The Emerald Valley (24 page)

Now, with a sinking heart, she realised there would be very little of that. And quite honestly she did not want to keep him waiting any longer.

She pondered the problem as she walked back up the hill. Since she did not have the wherewithal to pay him, she would have to find it from somewhere. Was there something she could sell? Not the business assets – to get rid of them would make it that much more difficult to keep things going, as she was now determined she should. No, something private – something she could manage without …

Mentally she began an inventory of her possessions and realised just how little any of them were worth. To her, invaluable – but on the market, just so much second-hand junk. The only thing of value she owned was her engagement ring.

As it first flashed into her mind she dismissed the very thought. She could not possibly sell her engagement ring; it meant far too much to her. But as she considered and rejected every other possibility, it came back to nag her again and again.

The ring was worth money. It was antique – Llew had told her it had been left to him by an old lady for whom he used to run errands.

‘She was a funny old soul,' he had explained. ‘She always promised she would let me have it for the girl I'd one day marry. I thought at the time she was off her rocker, but I suppose she had this romantic streak – and no one else to leave it to.'

Amy had always thought it a lovely story and had enjoyed picturing the old lady and the notions she'd had to do her best for the bright and willing lad who had brought pleasure and company into her last lonely years. And the ring was certainly something to treasure – a ruby set with diamonds that seemed to hold in its warm red depths a reflection of every one of her happiest and most precious memories.

Before collecting the children from Ruby next door, Amy went upstairs and opened her jewellery box. Amongst the other worthless trinkets the ring glowed warm, bright and comforting. She took it out, remembering the day Llew had placed it on her finger. The future had stretched before them then, full of promise, and pride and happiness had sung in her veins until she had felt she could burst with them. But how short that future had been!

The sharp ready tears thickened Amy's throat and she swallowed at them angrily. Crying would do no good; she had done enough of that during these last weeks to last a lifetime. What she had to do now was weigh things up, look at them dispassionately. Llew had given her the ring but he had also given her other things – a family, a home, a business. The ring was the symbol of it all, true, but it was only cold metal and cold stones. The children were living, breathing human beings and the business was a living memorial to Llew's enterprise and initiative. If it came to a choice and one or the other had to go, it was obvious which it should be. You couldn't sacrifice the future to a piece of sentimentality.

And yet …

Oh Llew, Llew – you gave it to me! I can't sell it! I can't!

She closed her fist around the ring, feeling it bite into her palm and wishing the pain would be enough to eclipse the pain inside her. What a choice! How can I do it? How can I bear to put this ring – my engagement ring – down on a counter and leave it there? Oh I can't – I can't!

But you must.
The small calm voice of reason sounded to her very like Llew's and through the raging emotion and deep despair it spoke from a still, calm place inside her that was the eye of the storm.

You mustn't be sentimental. Whether or not you have the ring, nothing can take away the memories you hold in your heart. Pay off Ralph Porter and anyone else you owe money, so you can hold your head up high. And start again. Build something Llew would be proud of. That's what he would want you to do.

‘Yes,' she said, speaking aloud. ‘It is, isn't it?'

She opened her palm and glanced down at the ring one last time. Then quickly, before she could change her mind, she took a small cardboard box that had contained a gift of earrings out of a drawer and laid the ring inside on the soft blue jeweller's cotton wool. As she slipped the lid into place, hiding the ring from her view, she felt as if she was shutting up a part of herself. But resolutely she cut off the thoughts that would start uncontrollable emotions.

Don't think. Just do it! For Llew and for Barbara and Maureen. And to settle that despicable Ralph Porter and get him off your back.

Once the box was hidden in the depths of her bag it was almost as if the irreversible had been attained and the ring had already gone for ever. But even so there were many moments when she held firm and reminded herself: Don't think. Just do it!

Perhaps the worst moment came as she entered the jeweller's shop – immediately below the solicitor's office in the High Street.

