by Ellie Dean
She took a deep breath as she saw the Red Cross distribution centre ahead of her, and hoped she didn’t bump into Peggy’s sister-in-law, Pauline Reilly, who’d once been a volunteer for the WVS and was now working there. Doris didn’t have a high opinion of Pauline – she was inclined to go off into hysterics at the slightest thing – and suspected the feeling was mutual.
She paused at the bottom of the wooden flight of steps which led up to the offices, took a breath of the freshening wind for courage and went up before her nerve failed her. Holding onto her hat, she turned the knob on the door and stepped inside to be greeted by a whirlwind of paper and a tall, silver-haired man who was clearly at the end of his tether.
‘Shut the door,’ he barked, grabbing bits of paper and trying to keep them on the desk.
Doris quickly closed the door, grabbed the stray pieces of paper from around her feet and laid them on the untidy desk. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise the wind was quite that fierce.’
He gave a deep sigh and smoothed back his hair. ‘It’s always windier at the top of those steps for some reason, and although I’ve asked maintenance to do something about it, I’m still waiting.’ He regarded her with a rueful smile. ‘Sorry for shouting at you like that.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Doris, mollified by his smile and the educated tone of his voice. ‘It looks like you could do with some help,’ she added, pointing to the mess on the single desk and the numerous files and folders littering the tops of the metal cabinets.
‘I’m snowed under with paper and bumf,’ he said, ‘and if you’re Mrs Williams from the labour exchange, you’re very welcome.’
‘Indeed I am,’ she replied.
His smile lit up his face and his handshake was firm and warm. ‘Welcome to the madhouse, Mrs Williams. If you can sort this lot out, then you’ve got the job.’
Doris smiled. ‘Don’t you want to know if I can type or take shorthand?’
He waved away the suggestion. ‘Just get me out of this mess and we’ll sort all that out later,’ he said. ‘But where to start, that’s the crux of the thing.’
Doris took off her hat and hung it on the coat-stand along with her handbag. ‘Why don’t you go and find yourself a nice cup of tea, and leave me to it?’ she suggested hopefully. ‘I’m sure you could do with one.’
‘Indeed I could,’ he said. ‘But I have a meeting with the security staff in half an hour, so I’ll be gone for a while. Will you be all right on your own?’
‘I shall be fine,’ said Doris, thankful she’d be left to get on without him being in the way.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ he said, dithering in the doorway.
Doris nodded and purposefully held down the papers on the desk as he opened the door and slammed it behind him. She let out a breath, eyed the task ahead of her and eagerly began to trawl her way through everything so she had a proper sense of what went where and how it should be filed. If this was what the job entailed, then it would be a piece of cake – but she must remember to ask him on his return what salary she was to be paid, and the hours he expected her to do.
She worked through the morning, and by the time Colonel White returned with a thick white mug of tea, the office was as neat as a pin, the desk cleared, the folders correctly filed away, and the box-files neatly stowed on shelves in alphabetical order. She’d polished the desk, unearthed the typewriter from a dusty corner and found notebooks and pencils, which she’d sharpened, in the desk drawers. The small kitchenette which led off the main room gleamed from a good scrubbing with Vim, the kettle and hot-plate now free of grime.
‘My goodness, what a transformation,’ he said in admiration. ‘I can’t believe you’ve brought order to my chaos so quickly.’
Doris positively glowed from his praise, but as he was about to place the hot mug on her freshly polished desk, she whipped a beer mat she’d found in a drawer underneath it. ‘You have several letters that need answering today,’ she said, grabbing a notebook and pencil. ‘And I shall need a chair and a desk of my own.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he murmured, plonking down in the one chair. ‘I’ll ring through to supplies and get you those immediately.’ His smile was almost shy. ‘I’m still not used to being on Civvy Street. The army provided everything and there was always someone to do the fetching and carrying.’
‘How long is it since you left?’ Doris asked with genuine interest.
‘It’s been eighteen months since I retired, and I still can’t get used to it.’ He eyed her quizzically. ‘And what about you, Mrs Williams?’
