by Rosie Harris
Had she been wrong? Perhaps the months of separation had been as poignant for him as they had been for her. Dare she believe that now, at long last, he intended to bring their friendship into the open?
‘I’d like that, Miles,’ she told him eagerly. ‘Which day would you like me to come over to Mostyn?’
‘Are you mad!’ His raised eyebrows ridiculed her assumption.
Too late she realised she’d mistaken his meaning. Her anger flared. How dare he treat her in such a cavalier fashion. Once she might have felt flattered that he wanted to see her and agreed to whatever arrangements he might make. Now she felt enraged.
‘I … I’m not prepared to go on meeting you secretly,’ she told him vehemently. ‘I … I’m sure your father knows about us …’
‘What have you been saying to him?’ The cold rasp in his voice, and the look of anger on his face, alarmed her.
Before she could answer, Miles grabbed her arm. ‘Come on … what have you said?’ He bristled, his face only a few inches from her own, his mouth a hard ugly line.
‘Let go! You’re hurting me, Miles.’
Savagely, he pushed her away, turned on his heel and strode off, slamming the door behind him.
Her feelings were in turmoil. She wanted to call him back, assure him that she hadn’t said a word to his father. Trembling, she sat down at her desk, holding her head in her hands, trying to control the ache in her heart and the shivering in her limbs.
All the time he had been away, Miles hadn’t even sent her a postcard, hadn’t phoned her once. And now he calmly walked back into her life and expected to renew their friendship as though he’d never been absent. It was a game she wasn’t prepared to play. In his absence she’d had to learn to control her emotions, conceal her heartache and present an efficient face to the world. It had made her less vulnerable and more aware of her own value.
She had no idea of how long she sat there, deep in thought. She was still trying to analyse her feelings when Olive popped her head round the door to say she was going home. She stared at Megan with unconcealed curiosity. ‘Is something wrong or are you working late?’
‘Why, what time is it?’ Megan glanced towards the window; the sky had darkened and grey clouds had built up as if a storm was imminent.
Megan shook her head then looked at her watch. It was almost six o’clock. She’d been sitting there for well over an hour.
Savagely, she rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. She’d meant every word of it when she’d told Miles she wasn’t prepared to go on meeting him in secret. Why did they need such a subterfuge? she asked herself as she covered up her typewriter and picked up her handbag.
As she was leaving the office the phone rang. She hesitated. Should she let it ring or ought she to answer it? she wondered. It might be Mr Walker phoning from Manchester … or even Miles ringing to apologise.
Chapter Eighteen
AT FIRST, MEGAN thought the phone call might be a hoax. Replacing the receiver she sat staring at the pad in front of her, rereading the message she had taken down. It had been rather like taking dictation. Although she had written down the words, and checked they were correct by repeating them back, she had been completely detached from their meaning.
Now, reading them over for a second time, the full impact of the message was like a physical blow.
Inform Mr Martin Walker that his son, Miles Walker, has been involved in a road accident and has been taken to Liverpool General Hospital.
It must surely be a hoax, Megan decided. The caller had claimed to be from the police, but he hadn’t given his name or rank, or even left a phone number.
Not that she had asked, she thought, uneasily.
She read the message through again and a shudder went through her. It must be true, no one would joke about something like that, she told herself.
Not unless it had been Miles!
Had he deliberately disguised his voice to try to frighten her … some sort of sick retaliation because of their quarrel? Was he trying to make her feel guilty …?
She knew she was wasting time trying to work it out, but she felt so undecided about what to do. She didn’t want to contact Mr Walker and have him come hurrying back from Manchester on a wild goose chase. Perhaps if she phoned the hospital they could confirm if it was true.
As she waited for the receptionist to check the admission register she tried to convince herself that was a hopeful sign and that Miles wasn’t there; that it had been a hoax after all.
When the girl eventually confirmed that a Miles Walker had been admitted, Megan found herself shaking so violently that it was only after she had put the phone down that she realised she hadn’t asked for any details. She had no idea whether Miles was seriously hurt or not.
Pulling herself together she decided to ring the hospital again, then changed her mind and replaced the receiver.
That was only wasting time, she told herself. It would be better if she tried to contact Mr Walker right away since it would take him at least an hour to get back from Manchester.
He’d left a series of telephone numbers where he could be located. It took three calls before she tracked him down. Even then she couldn’t speak to him because he was in a meeting.
Reluctant to leave a message in case it didn’t reach him, she asked the receptionist to get Mr Walker to phone her the moment he was free.
‘They may not be out before I go home …’
‘Then in that case you’d better get this message to him right away,’ Megan told her and repeated word for word the police phone call. ‘It’s very urgent,’ she emphasised. ‘And I would like him to phone me here at the office to let me know he’s on his way back to Liverpool,’ she added before she rang off.
As she waited for the return call, Megan’s concern about Miles made her feel sick. She really wanted to ring the hospital again but was afraid that if she did Mr Walker might try to phone her and not be able to get through.
She felt so helpless. All she could think about was the blind rage Miles had been in when he had slammed out of the office and wonder if that had contributed to the accident in some way.