Amy had hardly ever been in the shop before, unless it was to get a clock repaired, and she found the dim, cloistered atmosphere unnerving. Around the walls a dozen different clocks ticked a dozen different times; in the corner a walnut-cased grandfather with an intricately decorated face surveyed the shop as his own; and in a glass dome on a prominent shelf a stuffed owl fixed Amy with unwinking eye.

From a door at the back of the counter the jeweller emerged – Mr Cornick. She knew him by sight, a slightly-built man with thick lensed spectacles covering the eyes strained by concentrating on minute workings for three-quarters of his life.

‘Good morning, Mrs Roberts,' he greeted her. ‘Can I help you?'

Slightly surprised that he knew who she was, Amy took out the box and opened it onto the glass-topped counter that covered precious items, each marked with a tiny, coded tag.

Why did jewellers always mark their goods with letters instead of prices that everyone could understand? It added to the mystery.

‘I wanted to sell this. Would you be interested?' she asked.

He picked it up, handling it carefully, took off his spectacles and inspected it through an eyeglass.

‘I think it's worth quite a lot,' Amy ventured.

Mr Cornick pondered a few more moments, ‘hemming'softly to himself, then disappeared through the door into the shop. Anxiously Amy waited. The dozen clocks ticked the minutes away. Then, just when she had begun to think he would never reappear, there he was, replacing the ring in its box and looking at her steadily with eyes made huge by the thick-lensed spectacles.

‘If you want to sell, I could offer you twenty pounds.'

Twenty pounds! It was less than she had hoped for – barely enough to cover her debt to Ralph Porter.

‘Thirty?' she ventured.

But he shook his head.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Roberts. It may be a long while before I can sell it again. As you say, it's a fine piece, but in a place like Hillsbridge there's not a great deal of call for expensive jewellery.'

She hesitated, then made up her mind. Really, if she wanted the money, she had very little choice.

‘All right.'

‘I'll tell you what I'll do.' Mr Cornick folded his hands on the counter. ‘I want to be fair with you, Mrs Roberts. Say twenty pounds now and if I can sell the ring quickly – within a month, say – and for a good sum, I'll forward you an extra ten pounds. How would that be?'

‘Oh, that would be very nice,' Amy said gratefully.

A few moments later, the bank-notes safely tucked away in her bag, Amy left the shop. It was done, then. The ring was gone, but at least she had the money to pay Ralph Porter. And she intended to see the debt settled that very evening.

Ralph Porter's house, Valley View, stood at the bottom of Porter's Hill – big, rambling and built of natural stone. It could have been very impressive indeed, thought Amy, but there was a slightly unkempt air about it that was surprising, considering it was owned by the man who was supposed to be one of the richest in Hillsbridge.

In the gardens that flowed away from the rear and side, and through which led the gate from the path, roses ran riot and an enormous fish-pond was almost hidden from the sun by water-lily leaves the size of meat-platters. The trees and bushes near the house seemed to be jostling for light and air too, some tall and strong, others stunted. But the lawns had been cut, though not manicured, and the honeysuckle and morning glory around the door gave off a hauntingly sweet perfume in the warm evening air.

As she hauled on the bell-pull and heard it jangle inside the house, Amy realised she was nervous.

Don't be! she told herself. Why should you have a single qualm about him? He's only a man. And once you've paid him he will have no hold over you at all.

After a few moments she heard the key clank in the lock and the door opened. It was not Ralph Porter but his housekeeper – a plump jelly of a woman with three chins, apple cheeks and small darting eyes.

‘Is Mr Porter at home?' Amy enquired.

‘Who wants him?'

‘Amy Roberts. I won't keep him a moment.'

‘I'll tell him.'

The housekeeper waddled off while Amy waited, drumming her fingers on her bag. Then, almost at once, the housekeeper was back.

‘Mr Porter says to ask you in.'

