Megan of Merseyside (33 page)

‘That’s it, then, Megan. You’ll just have to go and phone Martingale and explain what’s happened.’

‘I can’t do that! If we let Stanley Martingale down over this consignment then there’ll never be any more work from him,’ Megan exclaimed, aghast.

‘True!’ Watkin rubbed the back of his neck. ‘And, not only that, but word that we are unreliable will spread through the docks in a flash.’

‘And they’ll say it’s because a woman was running the firm,’ she muttered grimly.

‘That’s defeatist talk, Megan!’

‘I know, Dad. Forget I said it, I was thinking aloud. So what do we do now?’

‘We certainly can’t repair either of the lorries in time to pick up the cargo from the
Marie Louise
.’

‘No, I can see that! So what else do you suggest?’

‘If only we knew someone who would hire us a couple of lorries …’ He stopped and once again their eyes locked.

‘Robert would know someone,’ they both exclaimed together.

‘I’ll go and phone him … I won’t be a minute.’

‘Hold on, haven’t you forgotten something? He’s away on holiday.’

‘Of course!’ She nodded. ‘He’s gone to Wales, how could I forget!’ She passed a hand through her short hair in a gesture of despair, feeling utterly deflated.

Things had been going so well up until now. Too well, she thought morosely. Robert finding her an office on the dockside; Miles agreeing to her deal to exchange the Rolls for two lorries; and then landing a really worthwhile order. It had all gone so smoothly and now, suddenly, all their plans were in ruins.

Yet she couldn’t just give up, she told herself. It meant letting too many people down. She’d told Captain Ingers that she’d be returning to unload at nine o’clock, so she must find a solution before then.

She checked the time on her watch. It was half-past eight, that gave her half an hour. Half-past eight! Her mind raced. Robert hadn’t said when he was setting out. Perhaps it still wasn’t too late.

‘I’m going to try to get in touch with Robert, there’s still a chance that he hasn’t left home yet,’ she called over her shoulder to her father as she sprinted down the quayside.

Her heart was hammering, the raw mist choking her by the time she’d reached her office. She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes.

‘Please be there, Robert, please do something to help,’ she prayed out loud as she rang his number.

Robert hadn’t left home. He had just finished
his
breakfast and was stowing his back-pack and walking boots into his car when the phone rang.

For a moment he debated whether to go back indoors and answer it or not. It was probably a wrong number, he decided. He couldn’t think of anyone who would be phoning him that early in the morning. Unless it was Megan.

The moment the thought came into his mind he rushed to pick up the receiver, afraid she might ring off thinking he had already gone.

He listened attentively as Megan explained what had happened to their lorries, his mind focusing on what he could do to help.

‘Shall I call you back in about an hour?’ she asked.

‘No. Stay by your lorries. I’ll meet you there.’

Holiday forgotten, he phoned around and within an hour he was driving to the dockside in an enormous articulated lorry. Megan’s expression of relief when she saw him more than compensated for his own change of plans.

‘Come on, let’s get loaded,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll tell you the details while we work.’

Two hours later, the cargo from the
Marie Louise
had been transferred onto the articulated lorry.

‘Let’s get the tarpaulin covers over it and secure them and then we’ll take a break,’ Megan told them.

Five minutes later the three of them were sitting at a table in one of the dockside cafés, warming their hands on mugs of steaming tea.

‘I’ll drive this lot up to Newcastle while your father sees about repairing your lorries,’ Robert said, draining his mug and standing up.

‘Hold on, I thought you were off to Wales on holiday?’

‘That can wait for a day. The important thing now is to make this delivery on time and get your lorries back in action,’ Robert told them.

‘Perhaps I should come with you,’ Watkin suggested. ‘You can’t unload on your own.’

‘I’ll find someone the other end to give a hand,’ Robert assured him. ‘It might cost a couple of quid but it leaves you free to get your lorries back on the road.’

It was almost midday before Megan managed to get to her desk. She spent most of the morning trying to locate the spares her father needed. When she finally unlocked her office door the phone was ringing.

