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‘Much as he’d love to hear himself referred to as a lad,’ she said, with her first smile of the day, ‘we were celebrating my escort’s sixty-fourth birthday. He’s in Hereford on business for a couple of days so he drove over to take me to dinner at Easthope Court last night.’
He whistled, impressed. ‘I hear it’s pretty fancy there since it was done over—pricey too.’
‘Astronomically! I could have fed myself for a week on what Oliver paid for my meal last night. He comes down to check up on me now and then, convinced I’m starving myself to death, but usually all he asks of a restaurant is a good steak and a glass of drinkable claret.’ Sarah sighed, feeling a sudden need to confide in someone. ‘He’s a barrister by profession, Harry. He wants me to work in his chambers.’
‘Does it need building work, then?’
‘No.’ Sarah explained about the office job.
‘He thought you’d like that?’ Harry said, scratching his head. ‘Can you do typing and all the computer stuff?’
She nodded. ‘After I left college I ran the office at my father’s building firm.’
‘You did a whole lot more than that, I reckon. Your dad taught you his craft pretty good.’
‘Thank you!’ Coming from Harry, this was high praise indeed. ‘By the way,’ she added casually, ‘I met someone called Merrick last night. Do you know him?’
Harry grunted. ‘Everybody knows the Merricks. Old Edgar started off in scrap metal. A right old villain he was; so slick at making money you’d think he’d found a way to turn scrap into gold. His son George made an even bigger packet when he took over and started expanding. The family’s got a bit gentrified since Edgar’s day, with college education and all that. Easthope Court was one of their jobs. Lot of publicity at the time. Was it George you met?’
‘No. This one’s name was Alex.’
‘George’s son. Don’t know the lad myself, but word has it he’s a right ball of fire now he runs the show up here. I hear George is at the London branch these days.’ Harry’s lined blue eyes gave her a very straight look. ‘I hear a lot of things in the pub, boss, but I just listen. Nothing you say to me will go further.’
‘No need to tell me that, Harry!’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘I’ll get on with the window frames in number four, then. You’re doing a good job there,’ he added gruffly, eyeing the cupboards.
‘Thank you!’ Sarah smiled at him so radiantly he blinked. ‘How about a snack at the Green Man at lunchtime? My treat?’
‘You’re on! Betty Mason bakes pasties on Wednesdays.’
Sarah felt a lot better as she went on with her cupboard doors. She worked steadily throughout the morning, with only a short break for coffee, and got to her feet at last, back aching. She went to the door, put two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle.
‘Ready, Harry? I’m starving.’
Harry chuckled as she scrambled into his pick-up.
‘What’s up?’ she demanded.
‘You don’t look much like a city girl these days, boss.’
Sarah grinned as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. ‘The great advantage of the Green Man is not having to prettify myself to eat there. But if you’re ashamed to be seen with me in my working clothes, Mr Sollers, I can always eat my pasty in the pick-up.’
He guffawed. ‘Get away with you.’
The knot of regulars in the bar greeted Sarah with their usual friendly acceptance, which put paid to the last traces of her blue mood.
‘Your boss let you out, then, Harry?’ called some comedian.
‘Reminded her it was Betty’s day for pasties, so I hope you lot left some for us.’ Harry hoisted Sarah up on a stool at the bar, and gave their order. Fred came to join them, to ask about their progress, and Sarah willingly obliged as she tucked into flaky pastry wrapped round a savoury mixture of meat and vegetables. When it struck her that she was enjoying it far more than the elegant meal of the night before she sighed in such remorse that Fred peered under the peak of her cap.
‘Something wrong with your pasty, my dear?’
‘Nothing at all—it’s delicious.’ She explained about the meal with Oliver.
‘The man must have deep pockets if he took you to eat at Easthope Court,’ put in another man.
‘It was to celebrate his birthday, Mr Baker,’ said Sarah, and looked at him speculatively. ‘Actually, I’m glad you’re here today—’
‘He’s here every day,’ someone shouted.
‘But I’m not, so I must grab him while I can,’ she called back, grinning. ‘I hear you’re a very keen gardener, Mr Baker.’
‘I do a bit,’ he admitted warily.
‘When you can spare the time, would you come along to the cottages and give me some advice on planting?’
‘Any time you like,’ he assured her. ‘Let me get you another half.’
