A Driven Woman

‘Yeah. Told ‘im when he phoned at lunchtime. Didn’t saynothing. Just phoned off. Then an hour later, all hell brokeloose. Now there’s this delivery to London.’ ‘Can’t one of the mechanics help out? Or even one of thesalesmen if it’s that urgent?’ ‘No chance. Terry already did two drops and now he’s waybehind on his work. Young Damian is on holiday so Craig’s onhis tod in the showroom. I’d go meself but…’ ‘All right,’ Sam interrupted with a sigh. ‘I’ll see to it.’ As she rode the short distance to Berkley Manor, Sam found,much to her annoyance, that she was feeling quietly excitedat the prospect of seeing Rattigan again. She shook her headangrily to clear the thought from her mind. This had been happening on and off throughout the threedays since she had taken tea with Cynthia and Charles at theManor. It was ridiculous: unsettling and unwelcome. She didn’twant a romantic involvement, least of all with Thomas Ratti-gan. The fact that he appeared to be attracted to her broughther no pleasure, only embarrassment and the resentment of herfriends. Neither Cynthia nor Charles had spoken to her sinceSunday. She’d hoped he would see reason when she failed toreturn his phone calls. But now this! Well, at least it was strictly business. It was in this mood that she stood on the front steps ofBerkley Manor five minutes later and rang the bell. ThomasRattigan opened the door himself. His face wore a slightlyharassed look but brightened when he saw her. ‘Ah, Miss Hayward. At last. I’d begun to give up all hope ofseeing you today. Have you been avoiding me?’ ‘Avoiding you?’ she replied coolly, ‘I don’t know what youmean. I was told you needed a package delivered to London.’ ‘Ah! Yes. The package.’ He looked momentarily flustered.‘Well, you’d better come in.’ Sam followed him through to the library, a large, bright and 50

airy room which, she knew, also served as his study. She hadseen this room when Rattigan had shown them round the previ-ous Sunday and had thought it the nicest room in the house. ‘Please take a seat,’ Rattigan said, indicating one of theleather armchairs. ‘Would you care for some tea?’ ‘No thank you. If the package is ready I’d better get straightoff. The traffic will be murder at this time of day.’ Rattigan looked down at his shoes. ‘Mm. Well, to tell youthe truth, there is no package.’ ‘No package?’ ‘No.’ ‘But you called my office…’ ‘Yes I know. My apologies for that. I’m afraid it was a ruse.’ Sam stared hard at the man before her. Rattigan held his hands out in an apologetic gesture. ‘Yousee,’ he explained, ‘I wanted to see you and I thought…well, Ithought…’ Sam finished for him: ‘You thought that you’d get me hereunder false pretences?’ ‘No! At least, that’s not quite how I thought of it. It’s justthat, I knew you’d be working today but I really wanted to seeyou, so….’ ‘What about?’ Sam asked, her voice steely. ‘I’m sorry?’ ‘What did you want to see me about?’ Rattigan looked even more uncomfortable. Clearly thingswere not going quite as he had planned. ‘Look,’ he said, histone pleasant and reasonable,’ Why don’t you take a seat andwe can have some tea and talk about this?’ ‘I’m supposed to be working.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I’ll pay you for yourtime.’ ‘I’m not a prostitute, Mr Rattigan,’ she snapped, and tooksatisfaction from the look of horror on his face. 51

‘No!’ he protested. ‘No of course not. I didn’t meant tosuggest…’ Sam didn’t let him finish. ‘Those deliveries my colleaguesare making,’ she asked. ‘Are they genuine?’ ‘Ah, no. I had to…to invent a few errands for them. They arein fact taking empty envelopes to the addresses of some of mybusiness contacts. There’s likely to be a little… confusion…when they’re received.’ ‘Then would you care to explain to me what all this isabout?’ Rattigan paced around the room, waving his hands vaguelyin the air as he talked, as though pleading for understanding. ‘You see, when I put in the first call I rather assumed youwould turn up. I didn’t realise you weren’t the only rider thefirm used. But this other chap turned up. Long hair, bad skin.’ ‘Damian,’ Sam supplied. ‘If you say so. Anyway, I sent him off on a wild goose chaseand called again, only to get another chap. This one was a wirylittle chap with a face like a ferret and bad breath.’ ‘Les.’ ‘Right. So I sent him off as well. Then…well, I just keptcalling. I figured that sooner or later I’d get you.’ He gave hera helpless shrug. ‘I know it sounds insane, but it worked in theend didn’t it? You’re here.’ ‘That’s a very expensive way to get in touch with someone.Not to mention unusual. It’s normal just to phone someone youwant to talk with.’ ‘I know. It must sound like madness to you. But I didn’texpect it to get so complicated. I would have just phoned youdirect but you’re colleague made it clear that your boss didn’tapprove of personal calls during working hours. I didn’t wantto get you into trouble.’ Finally the man’s antics made sense to Sam. He didn’trealise that she was the owner of Speed Machine. When they’d 52

met, the day he moved in to the Manor, he’d assumed she wassimply a dispatch rider, and the matter had never come up inconversation since. It was almost funny…almost. A small smile creased the corners of her mouth. ‘You needn’thave worried,’ she told him. ‘We’re very close, the boss and I.’ ‘Right. Well of course, I didn’t know that. And to tell youthe truth, I didn’t think you’d come if I just asked you to. Youseemed a little…cool…towards me on Sunday. Was I wrong?Would you have come?’ Sam ignored the question. ‘So now you have me here, whatwas it you wanted to tell me? And why couldn’t you have toldme on Sunday?’ ‘With that friend of yours hanging on every word?’ Sam grimaced, conceding the point. ‘She is a little predatoryisn’t she?’ Seeing her icy demeanor defrost just a little, Rattiganpressed home his advantage. ‘So will you join me for tea? I justwant to talk with you. Alone. You can bill me for the round tripto London to keep your boss happy.’ ‘Don’t worry about that. I told you. I have a very close rela-tionship with my boss.’ ‘Oh? You’re not…eh…’ ‘No. I think you can safely say we’re not…eh’ ‘Good. I mean…please sit down.’ With a show of reluctance, Sam sat, choosing a chair otherthan the one Rattigan had indicated. In truth she was beginningto enjoy herself, taking guilty pleasure from Rattigan’s discom-fiture. She wanted nothing from him, but it was flattering to seethis cool, worldly man behaving like a tongue-tied teenager. He sat opposite her, on the edge of his chair and ran aworried hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this, as you can tell.’ ‘I’m not even sure what ‘this’ is.’ ‘Samantha…’ 53

‘Sam.’ ‘Really? Well Sam, to tell you the truth I’ve never beenmuch good at…at…talking, with young women, but when wemet the other day I thought…that is I felt…I…’ ‘…you fancied me?’ Sam asked brutally. The poor man looked so helpless she couldn’t prevent a wrysmile forming on her lips. Rattigan saw the smile and his facechanged, the worried frown smoothing out, the restless handsbecoming still in his lap. Sam knew what had happened. He had suddenly seenhimself through her eyes, his behaviour resembling that of alove-sick adolescent, and he had thought she was mocking him.Within the course of a few seconds he had become once morethe cool, sophisticated, powerful man that he was. He sat now with his face composed, leaning back in his seat,one leg crossing the other. He watched her steadily as he spokein a calm, measured tone. ‘I felt there might be a measure ofmutual attraction. I hoped there might be. Was I wrong?’ ‘I’m not looking for a relationship,’ Sam told him, sorrythat he had misread her mood. She had preferred the flustered,off-guard Rattigan to this cold, controlled version. ‘You’re not married?’ ‘No. Are you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Divorced?’ ‘I’ve never been married,’ he told her. ‘Not even engaged.’ ‘Why not?’ Sam knew the question was too personal. Shedidn’t expect him to answer, but to her surprise he did. ‘I suppose I’ve just never found the time,’ he said candidly. ‘How old are you?’ Sam asked, and saw the flash of annoy-ance in his eyes. This man wasn’t used to answering personalquestions and didn’t like it. ‘I’m thirty eight. And you are…what…twenty five? Isuppose I seem like an old man to you?’ 54

‘I’m twenty eight, and no, I don’t think thirty eight is old. Iasked because I wanted to understand something. You’re thirtyeight and you say you’ve never found the time for a woman inyour life. So why now? What’s changed?’ Once more Rattigan looked uncomfortable. You really don’tlike talking about yourself, Sam thought sadly. Pity. Power andconfidence might be attractive, but a good relationship is basedon sharing. I could never be with a man who can’t tell me howhe feels. But it seemed Rattigan was willing to try. He had sat forwardin his chair once more and his hands were clenched before himas he spoke hesitantly. ‘I don’t know exactly,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose….well, youmight say I’m semi-retired. I’ve always given most of my timeto work, but now, I’ve made my money and the business takescare of itself, pretty much. Apart from my three or four monthsabroad, there’s little I have to do. Martin is growing up. He’llbe going off to University in the Autumn. I bought this housewith the idea of settling down.’ ‘And now you need a nice little woman to run it for you?Keep it nice and clean. Prepare your meals. Is that it?’ Anger flashed in Rattigan’s eyes. ‘Not at all. I have a cookand a daily lady who keeps house. I don’t need a servant. Ineed a companion.’ ‘A companion? Isn’t that a rather cold word to use forsomeone you want to share your life with? What about love?What about romance?’ The words seemed to take the wind out of Rattigan’s sails.He sagged physically, as though suddenly weary. His tone wasflat, with an edge of pleading as he told her: ‘The truth is, Sam,I’m lonely. What about you? Aren’t you lonely? Or do you carefor Charles Fletcher more than you were prepared to admit lastweek?’ ‘Charles? God no. I meant what I said. We’re friends at best.’ 55

