by David Woods
Arriving at Home Farm early the next day she studied the farm buildings again and, within an hour, a car pulled up and Angela watched a man with sandy hair and of medium height get out. She thought he must be in his late twenties and keen on sport judging from his slim build, but stopped herself summing him up and said, “Hello. You must be Mr. Reynolds?”
“Mark Reynolds. Miss Osborne, I presume. How d’you do.”
His hand was small but firm and she liked his broad smile and blue eyes. They exchanged pleasantries as they walked into the old cowshed building. She looked him straight in the eye. “How much experience d’you have with farm buildings?”
“None at all,” he confessed, looking guilty.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I want to do.”
“Right.” He got out a large pad and wrote copious notes whilst Angela explained in detail the alterations required to turn the building into stables. He drew rough sketches and asked a lot of questions about the materials to be used and the dimensions of the individual stables. They went into the house, where Angela explained what alterations and repairs she thought were necessary. He promised to return to do a full survey and prepare a report before drawing up a schedule of works and specification. Angela suddenly felt hungry and, looking at her watch, was amazed to find they had been talking for three hours. She walked back to his car with him, they shook hands and he looked at her shyly. “Do call me Mark.”
“Okay. I’m Angela.” She was pleased with the outcome of the meeting, and could tell she was going to get on well with Mark Reynolds.
The new car was delivered on time and she enjoyed the new smell and feel of the vehicle. It gave her the independence she needed, and Peter was glad to get the Land Rover back.
Another site meeting was arranged. An old desk and chairs Angela had picked up at a second-hand shop were put in the old dairy so that Mark could lay out his preliminary sketches. The meeting went well. Angela was surprised at how well he had interpreted her ideas, and only a few minor alterations were necessary. They worked all morning until she felt hungry and looked at her watch. “We’ll have to finish now.”
“That’s a shame,” came the disappointed reply. “We haven’t discussed the house yet.”
“It’ll have to wait for another day.”
He hesitated and then said slowly. “Can I take you out for lunch?”
Angela smiled. “Yes. That’d be nice.”
They travelled in his car to a local pub, and sat opposite each other at a small table. The soup was served with bread rolls, and she noticed how slim and delicate his fingers were as they gripped the spoon elegantly. She began to compare them with Jim’s huge hands and had to shake her head to stop herself.
“You seem preoccupied, Angela.”
“I’m sorry. I do have a lot on my mind. The soup’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Excellent.”
They ate silently and Angela tried not to study him too closely in case he noticed her interest. When they had finished the meal she started asking questions. “D’you enjoy any particular sport?”
“No. I can’t stand sport. Do you?”
“I only go hunting and then not very often.”
“I haven’t much time for hobbies. It’s taken all my efforts to qualify.”
“So you’ve only just started to work?”
“Yes. Not long ago.”
“That’s interesting. How many projects have you been involved with on your own?”
He hesitated. “Yours is the first.”
They both laughed and then Angela said. “Why am I laughing? Your first job could be a disaster.”
His expression changed to a worried one. “I’ll make sure it’s a complete success,” he said with conviction.
“Don’t worry. You have my complete confidence.”
“Thank you.”
She thought a change of subject would be a good idea. “D’you live locally?”
“Just down the road from the office. In a rented flat.”
“On your own?” She shocked herself at the directness of the question. “Yes. The flat is very small.”
When they drove back to the farm, they spent a long time discussing the repairs to the house, and Angela often found herself standing very close to Mark as they walked around looking at the rotting window frames and damp walls.
She thought about him a lot over the next few days, and was delighted when he rang her early one morning.
“Hello, Angela. I’ve finished the plans.”
“Good. When can I see them?”
“Can I come this morning?”
“Yes. What time?”
“About 10.o’clock.”
She arrived on time to find him walking around the building. “Hello Mark. You’re early.”
“Yes. I wanted to look around before our meeting.”
They sat on the old wooden chairs in the dairy room looking at the plans, and Angela was surprised at the details he had included, but as she observed his blue eyes, she noticed how tired he looked. “You’ve put a lot of work into those plans, haven’t you?”
“I enjoy this kind of work - converting old buildings.”
“So you did the plans in your own time?”
“Yes, but I enjoyed it.”
They talked and went through the specification, line by line, and when they had finished he said. “D’you want Blakesbuild to quote?”
“No. It’s not their sort of job.” She had already decided not to involve her brother, who would try to take the job over and do it his way.
They lunched together again, and this time were more relaxed in each other’s company. They sat close together and talked in friendly terms, Angela very interested in his work and what he wanted to do in the future.
“I’d like to start by doing my job as well as possible, and see what comes along.”
“But wouldn’t you like to specialise?”
“Well, it would be nice to do conversions of old buildings.”
