Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

I want to thank every one of you for your loyal service and dedication to this company …’

      ‘Bloody hell!’ Half-turning to Dave, the ruddy-faced driver whispered, ‘That sounds a bit final, if you ask me.’

      ‘Ssh.’ Dave gestured towards Luke. ‘We’d best listen to what he has to say.’

      Luke went on: about how proud he was of them all, and how, ‘I would have told you before but I had to wait and be sure.’

      Recalling the endless meetings and frustrations of the past weeks, he took a moment to formulate his words. ‘I’ve had to do some hard talking these past few weeks and I don’t mind admitting there were times when I despaired. But I got there in the end, and now I can tell you that the future looks good, and we’re about to expand. The premises will be doubled in size and the fleet increased to eight wagons – the old ones going two at a time, until we have all eight exchanged for brand-new ones.’

      With the workforce’s full attention, he continued, ‘All this will take time but, as you can see, two of the wagons have already been set aside for a ready buyer. I’ve secured two long-term contracts with sizeable companies based in Birmingham, and the hope of another in the pipeline.’

      For a long, breathless minute, the silence was deafening.

      Clenching his fist, Luke punched the air. ‘That’s it, folks! GO TO IT!’

      He may have said more, but his voice was suddenly deafened by the biggest cheer ever to have been heard in that yard.

      ‘GOD BLESS YER, SON!’ Like many others, delighted and relieved, the ruddy-faced driver was leaping in the air, fists clenched and tears swimming in his eyes. ‘We all thought we were for the bloody chop!’

      Tears turned to laughter, and Luke went amongst them, with congratulations coming from all sides. He was deeply moved by the loyalty of these ordinary, wonderful people.

      ‘Back to work now,’ he told them, and with smiles and much chatter they ambled away and, well satisfied with his own considerable achievements, Luke returned to the office.

      ‘These good people have made this business what it is today,’ he told the old Irishman.

      ‘Aye, they have that, Mr Hammond.’ Thomas wondered what Luke’s father would have had to say about what had happened just now, because in all the years he’d sat at this desk, he had never witnessed such a great surge of devotion as he’d seen today.

      ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mr Hammond, I think you’ve forgotten something, so yer have.’

      ‘Oh?’ Turning from the window where he was enjoying his employees’ good humour, he asked, ‘What’s that then, Thomas?’

      Thomas took off his spectacles, as he habitually did when about to say something serious. ‘The men may well have “made” the business, as you so put it. But it’s you they look up to, and it’s you that inspires them, so it is.’

      Having said his piece, he smiled to himself, discreetly blinked away a tear, and got on with his paperwork.

      Later, Luke discreetly observed his employees, content at their work. He wondered what his father would think about this new turn of events. A twist of regret spiralled up in him as he reflected, and not for the first time, how he had no son to hand the business on to. Somehow, a child had not happened, and now it seemed all too late.

      His thoughts turned to Sylvia.

      Why had she given herself to a man like Arnold Stratton? Had he himself let her down as a husband? Had he worked too long and hard, sometimes building the business, sometimes trying to keep it afloat? Had she been lonely? Was it all his fault? Time and again, he had asked himself that.

      And yet when he looked back, he had not seen any real signs that she was unhappy or lonely. At that time she had many friends; all of whom had since deserted her when she needed them most.

      She had been a busy, fulfilled woman who lived life to the full. He made sure they spent a great deal of time together. Since the day he met her, he had loved her with all his heart and had believed she loved him the same.

      And yet she had found the need to seek out a man like Arnold Stratton. It was a sobering thought. He could not understand. Had she never really loved him? Did she secretly yearn for the greater excitement he could not give her?

      And now, with the lovemaking ended and her injuries taking their toll, there would never be a child and she was like a child herself: helpless; frightened. All she had in the world were the two people who really cared: himself, and the devoted Edna. But, though they would do anything for her, they could not perform the miracle she needed.

      In his mind’s eye he could see his painting of Sylvia. In that painting he had captured her beauty and serenity. If he was to paint her now, the fear and madness, however slight, would show in her eyes and mar her beauty. Arnold Stratton had done that and now he was in prison for what had happened to Sylvia. And rightly so!

      The feeling of sorrow turned to a cold and terrible rage. If only he could have stopped it happening. If he could get his hands on that bastard, he’d make him pay for every minute he and Sylvia had been together. He imagined them in bed, naked, and his mind was frantic.

      Stratton was where he belonged. A long spell in prison was not punishment enough for what that monster had done.

      His unsettled thoughts shifted to another painting, hidden away in his sanctuary. It was a painting of another young woman. A woman with mischief in her eyes and the brightest, most endearing smile. A woman not of the same kind of beauty as his wife, but with something he could not easily define, not even in the painting of her.

      She was alive! He only had to glance at the painting and it would make him smile. Her very essence leaped off the canvas. She warmed to the eye and her image lingered in the mind.

      Thinking of her now, he smiled freely.

      ‘Amy,’ he murmured.

      Her name on his lips was like a song.

       Part 2

      May 1933

       The Child

       Chapter 7

      ‘SO, HAVE YOU caught sight of her yet?’ Though harmless enough, old Alice was one of those women who was never happier than when somebody else was miserable.

      Amy looked up from wrapping the two slices of bacon. ‘Who are we talking about now?’ She was used to Alice’s gossiping tongue.

      ‘The woman who’s just moved in, next door but one to me.’ Leaning forward she imparted in a harsh whisper, ‘There’s summat very strange about a woman who moves house in the middle of the night, don’t you think?’

      ‘Happen she works a late shift.’ Marie emerged from the back room just in time to catch Alice’s remark. ‘From what I hear, the poor woman arrived bag and baggage at half-past nine. I’d hardly call that the “middle of the night”.’

      ‘Well, I would!’ Alice retorted. ‘I’m away to my bed at nine o’clock, and I don’t take kindly to being woken by the slamming of doors. As for “bag and baggage”, I can tell you, all she had with her was a little lad in arms and a portmanteau no bigger than this ’ere shopping bag!’ Holding her canvas bag up high, she declared jubilantly, ‘Now then! You tell me that isn’t suspicious – arriving at half-past nine of an evening, with a hankie-sized portmanteau and a child in arms.’ Sliding her bag onto the counter, she folded her chubby arms and waited for an answer. ‘Well?’

      Amy voiced what her mother was