He immediately looked discomfited. 'Well, I…'He ran a finger under his collar, his face unhappy. Then he seemed to make up his mind and leaned forward across the desk conspiratorially, his voice dropping. 'It was the owner. He came in after you'd gone and happened to see the form you filled in—it was still lying here on my desk. Then he just tore the form up and said that he would be needing all the rotovators and saws for his own use for an indefinite period. I don't know why he did it, he's never done anything like-it before. And it puts me in an awkward position. I.'
'The owner?' Kirsty interrupted him brusquely. 'Who is he?'
The man hesitated, then shrugged. 'I suppose you could find but easily enough. It's the Squire, Gyles Grantham.'
A frown between her brows, Kirsty looked at him in -puzzlement. 'But why should he do this to us? Did he say why?'
Morris snorted. 'Not him, he's a close-mouthed bas… man. He never lets you get friendly with him, or takes you into his confidence. Too much the Lord of the Manor for that.'
'You sound as if you don't like him?' Penny put in drily.
Shrugging, he said, 'I have to work for him, I can't afford to dislike him. But I'm sorry for your sakes. I'd have liked to help you girls, I really would, but there you are,’ he spread his hands helplessly.
'Maybe you still can,' Kirsty told him. 'There must be other hire firms in the area. Can you give us their telephone numbers?'
'Well, I can, of course, but it wouldn't do you any good because- the whole chain belongs to the Squire. He's bound to have anticipated- that you'd try somewhere else and have given the order to all the centres. I'm just a cog in a big wheel, you see.'
Kirsty saw all right. She saw that for some unknown " reason this Gyles Grantham had decided he didn't want them in Notley, and he had taken steps to start driving them out before they'd even moved in properly. But why? The only reason she could possibly think of was because she had outbid his agent for the cottage. But surely he couldn't be so cruel, so selfish as to… Her thoughts froze suddenly. Turning to Alan Morris, she said, "The Squire—what does he look like?'
He pursed his lips. 'Well, he's tall, about six feet two, I should think. Dark hair, aristocratic-looking sort of face.'
'Does her drive a Range-Rover?'
‘Why, yes, he does. Why do you ask? Do you know him?' he asked curiously.
'No, it doesn't matter. Thanks anyway. We know it isn't your fault. Come on, Penny.'
They walked out into the dying rays of the winter sunshine, but Kirsty stared at the view unseeingly. Her mind was filled with the memory of the man- who had watched them on the day they moved in, his face full of anger. And somehow she was quite sure that he and Gyles Grantham, the Lord of the Manor, were one and the same. She became aware that Penny was clutching her arm and talking to her, her face scared and miserable.
'Oh, Kirsty, what on earth are we going to do? Will we—will we have to go back to London ?'
The look on Penny's face, when she had just begun slowly to come back to life, angered Kirsty uncontrollably. She put her hand over her sister's and said with impassioned resolve, 'No, we're not! We're staying here and we're going to make a success of it. We're going to get that garden prepared and ready for planting if I have to dig every foot of it myself!' , Penny stared at her in horror. 'But it's three acres!'
'It doesn't matter,’ I'm still going to do it, and I don't care what this man Gyles Grantham tries to do to us, nothing and no one is going to drive us out of Briar Cottage!'
CHAPTER TWO
The next morning found them dressed in their oldest jeans and sweaters and brand new Wellington boots. Penny's bright red, Kirsty's yellow. They were standing on the moss-covered patio at the back of the house and looking at the garden in some dismay. Bravely, Kirsty tried to hide her feelings by being extremely practical.
'I suppose the first thing we ought to do is to go over the whole ground and. see if there are any plants we want to salvage, then dig over a part near the house which we can use as a kitchen garden to grow vegetables and things for our own use. Any plants we think we can use we can then transplant to that part.'
