by Rosie Ruston
‘What a perfectly lovely idea!’ Poppy’s mother cried. ‘KOT does some amazing work and you know, I’ve got kids in my practice who are in care and could benefit from a bit of a treat. I’d be happy to help if you’d let a few of them come along too! Of course, there’s the question of CRB clearance if you’re going to be hands on with the kids.’
‘Got it,’ Frankie said. ‘From helping at Sunday School. And Ned’s got it because of his work at the camp.’
‘Well, it does sound rather fun! I could let you have the name of the company who hired out the carousel for Nick’s party,’ Verity Rushworth added.
‘You could hire those costumes where people walk around dressed up as Iggle Piggle or Peppa Pig,’ Jemma suggested.
‘Hopefully we could get hold of some at short notice.’ Frankie smiled.
‘I wish I was going to be here,’ Jemma sighed. ‘I could make cupcakes.’
‘Oh come on,’ Alice broke in. ‘Barbados versus a crowd of screaming brats? No contest!’
‘Well,’ Thomas said, ‘if it’s what you really want, then go ahead! I don’t know much about what Ned does in his spare time but maybe I should find out. Not that he’ll have much spare time once he joins the family firm!’ He guffawed with laughter and everyone smiled obligingly. Everyone except Ned and Frankie, who both suddenly took great interest in their table napkins.
They were halfway through dessert – Jemma’s amazing trifle – when the phone rang again.
Tina leant across to Frankie. ‘Go and answer it, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I get really jangly when I think someone’s trying to reach us. I mean, what if James has had an accident or something?’
Frankie went through to the hall and picked up the handset. ‘Park House,’ she said, imitating the style of her aunts.
‘May I speak to Thomas Bertram?’
‘He’s busy at present, may I take a message?’
‘It’s urgent – really urgent. This is Sidney Cutler, news editor of the Daily Telegraph. I assure you he’ll want to take this call, whatever he’s doing.’
‘Hold the line, please.’
She went through to the dining room where her uncle was topping up everyone’s glass. ‘Uncle, there’s a phonecall for you. It’s the Daily Telegraph. They said it was really important.’
Her uncle put his glass down on the side table and stood up. ‘The Telegraph, huh? Well, I guess I should talk to them. After all, they were the sponsors of the Fashion Awards! And of course, with honour comes responsibility.’ And with that he strutted into the hall and picked up the handset.
CHAPTER 11
‘She does not think evil, but she speaks it,
speaks it in playfulness; and though I know
it to be playfulness, it grieves me.’
(Jane Austen, Mansfield Park)
FRANKIE HADN’T TAKEN TOO MUCH NOTICE WHEN HER uncle didn’t return to the table, or when Ned apologised to the guests and said his father had urgent business to deal with; she had even assumed that the door slamming and raised voices after everyone had left were due to the fact that he and Tina had both polished off a great deal of wine at dinner. She was used to her uncle’s short fuse.
But even she wasn’t prepared for what greeted her the following morning.
The kitchen table was littered with newspapers, her uncle was pacing backwards and forwards, shouting into his iPhone, and Tina was wringing her hands like some distraught heroine in a 1920s silent movie. Frankie hesitated in the doorway for a moment and then edged past Nerys – who was spooning dog food into bowls with rather more vigour than was necessary – opened the cupboard and took out a jar of coffee and a loaf of bread.
‘Thomas, dear, you must eat!’ Nerys said, as Bonnie and Bridie, the Springer Spaniels, tucked in. ‘You mustn’t let these scurrilous rumours —’
‘Nerys, will you shut up!’ Thomas wheeled round and glared at her. ‘Just take your damn dogs for a walk and get out from under my feet!’
‘I was only trying to help!’ Nerys grabbed two dog leads from the hook on the back of the door, clicked her fingers at the spaniels and marched out of the room.
‘The sooner that woman’s boiler is sorted out the better it will be for all of us,’ he muttered under his breath, flinging his phone onto the table. ‘Engaged again!’
‘Uncle, what’s going on?’ Frankie asked. ‘What did Nerys mean?’
Thomas sighed and slumped into a chair, pushing a copy of the Daily Telegraph towards her, folded open at page five.
‘Libel, that’s what it is! Libellous muck!’
Frankie picked up the paper and read the headline.
CHEEKY CHEETAH?
