Queen of the Mersey (26 page)

‘That’s a Jacques Fath model, not long in from Paris, part of their spring collection. Smart, isn’t it? It’s priced at seventy-five guineas. Would you like to try it on?’

Queenie gulped. ‘No, thanks. I’ll think about it.’ She made her way regally towards the exit. Seventy-five guineas. She would expect to buy a car for that much, even a house. It was a relief to reach the first floor where she recognised most of the lines; the Jaeger costumes, Slimma slacks, Hart blouses, Dereta skirts, the Robert Pringle jerseys, which, until now, she’d always considered way beyond her means, but seemed quite reasonable when compared to the prices upstairs.

On the ground floor, she searched around for something to buy as a souvenir of her first visit to Freddy’s, but the handbags and gloves were leather, the jewellery gold or silver and set with real stones, the scarves either silk or cashmere. In the end, she bought a nail file in a suede case with her initial on in gold.

‘We don’t often sell a Q,’ the assistant remarked. ‘I bet your name’s Queenie.’

Queenie agreed that it was, pleased that Freddy’s sold at least one thing she could afford.

Gus always insisted on picking up the letters off the mat. Perhaps he thought he was doing his mother a favour, saving her the effort of walking down the hall and bending down. He studied each letter carefully, front and back, upside down, remarking on the stamp, thrilled if the sender had used more than one, while Laura gritted her teeth, longing to snatch the letter out of his helpful little hands.

‘I’d like to be a stamp when I grow up,’ he said on the morning Queenie had started work at Freddy’s, at last handing over the letter that had slid through the box and been subjected to a thorough, clinical examination.

Laura ignored the comment. She had been able to see it wasn’t from the Education Training Scheme – the envelope with the form in had been long and brown with her name and address typed. This envelope was square, white and handwritten. She felt herself grow cold when, on closer examination, she recognised Roddy’s sloping script – and he was writing to her, not Hester. It was postmarked Dover.

She didn’t open it immediately, just held it, stared at it, aware her hands were shaking, unable to think of anything Roddy might have to say that she’d want to know. Eventually, because she knew she had no choice, it might be something important, she tore the envelope open.

Dear Laura,

In another few weeks, I shall be discharged from the Army and you will no longer be in receipt of an allowance. My future employment has already been arranged with a stockbroking firm in London. The salary is good and I am very much aware of my responsibilities to you and Hester. I propose to send a monthly allowance and would be grateful if you would let me know if Ł20 will be sufficient for your needs?

I hope that you and Hester are well – I don’t seem to have heard from Hester in a long while.

I beg you to reconsider your decision to refuse me a divorce. Surely it would be best for all concerned if we were both free? I would, of course, furnish the necessary evidence and pay all legal expenses. You would then be entitled to alimony.

Yours,

Roddy

Laura flung the letter on to the fire and wished she could do the same with Roddy. Why would it be best for her to be free? So she could marry someone else when she’d promised to stay with him ‘till death do us part’.

So, he was going to be a stockbroker! His brother, Thomas, had had something to do with stocks and shares. Perhaps they’d meet up, become friends again, and Roddy would be welcomed back into the bosom of his family. His father would put him back in his will, Katherine would be invited to meet them, and Laura would be called every name under the sun because, due to her, the loving couple couldn’t get married.

And they never would, she swore, not over my dead body. Well, they could, obviously, if she were dead, but while she was alive, they’d just have to live in sin. As for the money, the huge sum was very tempting, but he could keep it.

She’d manage on her own.

She leaned back in the chair, watched the letter curl and burn until it was a little heap of white ash, and thought how much she hated him. Except she knew in her heart that it wasn’t true. He was the love of her life and always would be.

A few days later, it was Laura’s turn to go for an interview. A Mr Bailey-Oliphant, North-West Area Manager of the Education Training Scheme, wrote to request that she attend his office in Dale Street at midday the following Thursday.

‘What swung it for you,’ Mr Bailey-Oliphant said in a voice that Vera would describe as sounding as if he had a plum in his gob, ‘is not just your excellent education in such a wide range of subjects, but on top of that you spent two and a half years engaged in war work. A riveter! I’m very impressed.’

‘I loved it,’ Laura said. ‘I only left to have a baby.’

