Queen of the Mersey (29 page)

‘Oh, but there’s only a queue because …’ She stopped just in time from telling him it was because Steven spent half his time in the Gents with a ciggie.

‘I know the reason for the queue, Miss Tate. You’re very loyal. Mr Rollinson complained bitterly – and frequently – about the irresponsible way my son behaves.’

‘Steven’s very nice,’ Queenie said defensively. ‘He’s just finding it hard, that’s all, settling into a job after being in the RAF.’ She felt as if she’d just been tested, to see if she would be loyal, and felt cross with Miss James for saying she wasn’t managing, when she must surely know that she often looked after the department on her own.

‘Next week, you’ll be moving to another department,’ Mr Theo continued, dropping a bombshell.

‘Which one?’ Visions of Ironmongery passed through her mind.

‘Ladies’ First Floor Fashions. This coming Friday, I would like you to accompany Miss Hurst, our fashion buyer, to the Adelphi Hotel where some of the lesser known labels will be showing their autumn lines. All you have to do is take note of the items Miss Hurst wishes to order.’

‘But why are you sending me?’ she asked, startled.

‘Why not, Miss Tate?’

‘I’ve only been here a month.’

‘I consider you an excellent worker, having coped so admirably on Books.’ He leaned forward and folded his arms on the white blotter. ‘You might like to consider a career in the retail trade,’ he said earnestly. ‘As a fashion buyer, for instance. They lead very interesting lives. Miss Hurst travels to Paris several times a year to view the latest designer shows; Fath, Balenciaga, Dior, Cardin. Would that interest you? Or are you set on getting married very soon?

Steven tells me you’re about to get engaged.’

‘We haven’t set a date for the wedding.’ What a strange thing for Steven to tell him! ‘It’ll be ages before we can afford a house. I’d love to be a fashion buyer,’ she breathed.

He gave her another of his sweet, sad smiles. ‘Then let’s see how you get on on Friday.’

Queenie couldn’t understand it. Mr Theo’s words buzzed around in her mind for the rest of the day, but it wasn’t until she got on the train at Exchange Station that she was able to think about what he’d said without being interrupted by someone wanting to buy a book. It had seemed mysterious before and now it seemed even more so. Why had Miss James turned against her? Had she disapproved of her being put on Books with Steven while poor old Rollinson was transferred to Gentlemen’s Footwear? Even Queenie could see it would have been wiser for her to have been put in Steven’s place and he be moved elsewhere. Did Miss James know she was about to be transferred to Ladies’ First Floor Fashions, and that, on Friday, she was actually going to a fashion show at the Adelphi, the biggest and poshest hotel in Liverpool? Could it be Mr Theo who was deciding the departments in which she would work and not Miss James, whose job it actually was?

If so, why?

‘It’s obvious why,’ Vera hooted about four hours later. ‘He fancies you.’

Queenie and Jimmy had been for a walk, only as far as the Docky and back. It was a lovely spring evening with only a slight chill in the air. He told her about the job interview he’d been for that afternoon. It was in a garage, working on his beloved cars. ‘I learnt to drive in the Army,’ he said proudly.

‘I know. You told me in a letter.’

‘I hope I get it, the job, that is. Me gratuity won’t last long if I’m not working.’

‘Perhaps it’d be best to forget about an engagement ring for now,’ she suggested. She didn’t mention the startling improvement in her own job prospects.

‘Not on your life, girl. I want you wearing me ring on your finger, particularly in front of that smart young feller you work with.’

‘I hope you’re not jealous, Jimmy.’

He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and his cheeks went red. ‘I might well be.’

‘There’s no need,’ she assured him kindly. ‘I’m not the least bit interested in Steven.’

‘I know you’re not, girl, but I’d like other fellers to know you’re engaged to me.’

They returned to Pacific Road, and just managed to have a cup of tea before it was time for Pete to go to bed. He was finding it hard to settle in his new home and a different school. Tess was being awkward. She’d made friends at her own school and spent most evenings in other girls’ houses, coming home at all hours.

As Jimmy didn’t want Pete left on his own, it wasn’t possible for him and Queenie to go to the pictures or a dance.

‘You don’t mind, do you, girl?’ he asked anxiously in the grubby little backyard when she was about to leave.

‘Of course not.’ He was only twenty, much too young to be landed with so many troubles. But it was proving an awfully dull courtship.