‘I was beginning to think you’d given me the wrong number,’ an angry voice told her when she picked up the receiver. ‘I’ve tried to phone you twice before this morning.’

‘I’m sorry. We’ve had some technical trouble at the dockside. How can I help you?’

‘I want a consignment of china collecting from Stoke-on-Trent and loaded onto the
San Francisco
by tomorrow night.’

‘Rather short notice, isn’t it?’ Megan frowned as she noted down the details.

‘It wouldn’t have been if your phone had been manned. I tried to get you at nine o’clock this morning.’

‘Yes, well, as I explained …’

‘All the papers are in order, but they will have to be cleared your end. I’ll give them to your driver.
What
time will he be here? It’s Shyfords in Victoria Road, Hanley. Tell him to ask for me, Bill Spencer.’

‘Right. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Mr Spencer.’

‘That’s cutting it fine,’ grumbled Bill Spencer. ‘The crates have to be loaded onto your lorry and secured, you know.’

‘All right. Let’s make it nine o’ clock then.’

‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ To be there that early would mean her father would have to leave home before six and she didn’t intend making it any harder for him. As it was, she was keeping her fingers crossed that they would have a lorry repaired in time.

After recording all the relevant details, Megan picked up the pile of post which still lay in the doorway and began sorting through it.

She had sent out a publicity letter over a week ago to some twenty leading Liverpool companies and these were the first replies she had received. She scanned them quickly. One stated they were already well serviced and had no intention of making any changes, but three others were interested. One asked her to phone with a quotation for collecting cargo from a ship due to dock at Liverpool the next day.

Ten minutes later she had phoned and secured the order. Delighted, she noted down the instructions to collect a consignment of raw cotton and then transport it to mills in Rawtenstall.

As she entered the details onto the movement sheet pinned on the wall, she was elated to see there were now two bookings for the next day.

Her jubilation vanished as she remembered the lorries might not be ready in time. She had a moment’s panic. Suddenly, the enormity of the commitment she’d taken on hit her like a blow between the eyes. She wondered if it was all going to be more than she could cope with after all. She hadn’t anticipated quite such instant success because Robert had warned her that she must expect it to take several weeks before she had any enquiries, and even longer before they were followed up by firm orders.

She pushed her momentary doubts from her mind and concentrated on finding dockers to help with unloading the ship and reloading the cargo onto the lorries. As she filled in the relevant forms, checked over the documents and prepared bills of lading and invoices ready for the next day, her spirits soared. If things went on like this she would be paying her way in next to no time, she thought triumphantly, so what was she worrying about?

By the time Robert returned from Newcastle, Megan was dazed with fatigue yet jubilant. She’d organised a work force and her father had both lorries in working order.

‘So what are your plans for tomorrow, then?’ Robert frowned, studying the movement sheet. ‘You’ve got both lorries booked out, I see.’

‘My dad will drive one and I’ll take the other.’

‘And what will happen about the office?’

She frowned. ‘I’ll just have to shut the door. I never thought we’d be this busy quite so quickly. I’ll have to find someone to work in the office, I suppose.’

‘Why not hire a driver?’

‘A girl for the office won’t cost a quarter what a driver is going to demand.’

‘It’s not the answer,’ Robert told her firmly. ‘You are the best person to be running the office. It’s your business. You know what terms you are prepared to quote and you can make snap decisions when there are any special conditions or someone needs advice.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ She nodded. ‘I hope one day things will be as well organised as that. For the moment, though, I shall have to pitch in and drive whenever it’s necessary.’

‘Look, Megan, I can drive one of the lorries tomorrow.’

‘Nonsense, Robert.’ She gave him a grateful smile. ‘It would upset all your holiday plans.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I was going on a walking holiday, remember. I hadn’t booked in anywhere.’

‘Maybe not, but I can’t let you make a sacrifice like that.’ Touched by his generosity, her hand went out to rest momentarily on his arm.

‘Rubbish!’ His voice was gruff. ‘That’s settled, then. I’ll have a word with Watkin, shall I?’

‘Would you? I did say he was to be in charge of transport and don’t want him to think I’m making decisions behind his back.’

