The Emerald Valley (58 page)

‘I know, Mam, and I'm really grateful for all you've done. But I don't want to go on putting on you. Ruby's very good with them, anyway, and she's quite happy to have them through the week.'

‘You've already asked her then?' Charlotte said, affronted.

‘Well, yes, I have. And she can take them starting on Monday.'

‘In that case there's no more to be said.' But Charlotte's look warned Amy that a great deal more
would
be said, both now and in the future. Charlotte was not one to let things go so easily – but then neither was Amy. When it came to making up their mind and sticking to it, mother and daughter were as stubborn as one another.

The following week Amy set the new routine in motion and at once discovered it was even more of a boon than she had anticipated. Not only did she have a longer working day, but she felt more businesslike somehow. The inevitable chats with Charlotte when she delivered and collected the children had broken any train of thought she might be pursuing about the business; now her enthusiasm continued in an uninterrupted stream from the time she woke in the morning until she fell asleep at night. She attended to the needs of the children when they were with her, of course, but somehow she was able to keep it all on two levels, without the intrusion of adult conversation and arguments and the insidious serpent, gossip. In fact, there were days when Amy was so engrossed that she wished she could leave the children with Ruby until bedtime – and once or twice she did send home to ask if it was all right to do just that. But she knew Ruby was not keen on having Huw, who had always regarded her with a certain amount of suspicion, and was afterwards overwhelmed with guilt despite the fact that the girls seemed none the worse for their extended stay in Ruby's cheerful and untidy home.

‘The thing is that there really is so much to do these days!' Amy confided to Ruby when she collected the girls and Huw after one of her long sessions, but in fact that was only half the truth. It was not only the daily routine which kept her office light burning late – it was all the thinking and planning which was occupying her and taking up every waking second.

Gradually, during the months since she had been in charge, Amy had come to realise that it wasn't enough to fight for survival; she also had to expand. The two things were synonymous really – stand still and you were lost. From the time when she had accepted her first contract this had begun to seep home to her – a lesson constantly held up before her in the shape of Ralph Porter.

As far as Hillsbridge was concerned, he was already more than successful – he was rich and powerful too. But he was not satisfied with what he had achieved and had moved out into deeper water, extending his empire.

And I must do the same, thought Amy.

Sitting in her office, wearing her coat because the guttering oil stove did little to keep out the creeping chill of winter, she drew up a list of ways to expand Roberts Haulage.

A new lorry was the first priority – the only way to take on more work and increase turnover – but that and the two extra men she would need to run it were only the tip of the iceberg. There were other things she needed not only to make the business efficient but also to give the right impression to those likely to hire the service she could offer.

Even with the telephone she had put in, the facilities at the yard were very basic. A rest room was needed to accommodate the men, with toilet facilities and a kettle so that they could brew themselves a cup of tea without invading her office. That would become even more important as the number of employees increased. Extra storage space would be virtually a necessity – the present ramshackle store was already overflowing with spare parts, ropes, chains and all the other paraphernalia of haulage. And a petrol pump and tank on the premises would mean a good deal of time saved each day and simpler accounting too – one bill to pay, one log to keep and it would all be up together.

And there is something else I could do with, thought Amy. Transport of my own. A car!

As always, the idea shocked as well as thrilled her. It seemed in some ways a terrible self-indulgence. Yet at the same time, common sense told her it was becoming almost as inevitable as the installation of the telephone had been. She had to be mobile, she could not spare the time for walking to see far-flung contracts. Now that she no longer had to make the long daily trek to and from Greenslade Terrace she found herself begrudging even the time it took to walk from home to the yard and back again. A car would save her that …

And more … It would be exactly the advertisement she needed to tell the world that Roberts Haulage was alive and thriving. There were still so few cars in Hillsbridge that they were the ultimate status symbol even for a man – and she was a woman! Amy couldn't think of a single woman she knew who owned a motor car.

