One Rainy Day

Title Page

Copyright Page

About the Author

Also by Joan Jonker

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.

Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:

‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York

‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon

‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall

‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire

‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool

I am dedicating this book to my late mother and father, who were affectionately known as Marsie and Pop by the four children they raised with love, laughter and happiness.

My sisters, Edna and Elsie, my brother, Joseph, and I had a wonderful childhood and, thanks to the guidance of Marsie and Pop, we’ve gone on to have a wonderful life.

Hello friends

I hope all is well with you and yours.

I can’t wait to tell you what a treat there is in store for you with
One Rainy Day
. I have never enjoyed writing a book so much or been so sorry when I had to draw it to a close for I love the story and the wonderful characters, I just didn’t want to say goodbye. I know self-praise is no recommendation, but you should know by now I am not big-headed. I love this book and I know you will too.

Take care.

Love

Joan

PS – Just a little piece of useless information: I do not have a big garden, just a courtyard, and I have a gardener who keeps asking why I haven’t mentioned him in my books yet. He’s getting quite tetchy about it, so to keep him happy his name is Brian and he is a good gardener. That should stop him from pulling out my plants or cutting down my trees!

It was a pleasant morning when the young man parked his car in the reserved bay at Exchange Station. There was a nip in the air, though, as the wind blew in from across the Mersey, and after locking the car door he slipped the keys into his pocket and set off at a brisk rate towards Castle Street.

Many a female head turned in his direction, for he cut a fine figure: six foot two in height, well built, with jet-black hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes and an attractive dimple in his chin. He oozed confidence, in his well-cut overcoat, soft kid gloves and handmade shoes of the finest leather. If he had known the thoughts running through the heads of people passing by, he would have been surprised, for since he had been born into one of the wealthiest families in Liverpool confidence came naturally to Andrew Wilkie-Brook, as did wearing clothes made by bespoke tailors, and shoes made by craftsmen.

However, Andrew’s mind was on none of these things as he reached the building that housed his father’s import and export business, for today was his twenty-fifth birthday and there was much to look forward to. His mother had planned a lavish dinner party for twenty friends from their social circle, and knowing how fussy his mother was about detail he was sure the party would be a huge success. But there was an engagement he was looking forward to far more
than the party, and that was lunch with his father at the club. It was a business lunch, his father had said, that just happened to fall on his birthday. And Andrew was chuckling as he took the stone steps two at a time. He loved his father dearly, and respected him, for when he’d asked if he could leave university when he was twenty-one to join the family business his father had brushed aside his wife’s wailing over what their friends would say about their son’s taking up a lowly position in an office. He had agreed to Andrew’s joining the firm, as long as he was willing to accept the terms. That meant starting on the lowest rung of the ladder, so he could learn every aspect of the business from top to bottom. This had brought more tears and protests from his mother, but once again George Wilkie-Brook ignored her pleas. Instead he’d slapped his son on the back and wished him well. And because of his admiration and love for his father, Andrew had spent the last four years learning as much as he could about the business which had been in the family for almost eighty years. And as he learned, his father rewarded him, each year, by promoting him to a higher position. To his mother’s dismay, he had cut down drastically on his social life for he was determined to fulfil the promises he’d made to his father. And now because of his diligence, Andrew had taken over the offices on the first floor of the building, and was responsible for the running of an important section of the business. With the help of his own private secretary, a typist and a clerk, his department ran like clockwork, and he had reason to be proud of his success.

So he was in high spirits when he climbed the stairs and knocked on his secretary’s door. ‘Good morning, Mrs Stamford. I hope you are well this fine day?’

Wendy Stamford looked up from the pile of correspondence
in front of her and smiled. ‘Good morning, Mr Andrew. And may I wish you a very happy birthday.’

‘Thank you. I’m meeting my father at the club for lunch, so I’ll have to look sharp.’

‘I’ve been through the post, Mr Andrew, and I’ve sorted the letters in order of priority, so we should finish in plenty of time. I’ll bring it in to you, then while you’re looking through I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Stamford, and reminds me why you are such a very good secretary.’

‘Flattery will get you an arrowroot biscuit to have with your tea.’ Wendy was very fond of her boss, for he was easy to get along with, very friendly, and not at all snobby. And he had a sense of humour. ‘In fact, seeing as it’s your birthday, I’ll make that two biscuits.’

‘I know this sounds forward of me, Mrs Stamford, but seeing as it is my birthday, could the biscuits and tea be stretched to include Miss Kennedy and Miss Williams? I would feel mean leaving them out. They have worked well for me over the past few years, and I’d like to show my appreciation.’ Andrew hung his coat on the coat stand in his office, then turned a bashful face to his secretary. ‘Tea and biscuits don’t sound very appreciative, do they? It makes me sound like Scrooge.’ He took a wallet from his inside pocket and removed a white five-pound note. ‘Would Miss Kennedy go on an errand, d’you think? I’m having lunch with Father, who has a palate for good food and wine. And I wouldn’t enjoy my meal, knowing my faithful staff were having a measly biscuit.’ He handed her the five-pound note. ‘Ask Miss Kennedy if she would go to Cooper’s and order a selection of sandwiches and cakes to be delivered here at one o’clock. I would expect no change, so there should be sufficient to include the staff
downstairs. If you turn two desks into a table, you could enjoy a nice, friendly lunch.’ He looked quite boyish when he grinned. ‘And my conscience will be clear.’

‘You really don’t need to do that, Mr Andrew, but I’m not going to talk you out of it, because I know the staff would be delighted to celebrate your birthday.’ Wendy carried the post into his office and placed it, neatly stacked, on top of his desk in front of his brown leather swivel chair. ‘I’ll see Miss Kennedy and Miss Williams, and tell them that as soon as one of them has ten minutes to spare, she’s to go to Cooper’s with the order. Then I’ll make our tea and we can get down to business.’

Before Andrew had joined the family firm, Wendy had been working as private secretary to George Wilkie-Brook for twelve years. Then, because of her knowledge and experience, Mr George had asked if she would do him a great favour and allow him to transfer her to his son’s new offices, so she could help Andrew find his feet. And she had never regretted agreeing. She knew the job inside out, and was proud at how quickly Andrew had taken in everything she’d been able to teach him. She was forty years of age now, but didn’t look it, with a trim figure, mousy-coloured curly hair, a good dress sense and a face that liked to smile. It was twenty years since she’d married her boyfriend, Stan, and they were as much in love now as they had been on their wedding day. The only disappointment in their lives was that they hadn’t been blessed with children. They were both eager for a baby, but as the years passed they had gradually given up hope. As Wendy said, it was God’s will, and there was little they could do about it. She certainly wasn’t going to become twisted and bitter. They had each other, so they were lucky.

Andrew raised his eyes from the letter he was reading when his secretary came through the door carrying a tray
with two cups of tea on, a huge smile on her face. ‘Mr Andrew, your generosity has been very well received by Miss Williams and Miss Kennedy. I could say they were delighted, but that would be an understatement. I think a better word to describe the expression on their faces is delirious.’ Wendy placed a cup and saucer beside him, a safe distance from the correspondence in case of an accident. ‘I don’t think they would like me to repeat this, so don’t let the cat out of the bag for they would be embarrassed. Miss Williams said you are now next to Cary Grant on her list of favourite men, and Miss Kennedy has you second to Randolph Scott.’