Mr Fenner arrived shortly afterwards with the rest of the guests, fifteen in total, all in dinner suits and dickie bows. Helen felt nervous and uncomfortable in the low-cut cerise dress carrying a tray of drinks. She thought of leaving, but she didn’t want to let Pearl down. Then there was the two pounds she’d accepted. No, she’d have to stick it out until ten o’clock. Some men went straight to the card tables, including Mr Fenner, and she was surprised to see Pearl at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. Others stood about talking business. She began to relax a little and remembered to smile. An older man asked her if there was any single malt whisky. She had no idea and said she would ask one of the other girls but, as she walked away, he followed her and put his hand round her waist. She was surprised but didn’t say anything. She was also surprised that the girl at the drinks table was sipping a glass of champagne. ‘This gentleman would like a single malt whisky, can you help?’ asked Helen, and without another word she slipped out of his arm and walked away.
As the evening went on, the men became raucous and she noticed that a few of the girls were relaxing with them on the sofas. Pearl mingled with the guests and every now and again Helen heard her deep-throated laugh. The supper arrived and Pearl asked Helen to take the plates of roast beef sandwiches to the men and then serve coffee. Someone had put on a record, a slow song, ‘Blue Moon’, and now the girls were dancing with the men.
Helen tried not to look any of them in the eye in case they wanted her to dance or join them on a sofa. She busied herself collecting plates and empty glasses for a while then stood near the door watching couples smooching to the music and wondering what the time was.
‘You look as fed up as I am.’
Helen turned to see a man smiling at her; she recognised him as one of the card players, younger and slimmer than the other men. ‘I’m weighing up whether anyone would miss me if I sneaked out,’ she said.
‘You don’t want to dance or drink champagne?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m just a waitress.’
‘A very well-dressed waitress, I must say.’
Helen blushed. ‘It’s the uniform they gave me. Anyway, why aren’t you enjoying yourself, all the other men are?’
‘I thought it would be a serious card game, but they’re more interested in the girls. To be honest, I’m trying to sneak out too. What do you think? Should we just go and leave them to it?’
‘What time is it?’ asked Helen.
‘Almost ten.’
‘Right, I’m going.’ She grabbed her coat from the rail and was out the door in seconds.
‘Hey! Wait for me.’ He came running after her, putting on his overcoat. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Home, of course.’
He went with her down the stairs and as they crossed the foyer, he touched her arm. ‘Would you like to have a nightcap in the bar?’
‘No, I need to catch the last bus.’
He looked disappointed. ‘I’ll take you home, my car’s just outside.’
‘I’m not getting in a car with you, I don’t even know you.’
‘All right then, I’ll walk you to your stop,’ and he fell into step beside her.
‘You don’t need to. I’ll be fine.’
‘No, please, I’d like to see you safe on the bus.’
‘I’ll be safe enough, don’t worry.’
‘Even so, I would feel better if you’d just let me walk with you.’
Helen shrugged her shoulders.
They crossed Deansgate and he talked about the bomb damage to the cathedral as they walked. Then he asked, ‘Do you go to the supper club often?’
‘No, it’s the first time I’ve been. Mr Fenner’s my boss and he offered me some overtime, but I…’
He finished her sentence. ‘…won’t be going again?’
‘Probably not, even though I could do with the money. What about you?’
‘No, I’m all right for money, thanks.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
‘I know.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘An acquaintance invited me to play cards, but like I said, they were all half-hearted about it. I’m not in the rag trade either, so I didn’t have anything in common with most of the people there.’
‘And what about the girls?’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she was embarrassed.
But he only laughed. ‘Didn’t have anything in common with them either. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t think you belonged there. I watched you observing everything that went on, like an outsider. Oh, sometimes you smiled, but I could see your heart wasn’t in it and the sadness would return to your face.’
She sensed the concern in his voice. Did he think she would explain why she was sad? Her grief was locked up inside her and she would never dream of sharing it with a stranger.
‘And what do you do at Fenner’s?’ he asked.
‘I work in the office, but I probably won’t be there much longer,’ and she explained about Rita being caught up in the bombing and unable to work.
‘Such a terrible business that was at Christmas, and there’s no end to it. The Luftwaffe will be back again soon.’
They came into Stevenson’s Square where her bus was waiting. ‘I didn’t ask you your name,’ he said.
‘Why would you want to know my name? You’ve spent less than twenty minutes in my company and you won’t be seeing me again.’
‘Well, who knows?’ He held out his hand. ‘My name’s Laurence Fitzpatrick.’
She shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
The engine revved up and the conductor shouted, ‘Are you gettin’ on or not?’
She hopped on the platform. Laurence tipped his hat as the bus pulled away and, for no reason she could think of, she called out, ‘My name’s Helen,’ but by that time, he had been swallowed up by the darkness.
When she arrived in the office the following morning, Pearl was already at her desk. She looked up and smiled. ‘You left early last night.’
‘I left at ten o’clock; you said we could.’