Hunching her coat more snugly around her, she stared into space and pictured it. It need not be a big car like Cliff Button's – it would only have to carry her and the children. It need not be a spectacular one like Ralph Porter's – a nice little Model T Ford or an Austin would more than fill the bill. At the thought, Amy tingled with anticipation. She had always wanted to be able to drive and the episode when she had taken out the lorry had done nothing to deter her. Oh, the fun of being able to control a fast-moving vehicle – the heady freedom of sailing past cyclists and pedestrians with a cheery wave! And seeing their faces pea-green with envy, too!

But where was the money coming from for all these ventures? Even based on her own rough calculations a good deal would be needed – far more than she had seen come back in profits over the last year.

Well, there was only one thing for it. If she didn't have sufficient money then she would have to borrow it. This was another thought to bring her heart lurching into her mouth, for Amy had always been brought up to live within her means. In a family like hers, if there was not enough ready money to stump up for something, then you went without. Mam had never been one to buy from the tally-man or have groceries ‘on the slate'. ‘Pay your way'had been her byword and, drilled into Amy as the maxim had been, it had become her way of life too. Now the prospect of owing more money than Dad would have earned in a whole year during his working life made her feel physically sick, yet at the same time she was intoxicated by her own daring.

It's the only way, Amy thought. If I am ever to make anything of this business I must start to think big – and have confidence in what I'm trying to do.

Her mind made up, she reached for the telephone. Not only did she need confidence in herself – she needed to impress others with the viability of Roberts Haulage – and the first person to convince was the bank manager.

Amy had met him only once – a big, bluff man with a face coloured purplish by too much business concluded over lunchtime tipples – and she stood as much in awe of him as she did of the rest of the professional hierarchy of Hillsbridge. But she had not the slightest intention of letting him know that.

I used to be nervous of Arthur Clarence, Amy told herself. But he's only a man and so is the bank manager. Just remember that!

A few minutes later, with an appointment fixed for the following afternoon, Amy continued to remind herself of the fact, but when next day she marched in through the impressive bank door, it took all her willpower to buoy herself up for the interview ahead.

In the event she need not have worried. The bank manager greeted her genially, listened to what she had to say and spent what seemed like a lifetime examining the accounts she had brought with her. Then he sat back, looking at her through his rimless glasses with an expression of apparent approval.

‘Well, Mrs Roberts, you will be pleased to know that I believe I can accede to your request.'

Amy tried to hide the rush of surprise and relief she was experiencing. ‘You mean you'll lend me the money?'

‘The
bank
will lend you the money,' he corrected primly. ‘I believe that what you are proposing is very viable. There are men, and plenty of them, who would feel it unwise to finance a venture by a woman. But I am not one of them. In my experience, women have just as good a head for accounts as men – and why not? After all, in most households it is the woman who holds the purse-strings. And you have already proved yourself more than capable of running the firm. I must confess that I did have some initial misgivings on that score, but to keep the business together as you have done is testimony enough. As for the nature of your undertaking, transport is a thing of the future. Before we can look around the horse will be disappearing altogether and there will be lorries everywhere – a great pity, some would say, but that's progress for you. We can no more hold back the clock in that sphere than we could cling on to the spinning jenny.'

‘That's more or less what Llew used to say,' Amy said. ‘He even said he could foresee the day when road transport would take some of the business away from the railways. Lorries can go where trains cannot, after all.'

‘He may well have been right,' the bank manager agreed. ‘Now, to details …'

An hour later Amy was back in her office flushed and excited by success. The money she needed was available – and it had all been easier than she had dared hope. But that was only the first step towards the expansion of the business. Now it was up to her to capitalise on it.

Suppose I can't do it! she thought, a moment's fearful doubt assailing her. Suppose I can't keep up the payments on the loan …

This was a thought on which she could not afford to dwell for long. There was so much to be done … so many decisions to take, so much to organise and plan.

One day Roberts Haulage will be as well-known a name in transport as Ralph Porter's is in timber, she told herself.

It was a goal worth aiming for.