They talked about the merits of different local builders and decided which ones to ask for quotes. Just as they were about to leave the pub Mark said, “It’s been so nice having lunch with you. Would you be offended if I asked you out one evening?”
Angela tried to hide her delight. “Of course I wouldn’t be offended.”
“Good. How about tomorrow night?”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“I’d like you to have dinner with me.”
“That would be nice.”
That night Angela slept badly, thinking about spending an evening with Mark. Jim kept coming back into her mind, and as she visualised his body so big and well built, she remembered how he had made love to her in the wood and the wonderful feelings she had experienced. She tossed and turned, trying hard to put him out of her mind, telling herself all that had happened was in the past, and eventually went to sleep.
She woke up late. Daylight and activity cleared her mind and she looked forward to the evening. Mark called at Peter’s house, dressed smartly in a dark grey suit. Angela wore a simple blue dress and noticed Mark’s glances when they met. He drove her to a small country restaurant and guided her to a corner table with a reserved notice on it. She also noticed his nervousness and endeavoured to start a conversation. “It’s so nice to come out for a meal in the evening.”
“Yes. Much better than eating on your own.”
“D’you always eat alone?”
“Nearly always. I don’t know many people around here. I lived with my parents in the West Country before getting a job in Sussex. He became more relaxed as the evening progressed, and Angela found herself enjoying the new experience and his company. Having driven her home, he parked in the dark farmyard, walked around the car to open the door and she got out. Standing close to him she whispered, “Thanks for a lovely evening.”
He moved closer. “It was the best evening I’ve ever had.”
“How you exaggerate.”
“No.
It really was.”
Angela felt his arms around her and responded by clinging to his shoulders. They kissed briefly and he held her tight, and after kissing her again he reluctantly broke away. “I must see you to the door.” He kissed her forehead before turning to go, and she went in.
The next few days were packed with activity, Mark arriving with different builders. They lunched together regularly and talked about her new stables and plans for a horse breeding business, although he confessed he had very little interest in animals or farming.
The following week he invited her out for dinner again and Angela gladly accepted. That weekend Garry visited with Jane, who looked tired. Angela could tell something was wrong. “Jane, is there anything worrying you?”
“No, of course not. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”
Angela suspected it was not the truth and noticed the way she looked at Garry. He managed to get Angela on her own and gave her a glowing report on her shares.
“That’s good. By the way I’m doing some work at Home Farm.”
“What kind of work?”
She told him roughly what she had in mind and he seemed enthusiastic.
“Have you got a good surveyor?”
“Yes. A young chap who’s very keen.”
“Oh, good. Well, if you like we could quote for the job.”
“No, thank you. I’d prefer a local builder.”
He did not seem at all upset, but just asked questions about the surveyor.
On their next date, Mark took Angela to the same restaurant and, as they had both consumed too much wine, they were in high spirits when they climbed into the car to go home. He leaned over and kissed her neck and they cuddled and kissed intensely. It was cramped in the small car and he whispered: “Would you like to see my flat?”
She giggled. “Just for a few moments.”
They crept up the stairs to the small one bedroom flat, sparsely furnished, and with the main feature of the living room being a large drawing board. He shut the door and saw her looking around. “Not much, I’m afraid. But it’s home.”
“I think it’s very nice. Angela’s thoughts suddenly turned to Jim and their lovemaking. Without hesitating she said, “I must go home now.”
Mark looked disappointed. “Yes, of course.”
They kissed briefly before she walked quickly indoors without looking back.
Mark drove home depressed, wondering what he had done wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
Cordon Simpson sauntered into Garry’s office with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Carry looked up from his desk.
“How did you get on?”
“I’ve planted the poison.”
“How did she take it?”
“Badly. Very upset, she was.”
“But d’you think she believed you?”
“No doubt about it.”
“Good. I’ll see her myself at the weekend.”
“What for? To rub salt into the wound? You must hate her guts.”
“It’s none of your business. But if you must know, I’m doing it for her own good.”
“You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
“Now, what about Grainger? Have you found him yet?”
“Give me a chance, guv. I haven’t started looking yet.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get on with it.”
“I need a few more details.”
“Like what?” Garry related all he knew, and Simpson left with a bad feeling about the job he had been asked to do. It took a week of searching and talking to police contacts before he found out where Jim was living, but after that it became easy. He watched the van leave early in the morning and followed inconspicuously. When it turned into a building site, he parked and walked on to the large site with a clipboard tucked under his arm, so as to look official, and no one challenged him. He followed the rough-looking gang to a nearby flattened building, and watched as the remaining structure was reduced to rubble. As he stood beside a pile of old timber awaiting removal, he was spotted, and a man walked towards him, but he looked studiously at his clipboard, glancing up and realising he would have to bluff it out.
