The Bachelor's Bargain

‘And I’ll have the not so lovely bailiffs hammering on the door if those outstanding bills aren’t settled by Monday,’ he retorted sullenly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t got that money, Merren? You promised you’d sell that ring; you know you did.’

‘I did sell it,’ she confessed, but before she could tell him how the money had been stolen from her, his face was lit by a tremendous look of relief.

‘You little terror!’ he exclaimed, his face all huge smiles suddenly. ‘You’ve been winding me up, Merren Shepherd! How much did you get for it?’

‘T-two thousand, but…’

‘Two thousand. Great!’ He beamed. ‘You were robbed, of course,’ he said of the jeweller, Merren winced at the accuracy of the remark. ‘But two thousand, as you know, will settle the blighters. Oh, Merren, it feels as if a ton of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. For a while there, you wicked imp, I felt quite suicidal.’ Oh, heavens. Merren quailed at the enormity of what he had just confessed. ‘Where is it?’ he asked.

Good question. She felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. She turned away from him, knowing that, suicidal or not, she was going to have to douse that look of tremendous relief. ‘I w-was…’ she began, and half turned. It was a mistake to look at him. She loved him; he was her family. ‘I’m—er—getting it tomorrow,’ she heard herself state.

And Robert opined, ‘Honestly, you’d think a jeweller of all people would have two thousand in cash on the premises, wouldn’t you?’

‘You would,’ she agreed, and found she was taking up Robert’s notion that she was going to have to go back to the jeweller’s tomorrow because they normally paid via cheque and didn’t deal much in cash. ‘It’s a security thing apparently.’

The conversation came to an end then, when Queenie and Kitty raced down the stairs and into the kitchen chorusing, ‘I’m starving.’

Robert looked at Merren, who would normally have seen to their appetites, but she was reeling under the enormity of what she had done—and what she was panickingly realising she was going to have to do now.

‘I’ve a letter I need to post,’ she excused, and, finding a stamp in the bureau, went upstairs to collect the letter she had written to her father.

She stayed in her room some minutes, contemplating her options while the words ‘prison’, ‘suicide’, ‘divorce’, ‘family break-up’ whirled around in her head. She couldn’t allow any of that to happen. So what options were there?

She’d post her letter to her father, though since he hadn’t even bothered to reply to Robert’s letter, she saw little hope that any plea from her would fare any better.

As if trying to avoid thinking of the man whose parting words had been, ‘If you change your mind about the money—give me a ring,’ she dwelt on the eldest member of their family, Uncle Amos.

Amos Yardley lived a ten-minute drive away, was her mother’s brother, and Merren thought the world of him. He had been more of a father to her than her own, even before her parents had separated.

Dear Uncle Amos. ‘Are you all right for money?’ he’d asked when her mother had died. Merren had determined he would never know how the funeral had nearly cleaned her out; only the best had done for her mother.

‘Absolutely!’ she’d assured him. His two up and two down cottage was collapsing about his ears—he was poorer than they were.

It was partly because she hadn’t wanted him to worry, when she knew he could do nothing to help, that she hadn’t told him the true reason Robert and his family had moved in with her. She had let Uncle Amos believe it was because it was so quiet and empty with her mother gone that she had asked Robert to move back to the family home.

But Uncle Amos, who was an inventor and often quite vague about matters outside his work, had given her a shrewd kind of look, as if suspecting she was doing a little inventing herself. To her mind, though, hers was a necessary invention. For, while Uncle Amos’s inventions earned him nothing—he seemed to subsist by writing articles for clever magazines and barely scraped a living for himself—so Merren knew she would not be approaching him to help Robert out.

Which left her with the one option she was trying to avoid. She flicked her glance to the dressing table where, without so much as bothering to read it, she had dropped the man Jarad’s card. A sick feeling entered her stomach. She didn’t want to do it; she didn’t.

Merren went over to the dressing table and picked up the card, and read it, and, oh, grief! She worked for an electronics company herself—only a tiny one by comparison, but large enough for her to be familiar with the name Roxford Waring, one of the biggest and most highly respected multinationals in the electronics field. The man Jarad had given her his personal business card, which also listed his home number. Oh, heaven’s above, Jarad Montgomery was a director of Roxford Waring! Was she really contemplating contacting one of their board members with a view to borrowing some money from him?