‘So there’s no man in your life?’ ‘No.’ ‘Yet I sense a sadness about you. As though you werewaiting for someone. Or… grieving for someone?’ Sam looked away, her eyes suddenly hot and prickly. Iwon’t cry, she told herself sternly. Rattigan was watching her,sensing that he had touched a nerve. ‘Is that it? Have I stumbled on the truth?’ ‘There was someone…and yes, he died. But I’m not lookingto replace him. No-one could take his place. So now I’mresigned to living my life alone.’ ‘It doesn’t have to be that way…’ ‘Yes it does! That’s how I want it to be. So please don’twaste any more of your valuable time pursuing me, Mr Ratti-gan. You’ll only be disappointed.’ Sam stood up quickly, preparing to leave. This conversation,misguided at its inception, had become painful. Rattigan rosefrom his chair and stood facing her, his face serious as he said,quietly but with force: ‘I don’t think I’m wasting my time.’ ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Rage flowed through her now, the grief he had stirredturning to anger which surged through her veins. ‘You think Idon’t know my own mind? You think you can win me round?Wear me down? Well you can’t! Do you unders…’ For a moment Sam was in shock, her mind simply blankingout as the physical sensations running through her body over-loaded her thinking processes. With one quick step Rattiganhad closed the gap between them, wrapped his powerful armsaround her and pulled her against him. Her lips had parted in a gasp of surprise just as he pressedhis mouth to hers and the taste of his breath exploded in hermind, hot and sweet. Ginger snaps, she thought: he must have taken tea justbefore she arrived. Her brain focused on the irrelevance, unable 56

to deal with the immensity of the physical sensations coursingthrough her body. Behind her closed eyelids she could see the stars above heras she lay on the cottage loaf rock. The moon looked down onher, huge and silver, but the night was hot, so hot. She couldfeel the heat growing where their stomachs pressed againstone another, spreading out along her limbs, making her gaspfor air, her mouth sucking the breath from him like a drowningswimmer inhaling water. The feeling of his body against her was so familiar it startledher. How could it feel so right? Her hands had flown outwards as he moved towards her andhad come to rest on his shoulders. Now she began to push, hermind screaming ‘No!’. This wasn’t right…the heat trapped between their bodies…she had to stop this…the strength of his arms as she beganto struggle. He held her in a vice like grip, crushing her bodyagainst his, every movement of his body echoed by her ownas they moved, swaying in their embrace, the opposing forcesbalanced in a moment of equilibrium. She was floating in aswimming pool of warm water, her feet drifting somewherebelow her, her weight supported by the water. No, not a swim-ming pool, a hot bath: the water so hot that she was melting, allher muscles relaxing, her head becoming giddy. And then he was gone, and she staggered slightly as herweight returned, her body feeling too heavy for her muscles,like an astronaut returning from a long weightless flight inspace. One hand went out and gripped the back of a chair asshe gasped for breath, shaking her head to free the thoughtsrattling around in it. Rattigan had taken one step back and stood now where hehad a few moments before, watching her with a strange, tightexpression, waiting, it seemed, for an answer to the silent ques-tion he had posed. 57

Rage consumed her then, the rage of someone who has lostan argument, has had their incontrovertible truth proven wrong. Rattigan, watching her intently, prepared for the blow thatmust come, his facial muscles tensing, one foot moving auto-matically to spread his weight, to improve his balance. The hunger frightened her. The longing. In her mind’s eyeshe writhed naked in his grasp, panting with hunger, her handsroaming his hard body, gripping the firm flesh, her fingernailsdigging deep as she clung to him and moved, swimming on hisbody. ‘No!’ she croaked, her voice catching on a sob. ‘Thisisn’t…I can’t…’ Rattigan made no move, standing tensed and watchful,waiting. Her hand moved without her willing it and she saw himflinch, but it was her own face she touched, softly exploringher lips with her fingertips. They felt puffy, bruised, engorgedwith the blood that had rushed, heat-fuelled, to her face, drivenby her pumping heart. Rattigan’s own face, she noticed now,looked flushed and his breathing was audible. His chest rose asshe watched it and she thought of the blood pumping aroundhis own body, preparing it for the act of love. He was waitingsilently for his answer. She ran then, bursting through doors and caroming off wallsuntil she reached the daylight and her bike, her escape. Three miles away she pulled the bike into a lay-by and sat onthe grass, her face in her hands as she sobbed her heart out. * 58

7 ‘Bring your speed down a shade and try to use more of theroad on the corners. That’s it.’ Sam leaned gently into the next bend, her eyes flickingfrom the bike ahead to her mirrors and back again every fewseconds. ‘Okay. There’s a crossroads coming up in about halfa mile. We’re going to be taking the left turning, so you shouldbe slowing down right about now. Good.’ The bike in front wobbled a little as it took the corner butpulled away well with a series of clean gear changes. Samnodded in approval. Not bad for the third lesson, she thought.We’ll make a biker of him yet. Martin Lawrence, Rattigan’s nephew, had turned up in hershowroom three days ago. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Remember me? You said I should pop in.’ ‘Yes of course,’ Sam said, genuinely pleased to see him. ‘ButI wasn’t sure you’d come. A lot of people like the idea of a bikebut they never actually get around to buying one.’ The young man grinned at her and she thought once morewhat a handsome boy he was, with his fair hair and the startlingblue eyes, so different from his uncle’s dark, brooding goodlooks. ‘Oh, I’m serious about it all right,’ Martin told her fervently.‘I can’t wait to have my first lesson.’ ‘Well, no time like the present. Let’s get you kitted out witha helmet and gloves and we’ll put you on a bike: see how you 59

get on.’ She led the way into the office where Jezz occupied his usualplace behind the counter. ‘Jezz, this is Martin. He wants to sign up for some lessons.I’m going to give him the first one now.’ The two men shook hands and Jezz ran a jaundiced eye overthe boy. ‘So you want to be a biker, eh?’ he asked, not unkind-ly. ‘Is that your bike out in the car park?’ Martin asked enthusi-astically. ‘The three wheeler?’ Jezz nodded proudly. ‘Yeah. Built it meself. The engine’sfrom a VW but the rest is custom built. She’s fast and loud so ifyou ever see me coming up behind you…get out of the fuckingway!’ For that first lesson, Sam had restricted the young manto riding a small machine around the car park attached tothe showroom. He had proved to be a good student, listen-ing attentively as she explained how to change gear, how tocorrectly apply the brakes and so on, and then doing his best toperform each action exactly as she had told him. At the end ofan hour he was maneuvering around the tight space with goodcontrol of the bike. ‘Excellent,’ she had said. ‘Next time, we’ll take you out onthe road. Come into the office and we’ll book you in.’ Looking very pleased with himself, Martin followed her intothe office. ‘So how did our young tear-away do?’ Jezz growled as theyentered. ‘I could hear him revving the guts out of that littleHonda.’ Martin looked crestfallen, but Sam moved quickly to restorethe boy’s faith in his fledgling ability. ‘He did just fine, Jezz.He’s going to be a good rider by the time I finish with him.Good and sensible.’ ‘Real hot on sensible, the boss is,’ Jezz warned the young 60

man with mock sternness. ‘And if you don’t get the messagefrom her, just look at me and let that be a warning to you.’ He tapped a handy spanner on the arm of his wheelchairwhich gave out a metallic ringing sound. ‘Did that happen in a bike accident?’ Martin asked unself-consciously. Sam flashed Jezz a warning with her eyes. He had, she knew,a habit of regaling young bikers with the tale of his accident,providing the most gory details and reveling in their horror-struck looks. They had lost more than one client in the past,scared off biking forever. Whilst Sam never hid the dangers ofbiking from novices, she believed in a more positive approach. On this occasion Jezz took the hint, nodding discreetly andsaying to Martin: ‘Yeah. But I was a professional racer. Motorcycle and sidecar combinations. Danger goes with the territory.But normal biking don’t have to be dangerous. Just listen towhat the boss tells you and you’ll be all right.’ ‘Biking can be dangerous Martin,’ Sam told him serious-ly. ‘Car drivers seem to have a blind spot as far as bikers areconcerned. You need to be alert at all times, and you need towatch your speed. Most accidents happen because the rider wasdriving way too fast for his own safety. Bikes aren’t dangerousper se. It’s the people who ride them. My aim is to teach you toride safely, for your own good as well as everyone else’s. Butin the end it’s up to you.’ The boy smiled again. ‘I told you once before. I’m notaiming to get myself killed. I’ve got too much to look forwardto.’ ‘Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now, how about the sametime next week?’ ‘How about tomorrow?’ Sam looked doubtful. ‘Can you afford it? Most peoplespread the course over several months.’ ‘Money isn’t a problem. I just came into my inheritance on 61