As they started walking over the ground, Kirsty began to realise the full extent of what they had taken on. The hedges were all overgrown and those that bordered the lane running alongside the cottage were almost lost beneath thick branches of entwining bramble that seemed to reach out and pluck at their clothes as they passed. There was a heavy, five-barred gate almost halfway along the 'thedge at the back of the garden, and when they looked over it they saw that the far side of the hedge had been cut expertly back. The Squire making sure .that the hedge didn't encroach on to the field where the herd of Jersey cows grazed, Kirsty thought wryly. She knew next to nothing about farm animals, but even she could see that these were in beautiful condition as they moved, fat and contented, across the field, their bovine eyes turning to regard the girls impassively. They completed their exploration of the garden and were rewarded with gooseberry and blackcurrant bushes, a jungle of raspberry canes and a large area almost covered with strawberry plants.
'Good heavens, we'll never be able to use all that lot!' Penny exclaimed. 'What a shame to throw them away.’
Kirsty turned to her, her eyes sparkling. 'Why throw them away when we can sell them?'
'Sell them?'
'Why not? We'll dig up those plants we don't need for ourselves and put them out by the, front gate with a notice saying they're for sale. We can certainly do with the money.'
Penny grinned. 'All right. I'll find something to put them in.'
Soon they had dug up about a hundred plants, their roofs carefully packed round with earth, and had put them in a big box just outside the front gate. Penny had written a large notice: 'STRAWBERRY PLANTS. 10p EACH. A POUND A DOZEN’ and fastened it on the hedge. They also put out a stick and an old tin tray they had found in the kitchen for the" customers to bang to attract their attention while they continued working in the back garden.
They had several customers during the course of the morning and took it in turns to server Kirsty had an idea that most of the people buying the strawberries were doing so out of curiosity to see what the new owners of Briar Cottage were like rather than because they needed the plants, but she didn't mind, she wanted to get to know their neighbours and this was as good a way as any. They could hear the tray being banged again now and Penny stuck her fork into the ground.
'My turn. Hey, we're really doing a great trade! she said excitedly, and ran off round the side of the house. But within five minutes she was back, the smile wiped from her face. 'Kirsty, you'd better come, she said tremblingly. 'There's a man. He—he says we have no right to sell the strawberries. He says if we don't take them in at once belt call the police and have us prosecuted!’
‘What? But he can't! She looked at Penny's white face and said angrily, 'Don't worry, I'll deal with him, She slammed her fork into the ground and stalked round to the front of the cottage, jaw firmly set, eyes sparkling with annoyance.
A man was standing with his back to her at the open gate. He was wearing a shooting jacket over tan corduroy trousers and he had a beautiful red setter at his heels. The dog stood up as Kirsty approached and the man turned to face her. For a moment she faltered. She supposed she-ought to have known. Who else but the high and mighty Squire Grantham would be so hateful as to threaten them with prosecution? Kirsty continued towards him, more slowly now. The manager of the garden centre had been right, he was autocratic-looking now she saw him close to. In his early thirties, she judged, he had a square, masterful face with a strong chin, dark, hard eyes that ran over her appraisingly, and a thin mouth that twisted with contempt at what he saw.
'So they sent you, did they?' he said scathingly as she came up to him. 'Too afraid to come and face me themselves. Or did they suppose that I would be diverted by a pretty face?' he added with a derisive sneer.
'They?' Kirsty looked at him in bewilderment. She opened her mouth to go on,
but he interrupted her brusquely.
'Well, they much mistook their man. And if you think I'm going to stand and watch you and your friends turn this place into a hippy commune, then you're wrong, dead wrong!'
'A hippy commune!' Kirsty stared at him in consternation, wondering where on earth he could have got that idea, but then she remembered that the hospital crowd had been with them when he saw them before and how it must have looked to him. She relaxed a little and tried to explain, but he swept on inexorably.
'You may have thought this the ideal place to practise your ideas of self-sufficiency’ but let me tell you, young woman, we don't want any parasitic drop-outs in Notley. If I hadn't been away at the time of the auction and had to rely on an agent who was afraid to go over the verbal limit I'd given him, you'd never have had the chance. I would have made darn sure that your type never even got a foothold here.'
'Oh, and just what is my type?' Kirsty's face was pale, but she held herself in check.
