The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) T. Belshaw (management books to read .txt) 📖

garage while my mother is out. She’s got one of her charity things today. I can hopefully get it to a specialist before she notices,’ Bradley said as he opened the driver’s door.

‘She can’t blame you for this, surely? It’s just the work of a mean-minded vandal after all.’

Bradley pulled a face. ‘She did ask why I needed to use the Alvis. I told her I just fancied a spin in it.’

‘She doesn’t know you were meeting me then?’

‘No, I, erm, didn’t mention you. It would only have led to an inquisition. Mothers want to know every detail, don’t they? Next thing she’d be checking my Facebook and Twitter feeds. She’s a little over protective, especially since my first marriage went sour.’

‘You’d better not tell her I was with you at the time, then. I don’t want her poking about in my social media.’ Jess laughed, trying to make light of the revelation.

‘She’d check you out, that’s for certain.’ Bradley joined in the laughter half-heartedly. ‘I’ll just refer to you as a client for now. I think it’s best.’

‘For now?’ Jessica walked to the side of the car and put her hand on Bradley’s arm. ‘You want to see me again then, even after this?’

‘If you’re willing.’ Bradley gave a half smile. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit off when I saw the damage. It’s my mother… you don’t know her.’ Bradley looked as though he was dreading the encounter.

‘I’m sure you can win her around. Use that lovely smile of yours. You could melt the hardest of hearts with that.’ Jessica leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. ‘I’ll look forward to our phone conversation on Monday.’

‘Phone con… Oh, right. Your annual allowance. I’ll get straight onto that first thing. It should only take a couple of minutes. I only have to get Simon’s signature to process the release of funds. Simon is one of the practice partners and the other trustee.’

‘Thanks for sorting it so quickly,’ replied Jess. She backed away and he pulled the door shut before starting the engine and reversing out into the lane.

As Jess watched him drive away a waving hand appeared out of the driver’s window.

Jess returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on feeling a mixture of excitement and sadness. She didn’t like the sound of Bradley’s mother, but she was used to dealing with forthright women. Nana had been a very strong woman in thought and deed, but she had always allowed Jess to live her life without too much interference. Martha, on the other hand, was a control freak and would have liked to have had a far bigger say in her upbringing. She touched her lips and remembered the almost electric sensation she had felt when they came in contact with Bradley’s.

‘What do you think, Nana?’ she said softly. ‘I really like him. I hope he isn’t overly influenced by his mother like Calvin was. I hope I haven’t found another mummy’s boy.’

As if in reply, a loud gurgling sound came from of the sink. Jess laughed. ‘What was that, Nana? I didn’t quite catch it.’

After coffee, Jess settled down at the big oak table with her notebook, pen and Alice’s 1939 memoir. She opened her notebook and made a new heading.

Autumn 1939.

Jess sat with pen poised as she began to read.

September 1939

The weather had been kind to us throughout September allowing us to finish the harvest early. Also, during September, the government issued a directive, demanding that all men aged between 18 and 41 must register for National Service, meaning everyone in that age bracket would be liable for conscription. Later in September the National Register was compiled, preparing the way for ration books to be issued.

My workers were exempt from military duties, farming being classed as a reserved occupation, but it didn’t stop the youngest, Benny, George, Tommy and Harry from signing up. I admit that I used every trick in the book to stop them from registering, even trying emotional blackmail on Benny who had only been married for a few months and his new wife was expecting. It wasn’t solely for commercial reasons; I genuinely classed my workforce as members of my extended family. I cared about them and I would have been heartbroken had anything happened to them.

We said our goodbyes the day after the farm’s harvest party. Barney, my stoic foreman, a man who could be guaranteed to keep his emotions in check, made a speech that my father would have been proud of and speaking in a brittle voice, wished them all the luck in the world and a speedy return home.

I gave each one a big hug, whispered ‘stay safe, please come back to us’ and handed them each a brown packet containing two, pound notes, to see them through their first few weeks training. Two pounds was a week’s wage and I hoped it would allow them to buy beer in the NAAFI to help lift their spirits after a hard day spent learning how to kill the enemy. As it happens, I found out a week later that all of the young men gave the money to their wives or mothers.

I spent the rest of that afternoon in the kitchen with Martha on my lap, praying to any deity who happened to be listening, to spare my boys and send them home safely.

That evening, Miriam’s man friend, Michael, telephoned. It was an emotional call telling Miriam he had to see her urgently. Miriam, thinking that her beau was about to ask her to marry him at last, rushed out of the house without changing out of her work clothes or even brushing her hair. She returned an hour later, in tears.

‘Miriam?’ I got up from the kitchen table and held out my arms to her as she came through the door.

‘He… we... Look, he doesn’t want to marry me; he’s still being loyal to his dead wife. He was just upset because both his sons signed up