‘I trained as a secretary in London more years ago than I care to remember, and then I got married and had my son. I’ve been doing voluntary work for the WVS, but I’m widowed now and need a paying job,’ she finished with a defiant note.
‘You must think I’m frightfully disorganised, Mrs Williams, and I do apologise for not dealing with such things earlier. I’ve been told I can pay you three guineas for a forty-hour week, with a bonus of one pound ten shillings if you’re willing to work on a Saturday morning.’
It was much more than Doris expected, and it was quite hard to hide her surprise and delight. ‘Thank you, Colonel. That would suit me very well, and I’m willing to work on Saturday if the need arises.’
‘Splendid,’ he replied, rubbing his hands together whilst admiring the neat office. ‘Well, I have to say you’ve got everything marvellously ship-shape in here. It’s a pleasure to have someone who knows what they’re doing. The last girl hadn’t a clue, and left me high and dry without even giving notice.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ she assured him.
He smiled at her and picked up one of the letters from the in-tray. ‘Let’s get on with the mail and see how your shorthand is.’
‘I need a chair,’ she reminded him gently.
‘Goodness me, of course you do,’ he said, jumping to his feet and reaching for the telephone. ‘Why don’t you sit here and enjoy that tea whilst I round up some suitable furniture for you?’
Doris sat in the deep leather chair and watched him make the call as she drank the rather stewed and cooling tea. Colonel White was a handsome man in his mid to late fifties, and beautifully turned out in a tweed suit and crisp shirt, with a gold watch and chain threaded through his matching waistcoat. His voice was educated and had a pleasing timbre, and his silver hair was thick and lustrous, enhancing the blue of his eyes. He clearly found it difficult to keep track of all his responsibilities, but with her talent for keeping things in order, she’d soon become indispensable to him.
Doris smothered a smile. She had the feeling she was going to enjoy working here.
Ron was feeling even grumpier than usual as he stood in the curtained-off cubicle of the menswear department in Plummer’s in his less than pristine underpants and socks. He’d exercised the dogs and the ferrets, managed to pop in to see Danuta at the Memorial for a mere five minutes, and then had to dash back to get changed into something smarter for the shopping trip – but he hadn’t thought to change the socks with the holes in them, or the underpants with sagging elastic, and realised he looked less than salubrious.
He glowered at his reflection in the long mirror as the elderly sales assistant measured him from head to toe and then got on his knees to measure his inside leg.
‘Which side do you dress, sir?’ the man asked, tape measure in hand, face aligned with the sagging elastic of Ron’s pants.
‘On the right,’ Ron growled. ‘Is all this really necessary?’
The elderly man got to his feet and noted down the measurements in a large book before replying. ‘The lady was most insistent, sir,’ he replied, mournfully eyeing the socks and underwear before shooting Ron an understanding smile. ‘And I’ve discovered over the years that it is always wise to follow a lady’s wishes if one is to have a quiet life.’
‘Aye, but ’tis a terrible burden, so it is.’
‘I think you’ll find, sir, that you will
look and feel very much better once we have you suitably attired,’ the older man said before backing through the curtain.
Left to his own devices, Ron flexed his muscles, sucked in his stomach and eyed his reflection sourly, for although he was fit for a man of his age with well-toned muscles, he didn’t exactly cut a dashing figure at the moment. He was tempted to light his pipe, and then realised it probably wasn’t the thing to do in Plummer’s, which was Cliffehaven’s poshest shop.
Hitching up his baggy pants and eyeing the hole in his sock, he wondered how long he was supposed to hang about, and what Rosie was up to on the other side of the curtain. She’d sent him in here with a cheeky grin and made herself comfortable on a couch, plied with a free glass of sherry and a pile of magazines to keep her amused whilst he was going through all kinds of humiliation in his underwear. It seemed to him that Rosie’s idea of being wooed was going a bit far, and if the man didn’t come back soon, he’d get dressed and leave.