my eighteenth birthday.’ ‘Bloody Hell,’ Jezz sneered. ‘It’s Little Lord Fontleroy!’ Martin blushed. ‘Hardly. I’m not rich or anything. My grand-mother left me a small legacy. It’s just a modest lump sum andthen a monthly allowance. But it’ll pay for the lessons and thebike.’ ‘Fine,’ Sam broke in, anxious to relieve the boy’s discom-fort. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow then.’ Jezz watched Martin as he left the office, a scowl darkeninghis face. ‘It’s all right for some ain’t it?’ he muttered. ‘He’s all right Jezz. Don’t get all bitter on me, yeah?’ Sheplaced a friendly hand on the big man’s shoulder and gave it asqueeze. Jezz looked abashed. ‘Yeah, sorry boss. It’s just, every nowand again….you know?’ ‘I know, Jezz,’ Sam said sadly. ‘I know. But we all have ourscars. Some are just on the inside.’ ‘I want to see Samantha Hayward. Is she here?’ Sam was sitting in her office going over the books when sheheard the familiar voice in the outer office. Oh God. ThomasRattigan. What the hell did he want now? Her fingers went unconsciously to her lips and her mindreplayed the scene from his library when he had kissed her. Shehadn’t seen him in the intervening three days, hadn’t spoken tohim even, though he had phoned several times. She thought briefly of fleeing; out the back way and onto abike. Then she shook her head angrily. This was stupid. If theman didn’t understand that she wasn’t interested, she wouldjust have to make it clearer. A lot clearer. She pushed back herchair and walked through to the outer office. ‘It’s okay, Jezz. I heard. Hello, Thomas. What brings youdown here?’ As she spoke she was taken aback by the sight of Rattigan’s 62

face. His expression reminded her of the first time they met.His lips formed a straight, tight line and his eyes bored into herlike lasers. ‘Miss Hayward. I understand that you are teaching mynephew to ride a motorcycle.’ Sam stared in confusion, momentarily thrown by the unex-pected subject. ‘That’s right. He had his third lesson today.’ ‘I thought I made my views quite clear when we firstmet. I do not want Martin having anything to do with bikes.’Although he spoke quietly, the force of his words made it seemlike he shouted. ‘Well, yes, you did say you didn’t like them, but…’ ‘Then kindly stop encouraging him to go against my wishes.’ ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t…’ ‘Good! Then you will tell him that he can’t have any morelessons and we’ll say no more about this.’ Jezz, who had been listening to the exchange with inter-est, now gave a soft whistle and ducked his head between hisshoulders. Sam stared in open-mouthed amazement at the man’s cheek.How dare he come in to her business and start bossing heraround! Her back straightened as she replied coldly, ‘Mr Rattigan. Ibelieve your nephew is eighteen years old. In fact, I know he is.I checked his driving license myself. That makes him an adultwith a right to make his own decisions. Now, in deference toyour views, I am prepared to discuss the matter with Martin,but if he chooses to continue with the lessons I really don’tthink…’ ‘You needn’t think at all! It isn’t your place to decide what’sgood for my nephew. That’s my role as his legal guardian.Kindly just do as I say and tell him you will no longer let himnear any of your damn death traps.’ 63

‘How dare you! Why I’ve a good mind to…’ Sam’s voicewas rising in pitch but Rattigan cut her off. ‘Very well. I can see I’m wasting my time appealing to yourbetter nature. If you have no sense of decency within you, Iwill take the matter up with your boss.’ Rattigan turned to Jezz whose head had been moving fromside to side like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘Where is theowner of this establishment? Is he on the premises?’ Jezz looked helplessly from Rattigan to Sam and back again.Then slowly, a malicious grin spread across his big face and helicked his lips before saying, ‘Sorry mate. The boss has alreadygiven you her answer. If you don’t like it, you’ll just have tolump it, won’t you?’ ‘The boss…you mean…?’ Rattigan turned back to Sam, his face mottling with rage.‘I see. Well, Miss Hayward, I can only say that I deplore yourjudgement. Don’t imagine that you have heard the last of this.’ So saying, he stalked from the office. Sam watched him go, then let out her breath in a hugewhoosh. Her shoulders drooped. ‘Bugger!’ she said softly. ‘Where’s he come off telling you what to do?’ Jezz demand-ed truculently, then laughed. ‘You should have seen your face!I thought you was going to launch yerself at ‘im.’ Sam looked down into Jezz’s smiling face and felt her ownanger well up once more. ‘Just get on with your job Jezz,’ she told him, and marchedback to her office. * 64

8 The following day, when Martin arrived for his lesson, Samtook him aside. ‘We need to talk,’ she told him. ‘What about?’ ‘Not here. Come on. We’ll take a walk.’ Martin looked perplexed as Sam led him out into the roadand over the stile into the field next door. Without another wordshe began to climb the gradient, digging the heels of her bootsinto the soft turf, climbing strongly, her eyes fixed on the lowsummit. The sun was warm on her back and a fine sheen of perspi-ration had built up on her body by the time she reached thecottage-loaf rock. They sat side by side on the warm stoneand looked back down the slope. The showroom looked like abuilding in a model railway kit. The everyday sounds of activ-ity rose to them, muted, softened. From the workshops camethe noise of a bike being revved hard sounding, at this distance,like a mosquito whining outside a net. Sam sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the sun’s warmthand the view and the slight breeze that meandered over the hill-side. With satisfaction she noted that Martin sat quietly besideher, apparently enjoying the same sensations, content to let thesilence rest between them until she decided to break it. ‘I had a visit from your uncle,’ Sam told him, her voicesounding oddly loud after the silence. 65

‘Uh-oh,’ the boy said, grinning. ‘Sounds like trouble.’ ‘He found out that you’re taking lessons.’ ‘No he didn’t. I told him.’ ‘You did?’ Sam looked at the boy in surprise. ‘I thoughtperhaps you might be keeping it a secret.’ ‘No. I don’t keep secrets from uncle. Why should I?’ ‘Perhaps to avoid confrontation?’ ‘I’m not afraid of confrontation.’ He looked at her steadily,an amused glint in his eyes. ‘Are you?’ ‘No. I prefer to avoid it where possible but…no, I’m notafraid of it.’ The boy nodded with satisfaction. ‘I didn’t think so. That’swhy I chose you.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘To teach me to ride. I saw the way you looked at unclethat first time on the drive, when he was rude to you, do youremember?’ ‘I remember.’ ‘You looked….defiant. Not many people can stand up to myuncle. He has a way of making people do what he wants themto.’ ‘I imagine he does.’ ‘But I reckoned you could stand up to him. Did you?’ ‘Did I what?’ ‘Stand up to him? When he came to see you. He told you tostop giving me lessons, didn’t he?’ ‘Well…he asked me to…’ ‘No he didn’t. He told you to. I know what he’s like.’ Sam sighed. ‘You’re right. He told me. Or tried to. And yes,I did stand up to him.’ ‘Good. I’m glad.’ ‘I said I’d discuss the matter with you as a matter of cour-tesy, but if you wanted to continue the lessons I would go onteaching you.’ 66

‘Good,’ the boy repeated. ‘Then we go on with the lessons.’ Sam watched the youth, who had gone back to gazing outacross the field, his expression serene. For the first time shenoticed how strong his face was when seen in profile. He heldhis head erect, the jaw jutting slightly, the small smile playingon his lips. There was a confidence there, a strength of charac-ter, which Sam had missed before. ‘It’s nice up here,’ Martin said, his voice dreamy. ‘Peaceful.’ ‘It won’t be peaceful much longer.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I’m buying this field. It’s going to be a trails park.’ ‘You mean caravans, that sort of thing?’ ‘No. Not a trailer park. A trails park. It’s a place where youcan come and ride off-road bikes. There will be a track all theway around the outside of the field, snaking in and out, up anddown. Lots of obstacles to ride around or over. A water splash,some jumps. I’m going to buy a couple of old cars, wrecksfrom the breakers’ yard. The course will go right over the topof them. You ride up the bonnet, over the roof and down theother side.’ ‘Sounds wicked. I’d love to try that.’ ‘You can. Once you’ve got your license.’ ‘When will it be open?’ Sam grimaced. ‘Soon, I hope. I haven’t quite got the moneytogether yet. But I will have. Soon. I’ve been saving up foralmost two years. Ever since…’ She fell silent and Martin glanced across at her. ‘..eversince…?’ he prompted. ‘…ever since my father died,’ she finished sadly. ‘Two yearsago next month.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry. How did he die?’ ‘The way he lived. On a motorbike.’ Her voice had a faraway quality about it. ‘He was a racer. Had been all his life. Heloved the sport. I spent half my childhood at one race meeting 67

or another. I was working in the pits when I was fourteen. Hedied on the Isle of Man, taking part in the TT races. Motorcy-cle and sidecar combinations. Jezz was his partner. They cameover the humpback bridge at a hundred and twenty miles anhour. There was a spectator standing right in the middle of thetrack. My father….my father swerved to avoid him. Dad waskilled outright. Jezz broke his back.’ The young man seemed to think about this for a moment,then said: ‘Was he good? Your father?’ ‘As a racer? Not bad. He won his share of races. But as afather, he was the best. I loved him to distraction.’ ‘What about your mother?’ ‘She died when I was very young. Too young for me toremember her. My dad brought me up. I was their only child.’ Martin nodded seriously. ‘I don’t remember my parentseither. My dad died before I was a year old. My mother diedwhen I was three.’ ‘That’s awful,’ Sam said, genuinely shocked. ‘It’s badenough growing up with only one parent: to lose both must beterrible.’ The boy shrugged. ‘It’s all I know. It wasn’t so bad. I stayedwith my gran for a couple of years until she got too old to lookafter me. Then I lived with my uncle. He’s my mum’s brother.I’ve been with him ever since.’ ‘It looks like he did a good job of bringing you up.’ ‘Thanks. He did what he could. But a lot of the time I wasaway at school. Boarding school, you know? During thesummer holidays we would travel together. I’ve been prettymuch everywhere. But I’ve never really had a home before.Uncle had this penthouse flat in London. It was cool, greatview over the Thames and all that, but it never felt like a home.This place…the Manor…feels like it could be a home.’ ‘Your uncle never married?’ Sam asked, already knowing theanswer but wanting to prolong the conversation. 68