Merren needed to think, so she escaped from the house and posted her letter, and, knowing the utter futility of it anyway, called in at the police station and reported having been mugged. She thought it unlikely they would catch the criminals, and knew she would never see her bag again.

Which, as she bowed to the inevitable and searched for a telephone kiosk—no way could she make this call from home—reminded her that she didn’t even have the price of a phone call with her.

She didn’t want to make that call; she didn’t, she didn’t. What she wanted to do was to go home, go to bed, and stick her head under the bedclothes—and stay there.

But there wasn’t only herself to think of here. By reminding herself she had a deeply stressed brother, a deeply depressed sister-in-law, two young nieces and a baby nephew, Merren located a phone box.

She went in, grabbed at what courage she could find, quickly dialled the operator and asked the operator for a transfer charge call. And, even while she knew her name wouldn’t mean a thing to Jarad Montgomery, she gave it to the operator—and waited.

The operator went off the line and Merren, feeling all hot and wishing she wasn’t doing this, started to feel certain that even if Jarad Montgomery didn’t refuse to accept the call from her, he most definitely wouldn’t be expecting her to take him up on his offer of, ‘If you change your mind about the money.’

By the time she heard his ‘Hello’ on the line, Merren was battling with pride—she didn’t want his money anyway.

But—she needed it, so it was stiltedly that she answered, ‘Hello, Ja…Mr Montgomery. Er—Merren Shepherd here.’ Oh, drat, the operator would have already told him who his caller was.

‘Merren Shepherd?’ he replied, obviously not knowing her from Eve, for all he had accepted the charge. Either that, or he was playing with her.

That thought nettled her. ‘As in “waif and stray”,’ she enlightened him shortly.

There was a pause, for all the world as if he was trying to place her. Then, ‘That Merren Shepherd!’ he responded smoothly, and Merren hated him again, with a vengeance.

But he was waiting, and there just wasn’t any way of dressing it up. ‘You were—um—Were you serious—about the m-money?’ she questioned.

‘Two thousand, you said.’

‘Yes.’

‘Come to my office tomorrow,’ he instructed.

Her hands were all clammy; she gripped the phone hard. She swallowed. ‘What time?’

‘Eleven,’ he said, and knowing she was going to have to take time off work, Merren also knew she was in no position to argue. Not that it would do her much good anyway—the line had gone dead.

Merren reeled out of the telephone kiosk, feeling a mixture of very intense emotions. She didn’t like what she was doing, but by the sound of it Jarad Montgomery was prepared to help her.

She didn’t like him, was niggled by his ‘That Merren Shepherd!’ as much as she was niggled by, ‘Come to my office tomorrow’ and his short ‘Eleven’ before he’d hung up.

No, she very definitely didn’t like Mr Jarad Montgomery. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and Mr Jarad Montgomery was the only hope she’d got.

CHAPTER TWO

MERREN had a nightmare that night. She awoke frightened, breathless and crying out. Feeling stiff and bruised, she switched on the light and calmed herself by reflecting that it wasn’t surprising she should dream violently of being hit, being chased—chased to the edge of a cliff—and of falling, falling.

She didn’t know how long she had been yelling, but supposed it couldn’t have been for very long, or very loudly either, because she hadn’t disturbed anyone. Though, since she had moved up to the attic bedroom, it was unlikely anyone had heard her. No one was rushing up to rescue her from her night-time villains anyhow.

She felt wide awake, and would have liked to go down to the kitchen and make a warm drink, but feared, albeit that Robert and his family were heavy sleepers, that she might wake the baby. Baby Samuel had been fretful from birth, and, as she well knew, could cry for hours!

Not unnaturally, she supposed, thoughts of Jarad Montgomery came into her head. Had she really asked him for two thousand pounds? Had he really agreed to loan the money to her? And, if he had, how on earth was she going to pay it back?

That one thought kept her sleepless for the next hour. She still hadn’t come up with any answer when from utter weariness, she fell asleep again. It was daylight the next time she awakened—and the baby was crying.

Merren left her bed to go down a flight of stairs to see to her little nephew. She couldn’t remember having been hit on her shoulders, but her shoulders ached when she moved, while other parts of her body were vying with each other for rainbow effect bruising. The baby seemed heavier to lift out of his cot than usual, but, for once, he was being a little gentleman and decided to beam gummily at her after she’d changed him and given him a drink.

