clearly as freshly scrubbed as herself, wearing a floppy cravat and looking decidedly hot and embarrassed. Now it was her fault. For the entire week she had refused to go up to the Grandstand with him, making the excuse that she was preparing for her birthday. What excuse would she give him tomorrow ?
'Why, Harry. Helen. How good of you to come,' Anthony Hilton said, as if he did not see them every day. 'Alan, you're looking well. A fine boy, you have there, Harry. A fine boy. When will you be sixteen, Alan?'
Alan licked his lips. 'Next ... next March, sir.'
'Ah, then you'll be a man. Yes, indeed. Time to start him going aback, eh, Harry?'
'I'd had that thought already,' Harry McAvoy agreed. For Alan was intended to follow his father and be a Hilltop overseer, a career to which he apparently looked forward. But good Lord, Meg thought, as she gave him a hasty smile; that means that one day he could be my Field Manager. She had never thought of that before, although Alan clearly had. Indeed, that might explain a lot of his actions.
And she found it a curiously satisfying idea.
'We have a present for you,' Helen McAvoy said archly, and produced a parcel.
'For me,' Meg screamed, and seized the box.
'Careful, now,' Helen said, trying not to frown. 'You'll tear it.'
Meg was already tearing it, removing the ribbon in a few tugs of her strong brown fingers, ripping through the paper with a single thrust of her thumbnail, opening the box inside to discover the three lace handkerchiefs, one in pink, one in pale blue, one in pale yellow. 'Oh, they're beautiful.'
'I've embroidered your initials in the corner,' Helen explained.
'They are very pretty,' Anthony Hilton said, putting his arm round Meg's waist to give her a squeeze. 'And now, I know Percy has prepared some punch, and ...'
A gig rattled up the street and came to a halt outside the bungalow. 'Is Mr Reynolds,' Percy said, hurrying to the door.
Alan and Meg exchanged glances. But Walter Reynolds had to be invited to a Hilton birthday party. Reynolds and Son had been the Hilton family lawyers for over a hundred years, and besides, there was Billy. He came up the stairs at the side of his father, short and plump, his fat cheeks already blushing at the thought of meeting Meg again.
'Why, Walt. Good of you to come,' Anthony Hilton said, shaking his friend's hand. 'Billy. You're looking well.' 'Can I kiss Meg, Mr Hilton? It is her birthday.' 'Well, of course.'
'He can't,' Meg said. 'You don't kiss someone just because it is her birthday.'
'If we men can't kiss a lady on her birthday,' Harry McAvoy said, 'when can we?' He glanced at his wife and flushed.
'We shall all kiss you,' Anthony Hilton decided, and set an example by holding her shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. Harry McAvoy followed. For a moment Meg shrank away from him. Only six days ago he had killed a man. Then she remembered that after all it had only been a Negro, and not even a Hilltop man. And he had been attempting to get into the white compound. He deserved to die. She allowed McAvoy to kiss her forehead, then Walter Reynolds. 'Now you, Billy,' Anthony Hilton said.
Billy came close, held her arms just above the elbow, as he had seen the men do. He had stronger fingers than she had supposed; they bit into her flesh. But of course he was two years older than she, at seventeen was already apprenticed in his father's office, would one day take over the business. Then he would be her attorney. She felt a sudden sense of imprisonment, that she was growing up with the men who would be spending the rest of their lives working for her.
And Billy had to stand on tip-toe to kiss her cheek. And to whisper, 'Oh, Meggie, you do look lovely today. I could hug you, really I could.'
Hastily she pushed him away. Suppose someone had heard ? And she hated being called Meggie.
'Now you, Alan,' Anthony Hilton decided.
Alan licked his lips. 'Perhaps Meg doesn't want to be kissed any more,' he said.
'I don't,'
'Why, Harry. Helen. How good of you to come,' Anthony Hilton said, as if he did not see them every day. 'Alan, you're looking well. A fine boy, you have there, Harry. A fine boy. When will you be sixteen, Alan?'
Alan licked his lips. 'Next ... next March, sir.'
'Ah, then you'll be a man. Yes, indeed. Time to start him going aback, eh, Harry?'
'I'd had that thought already,' Harry McAvoy agreed. For Alan was intended to follow his father and be a Hilltop overseer, a career to which he apparently looked forward. But good Lord, Meg thought, as she gave him a hasty smile; that means that one day he could be my Field Manager. She had never thought of that before, although Alan clearly had. Indeed, that might explain a lot of his actions.
And she found it a curiously satisfying idea.
'We have a present for you,' Helen McAvoy said archly, and produced a parcel.
'For me,' Meg screamed, and seized the box.
'Careful, now,' Helen said, trying not to frown. 'You'll tear it.'
Meg was already tearing it, removing the ribbon in a few tugs of her strong brown fingers, ripping through the paper with a single thrust of her thumbnail, opening the box inside to discover the three lace handkerchiefs, one in pink, one in pale blue, one in pale yellow. 'Oh, they're beautiful.'
'I've embroidered your initials in the corner,' Helen explained.
'They are very pretty,' Anthony Hilton said, putting his arm round Meg's waist to give her a squeeze. 'And now, I know Percy has prepared some punch, and ...'
A gig rattled up the street and came to a halt outside the bungalow. 'Is Mr Reynolds,' Percy said, hurrying to the door.
Alan and Meg exchanged glances. But Walter Reynolds had to be invited to a Hilton birthday party. Reynolds and Son had been the Hilton family lawyers for over a hundred years, and besides, there was Billy. He came up the stairs at the side of his father, short and plump, his fat cheeks already blushing at the thought of meeting Meg again.
'Why, Walt. Good of you to come,' Anthony Hilton said, shaking his friend's hand. 'Billy. You're looking well.' 'Can I kiss Meg, Mr Hilton? It is her birthday.' 'Well, of course.'
'He can't,' Meg said. 'You don't kiss someone just because it is her birthday.'
'If we men can't kiss a lady on her birthday,' Harry McAvoy said, 'when can we?' He glanced at his wife and flushed.
'We shall all kiss you,' Anthony Hilton decided, and set an example by holding her shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. Harry McAvoy followed. For a moment Meg shrank away from him. Only six days ago he had killed a man. Then she remembered that after all it had only been a Negro, and not even a Hilltop man. And he had been attempting to get into the white compound. He deserved to die. She allowed McAvoy to kiss her forehead, then Walter Reynolds. 'Now you, Billy,' Anthony Hilton said.
Billy came close, held her arms just above the elbow, as he had seen the men do. He had stronger fingers than she had supposed; they bit into her flesh. But of course he was two years older than she, at seventeen was already apprenticed in his father's office, would one day take over the business. Then he would be her attorney. She felt a sudden sense of imprisonment, that she was growing up with the men who would be spending the rest of their lives working for her.
And Billy had to stand on tip-toe to kiss her cheek. And to whisper, 'Oh, Meggie, you do look lovely today. I could hug you, really I could.'
Hastily she pushed him away. Suppose someone had heard ? And she hated being called Meggie.
'Now you, Alan,' Anthony Hilton decided.
Alan licked his lips. 'Perhaps Meg doesn't want to be kissed any more,' he said.
'I don't,'
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