The boy shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think he’s very interest-ed in women.’ ‘Oh?’ Sam said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. ‘I wouldhave thought a man in his position would have lots of girl-friends.’ ‘A few. But they never lasted. I think maybe….maybe that’sbecause of me.’ ‘Why do you say that?’ ‘Well, when I was smaller, I think perhaps he was lookingfor someone to be my mother, you understand? But I didn’twant a mother. He’d introduce me to a woman he was seeing. Acouple of times we went on holiday with one or other of them.Then I’d never see them again.’ He looked round at Sam and grinned. ‘To tell you the truth, Iwasn’t very nice to them.’ Sam grinned back. ‘I don’t blame you. No one could take theplace of my father.’ ‘After a while, I think he stopped trying. It’s years since he’shad a girlfriend. But perhaps he will now that we have a home.’ Sam felt, rather than saw, Martin’s sideways glance, and kepther face composed. ‘Or perhaps he doesn’t feel the need for female company,’she suggested. ‘No. he’s lonely. He should get married. Now I’m oldenough to look after myself I needn’t get in the way. But I thinkhe’s forgotten how to talk with women.’ ‘He was certainly pretty brusque with me.’ ‘That’s because he likes you.’ ‘What?’ She couldn’t keep the shock from her face andMartin laughed lightly. ‘Couldn’t you tell? He always gets like that when he likes awoman. He doesn’t know what to say, so he gets all stiff andformal.’ ‘I suppose I should feel flattered.’ 69

‘Do you like him?’ ‘I…I don’t know. Why do you ask?’ ‘Oh, nothing. Shouldn’t we be getting back?’ ‘Yes. Yes of course. We’d better get on with your lesson.’ They began to walk back down the hill. ‘What about yourfuture?’ Sam asked. ‘What do you plan to do with your life?’ ‘Uncle wants me to go to University. He thinks I shouldstudy Business.’ ‘You don’t agree?’ ‘No. I don’t think I’d be any good at it. I’m not really inter-ested in business, so I doubt I’d do well. I think you should dosomething you really love, don’t you?’ ‘I do, actually. So what would you like to do?’ ‘Something to do with bikes.’ ‘That wouldn’t please your uncle.’ ‘I know. That’s why I haven’t told him yet. But I will.’ ‘Why does he hate bikes so much?’ ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. I got interested in themyears ago. Some of the boys at my last school had bikes. Theywere older than me, but they’d been held down a year. As soonas I mentioned wanting one he just blew his top.’ ‘Are you sure you want one enough to fall out with youruncle over it?’ ‘Oh yes.’ Martin turned to her, his face serious. ‘I’m not sovery different from him you see. I know what I want too, and Iintend to get it.’ * 70

9 That evening, Sam sat with Cynthia in the bar of the bigGrasshopper. Since her divorce, Cynthia had made more timefor Sam, phoning her at least once a week to suggest a drink or ameal. Sam, whose social life was pretty much non-existent, washappy enough to accept; her friend’s conversation could be hardwork at times, but at least it was easier than being with a man. ‘I hear you had a run-in with the new Lord of the Manor,’Cynthia said, unable to keep a satisfied smirk off her face. ‘How the hell did you hear about that?’ ‘It’s a small village dear. People talk.’ ‘Jezz. Damn him!’ ‘If you mean that moron in the wheelchair who guards theentrance to your inner sanctum, then yes. Apparently, he was inthe little Grasshopper the other night, regaling the locals with thetale of your confrontation with Thomas. You really ought to getrid of him dear. He isn’t trustworthy.’ ‘Jezz is all right,’ Sam retorted, stung by Cynthia’s harshwords. Even though angry with Jezz for blabbing about herargument with Rattigan, she felt fierce loyalty towards him. ‘He’s an animal,’ Cynthia stated bluntly. ‘I don’t know whyyou employ him. I couldn’t bear to have him near me. Hestinks!’ ‘No he doesn’t! I know he looks a little…unsavoury…buthe’s all right really. I couldn’t have built the business without hishelp.’ 71

‘Well he’s not helping the business now. He’d scare anydecent person away. You can’t afford to let pity get in the way ofsound business sense.’ It’s not pity,’ Sam insisted. ‘It’s gratitude. I owe Jezz a lot.Besides, he’s more than an employee. He’s a friend.’ ‘Really?’ Cynthia raised one carefully plucked eyebrow.‘Well all I can say is, you should choose your friends with alittle more care. Take Thomas Rattigan for instance. Now there’sa man who could help your social standing in the communityno end. But what do you do? You get his back up. Not that I’mcomplaining you understand; it simply leaves the road clear foryours truly. ‘ ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘Oh come along darling. You know perfectly well thatThomas was interested in you.’ Sam looked away, fiddling with her drink as an excuse foravoiding eye-contact. She hadn’t told her friend about Rattigan’sadvances and had no desire to do so now. ‘I swear Cynthia,’ shereplied breezily. ‘You make it all up. That brain of yours seesintrigue in even the most innocent friendships.’ ‘Hmm. Well it doesn’t matter anyway. He certainly isn’t inter-ested in you any longer. In fact, he’s invited me to dinner.’ ‘He has?’ Sam was shocked to feel a stab of unreasonablejealousy. Why should I care? she asked herself; Thomas Rattiganmeans nothing to me. Puzzled, she examined the feeling for amoment, trying to convince herself that it was no more than pityfor the poor man, should Cynthia get her claws into him. But thesubterfuge would not work. Distressed, but trying hard not toshow it, she listened to her friend’s prattling. ‘…at the Manor no less,’ Cynthia was saying. ‘Let’s just hopehe has a decent cook. Not that you’ll catch me complaining. MrThomas Rattigan isn’t going to get any arguments from me. Atleast, not until after the wedding.’ 72

‘Cynthia! You can’t be serious?’ ‘Of course I am my dear. We’re perfect for one another.’ ‘But he’s a rude, domineering, son of a ….’ ‘Now darling, you say that simply because you don’t knowhow to handle a man like Thomas. He’s rich. He’s powerful.He’s used to giving orders.’ ‘And you’re used to taking them?’ Sam asked caustically. ‘Of course not. But I’ll soon house-break him when we’reman and wife. You’ll see. You stick to Charles my dear. He’s farmore your level.’ ‘I’ve told you a thousand times. Charles and I are just friends.’ ‘Perhaps. But we both know he doesn’t see it quite like that.You remember that day when we took tea at the Manor, whenThomas was practically undressing you with his eyes. Charleswas furious. I thought he was going to have a seizure. He mayhave made a big fat commission out of selling the Manor toThomas, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared to just lie downand let the man steal his girlfriend right from under his nose.’ ‘I’m not Charles’s girlfriend. I may not even be his friend anymore. The bloody man told Rattigan that we were engaged! Canyou believe that? I haven’t spoken a word to him since. I maynever speak to him again.’ ‘Ah! That would explain it. I thought he’d been looking evenwetter than usual. We met in the High Street a few days ago andhe was whining about your not having contacted him for almosta month. Does he know why you’re angry with him?’ ‘I haven’t told him, but I expect he’s worked it out by now.’ ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Men can be extremely dim sometimes.Are you quite sure you don’t want to talk to him?’ ‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. Why do you ask?’ ‘Because he’s just entered the bar, and he’s coming over.’ Cynthia rose from her seat and waved. ‘Charles! Do take aseat. I was just off to powder my nose. I’ll leave you two lovebirds together.’ 73

