Meg crossed the room and slipped quietly through the open doorway and down the stairs. The dog was there to greet her, his delight showing in his thrusting nose and pluming tail.
‘Good boy, good old boy,’ she said quietly and fondled his head as he followed her down the long passage to the small room which she used as an office. She sat down at the desk and reached across to light the lamp. It reflected in the dark square of the window beside her own pale face and she stared at it pensively for a moment or two then, her thoughts beginning to drift again she reached hastily for a ledger which was placed to the right-hand side of the desk. She opened it, flicking through it until she came to the last written page. She ran a practised eye down the long, neat columns of figures, her lips murmuring wordlessly as she added and subtracted. There was not one mistake, not one erasure nor incorrect total and Meg admired the perfection of it, remembering the hours she had spent in the company of the bookkeeper at the ‘Adelphi’. She checked the amounts at the bottom of the page, making a swift calculation in her head and smiled.
How well they had done! Eighteen months and their success had exceeded far beyond what she had hoped for. It seemed everything she did, every innovation she carried out – bar one –
had
brought them good fortune. Her goal had been an efficient, profit making concern in which she and Tom might find a niche and she had succeeded. Her own skill in the hotel trade had not surprised her. She was good at it. She had always known it. She had a felicitous knack of being able to judge where and when she should take a gamble but they were not gambles, she came to realise as her achievements grew. It was an instinct which told her what would serve favourably and what would not and except for one instance she found she could rely on it and trust it!
There was the scheme she had thought up of turning the loft of the disused stables into small, spartan but clean rooms in which the overflow of young cyclists and hikers might be accommodated. It had cost money to renovate, good money chucked down the drain in some people’s opinion, but it had proved otherwise for the young people were quick to take advantage of the cheaper lodgings and the freedom to be more high-spirited in the rooms away from the main building; and the better rooms in the inn were left for those who desired more comforts and had no wish to cross the stable yard to reach them!
But no matter what she did, no matter how hard she worked at it, despite the word that got round of the elegance of her dining-room which might be hired privately and was furnished in exactly the way the dining-room at Silverdale was furnished, of her bedrooms and drawing-room, of the simple beauty of her secluded garden where one might take tea on a sunny afternoon,
they
did not come. The trade she was aiming at, the class of person for whom she had created it, the clientele for whom she had trained for so long at the Adelphi, to serve, they did not come!
She had spent hours, days, in the company of Annie Hardcastle, scouring second-hand shops, going to sales and auctions in which household furniture of only the very best quality was to be found, purchasing a dining table with pillar and claw ends in the loveliest burnished mahogany with a dozen chairs to match upholstered in pale cream velvet, rosewood side tables to place next to a rosewood sofa where the ladies might take their coffee. Pedestal and slab sideboards and a silver salver to place on it. A Victoria bath for a bedroom, plated candlesticks and sets of ivory-handled knives and forks. Handsome cut crystal and a fine bone china dinner service. A lady’s wardrobe and posted bedsteads with velvet curtains, mirrors and dressing glasses and Brussels carpets, all of the finest quality and hand-picked by herself and Annie Hardcastle
who
knew good stuff when she saw it. They all sat in quite elegant splendour where she and Annie had arranged them in the empty quiet of the rooms she had set apart from the rest of the hotel waiting for the quality guests she had envisaged and who never came!
She let it be known that there was a private dining-room with its own entrance where a gentleman might take his family for Sunday luncheon, or where a small reception might be held in the evening, since her cuisine was of the highest order, without becoming involved with a person who was not of his own class! Dishes such as asparagus soup, crimped salmon, trout à la Genévése, lobster sauce, Charlotte à la Parisienne, compôte of gooseberries, soufflé of rice, vol-au-vent of strawberries and cream, all home produced, naturally, and dozens of other gourmet dishes which she had studied under the greatest chefs in the country, at the Adelphi Hotel to perfect, and which she would prepare with her own hand, were whispered discreetly in ears which might be persuaded to pass them on to those who dined on such dishes, but they did not come!