'Do you really want me to define it for you?' asked Gyles Grantham sarcastically. 'Yours is the type that's incapable of holding down a job, who are too lazy and uncaring to make themselves a, place in. decent society and who think the whole world's against them. So they find a place like this and think that digging the soil and putting in a few seeds gives them the right to lead an immoral, unprincipled life. And practise a free-love philosophy, I don't doubt he added, his mouth curving into a contemptuous curl. 'But the worst part of it is that you contaminate the community around you, preach your perverted gospel to the village youngsters, so that they in turn become corrupted. But you're not going to get away; with it in Notley! Whatever it takes, I'm going to make damn sure of that,' he finished vehemently.
Kirsty glared at him furiously, two bright-spots of colour high on her cheekbones. The hold on her temper had long gone and with it any thought of telling this arrogant man how wrong he was. She wanted only to stab and wound him as he had her.
'Well, now you've so gallantly told me what you think of me, it's my turn to tell you a few home truths, ' Mr Dictator Grantham. Oh, yes, I know who you are,' she added at his flicker of surprise. 'Your tyrannical reputation has gone before you; We've only been here a few days and yet several people have already told us what a despot you are. Well, you may think you're God Almighty in this neck of the woods, Squire Grantham, but we're not some of your miserable tenants and employees, and if you think you can come here and harass us, then you're very much mistaken! You may have ordered your minions not to serve us, but we're going to make a go of this place whether you like it or not. So why don't you take yourself off and go and play at being a little tin god with someone who'll pander to your Hitler-sized ego by crawling and being servile to you ? Just the way you like them,' she added nastily.
For a moment he stared at her, eyes blazing. 'Why, you insolent little minx! I ought to put you over my knee and give you the spanking you deserve,' he said savagely. 'Somebody should have taken you in hand years ago, then maybe you might not have turned out to be just a plaything for a bunch of unwashed hippies!'
Anyway, at least they're young,' Kirsty retorted recklessly. 'They're not perverted middle-aged men who get their kicks out of being sadistic to those less fortunate!'
At that he took an angry step towards her and Kirsty hastily backed away. 'You keep away from me I If you touch me I'll call the police.'
Gyles Grantham glared down at her balefully, looking very much as if he'd have liked to shake her, but then his expression changed. 'Go ahead, call the police,' he said scathingly. 'And while they're here, you can explain why you're selling goods without a retail licence.'
Kirsty gazed at him blankly, wondering what on earth he was talking about, and it was only when he gestured impatiently to the strawberry plants that she remembered why she had come out here in the first place. 'A retail licence? Just to sell a few strawberry plants? You must be crazy!'
'In your eyes, possibly. But I happen to be a justice of the peace, and I'm telling you that you need a licence.'
Disbelievingly she said, 'Are you trying to say that everyone who puts a few flowers or vegetables by their front gate has a licence?'
'No, I'm not. I suppose hardly any of them have. It's a law on which the authorities usually turn a blind eye.'
'But you, of course, being the amateur dictator that you are, intend to bring it into force against us,' Kirsty said disgustedly.
His eyes narrowed at her description, but he said merely, 'Yes, I do. If that sign isn't taken down at once I shall have the police round here. So now how do you like to be threatened?'
Baffled rage filled her. She was darned if she was going to give in to him, but she dare not take the chance of getting mixed up with the police, not after Penny had so recently got into trouble. Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, for a glint of triumphant malice came into Gyles Grantham's eyes. Perhaps it was this that made her brain start working overtime, because she suddenly had an idea. Fishing the fibre-tip pen they had used from her pocket, she took down the sign and began to write on the back of it in large capitals, her fair hair falling forward, her eyes intent. When she'd finished she said acidly, 'There. Now we're not breaking any laws.' And hung the notice up again.
The sign read:
TREE STRAWBERRY PLANTS THESE WERE l0p EACH, BUT SQUIRE GRANTHAM, IN HIS UNFATHOMABLE WISDOM HAS REFUSED TO LET US SELL THEM TO YOU ALL DONATIONS WILL, HOWEVER, BE GRATEFULLY RECEIVED. THANK YOU.'
It was Kirsty's turn to be triumphant now as she saw the look of tight-lipped anger on his face as he read it.
Malevolently he said, 'All right, young woman, smirk all you want to. You may think you've won this round, but I'm not going to rest until you and your friends are out of Notley and back in the London slums where you belong!' He turned abruptly and got into his Range-Rover, gunning it fast up the lane.
