The Emerald Valley (73 page)

Since her success Amy had had a telephone installed at home as well – one of the few houses in Hillsbridge to be so privileged – but it seldom rang except on matters of business and when it did the children usually scrambled to be first to answer it.

When it rang that evening soon after she had put the girls to bed, she heard the squeak of bedsprings and the patter of feet on the lino and had to call up to them to go back to bed.

‘I'll answer it! You two should be asleep!'

The two guilty faces peeped between the banisters for a minute longer then disappeared as she shouted again: ‘Barbara! Maureen! Do as you're told!'

Then she reached for the shrilling telephone, thinking that at least Huw never rushed to answer it.

Huw had a healthy mistrust of the instrument and in any case he was in the kitchen working albeit with bad grace on some homework his teacher had given him. He could be a clever student if he tried and the teacher had realised it. The trouble was that he had no interest in studying; all he really wanted was freedom.

Amy sighed and gave her head a little shake.

‘Hello. Amy Roberts speaking.'

‘Amy – it's Eddie.' How could anyone inject so much bluster into three simple words, she wondered?

‘Eddie! I was trying to get hold of you this afternoon. I wanted to find out how the auction went – and how much you had to go to in order to get the land for me?'

There was a slight hesitation. Then he said, ‘There was a lot of interest in it, Amy. Far more than I ever expected.'

‘You mean it's cost me?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘What do you mean, not exactly? Did you have to pay over the odds to get it for me or not?'

‘I didn't get it. You were outbid.'

She felt sick. ‘
What?
But I gave you plenty of leeway. Far above the valuation.'

‘I'm sorry, Amy, but there it is. The land sold for £100 more than you authorised me to bid. I didn't feel I could go any higher.'

‘Oh!' Disappointment yawned in her. ‘Oh, Eddie, couldn't you have contacted me when you saw the way things were going?'

‘You were on holiday and I could never have reached you in time. They don't hang about at these auctions, you know. Anyway, it's no use crying over spilled milk now. The land's been sold and that's all there is to it!'

His jaunty tone annoyed her. Eddie hadn't wanted her to have the land, she was sure. No doubt he was jealous of her success and disliked the idea of his sister-in-law having a better house than himself. When he had been forced to drop out of the auction, he'd been delighted more than likely.

‘I don't believe you really tried for me, Eddie,' she fumed. ‘Surely you could have done something if you really wanted to? After all, we're family, though I know that's never made much difference to you. I wouldn't expect you to cross the road to help
me
, but the children – your own nieces and nephew – Babs and Maureen and Huw too, though I know you don't like to admit it. Your own brother's children! I should have thought you would take them into consideration.'

‘I'm sorry you feel like that,' Eddie said stiffly. ‘But really this conversation is getting us nowhere, Amy.'

She swallowed at the knot of anger. ‘I daresay you're right. Who outbid me, anyway?'

A pause. ‘I'm not sure I'm at liberty to tell you that.'

‘Oh, stuff and nonsense! It was a public auction, wasn't it? How can there be anything secret about it?'

Another pause. Then Eddie said, ‘The land was sold to Ralph Porter.'

She nearly dropped the telephone. ‘What? What does he want with it?'

‘I really couldn't say. Now, if there's nothing more, I'll wish you good night, Amy – and leave you to cool down.'

She slammed down the telephone and stood with her nails biting crescents into her palms. Ralph Porter! Over the last couple of years she had scarcely heard his name, nor had she wanted to. But the feeling of rivalry and betrayal had never quite left her. She had trusted him –
wanted
to trust him – and he had gone behind her back to the opposition.