CHEEKY CHEATER, MORE LIKE!
Award-winning fashion designer faces allegations of sweatshop atrocities.
Like a slow-motion action replay, Frankie recalled the conversation she had overheard between Thomas and James. Slowly, not daring to meet her uncle’s gaze, she read the first few lines of the report.
Just days after receiving an Outstanding Achievement Award at the Daily Telegraph sponsored National Fashion Awards, Thomas Bertram, founder of the Zeppelin, Bertie and Cheeky Cheetah labels, faces allegations of employing child labour in Mexican maquiladoras, where many of his less expensive lines are manufactured. A source close to the company revealed that children as young as twelve work eleven-hour shifts and if they do not reach the manufacturing target for the day, are forced to continue without pay. If a woman becomes pregnant, she is fired; if an employee arrives fifteen minutes late for work, they have to labour for three days without pay.
Below the text was a photograph showing several young girls bent over machines sewing jeans.
‘But, Uncle, surely this is all lies,’ Frankie gasped. ‘You wouldn’t let something like that happen!’
‘I didn’t know – I mean, I can hardly be held responsible for the way some Mexican freeloader runs his operation, can I?’ he replied, his face more florid than ever. ‘Accusing me – it’s an abomination. And to think my own son . . .’
To Frankie’s horror, Thomas’s eyes filled with tears.
‘James? You think James told the newspaper? He wouldn’t . . .’
‘That’s what Ned keeps saying,’ he replied, ‘but who else could it be? He was with me in Mexico, he had a camera, he had a blazing row with me about the set-up after the factory visit and he stormed off to change his plane ticket and fly home. Of course it was him. And after all I’ve done for that boy. Just wait till I get my hands on him! Where is he, come to that? I sent Ned to get him ages ago.’
‘I’m here.’
James stood, tousled haired and tight lipped in the doorway, with Ned right behind him.
‘I didn’t do it, Dad, I swear to you,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘I wouldn’t put the family through something like this for the world.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sickened by the way you run things, but I wouldn’t sink that low. However, I guess the bottom line is that it is, indirectly, my fault.’
Thomas strode across the kitchen, his hand raised as if he was about to lash out. James flinched.
‘Dad!’ Ned shouted, and Thomas let his hand drop. ‘Let James explain.’
‘This better be good,’ his father muttered, sinking down onto the nearest chair. ‘Well, get on with it.’
‘I was so strung up about what I saw in Mexico – about what you put those poor kids through.’
‘I’ve told you, I didn’t know!’
‘Whatever. Anyway, I told Jon about it. He wanted to know why I was in such a foul mood. I showed him the photos and he asked if he could have some.’
‘And you let him?’
‘He said he wanted to use them to give him inspiration for one of the videos to go with his social justice raps on YouTube,’ James replied miserably.
‘So it was Jon!’ Thomas stormed. ‘Right – I shall sue, I shall —’
‘No!’ James shouted. ‘I rang him this morning and he swears blind that he n
ever intended any of this to go public. He didn’t go on YouTube with it. He just talked to his godfather about the whole issue of sweatshops. Like I said, he cares about social justice.’
‘So what’s this got to do with anything?’ Tina said.
‘Just that Jon’s godfather is Sidney Cutler, the news editor at the Daily Telegraph,’ replied James. ‘Jon reckons that Cutler must have slipped one of the photos into his folder while they were talking – there was quite a pile so Jon wouldn’t have noticed one missing.’
‘So you see, Dad, it wasn’t James’s fault,’ Ned said.
‘Of course it was his bloody fault!’ Thomas roared. ‘He took the photos in the first place, he discussed my business with this low-life Jon, and never once did he stop to think of the consequences.’
‘Dad, I —’
‘You’re a waste of space, you know that?’
‘Thomas! Don’t say that,’ Tina blurted out. ‘He’s said he’s sorry.’
‘Oh, and that makes it all right, does it?’ he shouted. ‘He’s not satisfied with bleeding me dry financially, so he tramples my reputation into the mud as well.’ He turned to his son. ‘Now get out of my sight. I want you as far away from me as possible.’
The look of abject misery on James’s face made Frankie want to cry. He stared at his father. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Of course he doesn’t, darling,’ Tina assured him.
‘Oh believe me, I do,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve had it with you. You’re on your own.’
