on well with everyone. And it was your idea. Say you will, please.’
‘That’s very flattering, but I’m not really sure I’m cut out to be a businesswoman.’
‘I’ve asked Mrs Erikson too. She said it might be fun, an enterprise of women, except Mr Barcliffe, but he won’t be taking an active part in running it. So will you think about it?’
Simon. How often would she have to meet him? She thought of refusing but realised how foolish that would be. It was a wonderful opportunity and the beauty of it was that it had nothing to do with George. ‘I’ll think about it, but I make no promises. It’s a big step…’
‘And one you’d take in your stride. Now, I must be off.’
Barbara accompanied her to the door. ‘Thanks for coming, and thanks for asking me. I’ll let you know. Soon.’
‘Talk to Penny about it.’
Barbara watched as Isobel set off down the drive to walk back to the manor. She knew what Penny would say. ‘Go for it. Show George what you’re made of.’ Could she? Dare she?
The coming and going of the builder’s lorries, the dumping of materials and the arrival of men and equipment caused major traffic hold-ups. The shops fronting the marketplace were up in arms over loss of trade and demanding compensation and no one could find anywhere to leave their bicycles, prams and cars. ‘Before this shambles it was never difficult to park in Melsham,’ someone wrote to the Gazette. ‘Now it is becoming like every other big town, jammed with cars and nowhere to walk because the pavements are being dug up.’ There were others writing in favour, that the disruption would be worth it in the end, but tempers were running high and there had been more than one scuffle between a frustrated motorist and the workers who operated the stop-go boards to halt the traffic and allow lorries onto the site.
Colin, whose temper had never been less than volatile, lost it completely when a large truck containing hard core, which he had been directing, became wedged in a tight turn and a long queue of cars built up, stretching right round the market and out onto the Norwich Road. The town came to a standstill. One of the motorists kept his hand on his horn and yelled at him, ‘Get that damned monster off the road and let people get on.’
It was more than Colin could stomach. He strode over to the car, yanked open the door and dragged the driver from his seat. ‘You smarmy bastard!’ he yelled. ‘Sitting there doing bugger all while the rest of us work. You think honking that horn will make me jump, do you?’ He had the man by his shirt collar and was forcing him back against his car. ‘I don’t jump for no one.’
‘Get off, you great lout!’ the man shouted, trying to struggle out of his grasp. Other people came to his aid and tried to pull Colin off. That was too much for Colin’s workmates who waded in to help. There was a full-blown skirmish going on by the time the police arrived, simultaneously with Maggie Doughty. Order was restored, the lorry driver got his vehicle off the road and onto the market and the traffic jam was cleared.
Maggie Doughty didn’t think the fracas on the market would merit more than a couple of inches on the inside pages, until she discovered the name of one of the protagonists was Colin Younger. Could she make anything of that? She stood, tapping her pencil against her pad, watching Colin go back to his work. Did he know George Kennett was screwing his daughter?
‘Mr Younger?’
Colin turned to see who had spoken. He didn’t know the woman. She had short boyish hair, dark eyes with a lot of depth and a ready smile with no depth at all. She was wearing a shirt with a man’s tie, an ankle-length black skirt and a bucket hat pulled right down to her eyebrows.
‘I’m Maggie Doughty. Melsham Gazette. Can I have a word with you?’
‘What sort of word?’ he asked warily.
‘Not here. Later, after you finish. I’m doing a piece on the market. History of it, how things have changed over the years. I’m going to talk to all sorts of people, your boss and the mayor, the people who live and work on the market. So, how about an interview?’
‘OK. I usually stop off at the Fen Tiger for a pint on the way home. That