It was several minutes after he had gone before Kirsty could pull herself together. She found she was gripping the top of the rickety old gate tightly, her knuckles white but red-hot anger still pulsing through her in waves. Slowly she forced herself to relax, to take several deep breaths, but when she took her hand from the gate she found that it was shaking.
Kirsty?'
She became aware that Penny was standing beside her, was looking at her worriedly, and had put her hand on her arm in the way she always did when she was frightened or needed reassurance. Automatically Kirsty covered it with her own and managed an unconvincing smile. 'It's all right, he's gone. I told you there was nothing to worry about.'
'Kirsty, I'm not a child, you don't have to pretend,' Penny said rather sharply. 'I heard every word. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if half the village had heard, the way you were shouting at him.'
'Sorry,' Kirsty apologised. 'I did rather lose my temper, didn't I?'
'Yes,' her sister agreed with a little grin. 'I can't make up my mind which bit I liked best: the Hitler-sized ego, or when you called him a middle-aged pervert. I suppose you realise that after this he's never going to see reason?'
"He wouldn't have done, anyway,' Kirsty told her. 'Once that type makes up its mind about something, nothing and no one can change it. They're either too dogmatic or so conceited that they won't admit that they've made a mistake.'
They walked round the back of the house and decided to break for lunch.
'We're out of bread,' Penny remarked. 'We'd better walk into the village and get some from the shop.'
'If the Squire hasn't already ordered them not to serve us,' Kirsty said bitterly.
So it was with some misgivings that they walked down the road and round the green, but the friendly smile that the woman behind the counter gave them soon dispelled their doubts.
'You'll be the young ladies from Briar Cottage. Settling in, are you?'
It was obvious? that the woman was curious about them, and Kirsty allowed herself to be drawn out. Perhaps if everyone knew they were harmless it might eventually filter back to Gyles Gran
tham, but she was very much afraid that what she had told Penny would turn out to be true and he would never relent towards them after this morning's episode. After they'd been there a few minutes the shop bell jangled behind them as a young man came into the shop. He was about twenty-six arid dressed in a casual tweed jacket and trousers, but looked as if he had just been doing a rather dirty job, because there were still grease stains on his hands. He gave them a friendly nod and said good morning when he saw them, but Kirsty noticed that .his eyes lingered on Penny. He bought some cigarettes and then left rather reluctantly.
'That's Dave Pagett,' the talkative shop assistant told them. 'He owns the garage just down the road. A very good mechanic, they say he is.'
She went gossiping on and' it was some time before they were able to get away and go back to the cottage to eat their lunch of sandwiches and soup heated on the spirit stove.
'What are we going to do about the Squire?' Penny asked, voicing the thought that was uppermost in both their minds.
Kirsty shrugged helplessly. 'There's nothing we can do directly. Perhaps if he sees we're not doing any harm, he'll leave us alone. In the meantime I'll phone Simon and ask him to hire a rotovator in London for us and bring it down with him at the weekend if he can make it, or send it with the electricians if they're coming. I know it sounds like an awful lot of ifs, but that's the only thing I can think of, I'm afraid.'
'Sounds great to me! Penny said heartily, 'That way we'll only have lost a week anyway.'
And Kirsty realised with some surprise that her young sister was trying to cheer her up and encourage her, which was a remarkable reversal of roles. They set to work again and she had plenty of time to think about her recent argument—no, let's face it—her stand-up row with Gyles Grantham. He was the most autocratic, overbearing man she had ever met, and he had brought out the worst in her. She didn't think she'd ever been so angry in her life before, and she had certainly never been so blazingly and unforgivably rude. But the wretched man had deserved every word of it; she had been more .than willing to explain who they were, but he had been contemptuous from the start, his handsome face cold and unfriendly. Handsome? The word had come to her instinctively, but now that she thought about it she supposed that he was handsome in a hard, lean sort of way. Not by filmstar standards, of course, his face was far too strong and forceful for that, and he certainly wasn't as good-looking as Simon. Good heavens, what was she doing comparing Gyles Grantham with Simon? One was the man she wanted very much to marry eventually and the other was her now undoubted enemy! -
Sally Wentworth - Garden of Thorns Page 3