‘Here we are, sir,’ said the older man, laden with jackets, shirts and trousers. ‘I have brought a selection for you to try on.’ He slotted the hangers onto a rail, selected a pair of twill trousers and held them out. ‘The lady would like to see each outfit so she can make her choice,’ he murmured.
‘So I go through all this and don’t even have a say in the matter?’ growled Ron.
‘I’m afraid not, sir,’ he replied, before leaving again.
Ron eyed the twill trousers and pulled them on. They fitted very well and felt good against his legs, the turn-ups nestling perfectly over the tops of his shoes. He eyed the shirts and selected a dark green one which buttoned neatly over his chest and flat waist, the collar proving loose enough not to strangle him. Looking over the jackets, he discarded the bilious brown and green, as well as the blue, and plumped for the earthy tones of a fine tweed. Selecting a plain brown tie, he knotted it loosely and then turned to look at himself in the mirror.
‘Well, ’tis a fine figure of a man ye are,’ he breathed, turning this way and that in delight. ‘But what you need now is a hat to finish it off.’
‘Are you decent yet?’ asked Rosie from the other side of the curtain.
‘As decent as I’ll ever be,’ he replied, sweeping back the curtain to give her the full benefit of his splendour.
Rosie cocked her head and eyed him from head to foot. ‘You’ll need brown shoes to go with that, and some decent socks,’ she said. She looked at him, her blue eyes shining. ‘You certainly scrub up well, Ron,’ she murmured.
‘Aye, it all fits well enough,’ he said, trying to be modest. ‘But I’ll need a hat. The blue fedora won’t go with this.’
‘Talking of blue,’ said Rosie with a naughty gleam in her eyes. ‘I thought the blue jacket would go very well with the pale grey flannels and white shirt.’
‘Ach, I’m happy with this,’ he said.
‘You might be, but you need more than one set of smart clothes if you want me to be seen on your arm, Ronan Reilly.’ She gave him a rather firm nudge towards the changing room. ‘Now get a move on. I have to open the pub in just over an hour, and I thought we could have morning coffee at the Officers’ Club first.’
Ron swallowed a retort and grumpily returned to the changing room. Rosie was getting a bit above herself, but he supposed it was all in a good cause – and he did have to admit the clothes made him look and feel good. He emerged minutes later in the grey flannels, blue jacket and white shirt. ‘I look daft,’ he rumbled.
‘You look wonderful,’ sighed Rosie. ‘The blue makes your eyes even brighter and that jacket fits as if it’s been made for you.’ She eyed his black shoes. ‘They’ll do for now, but you’ll need some new ones before the year’s out,’ she declared.
‘There’s no need for all this, Rosie,’ he complained. ‘To be sure, we never go anywhere to warrant such finery, and I have a passable suit.’
‘Things are about to change,’ she said, a steely glint in her eyes. ‘And you’ll get a great deal of use out of all of it, I assure you.’
Ron swallowed and smiled nervously at her as the elderly salesman approached.
‘We’ll take this outfit, the brown tweed, twill trousers and green shirt,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ll hunt out a couple of different ties – and he’ll need some brown shoes.’
‘And a tweed hat,’ said Ron, determined to get his way over something, and yet utterly defeated by the knowledge that this was going to cost him every clothing coupon he had as well as the contents of his wallet.
‘He will also need some dark socks and new underwear,’ said Rosie, shooting Ron a look he couldn’t interpret.
‘What was that all about?’ he asked as the man collected the clothes from the changing room and went off to pack them up.
Rosie giggled. ‘The curtains didn’t quite fit together and I saw you in all your glory,’ she spluttered.
Ron felt the blush heat his face and couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘I’m going to change back into my own stuff,’ he rumbled.
‘No, you’re not. You’ll wear what you’ve got on for the Officers’ Club and change later,’ she said firmly. To forestall any argument, she turned from him and bustled off to look at ties and underwear.
He stood in the middle of the menswear department and admired the way her hips moved beneath that pencil-slim skirt, and how good her legs looked in those high-heeled shoes. Rosie always looked marvellous and he could see heads turning to watch her progress through the department. If he was going to persuade her to marry him, then this expensive torture would be worth it.
