Across the Counter (2 page)

“Then you accept?”

“Why, of course! When do I start?” inquired Katherine with a prompt enthusiasm that Mr. Arnoldson evidently found commendable.

“
I
have already discussed the position tentatively with Mrs. Culver,” Mr. Arnoldson explained, somewhat to Katherine’s surprise. “And if you can make your personal arrangements, Miss Renner, we would like you to go tomorrow. The sooner the better.”

“Tomorrow!” Again the color and light rushed into Katherine’s face. For the thought that in a matter of hours she might be in the same town—possibly under the same roof—as Malcolm was almost intoxicating.

“
I
see you’re going to enjoy being near your own home again,” observed Mr. Arnoldson approvingly, for he was a good family man.

“Oh, yes
...
yes of course. I will love being near home again,” Katherine assured him.

Mr. Arnoldson then began to enlarge considerably on his initial announcement, and Katherine saw that, if he
had not actually visited the store, there was little he did not know about its
general layout.

“Keep in mind all the time that we want a close liaison between departments dealing with our youthful customers,” he told Katherine, “so that a satisfactory purchase in one department can always be teamed, up with something attractive and suitable in anothe
r
. Now, is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Yes, please. Two things,” said Katherine. “You spoke of my replacing a Miss Lester. Has she left the firm?”

“No.”

“Then what will her position be?”

“She will work under you.”

“Oh. She isn’t going to like that, is she?”

“Probably not.” Mr. Arnoldson sounded indifferent to Miss Lester’s wounded feelings. “
I
don’t doubt you will have to call on your excellent sense of tact to a considerable extent.”

Katherine reminded herself that there were snags to every job. And all she asked was, “Has she been a
t
Kendales a great many years?”

Mr. Arnoldson consulted a file in front of him on the desk, though Katherine felt sure he probably knew the answer to that question with
o
ut referring to any papers. “She has been thereabout two years, Miss Renner.”

“Oh, then she won’t have had time to develop any really fierce loyalties,” observed Katherine philosophically.

“No-o.” Mr. Arnoldson once more consulted his file. “But
I
should perhaps add that she is the daughter of a friend of old Mr. Kendale. A prominent man in Morringham.”

“
I
see.”

There was a slight pause while Katherine silently digested the fact that Miss Lester was probably not at all a comfortable person to offend
.
Then Mr. Arnoldson cleared his throat and asked. “What was your other query, Miss Renner?”

“Oh—to whom am
I
directly responsible while I’m working in Morringham?”

“To a considerable extent you will be your own mistress,” Mr. Arnoldson pointed out. “In the final event you will, of course, be answerable to me.”

“Yes, I understand that. But though
I
realize my work will consist of planning and suggesting rather than concrete action, to whom do
I
go for information or advice, or for a final decision if one really has to be made on the spot?”

Mr. Arnoldson did not answer that immediately. He rubbed his chin reflectively. Then he finally said, “To Mr. Kendale, I suppose.”

“To Mr. Kendale?” In spite of her enthusiasm, and her quiet confidence in herself, Katherine was taken aback at the possibility of having to tackle the uncooperative onetime owner of the store.

“Mr. Kendale is assistant managing director,” Mr. Arnoldson explained in a tone that suggested that he took no responsibility for a state of affairs that he deplored. “I imagine he insisted on this as one of the conditions of sale. I’m sure, Miss Renner, you would be
...
well advised to keep that in mind.”

“I’m sure I would,” agreed Katherine soberly.

“Well,
I
wish you the utmost good luck,” Mr. Arnoldson said briskly, just in case Katherine should linger too long over the less attractive aspects of the job. “And since presumably you will have some personal arrangements to make before leaving London, you’d better take this afternoon off. Subject to Mrs. Culver’s approval, of course,” he added, but rather as a matter of form.

“Thank you, Mr. Arnoldson.” Katherine shook the hand that he genially extended to her. And consumed with excitement not unmixed with apprehension, she returned to her department.

“So you’ve decided to accept?” said Mrs. Culver as soon as she saw Katherine.

“Why, of course! How did you know?”

“You look too eager and thrilled for anyone who has refused a challenge,
”
was the laconic reply.

“Oh—” Katherine put up her hands to her warm cheeks “—I suppose
I
must.” She laughed. “But you didn’t expect me to refuse, did you?”

“No. Except that only this morning you were talking of Bremmisons
—
as though it were the only place on earth worth bothering about.”

“I still think it’s the greatest store in London.” Katherine declared loyally. “But Morringham
..
.” She paused and smiled half to herself.

“What’s so wonderful about Morringham?” Mrs. Culver wanted to know. “Just a big, overgrown Mid land town from all I’ve ever heard of it.”

“It has its attraction,” declared Katherine, to whom Morringham seemed the finest city in the World at the moment, since it contained Malcolm. “Anyway, it’s quite near my own home,” she added, thankful for this useful fact that served to explain to all and sundry the rapture that she really could not hide.

“Well, you’d better go along to lunch now.” Mrs. Culver glanced at her watch. “And then,
I
understand', you’re to have the afternoon off.”

“If you can spare me,” said Katherine contritely.

“If I’m going to have to spare you for a whole month, it won’t hurt to add this afternoon, I suppose,” was the good-humored reply.

So Katherine thanked Mrs. Culver and went downstairs to the staff catering quarters.