What had begun as an ordinary inn where a man might have a pint and chat to his cronies had now been transformed into an hotel where the traveller might have a drink in one of its cosy bars, tea in the garden or the delightful tea room, a more substantial meal in the elegant dining-room, or stay the night in one of its comfortable bedrooms.
But they did not come! Oh yes, she was full each night and day from May until October with the young and the enthusiastic cyclists, and motorists now, who wanted an inexpensive holiday and were happy to eat good, plain fare and sleep in a clean, plain bedroom. She made money and worked hard for it but it was not what she wanted and she knew the reason why!
She had wanted both. She had thought in her innocence that they could be kept apart. They did not mix. They
could
not mix and she should have known it. The good folk, plain and outspoken who came to her inn because it was value for money, who liked a laugh and a tart remark, a joke and a wink, would not care to be on their best behaviour in the company of the gentry and the gentry did not wish to be in
their
company at all. The working man occupied her snug and her tap-room, chaps who wanted nothing more than their dominoes and dartboard, their tankards resting comfortably on the plain wooden bar, the air they breathed
thick
with pipe smoke and they were not to be tampered with. They did not wish to see the ‘carriage’ trade drifting round to the ‘smart side’ as they called it good humouredly and Meg knew that once it happened, she would lose
them
.
And the ‘smart side’ set itself? What of them? Should she persuade them to it, would they wish the well-bred peace of their French cuisine to be interrupted by shouts of ribald laughter as Jack Thwaites told one of his questionable jokes? Would they care to find themselves face to face with George Anderson, smelling of the farm yard through which his cows had just passed, and where his boots had picked up most of what they left behind? And how would they react to the sight of Bert Taylor, legless and cross-eyed, staggering down the drive held up by the solicitous, good-natured arms of his fellow drinkers, only fractionally less drunk than himself? The young people, many of them working class themselves who ‘put up’ in her ‘plain’ bedrooms and who rollicked merrily in the loft above the disused stables, thought of it as a ‘lark’, part of their holiday, their freedom from the routine of their daily life. They ate her good food and cycled off with great vigour, promising to return next year and to recommend her to their peers.
Her own face looked back at her from the black depths of the window. Her hand fell to the dog’s head and he sighed as though in sympathy and she became aware, as her thoughts marched dolefully round and round inside her head, that she must face up to the fact that unless she was prepared to change it, it would not change for her. She had a splendid little business here, successful and growing, as word of her hospitality spread, taken by young cyclists and hikers to all parts of the country. Tom was jubilant, proud of her, he said, for it was all her doing and in a way she had pride in herself for it had gone well. Her shrewd brain and quick, far-seeing mind, her sharp business sense had made it what it was – but Tom must not be left out for he did the work of two men, cheerfully, willingly and was clever at what he did. He had left only an hour ago to walk down to Annie Hardcastle’s after being on the go for eighteen hours, first in the gardens which were a full time job in themselves, the pasture, the care of the pigs and hens and then, when the bars opened, standing genially pulling pints until closing time. He loved it! These were his kind of people and what she had in mind would have to be hard fought for. She would have to struggle, not only for his agreement but
for
his support since she could not do it alone. He would see no sense in it, she knew that for Tom had not the restless need to fly higher and higher as she had. Martin would understand since he was the same as she was, striving for that dream they both had, of different worlds certainly, but a compulsion which made them fight tooth and nail in the free for all that was life.
His face swam to rest beside hers on the darkened window pane and she sighed again, more deeply than ever. They had not seen him since last Christmas when she and Tom had gone over to visit Mrs Whitley. He had been busy he said, for the racing car, the ‘Huntress’ had been enormously successful on the racing circuits of America and Europe and now he was to manufacture a smaller version from the prototype and, eventually, a motor car for the ‘family’ man for that was where the future lay, as he had always said. He and Mr Robert had taken on new premises for the stables at Silverdale had become too small for their growing concern. He was to design a glider, he said, an idea which had been developing in his head since he himself had learned to fly, perhaps he had told her? and he and the old gentleman were to branch out again and all in all was, as Tom said somewhat sourly, far too busy for the likes of them!
