The Emerald Valley (70 page)

‘No, but …'

‘Well, you should. You've gone for the typical woman's explanation – the emotional one – without getting down to the basic practicalities. This new firm is probably undercutting you – maybe even running some journeys at an unprofitable level in order to get the business away from you. Then when they've bankrupted you and have the field to themselves, they can charge whatever they damned well please. What you have to do is beat them at their own game. Get on the telephone and ring everyone you can think of …'

‘I've tried that. I couldn't even get past the desk clerks …'

‘Another disadvantage of being a woman – they don't take you seriously. Well, you must try again. Persistence and sweet talk is what you need. And something special to offer … You must tell them you're cutting your profit margins to the bone in order to give them the best possible deal …'

Listening to him, Amy thought of the unpaid bills, the books that refused to balance, the overdue payment on the bank loan.

‘But I couldn't afford to cut profit margins …' she protested.

‘You must! It's the only way. Listen, Amy, you have to get that business back whatever the cost. If you lose it now, you may lose it for ever.'

‘I know.' It was a vicious circle, closing in around her. Ralph was right, she was sure; it was on such bold decisions that he had built up his own successful enterprises. But suppose it didn't work? She would be the one left with the pieces to pick up – though probably they wouldn't fit together any more. ‘I don't think I can do it,' she said despairingly. ‘No, don't look at me like that – I just can't! It's all very well for you. People take notice of
you
, you're a man and you're respected. But me …'

She broke off, shaking her head and he leaned forward.

‘Don't talk like that, Amy, it doesn't suit you. You're a fighter …'

Sudden tears welled in her eyes and she felt very, very tired. A fighter? Perhaps. Sometimes it seemed that she had been fighting all her life. But that wasn't true, of course. Except for the battle for her life when she was a child, she had had things easy until Llew had died. There had always been someone to look after her, to cosset her. But in the last few years all that had changed. So many problems she had faced – and all the time alone. There had been no one to back her over the fostering of Huw, no one to turn to on decisions concerning the business, the children, the running of the house. She had coped with it all, but somehow she didn't feel ‘fighter'was the right way to describe herself – ‘plodder'maybe would be more to the point.

I'm a plodder, she thought, wallowing in a rare bout of self-pity. I do my best to take the obstacles as they come, but that's not enough. Now I have to face up to doing new costings, new estimates, wheedling, cajoling, trying to sound confident although my chin is on the floor, hoping and praying it will work out, worrying about the consequences if it doesn't and knowing that if this set of problems is resolved there will be a fresh lot around the next corner, and the next …

She felt heavy suddenly – eyes, cheek muscles, arms, legs – as if the responsibility was a physical weight pulling her down. The office was claustrophobic, just a part of the trap that held her, and she twisted restlessly.

‘Well, Amy?' Ralph asked.

She dropped her head into her hands and her fingers made thick, dark patterns across her blurring eyes.

‘I don't know if I can go on with it. I've had enough.'

She felt his eyes on her as he reached into his pocket for another cigar. Then he said lightly, ‘If you feel like that, you could always marry me.'

For a brief, glorious second she thought he meant it and her heart leaped so that it made her feel sick. Then cold common sense knocked her sharply back to earth. How typical of him to make fun of her!

‘Well!' she laughed shortly. ‘I don't think I'm quite that desperate.'

He lit his cigar and the fragrant smoke curled around her again.

‘Good! There's fight in you yet.'

‘There certainly is. I might be down, but I'm not out. You're right, I can't let this stupid tin-pot firm get the better of me.'

‘That's the spirit. Don't underestimate them, though.' He swung off the desk. ‘I'll be going then. But remember – if things get rough you know where I am. OK?'