Sam gave Cynthia a poisonous look as the woman movedtowards the rear of the bar and Charles took the seat opposite. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you allweek. Don’t you answer your phone these days?’ His tone waspeevish and Sam felt her attitude towards him harden. ‘What did you want to speak with me about?’ she askedbrusquely. Charles looked taken aback and his manner became moreconciliatory. ‘Well, I wondered what the matter was? I haven’tseen you since that day at the Manor. Have I done something tooffend you?’ ‘You mean like telling Thomas Rattigan that we wereengaged?’ His face fell. ‘Oh. I see.’ ‘How dare you….!’ ‘But I didn’t!’ he insisted quickly. ‘Not exactly. I just told himthat we’d grown up together. Childhood sweethearts, that sort ofthing.’ ‘We were never childhood sweethearts, Charles. We foughtlike cat and dog until I was sixteen.’ ‘I know.’ He bowed his head and fiddled with the salt cellar.‘Look, I’m sorry if I gave him the impression that there wasmore between us than there is, but…well, the man just irks me.He’s so…so…’ ‘Rich?’ ‘…abrasive. He’s a bully. His sort think they can have what-ever they want. And it’s perfectly plain that what he wants isyou.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve barely met the man.’ ‘He was all over you that Sunday.’ He had begun to whineagain and Sam felt herself becoming angry. ‘No he wasn’t,’ she snapped. ‘He was perfectly polite andproper. He never said one word…’ ‘He didn’t have to, did he?’ Charles muttered bitterly. ‘It was 74

obvious from the way he was looking at you. By God, I couldhave…’ ‘Stop this Charles! You’re behaving like a child. I don’t careif Rattigan is interested in me. I’m certainly not interested inhim. But at least he doesn’t…pester me. He had the decency totake “no” for an answer….’ The moment the words left her mouth she knew she’d madea mistake and her anger, at herself and at Charles, moved upanother notch. ‘So he did try to seduce you! Why I’ll…’ ‘Oh, for God’s sake Charles. Grow up!’ She stood up abruptly, knocking her drink over in the process,and stalked from the bar, her head spinning with rage. In the car park she climbed on her bike and kicked viciouslyat the starter pedal, eschewing the electric starter in her fury.With smoke streaming from her rear tyre, she sped out of the carpark and disappeared in the direction of home. By the time she arrived at her flat over the showroom she wasregretting her outburst. Poor Charles. His crush on her was so hopeless, so pathetic. Ifonly he would go and find himself some nice, ordinary womanwho would be happy to share his estate-agent’s life. After all, hehad a lovely house, one of the best in the village. Not a patch onthe Manor of course but lovely nonetheless. And his businesswas sound, thriving even. And he was kind. And considerate.And well-mannered. And….boring. The word stuck in her mind, like a record in a groove, goinground and round and round. Boring, boring, boring. That wasit, of course. She had always tried to avoid the word, hatingthe condescension implicit in its use. But the simple truth was,Charles was boring. So what’s wrong with boring? she asked herself. Everything, she replied bitterly. 75

As a teenager she had grown up in her father’s business,surrounded by bikers. They were the only people she had everfelt completely comfortable around. It didn’t matter that she wasa shy, flat-chested tomboy: at fifteen she knew more about bikesthan did any of the young men who brought their machines infor repair. They respected her knowledge and treated her like aprecocious kid sister. Then, at the age of sixteen, when Nature worked her wonders,the offers began to come her way. But her father, the mosteasy-going of parents in almost every other way, put his footdown. He didn’t want his daughter dating bikers. Sam couldn’t understand her father’s attitude, not knowingbikers as he did, so she defied him, beginning a clandestine affairwith a young biker, tall and good looking in his tight fittingleather outfit. It lasted all of three months until her father foundout and scared the boy away. But by the time she was eighteen her father had reluctantlyaccepted that she had her own life to lead, and her own taste inmen, much as he might deplore her judgement. A few relation-ships had followed but nothing serious. Love never raised itshead. The problem, ironically, was bikes. She simply could not imagine herself with a man who was notinterested in bikes; they were her world. So she dated bikers. Ittook her eight long years to realise that every man she went outwith loved his bike in a way that he could never love her. Tony had been the last, the one who finally made her see thatshe would always come a poor second to his Suzuki Bandit. They had been together almost a year when her father died. Atfirst Tony was supportive. She clung to him in her grief, terrifiedof being left alone with her thoughts, wanting desperately to leanon someone stronger than herself. She almost began to believethat she loved Tony, and he her. Then, two months after herfather’s death, the row occurred. 76

She had been crying again, had burst into tears in the pub,suddenly and without warning, the tears just welling up insideher until she couldn’t hold them back. Tony had wrapped aprotective arm around her shoulders as she sobbed but shenoticed he continued to sup from his pint with his free hand. Shesensed that something was wrong but was afraid to ask what. For five more minutes she sniffled quietly, then suddenly heburst out: ‘For God’s sake! When the hell are you going to getyour act together? It’s been almost eight weeks!’ She stared at him in disbelief as he went on. ‘He’s dead,okay? Your father’s dead. That’s a pity. But you can’t go on likethis. People die: it’s a shame but you’ve got to get on with yourlife. Jesus! We’ve all got problems, y’know? Fuck knows howI’m going to afford that new exhaust for my bike. We can’t goto the rally in France without it; I’ll get pulled before we evenget to the ferry. And you know I’ve been looking forward to thatrally all year. Why don’t you try thinking of someone else for achange? The last thing I need is you crying all over the place!’ They’d parted the same night and she hadn’t been out with aman since. Instead, she turned her attention to the business, the businessher grandfather had founded fifty years before as a cycle shopand her father had built into one of the best motorcycle retailoutlets in the South. With her father dead and Jezz laid up in hospital, the businesswas languishing. Profits, which her father had always ploughedinto his racing, had dwindled to the point where the continuedexistence of the business was threatened. With a start, Sam wokeup to the fact that her father’s business, his life’s work, was indanger of being swept away. She couldn’t let that happen. It washis legacy to her, and she was allowing it to slip through herfingers. The next few months were hard. From being her father’sdaughter she now became, overnight, the owner. The Boss. 77

People’s livelihoods depended on her. For six months she struggled on, the fear of going underever-present, then Jezz returned, pale and gaunt and equippedwith a bright, shiny new wheelchair. With relief Sam let himtake over the administration and the business staggered backonto its feet. After a year of hard work the danger of closure had receded,but Sam was not satisfied. She had a new goal: to realise herfather’s dream. She would buy the land next to the showroomand build the trails park he had talked about so often. It wouldcarry his name, be a monument to his life. With every waking moment devoted to the business, therewas no time in her life for men. Nor did she feel any lack. Withthe sober clarity that sometimes attends deep grief, she hadresigned herself to a life alone. Throughout all those years, Charles had been loyal, waitingon the sidelines, hoping to be called from the substitute’s bench.Poor honest, decent, boring Charles. A man without any realpassion, without hidden depths; no dark brooding secrets; nogrand ambition. He didn’t even ride bikes. No, Charles, she thought sadly. I’m sorry, but I’ll never beyours. Unbidden, thoughts of Thomas Rattigan entered her head. Ifshe wanted hidden depths, she need look no further than Ratti-gan. The man was so closed in she could barely begin to knowwhat was going on inside his head. It seemed he liked her, butwhy? Couldn’t he see how unsuited they were? With his ridicu-lous prejudice against bikes how could he think they could everbe together? Or did he just assume she’d give up bikes for him? No man, however rich or handsome, would ever comebetween her and bikes. * 78

10 Three days after her encounter with Charles in the pub, Samentered the outer office of Speed Machine to find Jezz talkingin hushed whispers with Dave, one of the dispatch riders. Theirfurtive manner intrigued her. ‘What are you two up to? You look as though you’re plotting arobbery.’ The two men looked up guiltily. Dave coughed into his fist tocover his nervousness. ‘Got a bit of bad news,’ Jezz told her, looking edgy. ‘Oh God, what now? Don’t tell me someone’s smashed up oneof the training bikes.’ ‘Worse than that.’ His big face was crumpled with worry. Samfelt her breath catch in her throat. ‘No one’s hurt, are they?’ she asked.. ‘Nah. It’s nothing like that. But it’s really bad news.’ ‘Well tell me, for God’s sake. Don’t just sit there lookingconstipated. Out with it!’ Jezz and Dave exchanged looks once more and the dispatchrider began to edge towards the door. ‘I’d better be off,’ hemuttered, grabbing the door handle and bolting. ‘What?’ Sam said in exasperation. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Dave just got back from a job,’ Jezz began uneasily. ‘He wasout past the Manor, y’know?’ ‘The Manor? What about the Manor?’ ‘You been out that way today by any chance?’ he asked, his 79

voice a parody of innocence. ‘No. I’ve just come back from Basingstoke. I came throughthe village. Why? What’s happened?’ ‘It’s the field.’ Jezz said, then stopped again, unwilling to goon. ‘The field? You mean our field?’ A cold knot was forming inSam’s stomach. ‘What about the field?’ Jezz grimaced, then, taking a deep breath, came out with hisnews. ‘It had a sign on it. A “Sold” sign.’ ‘Sold? But it can’t be. I mean….it can’t be sold. Howcould….’ ‘Dunno. Dave just told me. I thought maybe you’d knowsomething about it, being as how you’re so palsy with that estateagent bloke.’ ‘Charles? What has this got to do with Charles?’ ‘It’s his board that’s up on the field.’ ‘No! You must be mistaken. Charles wouldn’t sell our field.’ ‘Look. I’m just telling you what Dave said, right. Maybe youshould phone this estate agent geezer and ask him what’s goingon.’ ‘Yes. Yes I’ll do that,’ Sam said shakily. ‘I’m sure it’s just amistake.’ ‘I’m sorry Sam,’ he told her a minute later. ‘I couldn’t doanything to stop it. I’m the agent of the seller. I have to reportbids to him. And the buyer was prepared to pay the asking price.I was duty bound to recommend he accept.’ ‘But didn’t you tell him I was interested in that field?’ ‘Of course. But he’s been waiting nearly six months now foryou to raise the money. This chap is a cash buyer.’ ‘Who is this mysterious buyer? Do I know him?’ ‘I can’t tell you that. It’s unethical.’ ‘You’re not a bloody doctor, Charles! You’re an estate agent!Now tell me who bought my field.’ 80