An image of Miles lying in the roadway, covered in blood after an accident on his motorbike, blotted everything else from her mind. She didn’t know what to do. One thing was certain, she couldn’t set off for Beddgelert until she knew what had happened.
On impulse she decided to go to the hospital. She felt sure Mr Walker would get the full message and go straight to the hospital rather than try to call her first.
Outside, rain was sheeting down, the sky grey and overcast. Feeling in no state to drive, she tied a scarf over her hair, turned up the collar of her coat and went in search of a taxi.
Her anxiety mounted when she arrived at the hospital and was told that Miles was in the operating theatre. No one was prepared to give her any details about the accident. Time dragged. She waited so long in reception that her concern began to be replaced by vexation. Rather irritably she went over to the desk to ask once to make sure they hadn’t forgotten about her.
It was a different receptionist and she was much more helpful. ‘The road accident casualty? I’ll enquire for you.’
‘He’s out of theatre and in Stanley Ward. I’m not sure if you will be able to see him. You’ll have to check with the ward sister. Usually they only let in close relatives,’ she warned as she told her where to go.
‘I shall have to ask Sister if you can see him … it’s relatives only,’ the nurse on duty told her.
Again Megan found she was kept waiting and fresh doubts about why she was at the hospital at all assailed her. Since Miles had made it quite plain that he had no intention of telling his parents about their friendship, she had resolved to put him out of her mind, she reminded herself.
Coming here to see him is only looking for trouble, she thought ruefully. I’m letting my heart rule my head again. Yet when the sister asked who she was, Megan explained that she was a special fr
iend and begged to be allowed to see him, to set her mind at rest.
‘Very well, for a few minutes, then. He’s in the side room, halfway down the ward on your right.’
Megan’s knees were shaking by the time she reached the screened-off alcove. She could see Miles, lying propped up by pillows, his face ashen, one heavily bandaged arm supported above his head. A drip feed tube was attached to his other arm and there was a cage supporting the bedclothes over the lower part of the bed.
Her heart thundering, Megan whispered his name as she moved towards the bed. His eyelids flickered and he gave a faint groan as he turned his head restlessly on the pillows.
‘Oh, Miles …’ Her words choked as she stretched out her hand to touch him.
‘Miss Williams! This is a surprise, how kind of you to come … It really wasn’t necessary.’
The icy, imperious voice startled Megan. She had been so taken aback at the gravity of Miles’ condition that she had not even been aware that there was anyone else in the room. She stared in confusion at his mother who was sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed.
‘Shouldn’t you be in the office, Miss Williams, taking care of things there?’
Ann Walker looked elegant and well turned out in her tailored brown and cream check suit that toned perfectly with her cream silk blouse. The pearl designer pin in her lapel matched her necklace and earrings added an overall air of elegance. The sharpness of her voice, with its querulous undertones, added to the image of superiority.
‘I … I was anxious to see how Miles was,’ Megan stuttered, chilled by the coldness in Mrs Walker’s blue eyes.
‘I do hope you have contacted my husband and let him know what has happened. I expected him to be here long before now!’
‘Mr Walker’s in Manchester. I tried to contact him but he was in a meeting. I have left messages …’ she added hurriedly, almost apologetically.
‘Indeed! Well, I think you should run along back to the office and keep on phoning until you do get hold of him,’ interrupted Mrs Walker. ‘Messages don’t always get passed on, you know … especially if there is no one in the office to deal with them,’ she added pointedly. ‘Even at this moment he may be trying to ring you to find out more details.’
The sting in Mrs Walker’s words was not lost on Megan and, although she knew she had been dismissed, she stayed by the bedside staring down at Miles. If only he would open his eyes for one brief moment so that she could be sure he was going to regain consciousness, she thought desperately.
Megan stretched out her hand to touch his, then withdrew it abruptly, aware that Mrs Walker was watching her and she found her scrutiny disquieting. She now knew why Miles had been so insistent about keeping their friendship secret. He had said it was because his father wouldn’t understand, but she thought it was much more likely that his mother would be the one who would object.
Megan had found her intimidating when they had first met at Valerie Pearce’s wedding. Now, as they faced each other across the hospital bed, she could sense Mrs Walker’s disapproval as if it was a tangible barrier between them. She knew she should leave, but she desperately wanted to stay, to be there when Miles regained consciousness.
‘Was there anything else, Miss Williams?’
Megan looked up at her, startled, and Ann Walker noticed the film of tears that misted the girl’s dark brown eyes and sparkled on her lashes like tiny stars.
‘I … I just wondered if there were any appointments Miles might want me to cancel …’ Megan’s voice trailed off uncertainly.
‘Really, Miss Williams! Work is the last thing my son wants to be troubled with at the moment. Can’t you see the state he is in?’ Mrs Walker bristled. ‘Kindly go back to the office and do whatever you have to do. My husband will attend to anything connected with my son’s work commitments in due course.’