‘You’re a rascal,’ she told him affectionately, and he grinned some more.

Then her dressing gowned brother came to join them, and, clearly wanting a word before anyone else was about, began, ‘I’ve been thinking, Merren, that if I met you at the jeweller’s at lunchtime, I could take the money and settle the…’

‘Actually,’ she butted in quickly, ‘I’m—er—taking the day off work. I’ll have the money back here by one.’ Fingers crossed.

‘Can I have the car?’ he asked, assured of the money, wasting no time going on to his next priority.

But for once—feeling extremely vulnerable about money-carrying after her mugging yesterday—Merren just had to refuse.

‘It’s yours after one o’clock,’ she replied, and would not be persuaded otherwise.

Once she’d handed the baby over, Merren bathed and returned to her room, and kept out of the way until Robert walked Queenie and Kitty to school and Carol was occupied with Samuel.

Merren studied her wardrobe. She did not want to remember the sketch she must have looked yesterday. She wouldn’t forget Jarad Montgomery’s, ‘You won’t want to go through the streets looking like that’ in a hurry. Today, when she saw him again, she wanted to look smart. Why she should feel that way she didn’t know. Her old friend pride, she supposed.

Dressed in her newest suit of deep blue, which brought out yet more blue to the colour of her eyes, Merren was walking through the revolving doors of the office of Roxford Waring before it so much as occurred to her that she might not even see Jarad Montgomery! ‘Come to my office’, he said. But he hadn’t actually said he’d see her.

She approached the reception desk and almost asked if Mr Montgomery had left a package for her to collect. But quickly she pulled herself together. Get a grip! He’d want to know how she was going to pay him back—if only she knew! No one was going to hand over that sort of money to a complete stranger without asking some pretty pertinent questions.

‘I’m here to see Mr Jarad Montgomery.’ She smiled at the smart receptionist. ‘Merren Shepherd,’ she gave her name.

She was expected! Merren rode up in the lift with her insides all of a churn. She did so hope she wasn’t here on a fool’s errand. He’d meant it, hadn’t he? She just wouldn’t be able to go home again, wouldn’t be able to face Robert if he hadn’t.

She tapped on the door she had been directed to. She’d expected his PA to invite her in. But the door was opened by Jarad Montgomery himself. Though for a moment he did not invite her in, but just stood there looking at her. But, while his glance went over her blonde-streaked reddish hair—tidy today in comparison to yesterday, for all she still wore it loose—Merren took a moment to study him.

He was as tall as she remembered. But in his immaculate business suit, crisp shirt and tie, he looked even more authoritative today than he had yesterday—and that was saying something.

‘You’ve polished up well,’ he drawled, and suddenly her nerves were disappearing.

You’re looking pretty snappy yourself. ‘I made an effort,’ she countered, hoping he would think she was joking.

‘Come in.’

Merren entered his office, noticed the communicating door to his PA’s office was closed, and was glad about that. By the look of it he was treating this as a private matter.

‘How are you feeling?’ he enquired, indicating a chair before going and taking a seat behind his desk. ‘You were pretty shaken up yesterday,’ he recalled.

‘The bruises will soon fade,’ she smiled. And, not wanting to prolong this interview any longer than she had to, she went on, ‘I’m sorry I had to reverse the charges last night when I rang. I didn’t have any change with me.’

‘You didn’t want to ring from your home?’

Sharp! Merren quickly realised they didn’t come very much sharper than him. ‘I—er—didn’t—don’t want my family to know that I was mugged.’

‘Or that you were robbed of that two thousand pounds you were carrying?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Where did you get it?’ he wanted to know.

‘I came by it honestly,’ she bristled—but, recognising that perhaps he had some right to know, she added more evenly, ‘I sold an item of jewellery.’

‘It was yours to sell?’ he asked quickly.

She resented his question, and resented his tone. ‘I…’ she began sharply back, and then realised she couldn’t afford to fire up at him. She needed his help. And, she supposed reluctantly, his question, since he didn’t know the first thing about her, was a fair one. ‘It was a ring belonging to my mother.’

‘Your mother’s in need of two thousand pounds?’

‘My mother died ten months ago,’ she replied stonily.

‘So the money’s for you. What for?’ He pursued his line of questioning, and, as if he’d summed up why she hadn’t wanted her family to know, his look was suddenly fierce. ‘You’re pregnant!’ he rapped.