There was an uncomfortable silence on the line for severalseconds, then Charles’ voice came back, sounding resigned. ‘Allright. But you have to promise me something. You must promisethat you won’t tell him or anyone else that I told you. All right?’ ‘All right,’ Sam said quietly, knowing somewhere deep withinherself the name that Charles was about to say. ‘It’s Rattigan. He came in yesterday. Papers will be signed bythe end of the month.’ ‘Thank you for telling me,’ Sam said woodenly and hung up. Sam stood on the doorstep of Berkley Manor, her hearthammering in her chest. On the short drive from Charles Fletch-er’s office she had worked herself into a state of cold fury. Theadrenaline pumping through her body was making her feelslightly sick. Her knock was answered by a small round woman, Rattigan’shousekeeper, who showed her into the library while she went tofetch the master of the house. ‘Miss Hayward. This is a surprise,’ Rattigan said as he strodeinto the library. ‘Have you come to apologise?’ Sam couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Apologise?’ she asked incredu-lously. ‘What on earth do I have to apologise for?’ ‘For creating a rift between my nephew and I. For endangeringhis life by encouraging him to ride those infernal machines. Foryour stubborn attitude when I visited your premises this week.Shall I go on?’ ‘Why you…!’ Rattigan raised one eyebrow in scornful amusement. ‘Notan apology then? I thought not. So what can I do for you MissHayward? I really am rather busy.’ ‘You bought my field!’ ‘Your field?’ The look of scorn had deepened. ‘I wasn’t awarethat it was your field. I thought it belonged to Mr Macintosh. Hecertainly seems to think so. He has just accepted my cheque for 81

ten thousand pounds deposit.’ ‘But you knew I wanted that field. You knew I was raising themoney to buy it.’ ‘I knew there was another party interested in that piece ofland,’ Rattigan conceded. ‘But this is business, Miss Hayward,pure and simple.’ ‘No it’s not. This is personal. You bought that field out of spite,to get me back for teaching Martin to ride.’ ‘That’s preposterous. Do you seriously think I’d spend fiftythousand pounds just to teach you a lesson?’ ‘Yes I do. And I think it’s the meanest, most petty…’ ‘Be quiet!’ The sudden shout startled Sam into silence. ‘You’re wrong about this,’ Rattigan said, his voice back to amore normal level. ‘I admit we’ve had out differences but…..Samantha, it doesn’t have to be like this. If you would just stopbeing so stubborn. Tell Martin that you can’t continue to givehim lessons and…’ ‘And what? You’ll sell me the field you stole from me? Is thatit? You’re offering me a bribe?’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have plans for that land and I have nointention of selling it to you or anyone else. I’m not trying tobribe you. I am attempting to appeal to your sense of decency.’ ‘Oh, I see. So I just stop teaching Martin to ride on yourinstructions, you keep the land you stole from me and….’ ‘I didn’t steal anything from you, dammit. I bought thatland…’ ‘…and what else? Surely you won’t be satisfied at that. Whatother demands do you intend to make? Perhaps you’d like me tojust lie down and….’ ‘Stop this! This is ridiculous. You’re behaving like a para-noid. You’re seeing conspiracy where none exists. I give you myword….’ ‘Your word! Why should I accept the word of a snake?’ 82

Rattigan’s mouth shut like a steel trap. He glared at her forseveral seconds then said, in a voice as cold as November, ‘Ithink it best that you go now Miss Hayward. I really don’t thinkwe have anything more to say to one another.’ Sick with rage, Sam glared at the man standing before her.Then suddenly, the adrenaline that had been sustaining her forthe past five minutes seemed to wash out of her body, leaving herfeeling exhausted and spent. With a hopeless shake of her headshe made her way to the door and left. ‘Can you believe that anyone could be so petty?’ Sam moaned. ‘Don’t sound so petty to me,’ Jezz observed sourly. ‘Fiftygrand cash. Not what I call petty.’ ‘But to buy my field. Just because I thwarted him over thisbusiness with Martin. I can’t believe he would do that to me.’ ‘I can’t believe he’d throw fifty grand down the drain just toget his own back,’ Jezz corrected. ‘Fancy havin’ money to burnlike that. Some people’ve got it so easy.’ ‘Oh God. What am I going to do Jezz. For two years that fieldhas been the focus of all my plans, my dreams. Dad wanted it somuch.’ ‘Yeah I know. Your old man would’ve punched this bastard onthe nose. Maybe I should go along there and…’ ‘No, Jezz! That’s not the way. You’d just get yourself introuble. We’ll have to think of something else.’ ‘P’raps you should stop teaching the lad. Then maybe Ratti-gan’d sell you the field.’ ‘I can’t do that. I won’t let him push me around, no matterhow much money he’s got. The man’s a bully. Someone has tostand up to him.’ ‘You gonna tell the boy what’s ‘appened?’ Sam thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No. It’s nothis fault his uncle has behaved so badly. He’s a decent boy. Ifhe knew, he might not come back. He wants to ride as much as 83

anyone I’ve ever taught. And he’s good. He deserves to get hislicense. There’s no reason why he should suffer for his uncle’sbehaviour.’ Three days later, she would remember this thought with bitter-ness. * 84

11 ‘Martin, there’s a sharp left hander coming up. You want toget your speed down to about forty and choose your line. Youshould be further out towards the middle of the road. That’sbetter. Now, there’s a concealed farm entrance on the left nearthe apex of the bend. Check there’s isn’t a tractor or somethingabout to emerge. Remember, you need to drive defensively atall times.’ From fifty metres back, Sam watched the young man posi-tion his bike close to the white line in the centre of the roadand begin to lean into the bend, unconsciously mirroring hisactions herself a few seconds later when she arrived at the samespot. She saw his helmet turn to the left as he checked the farmentrance, then quickly flicked her own eyes in the same direc-tion. A dirty white Ford Transit van was parked in the drive.Instinctively the fingers of her right hand tensed slightly,hovering over the brake lever while she darted a glance at hermirrors. Everything was fine, but it was always worth beingcareful in these situations: too many bikers had been knockedfrom their bikes by cars emerging without warning from sideturnings. People with four wheels under them just didn’t seemto be able to see bikes approaching. You had to assume thatevery car driver was an idiot, and ride accordingly. It wasshocking how often that assumption was proved justified. Martin flashed past the van and disappeared around the 85

corner. Sam nodded in approval at the line he’d chosen. Theboy’s getting good, she told herself with satisfaction. It was her last coherent thought before her conscious mindwas barged aside and her subconscious took control, movingher hands with the speed of reflex. The white van had lungedforward, blocking the road. Her right hand pushed the throttleclosed and applied the front brake while her left hand tuggedon the clutch lever. Beneath her, the bike ducked like a bulllowering its head to charge and her weight was thrown forwardagainst the handlebars. The next few seconds were sickeningly familiar. In a ridingcareer that spanned almost fifteen years, Sam had suffered hershare of spills. The sequence was always the same: initial shock,tinged with outrage - You bloody fool! her mind screamed at thedriver before her - then the brain began to calculate: distance toobject, speed, rate of deceleration as the brake calipers clampedonto the big ventilated disks; the probability of avoiding impact;the chances of staying upright. An emergency stop on a motorbike, Sam was fond of tellingher students, is an operation requiring exquisite delicacy. Toomuch pressure on the back brake and the rear will would losetraction, begin to fishtail. Too much on the front and you’ll beover the handlebars. It’s all a question of balance. The tyres were screaming now and the smell of burningrubber rose around her. Ahead, the van appeared as a wall ofgrubby white metal. She could see every rust spot as clearly asif she were standing calmly on the pavement examining it as aprospective purchaser would. The road here was very narrowwith grass verges on both sides, and the driver of the van hadpulled out sufficiently to block it completely and had then appar-ently stalled. There was no question of riding around it. It was asimple question of stop in time, or hit it. She knew with cold certainty that she wasn’t going to be ableto stop in time. 86