As she reached the door, Megan looked back at Miles’ recumbent figure despairingly. If only Miles would open his eyes, even for a brief second. If only she knew if their quarrel had anything to do with his accident.
Ann Walker was relieved to see Megan leave. In her estimation, the girl was much too young to be a secretary. She would have to be replaced. She’d tell her husband to hire someone older, someone who would mother Miles not flirt with him. The moment she had realised that the girl who’d replaced Valerie Pearce as her husband’s secretary was young, inexperienced, and brought up in some remote part of Wales, she had been expecting trouble.
With that sort of background she was bound to imagine herself in love with Miles, Ann Walker thought cynically.
With his good looks and natural charm, Miles had always had a devastating effect on girls. They had always fluttered round him. Even on his first day at school. She had left him awash with tears at being parted from her. When she returned to collect him he had been waiting at the gate surrounded by little girls. Several of them had insisted on kissing him goodbye and assuring him they’d see him there next day.
As Miles grew older, and even more attractive, girls came along to watch him play football or cricket. On sports day they cheered him to victory in the races and queued up to partner him at tennis.
In his teens, when he had decided to go to art school, she had been delighted that he had found a new interest. Until she learned that he had been playing truant in order to go to the Stork Club and then she’d started worrying about him again.
‘Martin, I think it is time you took Miles into the firm,’ she told her husband without preamble.
‘I’ve been telling you for ages that it was a waste of time sending him to art college,’ he stated pompously. ‘He’s not learning anything that is going to help him to earn a living.’
‘Then take him to the office with you tomorrow and start teaching him the business,’ she snapped.
‘He won’t like it! He’ll have to start right at the bottom and learn the job properly. I don’t intend showing any favouritism. For the first few weeks he’ll be making the tea and running messages,’ he warned.
‘I don’t wish to know the details, simply do it!’
‘It won’t be easy,’ he repeated speculatively. ‘He’s been spoiled ever since he was a nipper and now you want me to make a man of him overnight.’
Those had been Martin Walker’s only words of reproach. She hadn’t questioned his methods, although she had witnessed a marked change in Miles.
During working hours, Miles conformed to the standards demanded by his father. In a very short time he graduated from being a mere office dogs-body to undertaking more responsible work.
He seemed to enjoy the work when he was sent to the docks to deal with the transference of cargo from boats to their own warehouses or lorries. His ready charm made him popular with the customs officials, the skippers of the cargo boats and the captains of freight boats.
‘I do wish he’d stop going to the Stork Club,’ Ann Walker said with a sigh. ‘The types he mixes with there are not a good influence!’
‘He’ll grow out of it, just give him time,’ her husband assured her. ‘We can hardly dictate who his friends are, not at his age.’
They’d both breathed a sigh of relief, though, when Miles started dating Carol Brocklehurst. Taking out a girl from their own circle must surely be a sign that he was settling down at last, they thought.
Carol, a stunning red-head, only a year younger than Miles, was the daughter of one of their closest friends. She was a tall, willowy girl with a perfect oval face and a quiet self-assured manner, and Ann Walker was convinced she would make him the ideal wife.
Both sets of parents watched with delight when Miles began taking her to the Royal Court Theatre and to symphony concerts at the Philharmonic. It seemed like the perfect match.
Now, as she thought about Megan, recalling the neat hairstyle and discreet make-up, and critically assessing the good quality red suit and neat white blouse, Ann Walker felt uneasy. She wasn’t the right type for Miles, of course, but neither was she one of the
little floosies who made up the Stork crowd, so it might be difficult to discourage her from taking an interest in Miles.
Chapter Nineteen
MEGAN DIDN’T EVEN notice that the rain had stopped. As she left the hospital, she automatically turned up her collar and huddled inside her raincoat. The cold shivers rippling down her spine were more from shock than the weather.
Her brain was racing as she tried to reason out how Miles had come to be involved in an accident. Had he been so immersed in black thoughts when he left the office that he had walked into the path of an oncoming vehicle? She felt a desperate need to know the answer, but she had no idea of how to find out.
As she skirted the puddles that shone like pools of molten silver on the forecourt she heard someone call her name. Her breath caught in her throat. She turned quickly, half hoping that someone had come after her to tell her that Miles had regained consciousness … that he was asking for her!
Her hopes faded and she felt a sense of irritation when she saw it was Robert Field.
‘Megan … I’m so glad I’ve found you! How did you know about it?’ he asked, bewilderment shadowing his light blue eyes.
‘The police phoned the office. Mr Walker is in Manchester so I came to see if there was anything I could do. Oh Robert.’ She flung herself against his broad chest. ‘He looks terrible! His face is so white and he’s attached to all these tubes and pulleys …’ She shivered violently, unable to go on.
‘Hush, hush!’ Robert held her close, stroking her hair, trying his best to calm her. When her breathing steadied and her sobs subsided he gently raised her face so that he was looking down into her eyes.
‘Who are you talking about, Megan?’
‘Miles, of course! He’s been badly hurt in a road accident. Isn’t that why you were looking for me?’
‘No, I knew nothing about that … What happened?’