‘No, I’m not!’ she snapped back. Honestly! ‘Chance would be a fine thing!’ His hint about what she wanted the money for infuriated her!

‘You haven’t…?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Not ever?’ he questioned, his anger gone, polite interest taking its place.

‘I’m working on it!’ she retorted crisply. Was she really having this discussion? ‘I told you—I needed that money to pay some bills.’ She brought the subject back to where she wanted it. She took a steadying breath, her pride buckling as she made herself ask, ‘Do you have the m-money for me?’

His answer was to open a desk drawer and withdraw a plain envelope. He stretched over and placed the envelope on the corner of his desk nearest to her. ‘Cash,’ he stated, seeming to know she wasn’t interested in a cheque.

‘Thank you,’ she said, not touching the envelope. ‘Do you want me to sign something to say I’ve received it?’

‘Not necessary,’ he replied.

‘Oh,’ she murmured. ‘Er—about paying it back.’

Jarad Montgomery stared at her, seemed about to say something, but instead invited, ‘Go on.’

‘Well—I—that is, I think you’ve already worked out, as I did last night, that it—um—may be some while before I’ll be in a position to repay you.’

‘I appreciate your honesty,’ he drawled. ‘Though I can’t quite remember asking you for repayment.’

‘You can’t be lending—giving—me the money out of the goodness of your heart!’ she erupted.

‘You’re suggesting I have a black heart?’ he enquired coolly.

She wasn’t. How could she think that when he was doing this enormous deed for her? But, ‘You must want something in return?’ she said in a rush as the thought came. She knew she was green, but nobody parted with that sort of money for nothing.

Jarad stared at her for long, silent moments. Silkily then, he murmured, ‘You’re prepared to sell your—um—services?’

She had the most awful pride-denting feeling that he was playing with her, and—even while ready to accept his enormous favour—Merren felt she hated him. ‘I’m a very good secretary,’ she informed him bluntly.

‘You have a job?’ He seemed surprised.

‘I rang my employer this morning and asked for the day off, out of my holiday entitlement,’ she answered stiffly. ‘I could work evenings and weekends if you’ve any secretarial…’

‘I’ve a perfectly efficient PA.’ He turned down her offer.

And Merren was out of ideas. ‘You’ve a perfectly efficient domestic staff too,’ she thought out loud, remembering his well cared for, polished and gleaming house.

‘You’d do cleaning?’ He stared at her as if she was some new kind of species as yet unknown to him.

‘I’m prepared to do anything legal.’

‘I see,’ he murmured, and, every bit as if it needed some thinking about, he continued, ‘You’d better come and see me tomorrow—I’ll let you know my requirements then. Er—don’t bring an apron.’ Merren was off her chair making for the door when his voice stopped her. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ She spun round, and inwardly groaned—she had forgotten to pick up the money.

It was him! Somehow he had the power to unsettle her, making her swing from an urgent desire to hit him, to wanting to smile and be grateful. She went back to the desk and picked up the envelope. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, with what dignity she could find.

‘Stay put,’ was her answer. ‘You’re obviously not safe to be let out on your own; I’ll get a driver to take you home.’

The sauce of it! It gave her a great deal of pleasure to be able to tell him, ‘Actually, I have my car today.’

Her pleasure was short-lived. ‘I’ll get someone from Security to walk you to it,’ he pronounced.

Merren couldn’t remember actually saying goodbye to him, but as she and the security guard left the Roxford Waring building she owned to feeling glad to have the solidly built fit-looking man by her side. That episode yesterday had left her feeling more vulnerable than she’d realised. Not that she thanked Jarad Montgomery for his thoughtfulness. Him and his ‘not safe to be let out on your own’! Huh!

The closer she drove to her home, however, Merren began to experience a decided aversion to handing Jarad Montgomery’s money over to her brother. The feeling was ridiculous; she knew it was. For goodness’ sake, the whole point of her visit to the Roxford Waring building had been to get the money for Robert. Her reluctance, she suddenly comprehended, was because once the money was gone from her keeping, gone to pay Robert’s long outstanding bills, she would be committed. Committed—in debt to Jarad Montgomery.