Vera was relaxing in an armchair when she got back to Glover Street. She’d come for a bit of peace and quiet, she claimed. The lads were driving her potty. They were bored witless after the excitement of the war and were finding it difficult to get used to civilian life. Victor was drinking too much, Billy was having nightmares, waking up thinking he was still in the prisoner of war camp, Frank’s girlfriend had jilted him and he was going out with a flamer called Connie McBride who was the scrapings of the gutter. It was all Hitler’s fault and she was glad he was dead.

‘Anyroad, luv, how’s the job going?’ she asked, when she’d finished explaining for Queenie’s benefit exactly what she was doing there.

‘A strange thing happened today,’ Queenie began, but Laura interrupted to say that, since she’d started at Freddy’s, strange things seemed to happen every day.

‘Today was stranger than ever.’ She said nothing about the lunch invitation. If Laura realised Mr Theo had remembered sending the wine, he would also have remembered it was her and Roddy’s wedding day, something she clearly preferred people not to know. She backtracked a bit and told Vera about old Rollinson, Steven’s smoking, the party, what a tragic family the Vandoses were, Miss James’s change of attitude, all things Vera had heard already from Laura, but enjoyed hearing again from the horse’s mouth. Queenie came to that morning, Mr Theo sending for her, telling her she was about to be moved to Ladies’ First Floor Fashions, the fashion show at the Adelphi and, finally, his advice that she make a career in the retail industry and hinting that she might possibly become a buyer.

‘There was a fashion buyer in Herriot’s, Miss Ferris,’ she told her rapt audience. ‘She had her own little office and dressed like a film star. Rumour had it a lot of the clothes she got for free, just for placing an order. All the other women were dead envious. I can’t think why Mr Theo should single me out. I mean, I’ve hardly been there five minutes.’

And that’s when Vera had burst out laughing and said it was obvious – Mr Theo fancied her.

Chapter 10

The first and second floors of the Adelphi had been taken over for the fashion show. Some labels, with a wide range of autumn lines to exhibit, had hired an entire suite. Others that concentrated on a single line, such as wedding or ball gowns, rainwear or country wear, occupied just a single room.

Queenie met Miss Hurst in Freddy’s restaurant where she was having breakfast and had reached the toast and marmalade stage. She was very friendly and asked the waitress to fetch another cup so Queenie could share her pot of tea. Going on for sixty, with a long, narrow, heavily made-up face, she was exquisitely attired in a lilac wool suit and matching turban, with a silver fox fur draped around her narrow shoulders. She had the mere trace of a Liverpool accent.

Breakfast over, she handed Queenie two fat briefcases to carry – neither of which were opened the entire day – and insisted on calling for a taxi to take them the ten-minute walk to the hotel. Friday was the second day of the show, she said on the short journey. ‘I could have gone yesterday, I was invited, but I chose to come today instead. Freddy’s is one of the biggest buyers and it keeps them on their toes if they think I’m not interested enough to view their wretched clothes immediately.’ She had a dozen appointments, one every half an hour until five o’clock, with a break for lunch. Queenie had the list. A company called Evangelina Fashions would be their first port of call.

‘I doubt if I’ll buy anything. Their clothes are usually at least a year out of date, but I must pay them a visit, just in case they’ve come up with something remarkable this time.’

The show was like a travelling circus, she said as she alighted from the taxi and swept into the hotel, Queenie staggering behind with the briefcases (she was rather glad about the taxi, which had seemed an extravagance at first). It toured the country, setting up shop, as it were, in half a dozen major cities.

Buyers would then come from all over the surrounding area, from very big stores like Freddy’s, George Henry Lee’s and Lewis’s, to the very smallest, usually managed by the owner.

The Evangelina label was represented by a rather sweaty, anxious young man called Mr Travis, who greeted Miss Hurst effusively and led her to a comfortable chair, then asked if she would like tea or coffee, or ‘something stronger’.

‘I wouldn’t mind a glass of sherry,’ she graciously agreed. ‘And I’m sure my assistant would appreciate a cup of tea. This is Miss Tate, by the way.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Mr Travis gave her a worried nod. He snapped his fingers and a woman appeared from behind a rack of clothes and he requested she fetch the drinks.

‘While we’re waiting, Miss Hurst, may I show you a few of our overcoats?’