Amy followed the rolling figure through the hall with it mosaic tiled floor and into a large, dim drawing-room. It was obviously a man's room, she thought. The furniture was heavy and comfortable looking rather than elegant and the prints on the walls were old maps of the locality and a set of cartoon drawings. There was not the least touch of femininity, not even a vase of flowers to brighten a dim corner, and it crossed Amy's mind to wonder why Ralph's invalid sister, who shared the house with him, it was said – though she was hardly ever seen – had had so little influence on it. Perhaps it was because he would not let her. It would be very like him to want to have things his way, even if it was her home too.

Amy crossed to look at one of the cartoons, then a sound behind her made her spin round and she saw Ralph Porter come into the room.

In the confines of the house his presence was more vital than ever, dominating the room by far more than merely his size. Instinctively Amy drew herself up.

‘I won't keep you, Mr Porter. I just wanted to settle my debt with you.'

He stood with hands in pockets, surveying her with disconcerting squareness.

‘How are you going to manage to do that?'

She bristled. ‘I don't think that's any of your business.'

He laughed. ‘You're quite right. It isn't any of my business. All right, settle your debt, Mrs Roberts, if it makes you happy.'

Angry words rose to her lips. If it made
her
happy indeed! Selling her precious ring and having nothing to show for it … But she bit her tongue. Say as little as possible. Pay him the money and leave with as much dignity as you can.

She pulled out the wad of notes and held them out to him. He took them, pushing them carelessly into his pocket.

‘Aren't you going to count it?' she asked, surprised.

He shrugged. ‘I trust you. One very important lesson you will learn in business is who you can and cannot trust. And in any case, if the full amount isn't there, I know where to find you.'

She was trembling with hostility. Why did he
do
this to her?

‘It's all there, I assure you. And I would prefer you to count it while I'm here so that there can be no dispute about it afterwards.'

One corner of his mouth quirked.

‘All right, if you insist. And aren't you going to ask me for a receipt while you're about it?'

She lifted her chin. ‘That's up to you. But you won't get the money twice in any case.'

‘Then I suggest we forget the matter.' He moved to the door, holding it open for her. ‘How did you get here, Mrs Roberts? Walking? Or did you drive?'

She caught her lip between her teeth. He was laughing at her. She had sold her ring to repay him, but he took the money almost nonchalantly, as if it meant nothing whatever to him – which, with all he had, it probably didn't – and now he was laughing at her. The perfect beast.

‘I'm afraid not all of us can afford the luxury of a car, Mr Porter,' she said stiffly, passing him and going back into the hall.

He opened the heavy door for her and the scent of the honeysuckle wafted in, encompassing them.

‘Thank you, Mrs Roberts,' he said in the same condescending tone.

‘I told you, Mr Porter, that I pay my debts. Good night.'

‘Good night.'

She walked away down the path and as she turned to close the gate after her he was still there, watching her from the doorway.

Well, that's that, Amy said to herself. That's done. And let's hope it's the last I see of Mr Ralph Porter.

Two days later an envelope dropped through Amy's door containing ten crisp pound notes. The accompanying letter, written on a billhead for Mr Cornick the jeweller, was brief and to the point.

He had been able to sell her ring quickly and for more than he had expected. As promised, he was enclosing …

Amy stood for a moment, her stomach falling away. It was gone, then. Someone else would be putting it on their finger, admiring the winking ruby, putting it at night into their own jewellery box. Until now she had nursed the vague hope that somehow, miraculously, she might get the money to buy it back before Mr Cornick could sell it. But now that was not to be.

But oh, the extra ten pounds would be useful! It was like untold riches in her hand.

She called the children. ‘Come on, Barbara, let's put Maureen in her pram. We'll go up to the little shop on the corner and buy you some sweeties. Would you like that?'

The children squealed in delight. There had been precious few treats this summer; Amy had been too worried about making ends meet. Now, squandering the few pence she had been keeping in her purse for emergencies, Amy felt like a millionairess – headily generous and wildly extravagant.

It was, she thought, a good feeling.