‘Is your husband behind your decision to become a teacher?’

‘I’m afraid he’s – he’s not coming back.’

‘Oh, I say, I’m awfully sorry.’

Laura shrugged. He obviously thought Roddy was dead, and as far as she was concerned, he was. ‘It can’t be helped. I expect the same thing’s happened to lots of women.’

‘About the baby? Have arrangements been made for him or her to be taken care of while you’re at teacher training college? Naturally, you’ll attend the college in Kirkby.’

‘Gus is three and a half. A neighbour will look after him.’

‘Good. Well, Mrs Oliver, you have been accepted on the Government’s Education Training Scheme starting in September.’ He stood and extended his hand. Laura did the same. ‘Good luck! I’m sure you will make a wonderful teacher.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bailey-Oliphant. I shall do my very best.’

Chapter 9

Freddy’s occupied an entire block in Hanover Street, just around the corner from Bold Street, which was full of small, expensive shops such as Aquascutum and Mappin & Webb. It was a splendid, dark red terracotta building, its most outstanding feature being the rows and rows of arched windows with a stained glass peacock in each one, and mock, cast iron balconies that, from a distance, gave the appearance of black lace frills.

There were three customer entrances, two set at angles on the front corners, the main one in the centre. Set back by about twelve feet to form a lobby with a Roman tiled floor and walls, it had four swing doors and a doorman in a black and green uniform to help people out of their chauffeur-driven cars and, later, help them and their purchases back in.

The shop was much wider than it was deep. After passing through the elegant, dazzling white cosmetics and perfume departments, customers would quickly find they’d reached the rear of the shop when they came to a circular marble staircase. The inner circle contained an ancient, very noisy lift, as splendid as the shop itself with its alternate bars of iron and shining brass. There were more lifts at the far ends of the shop, but none were so grand as this one.

On her first day, Queenie was disappointed to find herself in the basement on the book department. And Miss James, who’d been so friendly when they first met, seemed rather cold when she arrived at the Personnel Office at eight-thirty on Monday morning as instructed.

‘You’re on Books,’ she said shortly. ‘Frances, my assistant, will take you down.’

‘Thank you,’ Queenie said, but Miss James had returned to reading something on her desk and didn’t look up when she left.

Her disappointment was tempered rather when she met her co-worker, a dark-eyed, exuberant, well-spoken young man called Steven who explained he wasn’t long out of the Air Force and had only been there a few months himself.

‘But there’s nothing complicated about selling books. Fiction is the most popular and they’re on the wall at the back.’ He pointed out the biggest sellers; ‘Eric Ambler – have you read A Coffin for Dimitrios? It was made into a film with Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet. I loved it. John Buchan – they made a film out of The 39 Steps, too. Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and so on. Mills and Boon romances have a section all to themselves, as do the classics; Trollope, Dickens, Austen, and those Russian chappies – I can never remember their names.’

Four large bookcases stood at right angles to the wall. Steven showed her the children’s section. ‘Have you read any of the Just William books by Richmal Crompton? I loved them when I was young.’ Without waiting for a reply, he indicated where the atlases were kept, the travel books, dictionaries and encyclopaedias, educational, biography, gardening and cookery. ‘Other than those, we don’t stock much non-fiction, just one or two books on each subject, so if a customer wants a book on chemistry, say, or films, there’ll be something on the shelves, arranged alphabetically by subject. I say, would you like a sweet?’ He produced a sticky paper bag out of his pocket. ‘I’ve got a thing about pear drops.’

‘No, thanks. I like them too, but I’d sooner not be sucking a pear drop in front of a customer.’ A bell had just rung, signalling the shop had opened and customers could arrive any minute.

The department was surprisingly busy. A lot of people spent ages browsing before making a choice. Steven seemed quite happy to leave her to do most of the work, disappearing frequently, coming back smelling of cigarettes and sucking a pear drop. He kept looking at a rather fine gold watch and asked if she’d sooner have an early lunch or a late one. ‘Eleven in the morning, or two in the afternoon?

The staff restaurant’s on the fifth floor. Only a tanner for a meal and threepence for the pud.’

‘Which would you prefer, early or late?’

