodbine he would have lit the moment he had failed to catch her going through the gates. Llew thought she was ignorant of the language the men used when they were out of hearing of ladies, and she let him go on thinking it. But she knew, all right, and it amused her now to think of Herbie swearing away with colourful adjectives peppering his every remark.

From the centre of Hillsbridge to the point where it first began to flatten out, Frome Hill was a good mile long; three-quarters of the way up, Amy decided that maybe she had gone far enough for her first trip out. She was approaching the yard and squat grey-stone buildings of the Iron Foundry – just beyond it was a lane that led back down into the valley, and Amy swung left into it.

At its neck the lane was cobbled, but as it dropped away from the main road it became steadily more uneven. Potholes broke the surface and as the front wheels of the lorry dropped into them the shock ran up the steering column and into Amy's hands. She hung on tightly, keeping as straight a course as she could between the grassy banks and the hedges, heavy with spring growth. This was not as easy as going uphill, especially as she had to stretch all the time now in order to keep her foot on the brake. Half-way down she felt her toes going into cramp. She eased off a little and the lorry surged forward. There was a bend coming up – past that she would have to be careful because she knew it was the steepest and narrowest part, around a triangle of grass where the moon-daisies grew thickly during the summer months, then a sharp turn to take her back onto the lower road – unless she wanted to run away and crash into the river! Gritting her teeth in extreme concentration, she pressed her foot down onto the brake again. Hold it – hold it …

As she came around the bend she saw it – a red Morgan three-wheeler sports car coming up fast and right in the middle of the lane. There was time for just a moment's cold panic as she stepped on the brake and pulled the wheel hard into the left. But her aching foot slid, not getting the pressure she needed, and the lorry jerked forward. Again she stabbed for the brake, but it was too late. The sports car had taken avoiding action too, but as she lurched to a stop she caught the mudguard a glancing blow, spinning the Morgan away from her. Her own wheel turned and, unable to hold it, she ran into the bank, jolting up briefly so that for a moment she was afraid the lorry was going to overturn. Then it subsided again, coming to rest in the lane some yards below the sports car she had hit.

‘Oh, my Lord!' said Amy, pulling on the hand-brake with trembling hands and closing her eyes against acceptance of what had happened.

The hiatus was short-lived. Moments later the door of the lorry cab was wrenched open and she found herself looking down at one of the angriest men she had ever had to face in her life.

It seemed to Amy in that frightened moment that everything about him was dark. Dark hair, springing thickly, dark eyes blazing with fury, dark lines contorting his face around a dark moustache. And he was tall enough not to be dwarfed even though he was standing in the road while she was perched high in the cab. In his leather jacket and flying boots he cut a figure that was both awesome and unavoidable.

Amy knew who he was. She had recognised him the moment she saw him, had recognised the car too, though she had never before come into such close or uncomfortable contact with him. Everyone in Hillsbridge knew Ralph Porter. His timber merchants' business was the biggest in the district, with a virtual monopoly for the supply of pit-props to the collieries, and many said he was the richest man in Hillsbridge next to the colliery owners themselves. More than once as he had struggled for a share of business Amy had heard Llew, her husband, curse Ralph Porter, saying he was ‘in with the nobs'and had it ‘all sewn up'.

But it was not only his money and his thriving business which made Ralph Porter stand out from the crowd. There was the fact that although he was in his early thirties and a most eligible man, he had never married, but lived all alone with his housekeeper and an invalid sister for whom he provided a home in his rambling house at the bottom of the lane down which Amy had been driving – Porter's Hill. There were also the motors he drove – the sporty three-wheeled Morgans that were winning all the races in their class at Montlhery Track in France, but which were seldom seen in the quiet roads around Hillsbridge – and there was the list of decorations he was reputed to have gained during the Great War. Put all together, Ralph Porter was a colourful character admired, even if in secret, by the young men, dreamed about as a romantic figure by the young women and the children, and described as ‘a card'by those old enough to feel indulgent towards him.

Facing him now, however, after being the cause of damage to his precious Morgan motor car, Amy felt none of these things. She experienced only an odd blend of acute embarrassment and pure terror – both unusual emotions for her.

‘What the hell do you think you're up to? Look what you've done to my car!'

The moment's silence when they had glared at one another was shattered by his voice. It was as dark as the rest of him – a bark, almost – and it made Amy tremble all the more.