do cleaning?’ He stared at her as if she was some new kind of species as yet unknown to him.
‘I’m prepared to do anything legal.’
‘I see,’ he murmured, and, every bit as if it needed some thinking about, he continued, ‘You’d better come and see me tomorrow—I’ll let you know my requirements then. Er—don’t bring an apron.’ Merren was off her chair making for the door when his voice stopped her. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ She spun round, and inwardly groaned—she had forgotten to pick up the money.
It was him! Somehow he had the power to unsettle her, making her swing from an urgent desire to hit him, to wanting to smile and be grateful. She went back to the desk and picked up the envelope. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, with what dignity she could find.
‘Stay put,’ was her answer. ‘You’re obviously not safe to be let out on your own; I’ll get a driver to take you home.’
The sauce of it! It gave her a great deal of pleasure to be able to tell him, ‘Actually, I have my car today.’
Her pleasure was short-lived. ‘I’ll get someone from Security to walk you to it,’ he pronounced.
Merren couldn’t remember actually saying goodbye to him, but as she and the security guard left the Roxford Waring building she owned to feeling glad to have the solidly built fit-looking man by her side. That episode yesterday had left her feeling more vulnerable than she’d realised. Not that she thanked Jarad Montgomery for his thoughtfulness. Him and his ‘not safe to be let out on your own’! Huh!
The closer she drove to her home, however, Merren began to experience a decided aversion to handing Jarad Montgomery’s money over to her brother. The feeling was ridiculous; she knew it was. For goodness’ sake, the whole point of her visit to the Roxford Waring building had been to get the money for Robert. Her reluctance, she suddenly comprehended, was because once the money was gone from her keeping, gone to pay Robert’s long outstanding bills, she would be committed. Committed—in debt to Jarad Montgomery.
Robert came hurrying out of the house the moment he saw her car, and, seeing his tense expression, Merren could not hesitate to hand him the money. ‘I won’t forget this,’ he beamed, but she guessed, as she handed over her car keys too, that forget it he would.
She went indoors; Carol was out somewhere with the baby—and the house was a tip. Merren went and changed out of her suit. Dressed in cotton trousers and a tee shirt, she was vacuuming the sitting room carpet when thoughts of Jarad Montgomery returned to disturb her.
She supposed, in view of what had happened, it wasn’t surprising he should be in her head so frequently. He had just done her one very generous kindness. That she was going to have to pay for that kindness by some means or other was only to be expected. Besides, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Pride alone decreed that.
‘Come and see me tomorrow,’ he’d said. He hadn’t said where, he hadn’t said when, but, since tomorrow was Saturday, he must mean that she should call at his home to discover in what way he’d decided she should repay him.
Having cleaned and tidied everywhere, while knowing it would be utter chaos again within hours of her family coming home, Merren made a cake to take to Uncle Amos the next day. Her mother had always presented him with a cake every Saturday. It had pleased Merren to take that small pleasure over. Uncle Amos was very partial to sultana cake.
Bertie Armstrong rang around seven that evening. He and Merren were around the same age, and had always been the best of friends. ‘I’m going to The Bull for a jar later on—fancy coming?’ he asked.
Merren wasn’t particularly keen, but, having told Jarad Montgomery that she could work evenings and weekends, decided to take Bertie up on his offer. Heaven alone knew when, after she saw the man Jarad tomorrow, she would have another evening free for a ‘jar’.
‘Nineish?’ she enquired.
‘I’ll call for you,’ he said, and, even though she would be seeing him later, such was their friendship that they stayed chatting about inconsequential matters for the next twenty minutes. But, good friend though Bertie was, she couldn’t tell him of the recent happenings in her life.
Having gone to The Bull with Bertie for a drink, Merren returned home just after eleven to find the house in darkness, everyone in bed. She had thought her few hours in the uncomplicated company of Bertie Armstrong had relaxed her. But later she had a frightening nightmare similar to the one she’d had the night before, and she began to realise that the trauma of being the victim of a street assault, didn’t end once you’d picked yourself up and dusted yourself down.
Eventually she managed to get back to sleep, but was awakened early by the baby testing his lung power. It amazed her that she could hear him when no one else could. Though, since his mother coped with his incessant demands on a daily basis, Merren felt Carol could be forgiven for pulling the bedclothes over her head and hoping someone else would attend to him. Merren got out of bed.
She was uncertain about what time she should go and see Jarad Montgomery, but as it was her habit to go and spend some time with Uncle Amos on a Saturday morning, she decided to leave her visit to Jarad Montgomery until the afternoon. He knew where she lived, she was in the phone book, and if he got tired of waiting she felt confident he would telephone and leave some short, and to the point message.
Realising that nerves were getting to her at the prospect of seeing Jarad again, and that she was getting uptight and just a little irked by him—though how she could when she owed him so much—not least her brother’s peace of mind and his family’s security—Merren took herself off to see her Uncle Amos.
‘Had a good week?’ she asked him as she replenished his cake tin.
‘Running into trouble with my latest brainwave,’ he acknowledged. ‘How about you?’
No way could she tell the dear man about the horror of Thursday, or her visit to see Jarad Montgomery yesterday. Uncle Amos would be up in arms that anyone had dared to assault her, and he would fret himself silly that he wasn’t able to help with the money.
‘Fine,’ she smiled. ‘Shall I make some coffee?’
‘Er—the kitchen’s in a bit of a state.’
She’d never known it any different. After coffee, and as her mother had before her, Merren returned to the kitchen and got busy with his backlog of used crockery. ‘Fancy coming to lunch with us tomorrow?’ she invited, knowing in advance that he wouldn’t.
‘After last time?’ he grinned, and Merren grinned back. Uncle Amos had been married once, before—as he’d told Merren—his wife had got fed up with him and had gone off. There had been no children from the marriage; his only dealings had been with Merren and her brother, who’d been vastly different from the screeching and over-excited Queenie and Kitty, who’d shattered his eardrums that Sunday lunchtime when, against his better judgement, he’d decided to take a look at his great-nieces and great-nephew. Baby Samuel’s lung power that day had been astronomical. ‘Are they any better behaved?’ he wanted to know.
‘The girls are—er—settling in their new school,’ Merren answered diplomatically.
She felt in much better spirits when she left than she had when she’d arrived. But anxiety started to nibble away at her as she drove back to her home. There was no putting it off. She was going to have to go and