‘Yes, nothing wrong with that.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I just wondered if you had anything else to tell me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I thought maybe you left with that good-looking young man. What was his name, Laurence somebody?’
Helen didn’t like the knowing look on Pearl’s face. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Only that you might’ve, you know, had a drink with him in the bar or maybe he gave you a lift home.’
Helen felt the flush cover her face as though she’d been caught out. But nothing had happened. She’d only walked to the bus and it was him who insisted on accompanying her.
She had been uneasy the whole evening, seeing the men so overfamiliar with the girls. How could she have been so naive: the dancing; the stray hands; the amount of champagne? Is that what was happening? And those girls with the men would… No, she wouldn’t think about it, but the anger was bubbling up inside her. ‘You thought I would go off with some man, not six weeks since my husband was killed!’
Pearl went to her as if she would hug her, but Helen stepped back. ‘Oh, Helen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that… I just thought…’
‘Well, you thought wrong. He insisted on walking me to the bus stop, that’s all. But those girls, is that what they do… go off with men?’
‘I won’t lie to you, Helen, some of them do, but that’s up to them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re waitresses. Just like you were a waitress and when your shift was finished you went home.’
Helen weighed up Pearl’s words. It was true that she had left when she wanted to and she wasn’t asked to sit with the men or dance with them. ‘That’s all very well,’ she said, ‘but how could you think I would be interested in another man?’
‘Oh, Helen, I didn’t really. It’s just that sometimes women on their own get lonely and there’s nothing wrong with having an innocent conversation with
a man. Can’t you see that?’
Maybe that was true, but Helen had learned her lesson: people could easily get hold of the wrong end of the stick.
Chapter 8
Dorothy covered her hair with her paisley headscarf and tied it under her chin. ‘I hope we get a good view,’ she said. ‘I promised Mam I’d tell her all about it when I get home.’
Pearl pulled on a leather glove and carefully smoothed down each finger, then repeated the action on the other hand. ‘They say she has a beautiful complexion. I wonder what she’ll be wearing? It’s a pity she can’t pop over to Fenner’s Fashions, we’d have her looking far more glamorous than anything Norman Hartnell put on her back. Now, are you sure you don’t want to come, Helen? It’s not every day you get the chance to see a king and queen.’
‘No, I’ll stay here and hold the fort, maybe catch up on the filing.’
‘Well, you’re not entirely on your own, Mr Fenner is in his office. Right then, ladies, off we go and remember, if she speaks to you, don’t forget to curtsy.’
When they’d gone, Helen brewed up and took a cup of tea to Mr Fenner, but he was putting on his overcoat. ‘Haven’t time for that now,’ he said, ‘going to see a man about a dog.’ More likely seeing a man about a stiff drink, she thought.
It felt odd to be the only person in the building, except for a couple of the men, packers, in the basement. She went back to the office, pushed her chair back, put her feet up on the desk and drank her tea. She would have liked to have seen the King and Queen, but she couldn’t bear to go anywhere near the devastation in Piccadilly. The very thought of seeing those blackened skeletons of buildings with their gaping windows, and knowing that’s where Jim had lost his life, made her feel sick.
A sound in the showroom made her sit up. There was someone out there. She went to the office door and there was a well-dressed woman with a fox fur across her shoulders, studying the mannequins. ‘Hello, can I help you?’ asked Helen.
The woman seemed startled, as though she hadn’t expected to see anyone, and when she spoke it was in a rough Oldham accent. ‘I were lookin’ fer t’manager. I’m interested in seein’ yer best stock.’
Helen wondered if she had just wandered in, thinking it was a shop. ‘We’re agents only,’ she explained. ‘We don’t deal with the public.’
‘I know that,’ she snapped. ‘I ’appen to be a shop owner, high class modes only, and I’m interested in buying.’ She cast her eyes round the showroom. ‘Have you more stock I could see?’
Helen wasn’t sure what to do. She had never dealt with retailers but, if this woman wanted to buy, then Mr Fenner would expect her to try and sell. ‘Of course, would you like to come into the dressing room where we keep the samples?’
Helen began by showing her each item and explaining the cut and fabric, but the woman quickly tired of this and having glanced at maybe ten garments she cut Helen short. ‘Yes, yes, these are all fine. Now, what if I wanted to buy these in bulk? Do you have them in stock or do you order them in?’
‘No, we carry our own stock. We have a large basement for storage.’
‘Is that so? Well, I think I’ll be puttin’ in a reet big order.’
‘Do you want to do that now?’ asked Helen.
‘No, I’ll be back in a few days with my business partner to discuss our requirements.’ She sounded as though the words had been rehearsed. ‘Anyroad, thanks fer your help,’ and she walked away.
Helen called after her, ‘Would you like to leave your name so I can tell Mr Fenner to expect you?’ But the woman was already at the door.
She turned. ‘Em… no, I don’t think so,’ and with a cheery, ‘Ta-rah then,’ she was gone.
*
Two days later Helen arrived at work to find the place in uproar. Mr Fenner was pacing about the showroom, his hands in the air. ‘How in hell’s name did they get in?’