Robert came hurrying out of the house the moment he saw her car, and, seeing his tense expression, Merren could not hesitate to hand him the money. ‘I won’t forget this,’ he beamed, but she guessed, as she handed over her car keys too, that forget it he would.

She went indoors; Carol was out somewhere with the baby—and the house was a tip. Merren went and changed out of her suit. Dressed in cotton trousers and a tee shirt, she was vacuuming the sitting room carpet when thoughts of Jarad Montgomery returned to disturb her.

She supposed, in view of what had happened, it wasn’t surprising he should be in her head so frequently. He had just done her one very generous kindness. That she was going to have to pay for that kindness by some means or other was only to be expected. Besides, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Pride alone decreed that.

‘Come and see me tomorrow,’ he’d said. He hadn’t said where, he hadn’t said when, but, since tomorrow was Saturday, he must mean that she should call at his home to discover in what way he’d decided she should repay him.

Having cleaned and tidied everywhere, while knowing it would be utter chaos again within hours of her family coming home, Merren made a cake to take to Uncle Amos the next day. Her mother had always presented him with a cake every Saturday. It had pleased Merren to take that small pleasure over. Uncle Amos was very partial to sultana cake.

Bertie Armstrong rang around seven that evening. He and Merren were around the same age, and had always been the best of friends. ‘I’m going to The Bull for a jar later on—fancy coming?’ he asked.

Merren wasn’t particularly keen, but, having told Jarad Montgomery that she could work evenings and weekends, decided to take Bertie up on his offer. Heaven alone knew when, after she saw the man Jarad tomorrow, she would have another evening free for a ‘jar’.

‘Nineish?’ she enquired.

‘I’ll call for you,’ he said, and, even though she would be seeing him later, such was their friendship that they stayed chatting about inconsequential matters for the next twenty minutes. But, good friend though Bertie was, she couldn’t tell him of the recent happenings in her life.

Having gone to The Bull with Bertie for a drink, Merren returned home just after eleven to find the house in darkness, everyone in bed. She had thought her few hours in the uncomplicated company of Bertie Armstrong had relaxed her. But later she had a frightening nightmare similar to the one she’d had the night before, and she began to realise that the trauma of being the victim of a street assault, didn’t end once you’d picked yourself up and dusted yourself down.

Eventually she managed to get back to sleep, but was awakened early by the baby testing his lung power. It amazed her that she could hear him when no one else could. Though, since his mother coped with his incessant demands on a daily basis, Merren felt Carol could be forgiven for pulling the bedclothes over her head and hoping someone else would attend to him. Merren got out of bed.

She was uncertain about what time she should go and see Jarad Montgomery, but as it was her habit to go and spend some time with Uncle Amos on a Saturday morning, she decided to leave her visit to Jarad Montgomery until the afternoon. He knew where she lived, she was in the phone book, and if he got tired of waiting she felt confident he would telephone and leave some short, and to the point message.

Realising that nerves were getting to her at the prospect of seeing Jarad again, and that she was getting uptight and just a little irked by him—though how she could when she owed him so much—not least her brother’s peace of mind and his family’s security—Merren took herself off to see her Uncle Amos.

‘Had a good week?’ she asked him as she replenished his cake tin.

‘Running into trouble with my latest brainwave,’ he acknowledged. ‘How about you?’

No way could she tell the dear man about the horror of Thursday, or her visit to see Jarad Montgomery yesterday. Uncle Amos would be up in arms that anyone had dared to assault her, and he would fret himself silly that he wasn’t able to help with the money.

‘Fine,’ she smiled. ‘Shall I make some coffee?’

‘Er—the kitchen’s in a bit of a state.’

She’d never known it any different. After coffee, and as her mother had before her, Merren returned to the kitchen and got busy with his backlog of used crockery. ‘Fancy coming to lunch with us tomorrow?’ she invited, knowing in advance that he wouldn’t.

‘After last time?’ he grinned, and Merren grinned back. Uncle Amos had been married once, before—as he’d told Merren—his wife had got fed up with him and had gone off. There had been no children from the marriage; his only dealings had been with Merren and her brother, who’d been vastly different from the screeching and over-excited Queenie and Kitty, who’d shattered his eardrums that Sunday lunchtime when, against his better judgement, he’d decided to take a look at his great-nieces and great-nephew. Baby Samuel’s lung power that day had been astronomical. ‘Are they any better behaved?’ he wanted to know.