When he had gone she sat for a while still breathing in the smoke of his cigar and thinking. Marry him indeed! What a thing to joke about! But oh, if only it had not been a joke … how good it would be not to have to worry any more. To be able to leave the decisions and negotiations to someone as strong and capable as he was. To forget the business and be just a wife again …
his
wife … It was a dream, of course. But what a lovely dream …

Amy shook herself back to the present, deciding she would make an early start in the morning. And she would do as Ralph had suggested. First she would work on her costings; cut them to the bone. Then she would get in touch with everyone she could think of and make them offers they couldn't refuse. Christmas was coming – perhaps she should invest in some bottles of Scotch and ply them around amongst likely customers. It was bribery, of course, but she would call it goodwill.

Next morning, fired with new determination, Amy set out half an hour earlier than usual. And it was while she was parking her car in the yard that she heard a lorry coming along the lane from the direction of Ralph Porter's timber yard. She looked up with a mixture of curiosity and professional interest. It was a smart lorry, bigger than hers and new-looking – laden with timber. She got out of the car to watch it pass, then caught her breath at the sight of the legend inscribed on the cab:

D. FRICKER, STACK NORTON.

The new firm – the one which had been stealing her business –
and
coming from Ralph's timber yard fully laden! Frowning, she watched it rumble away up the lane, but before it was out of sight there was another on its tail, identically new and also laden with timber! Almost unable to believe her eyes, Amy watched as the second lorry followed the first past the mill and up the hill, disappearing out of sight behind the winter-brown hedges. Then she slammed shut the door of her car and half-ran across the yard to the store.

‘Herbie! Are you there, Herbie?'

‘Oh, good morning, missus.' Herbie was coiling ropes. ‘You'm in early this morning.'

She ignored the comment. ‘Herbie – do you know what I've just seen? Two lorries belonging to that new firm from Stack Norton! And it looked as if they were coming from Ralph Porter's yard!'

She had expected him to be as staggered as she was. Instead, he said in his slow way, ‘Oh, ah. Very likely.'

‘What do you mean – very likely?' she demanded.

‘They've been doing that pretty reg'lar these last few weeks. This is about their time.'

‘You mean to tell me you knew?'

‘Well, yes, missus, to tell the truth I have seen'em.'

‘You didn't tell me.'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘There didn't seem no point upsetting of'ee …'

‘No point!' She was almost speechless. ‘But you know that
we
do work for Mr Porter!'

‘Ah. It do seem a bit off,' Herbie agreed. ‘I s'pose it's all on account of Mr Porter being in with the girl.'

‘What are you talking about, Herbie?'

‘The Fricker girl. Daughter of the owner. You remember I told you he had a lady-friend? Well, that's who it is.'

‘Oh!' Her head was spinning. The young woman she had seen in his car – the one in the emerald green toque – could she be the daughter of the owner of the rival firm?

‘But I didn't think it was anyone local,' she blurted. ‘She looked so … sophisticated!'

Herbie expressed no surprise that Amy had seen the girl. ‘She's been away, from what I hear. There's money there – they sent her off to Switzerland or somewhere. Not that I'd call Stack Norton local, anyway. You wouldn't know folk from over there.
I
wouldn't …'

‘Well, no, but …'

‘I'm not surprised at Mr Porter picking up with her though,' Herbie went on. ‘Just his sort, after all that education. And not only that – he's always been as sharp as needles when it came to the business side.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Can't be bad, can it? Inside contact like that with a transport firm. And she's the only child. It'll all be hers one day – and his, I s'pose, if he does go and marry her.'

Amy said nothing; she couldn't. Too many thoughts were rushing at her. Ralph – romancing her when first she took over Llew's business – trying to get in with
her
maybe, with an eye on Roberts Haulage? And then later, when he had first put up the suggestion that she should tender for his long-haul jobs: ‘I don't want to buy any more lorries myself at the moment for various reasons,' he had said. Could it be by that time he had seen the chance of getting into haulage himself, through the girl he had met?

‘I'll tell 'ee summat else, now we'm on the subject,' Herbie continued. ‘'Twouldn't surprise me if Ralph Porter weren't behind Frickers pinching our business. They picked up very sudden, didn't they? I don't know, of course. But it makes you wonder, don't it?'

‘Yes,' Amy said. ‘It makes you wonder.'