During the next few months Amy worked as she had never worked before. Christmas and New Year came and went – the first white Christmas in the district for twenty-one years, the old folk said – and though she wrapped presents and filled stockings as she always had, it was receipt records, delivery tickets and schedules that occupied her mind, together with the problems of frozen engines and snow-blocked roads! By spring Roberts Haulage was beginning to look like a flourishing concern. Two more men had been taken on – one already an experienced driver, the other a young man keen to learn while working as a mate – a petrol pump had been installed in the yard and work had begun on a new stone store. With a rest room for her men in mind, Amy had acquired an old railway carriage at a very fair price and that was now installed alongside her own office.

Then, when the weather turned for the better, with clear blue skies taking the place of heavy gunmetal grey, and the buds began to burst on the trees around the perimeter of the yard, Amy took delivery of her new motor car – a neat Model T Ford which sparkled like a black diamond in the bright April sunshine.

‘I want you to give me some lessons, Herbie,' she told her foreman with all the authority that was now second nature to her. ‘Just one or two – enough for me to know what I'm doing.' And not have a repeat of the fiasco when first I drove the lorry, she added silently to herself.

‘I should think that would be a very good idea,' Herbie said in his slow way. ‘If you hadn't asked, I was going to suggest it myself. When do you want to start?'

‘Now?' Amy said. She felt like a child at Christmas who could not wait to begin playing with a new toy.

‘The lorry's due back any time now for the stone job.'

‘So what?' Amy said gaily. ‘Surely Ivor can see himself in this once?'

Herbie nodded. ‘If you say so. You'm the boss, Mrs Roberts.'

‘I do say so! You can start the engine for me this time, Herbie – I know I shall have to get used to doing it myself, but I'm so shaky with excitement I don't think I could turn the handle.'

‘Do'ee really think'ee ought to drive in a state like that?' Herbie asked doubtfully.

‘Oh fiddle, why not? As soon as I start concentrating, my nerves will settle down. You'll see.'

‘Well, I hope so. I don't want too many shocks, mind,' Herbie warned her, but there was a philosophical twist to his mouth. If Mrs Roberts wanted to start driving here and now, Mrs Roberts would do it – and it had better be with him rather than without him.

To Herbie's amazement, however, Amy seemed to take to driving the Model T like a duck to water. She started off with a skip and a jump, it was true – ‘kangaroo juice', Herbie murmured – and she had a problem or two at the steep hill junction, but her steering though a little wild was acceptable, and in spite of the fact that she approached bends with a speed that made his hair stand on end, Herbie was grudgingly forced to admit that Amy was a very promising pupil.

‘I would never have thought a woman could do it,' he commented later to Cliff. ‘But there you are, life's full of surprises!'

Amy, had she heard him, would have retorted that it was no surprise at all. There was no real physical effort involved apart from swinging the starting handle, a knack that still eluded her, and she could see no reason why it should be considered a man's prerogative to drive a motor car.

And she did enjoy it so! The same feeling of freedom and excitement which had buoyed her up when riding as a passenger in Ralph Porter's car lifted her again as she settled herself behind the steering wheel, the fact that the Ford was not quite in the same class as the Morgan being more than made up for by the fact that it was
hers.
After a few lessons she airily dismissed Herbie as tutor.

‘There's no need for you to waste your valuable time, Herbie,' she told him. ‘With so much to be done at the yard, I really can't ask you to come joy-riding with me.'

But the truth was that she wanted to be alone in the car. Herbie's spare, overalled figure seemed to clutter up the passenger seat and she was terrified too that he might leave oily marks on the floor or upholstery. And she felt so very
grand
driving alone, sitting bolt upright so as to reach the pedals, curls blowing in the breeze. When she drove through town, passing people she knew, she longed to wave gaily but was afraid to let go of the steering wheel and lose concentration. There was not much traffic on the roads, but she had no intention of colliding with any of it. Once was more than enough for her and the little bump she had shared with Ralph Porter was nothing compared with what might happen if she frightened one of the big dray-horses that pulled the baize-covered station delivery wagon, or startled the baker's rather frisky pony.