Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (i want to read a book .TXT) 📕

it had a drainer built onto the side. Our old one, whilst large, was made out of sandstone and was built into the kitchen when the house was put up, some eighty years or so before. It took all three of the young men to carry it out.

Mr Hart was a businessman at heart, and it showed.

‘You could get yourself a gas cooker next, or even a gas range if that’s the way you like to cook.’

Miriam swooned. Our old range was heated by coal or chopped wood and the ovens were tiny.

My excitement rose by the day, I lay in bed at night, imagining myself soaking in the new bath and just topping the hot water up as the water in the bathtub cooled.

Miriam’s excitement was at an even higher level than mine. Michael Hart, Senior, had shared his lunch break with her twice that week and she was now able to talk to him without blushing or stuttering.

He was a widower of some ten years, and since his wife passed, he had put all his efforts and spare time into the business. Miriam, a divorcee, was about five years younger, but looked more. She was trim, very attractive and had only a few grey hairs mixed in with the natural black. As she grew more confident, he seemed to go back into his shell. He almost ran out of the kitchen one afternoon when an over-zealous housekeeper pursed her lips, expecting a kiss, when he leaned towards her to whisper that he needed to use the lavatory.

Frank didn’t seem too happy when he found out the Harts were doing the building work.

‘You really should have told me, Alice. I might have been able to negotiate a discount for you. You could have let me work with them too, that would have cut costs. A building labourer earns more than a farm hand, so you could have saved a lot of money there.’

‘I need you doing farm work at this time of year, Frank, you know that,’ I replied.

He was still irritable; he had a bee in his bonnet about something. So, on the night before the work was due to finish, sick and tired of his week-long sulk, I decided to grasp the nettle.

‘Come on, Frank, out with it,’ I said as we lay together in bed. Me lying there like a beached whale, Frank clinging to the edge of the eiderdown to keep himself covered.

‘It’s just, well, I was hoping that when we got married, I might get a little more by way of recognition, a promotion if you like. I’m part of the family now, so the lads would accept it if I was given more responsibility in decision making and delegating tasks, that sort of thing.’

He still hadn’t got used to the idea of being ordered around by a teenage girl – that was obvious.

‘Two things, Frank,’ I said. ‘One, Barney is the foreman, and he’ll remain the foreman until he retires. We’ve had this conversation. Secondly, and I hate having to remind you of this, but we’re not married.’

‘I know, and you never let me forget the fact,’ he replied bitterly. ‘Look, Alice, I’m not after Barney’s job. I like him, we get on well. I just want the lads to give me a little more respect. They must be wondering why you haven’t given me more responsibility. You don’t want to let them start thinking something might not be quite as it seems.’

He did have a point.

‘I’ll think about it, Frank. I’ll have a chat to Barney and work something out. We could maybe call you the charge hand or something.’

‘Would there be a pay rise involved too?’ he asked.

‘We already pay you more than the other lads, Frank.’

‘I know but, well, I don’t get much, to say I’m part of the family, married or not. I don’t get any say in decisions like I would if we were married. As I said, Alice, I know we’re not married, but if we were living anywhere but here, I’d be boss of the house or I’d have a big say in how things are done at least.’

‘Frank, my father is the owner of the farm, while he’s alive at least, and you knew what the rules were before you agreed to all this. A good part of it was your idea I seem to remember.’

Frank sat up suddenly, hauled himself out of bed and began to pace the room, back and forth.

‘I hope I haven’t made a bloody rod for my own back,’ he said, angrily.

‘I was honest with you, Frank. You’ll never get any part of this farm, even if we were to marry. The farm will always stay in my family. I’ll pass it on in the future but it will be to a Tansley descendent. Mr Wilson, the lawyer who came to sort out my name change is working on setting up a family trust for the farm, so that it can never be taken over by any outside interest, and that includes spouses.’

I hoped I’d got all that right. Frank was a clever man and he might know about trusts.

He continued to pace back and forth. ‘I can’t say I’m happy about that, Alice. If we were to marry I ought to have some rights over money, the business, decision making, whatever, and I really don’t like the idea of you doing things behind my back, like this trust thing, even the bathroom and telephone installations. It wouldn’t have hurt you to discuss those things with me.’

‘The trust has nothing to do with you, Frank. It’s a Tansley family matter. As for the other things, it’s the farm’s money, not mine. I have my own savings account that I put a few shillings a week into, but that’s mine, not yours. Do you have a savings account? If you did, I wouldn’t expect to be able to benefit from it.’

‘I do, as a matter of fact. But it has the