Things had not worked out as he planned, though – or on the other hand, perhaps they had! Ralph was so devious one could never be quite certain. But whatever the reason, the expected marriage between Ralph and Erica Fricker had never materialised. Instead, there had been a big society wedding the previous year, when Erica had married a Swedish timber merchant – one of Ralph's contacts, Amy supposed. When she had seen the photograph and the five-column report in the
Mercury
, Amy had felt a sharp, twisting triumph. So Ralph had lost her! He must have introduced her to the Swede and she had preferred him. Oh Ralph, how funny – all your scheming and then you lose the girl and her father's business! It was only afterwards she had thought it unlike Ralph to lose anything he wanted, and had wondered whether perhaps things had worked out in such a way that he had changed his mind. That theory had been borne out when she had noticed that the lorries passing by on their way to the timber yard no longer bore the name of Fricker emblazoned on their cabs. Instead they were Ralph Porter's own – specialist timber lorries which carried far more wood than any general purpose haulage lorry could transport.

No, on reflection, whatever had happened had probably been to Ralph Porter's advantage – he would have made sure of that. As to how Frickers Transport had been affected, Amy didn't know. They were still in business, for she saw them about from time to time, but their paths never crossed and she was unconcerned. Perhaps nowadays they drew their business from firms closer to home.

However, none of this affected the surge of anger she felt as she considered the fact that Ralph had outbid her for the plot of land she wanted so badly.

Why? she asked herself now. He couldn't want it to build a house – not for himself, at any rate. His own house was more than adequate for his needs and he spent little enough time in it. Amy could only think his motive was spite … and a little bit of paramountcy. Yet spite was not a vice she would have attributed to Ralph and his importance hardly seemed to need proving. Ruthless as he might be, such petty failings somehow seemed beneath him.

A thud close at hand brought Amy's attention back to the hall where she still stood by the telephone. She spun round, thinking for a moment that the girls had disobeyed her and crept downstairs. Then she noticed that the door leading to the cupboard under the stairs was ajar. She waited, brow wrinkling, but silence prevailed. A mouse? They did run about the house from time to time and she had to set traps for them. But no mouse would have made such a loud thud, especially this early in the evening, with all the lights still blazing.

She went along the hall, threw open the door and saw a figure standing in the cupboard looking out at her.

‘Huw! What are you doing here?'

‘I wanted some string. I …'

‘Then why didn't you ask me for it?'

‘You were on the phone …' There was a strange, mulish set to his face, and his eyes were defiant. He's been standing there listening! she thought and her temper flared again.

‘How dare you creep about! If you knew I was on the phone, you should have waited!'

He stared back at her with the same defiant look, masking something else … puzzlement? Confusion? She didn't know, and wondered with a sudden shock how long he had been there and how much he had heard. Snatches of the conversation played themselves over in her mind and she thought: Oh Lord, did he hear what I said about him being Llew's son? Desperately she tried to recall her exact words, but they were elusive now. All she knew was that she had made mention of it to Eddie and Huw could have been within earshot.

During recent years she had wondered sometimes if she should tell Huw the truth about why she had taken him in, but had always decided against it. What good would the truth do him? Surely it would only unsettle him more. Better to let him keep his identity intact. But it niggled at her all the same, the fear that at some time he might find out and in a way not of her choosing. Now she was suddenly afraid that moment might have come and cold panic added to her anger.

‘I won't have it, Huw, do you hear? When I'm on the phone, it's private. I don't want big ears listening to everything I say. So remember that in future, please!'

The way he was staring at her was disconcerting. Where did he get that look from? Certainly not from Llew, despite those clear blue eyes which for her had been the first confirmation of the truth. She found herself thinking of the woman who had been his mother. Was it from her that look came? Though Amy could recall every word of the conversation they had had on that dreadful day, though she could still picture the weary figure dragging up the hill in front of her, the features had been quite lost. No matter how she tried, she could never summon them up. Yet now it seemed to her that it was the woman who stared at her accusingly through Huw's eyes … Llew's eyes …

‘Have you finished your homework?' she asked abruptly.

A nod. ‘Can I go out?'

She hesitated. It was dark outside now, and cold. But she wanted to be on her own, to think. She couldn't face the thought of him sitting there, watching her.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Oh, I don't know. Just out.'