‘Why not!’ Miss Hurst said breezily.

‘This style is going to be very big this autumn.’ He took a double-breasted, bright red jersey coat from the rack. At first glance, it appeared to sport at least a hundred big, gleaming brass buttons, but when Queenie counted, there were only sixteen. ‘We call this model Patricia.’

Miss Hurst contemplated the garment thoughtfully. ‘Mr Travis,’ she said.

‘Yes, Miss Hurst.’ Mr Travis jumped.

‘That red is far too red. And what makes you think women want military-style clothing when the war has not long ended? They want softer styles, more feminine. In a coat like that, I might feel tempted to challenge you to a duel.

What else do you have?’

Mr Travis then produced a fitted coat called Daisy that was far too green, in which Miss Hurst said she would feel like a tree. ‘A bottle green would be so much nicer. I might have bought it had it been bottle.’

‘We can make it up for you in bottle,’ Mr Travis said eagerly. ‘I have a swatch of material right here and can give you a special price if you buy a dozen, say six guineas each instead of seven,’ a statement that caused Miss Hurst to give him a look of such disdain that even Queenie winced.

‘Mr Travis, I’m from Frederick and Hughes. We would never, never stock a dozen garments all the same. I’ll take two in bottle, size thirty-six and thirty-eight inch hips.’

Queenie made a note of the order in the exercise book with which she’d been provided: ‘Two Daisies, bottle green, size 36” and 38”, 7 gns each from Evangelina.’

Miss Hurst graciously accepted another glass of sherry while proceeding verbally to demolish every garment she was shown. They left when their half-hour was up, having ordered two bottle green Daisies and leaving Mr Travis even sweatier than when they’d arrived.

Outside in the corridor, Queenie was told to cross the order out. ‘I only made it because I felt sorry for the poor fellow. I’ll cancel it next week.’

The next appointment was with Pierce & Skinner, where Miss Hurst drank two more sherries and ordered three outsize pleated skirts in different plaids. ‘I can’t understand outsize ladies wearing pleats – or plaids,’ she sighed, ‘but they do.

Have you any jumpers to match?’

‘Who’s next?’ she asked at eleven o’clock when they were back in the corridor.

Queenie studied the list. ‘Fleur.’

‘Ah!’ For the first time she showed some enthusiasm. ‘Fleur is a new label. They only do frocks. I’ve heard good things about them. Very clever that, using a French name.’

Fleur’s representative was a tall, very pale and effeminate young man who introduced himself as Wilfred Carter. He wore a black and white polka-dot cravat instead of a tie and had a pronounced cockney accent.

Although he had hired only a small room, Wilfred Carter had brought with him his own model, an incredibly thin, incredibly tall young woman with a gaunt face and bones protruding sharply from every part of her body. Her eyelids were painted midnight blue and her thick black lashes were at least an inch long. Her name was Rosa and she looked very exotic, emerging from behind a screen wearing an off-white frock of the very finest jersey, plain, form-fitting, the only adornment being the fluting on the hem and on the edge of the long, tight sleeves that almost reached her thumbs.

‘So elegant and beautifully cut,’ Miss Hurst breathed. ‘Only the minimum amount of material has been used, yet the fluting makes it look quite extravagant.’

Material still remained in short supply. ‘Do you have this design in other colours?’

‘Black and grey. I would describe it as a misty grey. I’ll show you.’ He took two similar garments off the rack. ‘Like all the frocks, it comes in three sizes only, from a thirty-four- to a thirty-eight-inch hip, and all are priced at seven guineas each.’

‘I’d like three, one of each colour. Oh, and make them different sizes too. Does this item have a name?’

‘Pearl.’

Queenie was furiously writing the order down when Rosa appeared in another tight-fitting frock made from crępe the colour of blackberries. It had a floppy flower from the same material attached just below the left shoulder.

‘We also have this model in very dark blue, almost navy, but not quite, and jade. We call this our Diamond model.’

‘I’ll have one of each, as before. What else do you have?’ she asked eagerly.

The other designs were just as impressive. Miss Hurst went quite mad and ordered eighteen frocks altogether in six different styles, and also extracted from Wilfred Carter that he designed the clothes and cut them, that Rosa was his sister, and that she, his mother and his aunt sewed them in the cellar of their house in Camden.