Pearl spoke calmly, explaining what she knew. ‘They came in through the basement. They used a hacksaw to cut through the metal grille and then crowbarred the door.’
He stopped and glared at her. ‘How did they know the stock was in the basement? Nobody goes in there except people who work here.’
‘Well, maybe they didn’t know. They probably assumed that’s where we stored everything.’
‘Did they come in here?’
‘No, the door was locked when I arrived.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘They knew exactly where the stock was!’
Helen watched the scene play out between Pearl and Mr Fenner with ever-increasing panic. It was clear that there had been a robbery, but the sudden realisation that she might have inadvertently given away the fact that hundreds of pounds’ worth of clothes were stored in the basement made her blood run cold.
Just then Pearl caught sight of Helen. ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Helen. Will you run across to Newton Street police station and explain there’s been a robbery and ask them to come over right away? Then see if you can find a locksmith and carpenter who’ll come and make the basement secure.’
Mr Fenner was red in the face and bellowing, ‘Talk about shutting the stable door when the horse has bolted. Don’t you see, I’m ruined!’ and he marched off to his office shouting, ‘The whole bloody lot gone down the Swannee!’
Pearl watched him go and, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed him.
Helen was glad to get out of the building and away from Mr Fenner, but how long would it take him to realise what she’d done? At the station she reported the theft and the constable gave her directions to the locksmith. On her way back she could feel the panic rising inside her; the police might even arrest her. No, she told herself, she simply had to tell the truth. Back at her desk she frantically tried to remember everything that had passed between her and the woman from Oldham. How odd it was that she happened to arrive when the building was almost deserted with everyone out watching the visit of the King and Queen. Her lack of interest in the clothes seemed strange too, given that she owned a dress shop, and why would she ask if the clothes would have to be ordered from elsewhere?
Worst of all, her own words kept coming back to her: ‘No, we carry our own stock. We have a large basement for storage.’
It was all her fault. She’d told the woman exactly where to find the stock. She felt like running away and never coming back, but that would be dishonest…
‘Helen, what’s the matter?’ Pearl was standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘What are you saying, Helen, tell me?’
She could hardly get the words out.
‘Is it about the robbery?’
Helen nodded.
‘Then calm down, don’t be afraid, just tell me what you know.’
Helen felt better for having explained what happened, especially as Pearl was adamant that she would have done the same thing under the circumstances. ‘The woman was a customer and you did what was expected of you. You showed her the samples and answered her question about the stock. Like you, I would have assumed that she wanted to know whether we actually had the garments in stock or whether there would be a delay if they had to be ordered from the manufacturers.’
‘But what will Mr Fenner say?’
‘Oh, you just leave Mr Fenner to me.’
There was a knock on the office door and a tall man in a mackintosh came in. ‘Hello, I’m Detective Constable Ken Kershaw. Someone reported a robbery.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Pearl. ‘Thanks for coming. Please sit down.’
He glanced at Helen and took a notebook from his inside pocket then turned his attention to Pearl. ‘Would you be able to give me the details of what was stolen and the value, then I’ll take a look at the basement. I understand that’s how they got in.’
Pearl provided the information and he gave a low whistle when he heard the value. ‘All that money for frocks?’ he said.
She bristled. ‘Not any old frocks. We only sell hi
gh class merchandise.’
‘Have you any idea who might have been involved?’ he asked.
‘I don’t, but my colleague here,’ she indicated Helen, ‘might be able to throw some light on who was responsible.’
He looked again at Helen and frowned. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
She had recognised him as soon as he came in – the deep voice, the half-smile. It was Police Constable A333, in civvies. ‘You helped me—’
‘Yes, I remember. How are you?’
‘All right, I suppose.’ She didn’t want to get involved in a conversation about that terrible day in Piccadilly Gardens.
‘Well, it’s nice to see you again,’ he said and there was kindness in his voice.
‘Look, why don’t I leave you two here,’ said Pearl, ‘and Helen can explain what happened in the showroom two days ago. In the meantime, I’ll tell Mr Fenner, the owner, that you’re here. I’m sure he’ll want to speak to you.’
When Pearl had gone, Helen said, ‘You’re not in uniform now.’
‘No, I transferred to CID a week after that day we met in Piccadilly. I’m based in Newton Street now.’
‘That’s good,’ she said and stared at her hands clasped in her lap.
He shifted in his seat. ‘I worried about you for weeks after that day.’
She was going to say that he shouldn’t have bothered, but that seemed ungrateful and, in a way, she was glad he had thought of her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you that day. I just wanted to get away from the fire station.’
The silence stretched between them: a door slammed somewhere; a telephone rang…
He cleared his throat and when he spoke he was a policeman again. ‘Now, in your own time, tell me what happened two days ago.’
While she spoke, he jotted down notes. ‘There was only me in the showroom and a few packers in the basement; everyone else had gone out to see the King and Queen. A woman came into the showroom, said she was interested in placing an order…’
The Girl from the Corner Shop Page 7