Where did he ever go? she wondered. The same places as the other boys, she imagined – the river, the woods, the railway line, the batch. Hours and hours wasted doing nothing. But she could remember her own brothers being just the same, with the exception of Jack.

‘All right, then. But don't be late.'

He didn't answer, just knelt down to retie the lace of his boot, winding it tighter around his ankle and finishing with a double knot which would take ages to wriggle free at bedtime. But when he had gone, she felt a moment's sharp regret. She shouldn't have taken it out on him; it was not his fault that Ralph Porter and Eddie Roberts were such perfect pigs. When he came home she would make it up with a cup of cocoa and a plate of his favourite chocolate biscuits.

She went back into the sitting-room, eased her feet out of her shoes and into slippers and subsided onto one of the dining chairs.

It was the first day after her holiday, and she felt like a dishrag already. Was it ever worth going? Being away for a week meant things slipping through your fingers, work piling up, decisions not made. Dimly she remembered what Ralph Porter had said to her once about delegating, but she thought: No, this business is my life. It's not only a source of income, it's taken the place of my husband. And one day, perhaps, it will have to take the place of my children as well.

She stretched wearily, but though she was upset by what had happened, there was no feeling of defeat now. The last few years had taught her one thing at least, that she could touch the bottom and come up fighting. Whatever life chose to throw at her, she could weather it. Even in the midst of setbacks it was a comforting thought, and Amy smiled to herself.

Tonight she would sleep on it. Tomorrow she would decide what to do.

Huw went slowly down the hill, kicking any stone that lay on the path and imagining he was scoring a marvellous goal for Hillsbridge. It was his favourite dream, one that never failed to cheer him up, and after a few minutes he felt his spirits lifting.

He had no idea why Amy had flown at him so – it didn't seem to him that he had done anything very terrible by being in the cupboard under the stairs when she was on the telephone – but he was used to her by now, used to her volatile moments and the warm remorse that followed. And life wasn't really so bad. He had enjoyed the week's holiday at Minehead, even though the weather had not been good enough for Jack to take him up gliding as he sometimes did, and he was beginning to take for granted the advantages which had come his way with Amy's success – enough money in his pocket to stand buying gob-stoppers and sticky buns for his less-affluent pals, a brand-new bicycle and the car, which he could not wait to be allowed to drive. The only real thorn in his flesh was having to go to school. Huw looked back nostalgically to the balmy days in Wales when he had played traunt. Mam never seemed to mind too much, while Amy became really furious if she thought he had missed so much as an hour. He hated lessons; he thought they were a complete waste of time. But next year he would be fourteen and able to leave. What he was going to do concerned him not one jot. He'd be free – and that was all that mattered.

Further down the hill he saw two figures he recognised standing under a gas-lamp and sharing a crafty Woodbine – Stuart Seymour and Gordon Tamlyn. He had called at Gordon's house earlier and his mother had said he was out; now Huw was glad to see the lads.

‘'Lo, Stu. ' Lo, Gordon. How be on?'

Stuart coughed over the Woodbine and offered it to Huw.

‘Want a drag, Huw?' Huw accepted and passed it on to Gordon. ‘Anything doing tonight?'

‘Naw, It's getting too foggy to do anything much.'

Huw glanced up. The gas-lamp was making a splurge of light in the gathering mist. Another half-hour and the fog would come right down, closing in, clammy cold.

‘We could go down the hut,' Gordon suggested.

They looked at one another.

‘We could play five-stones or have a game of cards in there.'

There was no need to identify ‘the hut'further, for the other boys knew exactly where Gordon meant – a wooden structure in Ralph Porter's timber yard. It was a favourite place with them, though not one they used too often because of the risk of getting caught. But when they did use it, the danger added spice.

‘Well?' Gordon prompted.

‘Yeah.' Stuart hesitated, but Huw jumped in quickly. He had overheard Amy mention Ralph's name on the telephone; clearly he was one of the reasons for her being upset. Breaking into the hut and spending an illicit hour there seemed a fitting revenge.