‘No, thanks—too much to do this afternoon,’ she said regretfully.
There was immediate interest in exactly what, and the conversation was general for a moment, until a voice with the accents of expensive education rose above the hubbub to make itself heard to the landlord.
‘I’m looking for a Miss Carver, Eddy. Has she been in here today?’
Sarah winced, wishing vainly she could make herself invisible. Resigned, she let Fred help her down from the stool and turned to face Alex Merrick. ‘You were asking for me?’
His formal dark suit looked out of place in the homely environs of the Green Man’s public bar, but it was his look of blank astonishment that amused Sarah. Last night, because Oliver adored being seen with a ‘pretty young thing’, as he put it, she’d been tricked out in her best babe outfit, clinging black dress, killer heels, full warpaint and hair swept up in a knot of curls. Today the hair was rammed under a baseball cap, her face was as nature had made it, her overalls and trainers were covered in streaks of paint and glue and without her heels she was four inches shorter. She couldn’t blame the man for mistaking her for a boy apprentice, and felt grateful when Harry and Fred ranged themselves alongside her in protective, burly support.
Alex glanced round the watchful faces in the bar, lips twitching. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Carver. I didn’t recognise you for a moment. My apologies for interrupting your lunch.’
She shrugged. ‘Not at all. I was about to get back to work. What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like a word—in private. Today, if possible.’
Sarah eyed him speculatively. ‘I generally finish about six. I can see you then, if you want.’
‘Thank you. Where?’
‘At the site. I’m sure you know where it is.’
‘I do. Until six, then. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ He gave a comprehensive nod all round and walked out, leaving a brief lull in the conversation behind him before everyone started talking again.
‘You want to watch that one,’ said Harry.
‘Why?’ she asked, downing the last of her cider.
‘He’s a Merrick, for a start.’
No need to remind her of that!
‘Besides, you’ve only got to look at him,’ said Fred. ‘Fancies his chance with the ladies.’
‘Not one dressed like this,’ she said, laughing.
‘Don’t you be too sure of that,’ said Fred darkly.
Harry grinned, and drained his glass. ‘No need to worry. One swing of her lump hammer and he’ll be done for.’
They left the pub to a burst of laughter, but Harry looked thoughtful as he drove back to the site. ‘Just the same, boss, I think I’d better stay behind out of sight in one of the cottages tonight. Just in case.’
Sarah stared at him, surprised, ‘The man wants to talk to me, that’s all.’
‘Yes, but what about?’ said Harry grimly. ‘Word is that the Merricks were none too pleased when you got those cottages.’
‘Because they’re on land adjoining theirs?’
He nodded. ‘So be warned. I reckon young Merrick’s going to make you an offer.’
‘So he can knock them down?’ Sarah’s mouth tightened in a way her father would have recognised only too well. ‘Not a chance.’
It took work, but she finally persuaded Harry that she would be perfectly all right alone when he left.
‘Just the same,’ he said, as he got in his pick-up, ‘you be careful.’
‘I shall keep my trusty hammer close to hand,’ she assured him, only half joking.
Once he’d gone, Sarah almost wished she’d asked Harry to stay after all. Which was ridiculous. It was broad daylight on a summer evening. What could happen? She thought about tidying herself up but couldn’t be bothered. Mr Alex Merrick would have to take her as she was. She leaned back against her car, arms folded and ankles crossed, blocking out the site’s building gear as she studied the cottages objectively. Harry had replaced the gingerbread trim over each front door, and soon he’d begin painting the exterior walls creamy white. The front gardens were just bare patches of earth as yet, but she would plant them up after some advice from Mr Baker. She’d lay some cobbles on the paths, get the waist-high dividing walls repointed, and once the lawns had been sown with seed…
She turned her head as a Cherokee Jeep cruised down the lane.
Alex Merrick sprang down from it, but instead of jumping to attention Sarah stayed leaning against her car.
‘Hello,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m a few minutes late. Thank you for waiting. I got held up.’
‘I didn’t notice the time,’ Sarah said with complete truth.
‘Because you were lost in rapt contemplation of your work. Understandable,’ he said, looking along the row. ‘The houses look good.’
‘Thank you. So why do you need to speak to me, Mr Merrick?’ she asked, cutting straight to the chase.