“What d’you want, mate?” Billy Bradford asked.
“Just waiting for you to finish, and then I was going to ask who owns the rubble.”
“Why. Want to buy it?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“You’re out of luck mate, ’cause it belongs to the main contractor.”
“Does he want it?”
“Yeah. For road filling.”
“Never mind. I’ll find some elsewhere.”
“We may have some shortly.”
“Oh, yes. Who’s we?”
“Grainger Construction. We’ll be demolishing a house on Poplar Drive next.”
“Where’s that?”
“On the other side of town.”
“Right. Thanks for your help.”
Simpson turned and walked away, chuckling to himself as he drove home to his grubby flat. Just as he started typing his report, his telephone rang and it was Garry, sounding bad-tempered.
“Simpson, when are you going to get off your backside and find Grainger?”
Simpson paused to stop himself laughing, which made Garry’s temper worse.
“Well, what have you done about finding him?”
“I found him to-day.”
“Where?”
“It’ll be in my report.”
“Why should I wait for your ridiculous report? Tell me now.”
“No. You’re just going to have to wait.”
“Don’t be bloody stupid. I want to know right now.”
“I’ll bring the report to your office at Blakesbuild in the morning, and you can give me my cheque.”
Garry groaned. “If you must play stupid games.”
Simpson arrived at nine as arranged and was ushered into the large office. “Well, where did you find him?” barked Garry, looking grim.
“It’s all in my report.”
“Give it to me, then.”
“When you’ve handed over my cheque.”
“Oh, very well.” Cheque and report were handed over simultaneously, and Simpson took several steps back and waited. Garry ripped open the envelope and stared at the contents, and in less than a minute his eyes widened, his face went red and he stuttered, “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Simpson kept a straight face. “Nope. You’ve been employing him for some time.”
“I don’t believe it,” he bellowed.
“Please yourself, guv. But I’d check with your accounts department before making any rash statements.”
“This is bloody intolerable. I can’t believe we would employ that evil bastard.”
Simpson grinned as Garry blew his top, and walked out making a dash for his bank before the cheque was stopped. Garry stormed into the accounts department and stood before the head of department’s desk, the small bald man looking nervously up at him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Osborne?”
Garry struggled to keep his voice steady. “Have we been paying a man called Grainger?”
“Which job would he be working on, Sir?”
“The school contract.”
He looked at a file of papers. “Yes, we’ve paid him a fair amount of money. It seems he produced a gang of men and helped us complete on time.”
“I see. And who agreed to this?”
“Our site manager.”
“Right. See that no more money is paid to this man.”
The man nodded and returned to his work, as Garry walked briskly back to his office, seething with rage. He rang the head of contracts, a middle-aged qualified surveyor. “Gill. Come to my office at once.”
Claude Gill almost ran down the corridor. “What’s the problem, Mr. Osborne?”
“Did you know we had a criminal working for us?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Well, who agreed to take on a man calle
d Grainger and his gang?”
“The site manager recommended him. And I was pleased to agree.”
“Why didn’t you ask about his previous jobs?”
“The site manager said the man could provide additional men, who were badly needed. And he did us a favour by helping to complete on time.”
“The site manager must have known about his record?”
“He may have. I don’t know.”
Garry cupped his chin in his hands, got up and strode around the office, leaving Claude standing nervously biting his fingernails. Garry broke the silence “I want you to go to that site immediately. Have Grainger and his men thrown off, and then sack the site manager.”
“But he’s the best manager we’ve got.”
“Managers who take on criminals are no good to this company.”
“How could he have known about the man’s record?”
“He should have found out.” Garry lowered his tone and pointed at the nervous man. “If you don’t want to carry out my orders, you can go as well!”
Gill was shocked into silence and swallowed hard. “I’ll go to the site straightaway.”
Garry sneered. “Huh. I thought you would.”
“Who d’you want to take over as site manager?”
Garry stared straight at him again, enjoying his feeling of power. “You phone me when Grainger and the manager have gone, and then do the job yourself.”
Claude was about to argue but stopped himself. “Yes, Sir.” His face had lost its colour and he edged closer to the door.
Garry glared at him and barked, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Gill grabbed the door handle and fled. His journey to the site was slow, due to heavy traffic, so it gave him plenty of time to consider his task. He had known Fred Burrows for years and always looked forward to meeting him and listening to his cheerful banter. As he pulled up outside the site and sat in his car debating as to the best approach, he nearly decided to give in his own notice, but thought about his wife worrying about their future. He got out and walked towards the site office, where a big man was just leaving, clutching an envelope.
Fred welcomed him in his usual friendly way, beckoning him to a chair, but his expression changed as he studied Claude’s face. “What’s the matter, Claude? Lost a pound and found a penny?”