In desperation, Sam pressed harder on the foot brake and felther stomach squirm as the big bike began to slew to the right, theback end sweeping round until she was broadside on to the van. Then, with only a few yards left to travel, she dropped thebike on its side. Her speed was down to a little over ten miles per hour whenthe bike hit the ground. Sparks flew from the mudguards andother metal parts and the bike, with Sam still clinging to it, spunlazily as it rolled the last few feet that would take it under therear wheels of the van. But the wheels were no longer there. Somewhere in the long three or four seconds that it had takenfor Sam to react to the sudden obstacle, the van’s driver hadmanaged to re-start his vehicle and get it moving again. As Samslid to a halt on the tarmac, the van was mounting the grassverge and straightening out. Dazedly she watched as it pulledaway in a haze of blue diesel fumes and disappeared in the direc-tion from which she had come. For a few more precious seconds she lay where she had fallen,stunned by the knowledge that she was still alive. Then her attention snapped back into focus and she becameaware that the world was full of noise. The big bike was on topof her, pinning her to the ground, and the engine was screaminglike a wounded animal. The accelerator had stuck fully open. Moving purposefully now, she reached over and turned theignition key and silence thudded into the space that a momentago had been full of noise. As she wriggled her way out fromunder the bike her foot became tangled in the handlebars but shewrenched it free and stood up, swaying slightly. Bending down,she placed her hands on her knees and waited for the dizzinessto pass. Sam removed her helmet and took a deep, life-giving breathof air. The diesel tang of the van’s exhaust was still discerni-ble. A quick mental inventory told her that she was unhurt: a 87

few bruises here and there, and her right arm was numb froma knock on the elbow, but there was no blood in sight and herleathers were not even torn. Her mobile phone, however, had notfared so well. It was in her hip pocket and she knew even beforeshe pulled it out what she would find. Sure enough the glass wassmashed and the phone itself appeared to be dead. Be thankful for small mercies, she thought bitterly: thoseleathers cost you a lot more than the phone, almost threehundred quid. Even minor accidents could prove expensive interms of wear and tear on clothing, but she shuddered to think ofthe damage she might have suffered had she not been properlydressed. Limping slightly, Sam made her way over to the grass vergeand peered down the long road, hoping, rather than expecting,to see the white van parked further along and a man runningtowards her to offer aid and compensation. There was no van and no man. ‘Bastard’, she muttered sourly and made her way back to herbike. It looked pathetic, lying on its side in the road like a horsethat has been struck by a car. A wave of sympathy swept throughher, almost as if it had been a passenger in the accident. Sheknelt beside it as though to administer first aid and ran her handsover the gashes in the petrol tank and the torn rubber of thehandlebars. Bastard! she repeated through a sob. The next problem was to get the bike back on its wheels. Thebig Kawasaki weighed more than 200 kilos and it took every lastounce of her strength to haul it upright, wedging her motorcy-cle boots into the grass verge and getting her body down low togain leverage. At last she had it off the tarmac and mounted onits stand and was just bending to examine the damage when sheremembered Martin. Where the hell was he? He must have realised by now thatsomething had happened. He should have noticed her absence inhis rear view mirror and stopped to wait for her. When she didn’t 88

appear, he would surely have come back to look for her. So whywasn’t he here? Quickly she pulled her helmet on and spoke into the intercom. ‘Martin?’ Her voice sounded small and tinny, the unfocusedfear that gripped her discernible even in that one word. Therewas no reply, only white noise, like the rushing of waves insidea seashell. ‘Martin,’ she repeated, making her voice firmer. ‘Talk to me.Where are you?’ Still nothing. She pulled the helmet off and examined theconnections inside. She didn’t know much about these intercoms- Jezz was the expert - but she could see no loose wires, so shetried again. ‘Martin. If you can hear me, I’ve had a minor accident.Re-trace your journey until you find me, understand?’ The hissin her ears continued uninterrupted. With a sigh she pulled off the helmet again and turned back tothe bike once more. Five minutes later she had satisfied herselfthat the damage was superficial. Expensive, but superficial. Thebike had lost its good looks but would still function. Gingerly she climbed on, feeling the bruising down her leftside, and started the engine. For a moment it sounded harsh,as though angry at its rough treatment, but then the beat of theengine settled into its rhythm and ticked over sweetly. Sam let inthe clutch and pulled away smoothly. Martin would probably be sitting on a grass verge somewherejust around the next bend, she told herself, having a quiet ciga-rette and wondering where she’d got to. As the miles flew by,however, she began to worry. She’d passed two major junctionsalready, at either of which he might have taken a detour. Hecould be miles away by now, heading perhaps in the oppositedirection from her. For another ten minutes she drove on, occasionally callinghis name into the microphone in the hope that he had merely 89

been out of reception range. Finally, she conceded the futility ofaimlessly searching further and turned the bike back towards theshowroom. Perhaps that’s what Martin had done: he would besitting jawing with Jezz when she pulled her battered machineonto the forecourt. They would no doubt get a laugh out of herthen. But when, fifteen minutes later, she arrived back in the littlevillage and cruised the bike to a halt beside the office, the onlyother bike in sight was Jezz’s monstrous three-wheeler. ‘I’m going to have to phone Rattigan,’ Sam said bleakly. ‘Rather you than me,’ Jezz muttered. ‘Martin may have gone back there. He could be sitting downto his supper as we speak.’ ‘Why would he do that?’ ‘Oh I don’t know. Why do eighteen-year-old boys doanything? To show the bike off to his nanny for all I know.’ ‘Probably just taking it out for a joy ride,’ Jezz commented.‘That’s what I’d ‘a done.’ ‘You would probably have sold the damn bike and gone off todrink the profits,’ Sam pointed out nastily. ‘Either way, I haveto let Rattigan know his nephew’s gone missing. He was in mycare, so he’s my responsibility.’ ‘I’d give it another hour,’ Jezz suggested, but Sam shook herhead. ‘He’s more than two hours late already. If nothing else heshould have run out of petrol by now. I’m going to ring.’ She picked up the phone and began to dial the number for theManor, but stopped and replaced the receiver before the connec-tion was made. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll go and see him in person. Thisisn’t the sort of thing you tell someone on the phone.’ * 90

12 Rattigan was sitting in the library when Sam was shown inby his housekeeper. He closed the book he was reading, placingit on a small table beside his chair, and rose to face her. ‘These unexpected visits are becoming something of a habit,Miss Hayward. What is it this time? Have you thought of a fewmore insults to throw at me?’ ‘Is Martin here?’ ‘Martin? No. He went out earlier without telling me wherehe was going. I rather suspected he was having a lesson withyou.’ ‘He was. But…something happened. He’s gone missing.’ ‘Missing? What do you mean?’ ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. We were out riding….’ Briefly Sam recounted the story of her accident and Martin’ssubsequent disappearance. Before she had even finished, Ratti-gan strode across the room into the hall where he picked up thetelephone. ‘If he’s had an accident, I shall hold you responsible,’ he toldher angrily over his shoulder. ‘I’m phoning the hospital.’ ‘We’ve already done that. Jezz phoned every hospital inthe area. No one’s been admitted as the result of a motorbikeaccident.’ Rattigan replaced the receiver and stood in the doorway asthough uncertain what to do next. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘What aboutthe police? Have you informed them?’ 91

‘No. I thought you’d want to take that decision yourself.’ ‘I’m surprised you thought me capable of taking any deci-sion where my nephew is concerned. You’ve already taken itupon yourself to put his life at risk…’ ‘His life is not at risk!’ Sam cut in sharply, her guilt and fearexpressing itself through anger. ‘He’s probably just out joyrid-ing. Chances are, he’s run out of petrol on a lonely stretch ofroad and he’s hiking back as we speak.’ ‘Or he may be lying dead in a ditch somewhere,’ Rattiganreplied, his own anger barely suppressed. ‘He’s an inexperi-enced rider on a powerful machine. A machine that you put intohis hands. I consider that placing his life in danger.’ ‘He was properly supervised….’ ‘Really? Then why….’ The shrill of the phone cut through the room, and in thesudden silence Sam realised that they had been shouting. Ratti-gan stared at the telephone as though hypnotized then, the spellbreaking, plucked the receiver from its cradle and held it to hisear. ‘Hello? Yes. Yes she’s here. Is this about my nephew? Thentell me. No dammit, tell me now! Why you…’ His face black with rage, Rattigan turned and thrust thereceiver at Sam. ‘It’s that Neanderthal who works for you.He’ll speak only with you.’ ‘Jezz?’ The breath had caught in Sam’s throat. She couldfeel it, hard, like a fishbone in her gullet. ‘Have you heard fromMartin?’ ‘Boss, you’re not gonna believe this. I just got a call…’ Sam’s face blanched as she listened to Jezz. ‘Oh my God,’she whispered. Rattigan, watching her intently from the doorway, couldsee the shock on her face. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ hedemanded, his voice hoarse with fear. ‘Is Martin all right?’ ‘Listen Jezz. Stay where you are. I…I’ll ring you back 92

shortly.’ Numbly she replaced the receiver on its cradle and stood fora moment, staring into the middle distance, her face white. ‘For God’s sake!’ Rattigan raged, ‘Tell me what’s happened.’ Sam’s voice was dull with disbelief as she said, ‘Martin’sbeen kidnapped.’ ‘What? What are you talking about? Kidnapped? How…what….?’ Realising he was babbling, Rattigan pulled himself togetherwith a visible effort and started again. ‘Why do you believe hewas kidnapped.’ His voice was calmer but cold and hard. ‘Someone phoned my office. Jezz took the call. They saidthey have Martin.’ ‘Your office? Why would they phone your office? Whydidn’t they phone me?’ ‘I don’t know. Perhaps…I don’t know.’ ‘What did they want?’ ‘Money. Half a million pounds.’ ‘I see.’ Silence fell between them then. Sam sat weakly on the armof a chair, not trusting her legs to support her weight. She feltgiddy, light-headed. So it had all been a set-up: the van blocking her path whilesomewhere, a little further up the road, someone snatchedMartin. She could imagine how they would have done it:another vehicle blocking the road, this one apparently brokendown, but easily visible, seen in plenty of time to allow theyoung rider to pull up in good order. A man approaching him toask for assistance. Then a sudden tussle. The boy bundled intothe boot of the vehicle. Nausea swept over her. Oh God, poorMartin! And he was in my care. Rattigan had been pacing the room while these thoughts ranthrough Sam’s mind. Now he turned to face her again, his facegrim. 93