For the rest of the week, the pattern seemed to repeat itself. Several more of the firms Megan had written to also contacted her, requesting a collection or delivery to be made right away.

‘It can’t possibly go on like this, but it is a wonderful start,’ she enthused as they left the office at
midday
on Saturday. ‘I really don’t know how we would have coped if you hadn’t been on hand, Robert,’ she told him gratefully.

‘It’s a shame about your holiday, though. The weather has been exceptionally good this week,’ added Watkin.

Robert shrugged dismissively. ‘I wasn’t all that keen on going anyway … not on my own.’

‘Perhaps we could all have a day out tomorrow. What about a run out into the Wirral for lunch?’

‘That sounds an excellent idea,’ Watkin agreed.

Robert met them at the Parkgate Hotel and Megan felt it was almost as if the clock had been turned back and they were once more a happy family as they sat down to lunch.

‘Shall we all go for a walk when we’ve finished our coffee?’ she suggested at the end of their meal.

Watkin frowned. ‘I think it might be better if I took your mother straight home, Megan,’ he said. ‘You come back with Robert, then if you want to stop off for a walk you can.’

As Megan noticed her mother’s flushed face and sparkling eyes, her heart sank. The glass of sherry, together with the wine they’d drunk with their meal, had certainly affected her. It brought memories of her mother’s drinking bout after Lynn had died rushing back.

Chapter Thirty-four

WHEN ROBERT RETURNED
to work at Walker’s the following Monday morning, he found everyone eager to tell him that Mr Miles wanted to see him in his office the moment he arrived.

‘Reckon it’s about you driving a lorry for Megan Williams last week,’ one of the men commented.

‘Oh! And which of you has been tittle-tattling?’ asked Robert, looking round at the huddle of drivers.

‘Surely you never thought you could keep it secret? The news spread like wildfire.’ Barney Wilson grinned.

‘What I do in my own time is my business,’ Robert stated. He knew Barney was a troublemaker but, for all that, he didn’t intend to let his comments go unchallenged.

‘Not when you go against the boss,’ retorted Barney.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t know, do you? You really don’t know!’ Barney chortled, his lips drawn back from his irregular teeth in a wolfish grin. ‘It was on Mr Miles’ orders that Megan Williams’ lorries were busted up.’

There were muttered warnings from the rest of the men but they came too late. Incensed by what
he
had heard, Robert grabbed Barney by the shoulders, shaking him like a dog.

‘What did you say?’ he growled, his light blue eyes gleaming like chips of ice.

‘Give over!’ Barney protested, trying to wriggle free. ‘It wasn’t me that carried out his orders.’

With a smothered oath, Robert flung the man from him, turned on his heel and strode out of the warehouse. Ten minutes later he was storming into the company’s offices in Old Hall Street.

Miles looked up in astonishment when Robert burst into his office unannounced, then his face paled as he saw the anger burning in Robert’s eyes.

‘Ah! You got my message that I wanted to speak to you before you started work this morning,’ he blustered.

‘Yes! And I also heard that you arranged for Megan Williams’ lorries to be sabotaged,’ Robert snarled. ‘So, what have you to say about that?’

Their eyes locked. Miles was the first to look away and, before he could answer, Robert leaned across the wide mahogany desk and seized him by the shirt front, hauling him to his feet.

The commotion as Miles tried to free himself from Robert’s grasp brought Mr Newbold, as well as the girls from the general office, crowding into the doorway.

The anger went out of Robert as suddenly as it had flared. As his grip relaxed, and Miles fell back into his chair, shaking and dishevelled, the crowd melted. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they scurried back to their desks.

‘Get out of here before I have you arrested for assault,’ Miles choked as he straightened his clothing.

‘I very much doubt if you’ll do that!’ Robert told him contemptuously. ‘There’s a small question of sabotage to be dealt with. Don’t try to deny it,’ he snapped as Miles was about to interrupt. ‘The man who heard you giving your orders told me about it in front of a dozen or more witnesses.’

‘The fellow must be lying,’ blustered Miles, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘You’re despicable!’ Robert’s lip curled as he spat the words across the desk.