‘Me? Oh, I’d like both. I’m already starving, but if I go early, the afternoon stretches ahead with only a twenty-minute break and it’s terribly boring. But then, if I go late, the morning’s just as boring.’

Queenie laughed and suggested they take turns. She paused to sell a copy of Gone With the Wind, remembering she’d always meant to read it herself, then said, ‘You go early today, and I’ll go early tomorrow. That might make things a bit less boring.’

‘Good idea.’ Steven grinned. He had lovely white teeth and was altogether a most attractive young man. She didn’t know much about men’s clothes, but could tell his well-cut grey suit had been expensive. ‘Old Rollinson,’ he went on, ‘always insisted on lunching in the afternoon. He’d been here since before I was born and I wasn’t given a choice.’

‘Who’s old Rollinson?’

‘Chap who’s been in charge of books since the year dot. Poor thing, he got the hump when Miss James sent him upstairs to the wilderness of Gentlemen’s Footwear.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Last Saturday. Mind you, I was glad to see the back of the miserable sod.

You’re a terrific improvement. You’re coming to Lila’s birthday party next week, aren’t you? We can have a dance together.’ He winked. ‘Or two or three.’

Could it be that old Rollinson had been moved to make way for her? If so, it seemed very unfair. As to the party invitation, she felt confused. ‘I’ve no idea who Lila is, or why she should invite me to her party.’

‘Lila’s my sister. She’s twenty-one a week on Saturday. Dad always invites the staff to our birthday parties. This year, Lila was dead set against it, but Dad insisted. He told her, ten o’clock, she can go home and have another party with her smart friends, but he wasn’t prepared to do the staff out of theirs. I had my demob party upstairs last November and the staff clubbed together and bought me a silver lighter and cigarette case. I was in the RAF on my twenty-first. It was a rowdy old do, I can tell you.’

Queenie felt even more confused. ‘Upstairs?’

‘In the restaurant. It’s used for functions a couple of nights a week; parties and dinner dances, mainly.’

‘Who exactly is your father?’

‘Theo Vandos, owner of this damn place.’ He looked glumly around the shop. ‘One of these fine days, all this will be mine. Trouble is, I don’t want it.’

‘He wants to be an actor,’ Queenie told Laura that night. ‘Gosh! It was a really peculiar day. There was never a day like it in Herriot’s. Fancy me working side by side with the son of the owner! I love being on Books. People are so friendly. They discuss plots and authors – I felt dead stupid, hardly knowing a thing. I’m going to join Bootle library and read and read. This afternoon, old Rollinson – I’ve told you about him, haven’t I? – came and just stared and stared, as if he hated me guts. I felt dead uncomfortable, not that it’s my fault I’ve been given his job. Though it seems a funny thing for Miss James to do, seeing as I’m so ignorant and Steven’s not there half the time. He’s in the Gents having a ciggie. Someone asked for a book on bats and I was looking in the sports section for one on cricket, and it turns out he meant the animals – or are they birds? I dunno. Before I knew it, there was a queue and I got meself into quite a tizzy.’ She paused for breath. ‘Anyroad, me invitation to the party arrived this avvy. Frances, the girl from Miss James’s office brought it down.

I’m going to wear that purple frock you made me for Christmas. It’s not exactly a party frock, but it’ll do with that diamond necklace I got from Woollies. Oh, and there’s another funny thing. Miss James was dead unfriendly when I reported in. I can’t think why. She was so nice before.’

Laura remarked that it all sounded very interesting, and Queenie agreed it was interesting all right, and also just a tiny bit mysterious.

Next day, Steven Vandos suggested she be his guest at the party. ‘That means you can come to the house when it finishes upstairs.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she told him, annoyed. ‘The other staff would hate me if they knew I’d had special treatment. I’ve already made one enemy in old Rollinson.’

‘No one would know.’

‘They might. Anyroad, I’ve got a boyfriend, a fiancé. He won’t mind me going to the party, but not with another man.’

‘So why aren’t you wearing a ring?’

‘Because Jimmy’s in the Army. He’s being demobbed the week after next. There hasn’t been a chance to look for a ring.’

Steven didn’t look too bothered by the rejection. He wanted to know when she was getting married and Queenie said she didn’t know. ‘I’ve still got to get used to being engaged.’