‘I assume they said not to contact the police?’ Sam nodded dumbly. ‘And where do they want the money delivered?’ ‘They didn’t say. They told Jezz they’d ring again withinstructions.’ ‘They’ll ring your office again? Your office?’ His tone wassharp and accusing. ‘Yes. That’s what they said.’ ‘Hmm.’ Rattigan took another walk around the room,his head down, eyes locked on the floor as he thought. Samwatched him nervously, unsure what to expect. Guilt wasraging within her. If only she hadn’t lost sight of Martin. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said aloud. ‘I feel responsible for this.’ ‘Yes, I rather think you are.’ Rattigan’s tone was so cold thatSam looked up in surprise. The man was staring at her withrage smouldering in his eyes. ‘Where is my nephew?’ he askedthrough gritted teeth. Sam blinked in confusion. ‘I…I don’t know. What do youmean…?’ ‘Where is Martin?’ Rattigan repeated, even more forcefully.He began to move towards her and instinctively she stood up,backing away. ‘I don’t know what you mean. How could I know whereMartin is?’ ‘Oh I think you know very well. And you’re going to tellme.’ ‘Wait. You’re wrong. If you think I had anything to do withthis…’ ‘Where is my nephew?’ It came out as a roar of anger and Rattigan lunged forwardand grabbed Sam’s left arm. Shocked, she pulled away andfound her back against the wall. Staring into the wild eyes ofthe man towering over her she felt afraid for the first time. Hiseyes were bulging, the sinews in his neck stood out and his face 94

was mottled with rage. ‘I don’t know!’ Sam wailed back and struggled to freeherself, but Rattigan pressed her more tightly against the wall,using his weight to pin her helplessly. Her mind spun with confusion. How could he think she hadanything to do with this? How could he….? Her right hand was trapped between their bodies. She couldfeel his rib cage rising and falling as the air was sucked into hislungs, providing oxygen for the muscles which were holdingher fast. She couldn’t breathe, her chest crushed by his. Herbrain began to spin. Heat was pouring out of his body, outof her body. His weight pressed down. Stars hovered aboveher and the rock beneath her legs was smooth and warm. Themoon… ‘I…can’t…breathe!’ she gasped, and felt the pressure relax alittle. She tugged her hand out of the space between them. ‘Tell me where my nephew is!’ Rattigan roared close to herear and Sam flinched as the man raised a fist to shoulder level. ‘I don’t know! This has nothing to do with me!’ ‘You’re going to tell me where Martin is,’ Rattigan hissedthrough clenched teeth, ‘or I swear I’ll break your neck.’ Sam’s right fist came up with sudden, unexpected force,catching Rattigan on the point of the chin and snapping hisjaws together. Momentarily stunned, he staggered back, releas-ing his grip on her other arm. Ducking low, Sam drove herselfout of the corner, rolling across the floor like a gymnast andleaping over the back of the sofa. Scrabbling wildly in her panic she picked up a heavy brasscandlestick from the small corner table and hefted it before her.With her back to the French doors, she watched as Rattiganturned and faced her. He began to advance. She knew she was no match for this man. She was strongfor a woman, but this man was at least six inches taller andfour stone heavier. She could see his muscles bulging across 95

his chest and in the arms that reached out for her. She might getin a lucky blow with the candlestick, but if she did she was aslikely to kill him as stop him. Panting with exertion she circled to the left, making for thedoor, but Rattigan moved with her, blocking her retreat. ‘Thomas,’ she said, trying to make her voice sound asnormal as possible. ‘Listen to me Thomas. You’ve got this allwrong. Just stop and think about it for a moment. Why would Ikidnap your nephew? Why? It doesn’t make sense!’ ‘Because I bought your field,’ Rattigan grated, moving closeras he spoke. ‘The field? My God, you think that’s what all this is about?’ ‘You and your beloved field,’ Rattigan snarled. ‘Charles toldme all about your obsession with that piece of dirt. He said youwouldn’t like it when I bought it. Hah!’ The bitter laugh shookher more than the cold words that had preceded it. ‘But youwent too far when you stole my nephew.’ Sam swiveled her head from side to side, desperatelyseeking a way out. ‘Thomas, please listen to me. Let’s sit down and talk aboutthis. You can call the police. Get them to come here. We’ll allgo and talk to Jezz. You’ll see…..’ ‘Oh, there’ll be time enough for the police later. But firstyou’re going to tell me where Martin is.’ His lunge was so quick that he almost caught her. Throw-ing herself to the left, Sam ducked below the questing armsand crawled across the floor, a loose mat slipping beneath herknees. Desperately she scrambled around the sofa, hearing thecrash behind her as Rattigan’s leap took him headlong into thecorner table. She turned to see him rising from the ground in anathletic movement. He crouched, ready to spring again as shebacked away towards the fireplace, never letting her eyes strayfrom his face. ‘Thomas, please….!’ 96

A shrill sound cut through the air. The telephone was ringingin the hallway. Her eyes flicked towards the doorway, then backto Rattigan who was looking confused, as though he couldn’tunderstand where the sound was coming from. ‘That might be Jezz,’ Sam said urgently. ‘They may havephoned again.’ Rattigan said nothing, staring at her with livid hatred. ‘Thomas. Answer that. It may be important.’ Slowly Rattigan rose from his crouch until he was standingtall and straight, watching her suspiciously. Then suddenly, heturned on his heel and marched to the doorway. She heard himpick up the phone and his gruff voice as he barked ‘Yes?’ Quickly Sam made her way to the French doors, twistingthe handle and sighing with relief as the door swung open andthe cool evening air wafted across her face. But with one footacross the threshold, she paused. Her mind was racing withthoughts. If she ran away now, that would just increase Ratti-gan’s suspicions about her involvement in the kidnapping. But she’d be safe. What could he do? Come looking for her? Once she washome in her flat above the shop, he wouldn’t be able to cornerher. There were plenty of heavy bits of metal, tools and such-like, to arm herself with if it came to that again. But no, he wouldn’t do that. He’d contact the police. But the kidnappers had said he shouldn’t do that. Even whenthe police realised he’d been mistaken, the harm would bedone. They’d be involved, and that might be enough to causethe kidnappers to kill Martin. What should she do? Taking several deep breaths to calm her nerves, Sam care-fully closed the door and turned to survey the room. The littletable was lying on its side with one leg broken. A vase hadsmashed and a bunch of peonies were scattered across the floor.Without thinking, Sam righted the table and collected up the 97

flowers. Then she went and sat on the sofa, folding her hands inher lap and trying to look as normal as possible. It was the onlyway she could think of to calm the situation. To pretend thatnothing had happened, everything was normal and they’d justbeen having a friendly chat. She could hear Rattigan’s muffled voice from the hallwaybut she couldn’t make out any words. A sharp click of thereceiver being replaced told her that the conversation was at anend and she watched the doorway, waiting for him to enter. He came through the doorway slowly, his eyes dartingaround as though expecting her to be hiding in wait for him.When he saw her sitting demurely on the sofa, he paused,confused, then came over and took the chair opposite her. Samwaited, unwilling to be the first to speak. ‘That was your friend Jezz,’ he said, his voice deep andthroaty. ‘The kidnappers called again. They’ve left instruc-tions.’ * 98

13 At six o’clock the following evening, Sam pulled up along-side Rattigan’s Range Rover on the drive of Berkley Manor. The bike she was riding was not her usual one. This bikewas taller, skinnier, with elongated forks and huge knobblytyres, specially designed for off-road riding. Behind her, Jezzrolled up in his three-wheeler, his wheelchair strapped onto thespecial frame built into the back of the bike. ‘Don’t bother getting out,’ Sam told him. ‘I’ll sort Rattiganout and then you can give me a lift back to the shop.’ Rattigan appeared through the front door, wearing jeans anda denim shirt, the top button undone, his bronzed face lookingstern and pinched. He glared suspiciously at Jezz who staredback with a bland yet impudent expression. ‘Did you get the money?’ Sam asked. Without replying Rattigan walked over to the car, leanedinside and pulled out a heavy-looking rucksack. ‘It’s in here’ hesaid coldly. ‘Would you like to count it?’ Inwardly, Sam sighed. So, he still suspected her of beinginvolved in this horrible business. Well, that didn’t matter rightnow. The important thing was to get his nephew back. Ignoring his question, she asked one of her own. ‘Have youtold the police?’ ‘No. The kidnappers were quite specific about what wouldhappen if I did, weren’t they?’ ‘Okay. I have the bike ready. We’ll just get you kitted out 99