She was still stunned, her mind whirling, but anger was beginning to prickle in her, an unquestionable feeling that she had been played with … made a fool of.

‘If you want me, I shall be in my office, Herbie,' she said.

The first hour was too busy to allow Amy time to think very deeply, though the puzzlement and anger continued prickling at the back of her mind. Then the telephone rang.

‘Hello. Roberts Haulage.'

‘Mrs Roberts? This is Don Fricker. I thought it was time you and I had a chat. Are you available sometime today?'

‘Mr Fricker.' She hesitated, giving herself time to think. Refuse – you have nothing to talk to him about. But curiosity was too strong. And besides – perhaps it was time to get cards on the table? ‘Yes. I'm available. What time do you suggest?'

‘No time like the present, I always say.' His tone was forceful, not slow-drawn in spite of the Somerset accent. ‘I can be with you in half an hour.'

Stall. Just a little. Don't let him think you've got nothing better to do than sit here and wait for him.

‘Make it an hour. I'm rather busy just now.'

‘Really? All right – in an hour.'

She replaced the receiver and sat biting her lip. Why had he said, ‘Really?' like that, as if he had not expected her to be busy? And why was he coming? Was it coincidence, or something more?

Well, in an hour I shall know, thought Amy.

With difficulty she concentrated on some more booking and then, five minutes before he was due, she heard a car come into the yard. She straightened her desk, patted her hair into place and ran a lipstick over her mouth; funny how these small feminine habits could bolster confidence. How did a man achieve the same end – with a cigar, perhaps? Or did a man not need his confidence bolstered? There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,' she called.

Don Fricker was a big man, heavy-jowled, with an expression of false bonhomie that Amy felt instinctively might conceal a bullying nature. Try as she might, she could detect no resemblance to the girl she had seen in Ralph's car. She held out her hand and he took it, pumping vigorously.

‘Pleased to meet you at last, Mrs Roberts.'

‘Do sit down, Mr Fricker. To what do we owe this visit?'

He sat, unbuttoning his jacket and leaning forward.

‘A woman after my own heart. You don't waste words! All right – I'll come straight to the point. Like I said on the phone, I thought it was time you and I got together for a chat.'

‘What about?'

‘Business, what else?' He chuckled at his own joke. ‘We're in the same line, aren't we? You have heard of me, I expect?'

‘Heard, yes.' Play it cool; give nothing away.

‘I expect you have.' He chuckled again. ‘As a matter of fact, I think I've taken some of your trade.'

She said nothing, staring at him stonily.

‘That's true, isn't it?' he persisted.

‘I really couldn't say.'

‘Come now, Mrs Roberts. You know it and I know it. No point beating about the bush. You've done well for a woman, but I reckon that now you've got real competition, you're struggling.'

‘Mr Fricker, I don't know that I care to discuss my business with you. Please say what you've come to say.'

‘Now, there's no call to get on your high horse. I have a proposition to put to you.'

Her mind worked overtime. Was he going to suggest some sharing arrangement? ‘What kind of proposition?'

‘I want to buy you out.'

The directness of it made her catch her breath.

‘Look, Mrs Roberts, I warned you I'm a straight man, and I'm putting it to you straight. I'll take your yard, your lorries and your assets. Staff I can't guarantee; I like to choose my own. But I think you'll find my offer reasonable. I've been doing some sums and …'

‘Just a moment, Mr Fricker. What makes you think I'm interested in being taken over?'

‘The state of your business,' he said calmly.

‘And what do you know about the state of my business?'

A slightly shifty look distorted the bluff features.

‘Stands to reason. You've expanded and now you're having to pull your horns in. You're in trouble, Mrs Roberts, and I'm offering you a way out. I'm prepared to take you over, lock, stock and barrel. Now …'

Take her over, lock, stock and barrel! Take over Roberts Haulage – absorb it into Frickers – her business … Llew's … and after all the effort she had put into it! It was unthinkable! She could hear his voice going on, quoting figures and consolidating his offer, but the words had become a blur and the anger was beginning again.