Few people realize the immense amount of activity that goes on in any big store behind those mysterious doors marked Staff Only. And Bremmisons was no exception. In the bright, attractive canteen literally hundreds of people were fed daily, and adjoining the canteen was a generous-sized lounge where members of the staff could read, chat or write letters in any leisure moments left over from their mealtime.

As Katherine passed through the lounge to the assistant buyers’ dining room, she paused beside a display screen to examine a new series of photographs. Here one could see records of staff dances, directorial dinners, sports presentations—all the many activities of Bremmisons’s employees outside work hours.

There was nearly always something of interest on view. And on this occasion Katherine’s attention was immediately caught by a set of photographs under the heading “Inaugural Dinner at Kendales.”

Presumably this was to celebrate—if “celebrate” was the right word—the formation of the new management of the well-known Morringham store.

There was Malcolm, looking extraordinarily handsome, sitting beside a lovely ash blonde who was wearing an evening dress that suggested Paris rather than Morringham. His fine dark eyes were fixed on his attractive companion, and he was evidently laughing at something she had just said.

Katherine was not at all jealous by nature. But she experienced an understandable little twinge of envy before she hastily reminded herself that it would be nothing less than a social duty for Malcolm to make himself charming on such an occasion.

And
how
charming he could make himself Katherine knew all too well!

She ate a somewhat hasty lunch, hardly able to believe that this might be the last time she would lunch in these familiar surroundings. For if her appointment at Kendales should extend indefinitely, she was not likely to come back to Bremmisons before her marriage.

And at that thought Katherine suddenly saw her immediate future shrink in the most breathtaking way, so that for the first time she really saw herself as Malcolm’s wife.

It was an intoxicating thought to take with her when a little later—having bade at any rate a temporary farewell to her colleagues—she went out into the cool October sunshine.

At such an unfamiliar hour, she caught a bus with an ease unknown to her at her usual home-going time. And twenty minutes later she was letting herself into her small apartment situated in that rather vaguely defined region between Fulham and Chelsea.

The little place looked extraordinarily attractive at this unusual hour of the afternoon, and she felt a slight pang at the thought of having to leave something that she had made so much her own. But the idea that this time tomorrow she might already have seen and talked to Malcolm transcended any minor regrets, and she set about making her modest preparations.

The next day
Katherine caught an early-morning train and arrived in Morringham about noon. A friendly taxi driver directed her to a quiet, fairly inexpensive hotel. And having taken a room for the night—until she should have time to make more permanent arrangements—she lunched there and then went out into the town.

It was her intention to look around Kendales from the point of view of a customer before she viewed anything from the other side of the
counter
. And if in the process she should come across Malcolm, nothing could be more delightful. She had resisted all temptation to write and tell him of her coming, for she was anxious not to spoil the enchanting element of surprise.

Although her home was so comparatively near to Morringham, the place was not really very familiar to her, and as she walked along now with a feeling of leisure almost unknown in her busy young life, she looked at everything almost with the eye of a stranger.

There was nothing especially gay or elegant about Morringham. On the other hand, nor was there anything in the least meretricious. The two main streets had a solid, handsome aspect, most of the buildings having been planned on large, uncompromising lines that were not without attraction.

Altogether, Katherine thought, you could go further and do much worse than Morringham. She was aware, though, that bereft of the engaging sunshine that at present warmed the somewhat sooty facades, the place probably looked a good deal more formidable and less attractive.

At the junction of the two main streets stood Kendales.

She remembered it as soon as she saw it. Though—as is the case with most of us in the passage from childhood to our grown-up years—it was not as big as her vague schoolgirl recollection had suggested.

The main frontage was impressive, with good, straight, unfussy lines. And she found herself immediately deciding that Malcolm’s alterations would probably be confined to the interior of the store.

Her sense of curiosity and expectancy pleasantly stimulated, she pushed open one of the heavy swinging doors and went in.

She had not, of course, expected anything of the scope and scale of Bremmisons. But she was a good deal shocked to find that her first impression was one of something like confusion. And not by any means charming confusion. Far too many things, it seemed to her, were displayed in far too little space. And even allowing for the fact that reorganization and rebuilding must inevitably call for a certain amount of compromise with one’s highest standards, Katherine felt that something better should have been achieved.

This isn’t just the result of emergency,
she thought shrewdly as she wandered around, unobtrusively observing.
Mr. Arnoldson was right. Many alterations will have to be made.

She found Blouses and Skirts upstairs. And here for the first time she found also a casual indifference to the customer. Downstairs, any inquiry she had made as a possible customer had been answered with a prompt and friendly courtesy. Here, to her professional annoyance
and irritation, she saw three assistants fussing around a well-dressed customer, while she herself and a rather apologetic-looking little woman were left to their own devices.

Katherine gave them three minutes, during which she decided that the good-looking young woman with the beautifully coiled dark hair was almost certainly the problematical Miss Lester. Then she approached the group and said pleasantly but distinctly, “Is anyone free to serve, please?”

The girl with the dark hair turned her head. For two seconds she gave Katherine a cool stare—just long enough to intimidate most people and make them feel they had intruded. Then she said with entirely hollow politeness, “If you wil
l
wait just a minute, madam
...
”

“Very well.” Katherine was unperturbed. “I will wait since I want to speak personally to a Miss Lester who works here. But over there is a customer. And customers should not be made to wait.”