He gave a chuckle before gathering up his old jacket, shirt and trousers and taking them to the counter to be wrapped up with the rest. If this was what Rosie wanted, then he would play along – and although he’d been morose about it, he’d found it fun, and privately admitted that he did look extremely smart in this get-up, even if it did make him feel as if he was one of those snobs who attended garden parties and lounged about on yachts.
Ron found a tweed hat he liked, and a pair of brogues the rich colour of conkers that fitted like a glove and would see him through at least a decade.
Rosie came back from her trawl of the department and met him at the counter armed with socks, handkerchiefs and ties. She cast an approving look over the hat and shoes, and then held up a broad strip of blue and white silk. ‘I thought a cravat would finish that outfit off perfectly,’ she said purposefully.
‘Over my dead body,’ he growled, eyeing the object with disgust.
‘But—’
‘I’ll not be wearing that,’ he said firmly, taking the cravat and putting it out of her reach. ‘Enough is enough, Rosie.’
She regarded him for a moment and then nodded. ‘I suppose it is a step too far,’ she murmured, ‘and as you’ve been so good about everything else, I’ll let it pass.’
Ron eyed the neatly written bill and had to quickly mask his horror. He reluctantly handed over the money and coupons.
Rosie hooked her arm through his as he took charge of the packages. ‘I know it was a bit steep,’ she murmured as they headed for the door, ‘but you’ll thank me in the end.’
Ron wasn’t at all sure about that, but as he held the door open for her and she sashayed onto the High Street pavement, he noticed their reflection in the heavily taped shop window and realised they made a handsome couple. Feeling slightly mollified, he escorted her along the High Street to the Officers’ Club, his mind working furiously on how much he had left in his wallet and what morning coffee would cost him.
Doris pulled on her blue overcoat and tethered her hat with a pin before gathering up the post and slipping it into her handbag. She stood for a moment admiring the office, which she’d reorganised with the help of the maintenance men who’d brought up the second desk and chair. The Colonel’s desk was now under the single window, and her own smaller desk had been set up against the wall opposite. Everything was neat and tidy, and she’d elicited a firm promise from the men that they would come
tomorrow to build a covered porch over the door so that the wind didn’t rush straight in every time the door was opened. Should the men go back on their promise, then they’d soon discover that Doris Williams was no pushover, and that her demands were to be met promptly.
She looked at her watch, checking she had time to catch the evening post, and then used the key the Colonel had given her to lock up. Stepping outside, she was surprised to discover how light and bright it was, and how swiftly the day had flown. With a lightness of heart she hadn’t felt for years, she ran down the wooden staircase and hurried towards the gate.
‘How’d it go, then?’
Startled, Doris looked down at Ivy, who’d appeared from nowhere, it seemed, and was walking beside her. ‘Very well, thank you,’ she replied, her smile a little stiff.
‘That’s good then,’ said Ivy. ‘The Colonel’s nice, ain’t ’e? And not a bad looker for a bloke ’is age.’
‘I can’t say that I noticed,’ Doris fibbed.
Ivy gave her a light nudge with her elbow. ‘You could be in there if yer play yer cards right.’
Doris bristled and only just remembered she had to be nice to this common girl if her standing at Beach View was to improve. ‘I have no idea what you mean by that,’ she said coolly. ‘But I certainly found him to be a most pleasant man to work for.’
Ivy grinned. ‘We ’ad bets on you wouldn’t get a job at all,’ she said tactlessly, ‘but I’m glad you proved us wrong, so good on yer. I knows things ain’t been easy for yer lately, but ’aving something proper to do will perk you up no end.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ said Doris, trying not to show how astonished she was by the girl’s bare-faced cheek and over-familiarity.
‘This is nice, ain’t it?’ Ivy carried on with a devilish glint in her eye. ‘Who’d’a thought we’d be walking ’ome from work together, eh? If me shifts work out like this, we could be doing it every day, all friendly like. What you say?’