Meg had been quite amazed for it was not like Tom to speak in that way, particularly about their Martin, but both men had been somewhat strained with one another and had looked away when she questioned them, saying they were both working hard and not to mind them for after all it
was
Christmas!
‘Anyway,’ Martin said, ‘you’re never in when I telephone.’
Meg’s mouth fell open since it was the first time she had heard of a telephone call.
‘I’m never in! When did
you
telephone? From what you tell me you’re too busy chasing your own tail to get in touch with us.’
‘I called a couple of times. That woman of yours said you were out.’
Meg looked doubtful. ‘Well, I suppose I might have been but it’s funny she didn’t tell me.’
He had smiled and his eyes had been soft for her and she thought of it now and wished with all her heart he was here so that she could talk to him about it, about this choice she had to make, which was silly because there
was
no choice. He would understand and encourage her in this step she meant to take for he would realise, as Tom would not, that it was the only one she
could
take. It was the only one for
her
. If you did not move on, you stood still and in Meg’s opinion to stand still was to take a step backwards, but oh Lord, how was she to make Tom understand?
The clock struck twice and as it did so Meg closed the ledger which still lay open in front of her, replacing it carefully where she had found it. She stood up and stretched. The dog watched her as she moved away but did not follow as she walked along the passage towards the stairs. She would sleep now for she had set her active mind to peaceful rest by fixing it on the future and what she meant to have in it!
SHE MIGHT HAVE
proclaimed her intention of buying the crown jewels, the furor it caused and Tom was so astounded for the first time in his life he put his foot down and stated quite categorically that he
was not
having it! No, not at any cost, not even if they were
giving
the bloody things away!
‘Why not?’ Meg asked genuinely mystified since he had been brought up with them, so to speak.
‘
Why
, for God’s sake? Why Meg,’ he snapped. ‘Throwing cash about like a man with no arms and for what? First it was investments and stocks and shares and such, which you know are beyond me but I trusted you and let you have your own way, but this, this is lunacy. A motor car! Sweet Jesus, what next? I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. What the devil do we want with a motor car? We never go anywhere except into Northwich and there’s a perfectly good train service.’
Tom’s tall figure, still inclined to awkwardness when he was upset, became quite unco-ordinated and he cracked his elbow sharply on the bar counter, swearing rudely and wincing with the pain of it. He was well aware that Meg liked to have her own way and most of the time she got it. He was also aware that she was usually right for she had a sense for business he did not, but in this he was adamant! A new stove if she wanted one, or a carpet for her sitting-room, but a bloody motor car, never!
Meg’s face turned to stone. She wanted this motor car! She needed it. She wanted to get about, to travel to other parts of the country to search out the potential site of another establishment.
An hotel
, though she had not yet broken
that
news to him and she could not do it without transport. She needed to be independent, to be able to get to places, test them out for their accessibility by motor car since she intended catering to the
motor car
trade and how was she to do it if she did not know where one could go? There was no question about it. She must have one.
She made her face smile. ‘Tom,’ she said, perfectly sure in her
mind
that he would agree if she explained it to him, for if there was anyone who would back her to the hilt it was Tom. For the past two years he had been her staunch support, her right hand in making the inn what it was. They had shared a companionship, a curious relationship which had baffled the community in which they lived, but firm and true, in step all the way in the manner of how they could better the establishment. They had made it what it was but he must be persuaded that it was time to move on. The inn would continue to be a fine, profitable business and if her approach to the bank for a loan with which to purchase a new hotel, with the inn as security, was successful, she intended to put in a manager. One who would be prepared to work under her own supervision, and it would then continue in its prosperity, but she had gone beyond it now. She wanted more. She wanted bigger! Better! Quality! The wealthy and she wanted a motor car to search out the place where they might be found. She had built up this business, it was hers and would remain so but it was time to move on.