The smile vanished. ‘I could have done this officially, requested a meeting at my office, but it’s probably better to talk here on site. What are your plans when the houses are finished?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Professional interest,’ he said briefly.
She eyed him warily. ‘I shall put them up for sale to first-time buyers, or city dwellers with a fancy for a bolthole in the country.’
‘I can save you the trouble.’ He took in the cottages with a sweep of his hand. ‘On behalf of the Merrick Group I’ll buy all six from you—if the price is right.’
She stood erect at last, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘What for, exactly?’
Alex Merrick frowned, as though he couldn’t believe she wasn’t overwhelmed with delight. ‘The usual reasons, Miss Carver.’
‘I’d like to know exactly what they are, just the same. Because the land they stand on borders yours you might have demolition in mind—in which case nothing doing.’
His eyebrows snapped together. ‘I assure you that provided they meet with Merrick standards I want them as they are. May I take a look?’
‘Of course. Follow me.’
Sarah felt rather like a new mother showing off her baby as Alex followed her inside the first house. She’d done nothing about her own appearance, but she’d gone on a whirlwind tour of all the houses with broom and cleaning rags, determined to present them at their best in the evening sunlight pouring through the windows.
She found she was holding her breath as Alex inspected the kitchen in the first cottage, but in the sitting room she relaxed a little as he nodded in approval at the horseshoe fire-grate gleaming like ebony under its creamy marble mantle. ‘Original feature, Miss Carver?’
‘Yes, but not the genuine Victorian article, of course. It’s a copy, dating from the twenties, like the houses. The fireplaces were boarded up before I rescued them,’ Sarah told him. ‘The sitting rooms were a bit dark, so we replaced the original windows with French doors to give access to the back courtyards. Some of the flagstones out there were already in situ, and I found more in a reclamation yard. After a check with building regulations I removed the dividing walls between the kitchens and dining rooms. Fortunately they were neither party walls nor load bearing, so I achieved more space and light, and at the same time catered to the current preference for combined cooking/eating areas.’
‘Good move.’ He followed her upstairs to inspect the small bathroom Sarah had created by stealing a sliver of space from the main bedroom.
‘There were no bathrooms in the houses originally, of course, just the downstairs lavatory I replaced with a small cloakroom,’ she told him, finding his silence oppressive.
‘You’ve utilised all the space very cleverly,’ he said at last, ‘and installed high-end fittings. Very wise. Which firm did your plumbing?’
‘When I embarked on the project I made a conscious decision to use local craftsmen, and I had the most enormous stroke of luck when master builder Harry Sollers agreed to work with me. He knows all the local tradesmen. He recommended an electrician for the wiring, and introduced me to his friend, Fred Carter, a semi-retired plumber who installed the fittings. But I did all the tiling, and I installed the cupboards in the kitchens and bathrooms myself.’
He shot her a startled look as they returned to the kitchen. ‘This is your work throughout?’
She nodded. ‘I stripped and sealed the wood floors, and plastered all the inside walls, too, but I asked Harry to paint them because his finish is so superb.’
‘But you did the plastering?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Yes. Next I’m going to tackle the gardens.’
‘You found someone local to help you with those, too?’
Sarah nodded. ‘But only to do the digging once all the building site gear is cleared away. I need advice on what to plant and where, but I’ll do the rest myself.’
When they were outside in the lane Sarah could tell that Alex Merrick looked back at the row of cottages with new eyes.
‘So what do you think?’ she couldn’t help asking.
‘I’m impressed. Congratulations on your achievement.’ His manner suddenly changed. ‘So, Miss Carver, I repeat my offer. If your terms are realistic I’ll buy the lot, but I want the houses ready to inhabit on the day of completion, also cleared parking space at either end of the row. So name your figure.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Impossible right away. I can’t say to the day when the cottages will be completely ready, and costs may increase before I can get them valued.’ And, much more important than that, no way would she sell to a Merrick.
‘If you hang about too long, Miss Carver, the offer may no longer be on the table.’ His eyes, which had opalescent grey irises with dark rims, which gave them an unsettling intensity, held hers. ‘Have a chat about it with Oliver Moore. I assume he’s your financial backer?’
Her jaw clenched. ‘No, he’s not, Mr Merrick. His sole involvement in my project is on legal matters.’