‘Suit yourself,’ James retorted. ‘If that’s what you really think of me, then I’m better off without you.’
And with that, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘I’m going after him,’ Tina said. ‘Thomas, there are times when I just don’t understand you at all.’
Thomas spent the next few hours closeted in his study on the telephone. Frankie got the guest bedroom ready for William and tried to calm Tina, who was distraught at the fact that James had packed a bag and left the house, refusing to say where he was going or when he would be back.
‘Things will calm down,’ she said. ‘It’ll blow over.’
Tina looked at her unflinchingly. ‘There’s one thing I know about my husband and elder son,’ she said, ‘and that’s that they are as stubborn as one another. Neither will give an inch.’ She sighed. ‘I’m worried about Thomas. This publicity is stressing him out and he does so much that’s good. I don’t believe he knew about these girls in the factory, do you?’
‘No, I’m sure he didn’t,’ Frankie said. Although, she thought to herself, he should have done. He should have cared enough to check things out.
‘Perhaps we should make a donation to a charity out there,’ Tina mused. ‘Something positive to give the newspapers. Or . . .’
Suddenly Frankie had an idea. ‘I’ll be back,’ she said to her aunt, and ran downstairs, crashing into her uncle’s study without even knocking on the door. To her surprise, her uncle wasn’t alone. Ned was perched on the end of the desk.
‘Frankie, what on earth’s the matter?’ Thomas asked.
‘It’s about my birthday celebration —’ she began.
‘Not now, Frankie,’ Ned interrupted. ‘This is hardly the right time.’
‘It’s precisely the right time!’ Frankie insisted. ‘Listen, please. This party – the one for the KOT kids – I think we should make it as big as we can and make sure the newspapers know about it. That way, we can show them what you’re really like, which is the kindest, most thoughtful man anyone could wish for.’
‘You dear girl,’ Thomas said softly. ‘I fear it won’t make much difference because the press always prefer bad news to good. They’d just say I was doing it for a bit of cheap publicity.’
‘They can’t,’ Frankie said, ‘because we’ll say it was arranged before all this happened and if we take Dr Grant up on her offer of help, then we can make sure she tells the reporters that you’ve been planning it for ages. Even though you haven’t.’
Suddenly Thomas jumped to his feet. ‘Frankie, you’re amazing! Ned, you can clear it with the charity, health and safety and all that nonsense.’
‘Of course.’ Ned nodded. ‘We could have a bouncy castle, magicians, and the Rushworths said —’
‘They won’t be interested.’ Thomas sighed. ‘I had a phone call from Seamus only an hour ago. He’s furious and refusing to invest in the new project. I’ve told him the facts but he won’t believe me.’
‘So we forget the carousel.’ Frankie shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of other things we can do.’
‘Maybe Alice could sort pony rides,’ Ned suggested. ‘But, Dad, all this is going to cost, and we’ll have to work flat out . . .’
‘I don’t care,’ his father replied. ‘Hire all the help required. I need good publicity. Besides, I want to focus now on the son who hasn’t betrayed me.’
‘Dad, James didn’t mean —’
‘Leave it, Ned. Concentrate on the party. And now I must go. Things to do, people to see.’ And with that he was out of the front door and into his car.
‘You’re a star, Frankie,’ Ned said, giving her a quick hug. ‘What a mess this all is!’
Frankie nodded. ‘He didn’t know the way that factory was run, did he.’ It was a question but she voiced it as a statement.
‘No. At least, he says he didn’t and I do believe him. My father may be out for maximum profit, but he would never treat people like that. The maquiladoras were infamous a few years ago, and even Dad admits that the workers are underpaid – but he swears he didn’t know conditions were as bad as they are or about the age of some of the machinists. I just wish to God that James hadn’t talked to Jon about it.’ He sighed. ‘The thing is, the Telegraph had been running pieces about injustice in employment law in the Far East and Jon thought that he’d earn Brownie points for coming up with a new angle and in return get the paper to take some of his freelance pieces on music. How naive can you get?’ He paused. ‘I’m worried about James. He swears he’s going to stay away from the house for as long as Dad’s in it. He feels utterly betrayed.’
‘He does?’
‘Yes, because Dad was so furious about the way James cheated at uni and now, as James sees it, Dad’s cheating too. Cheating people out of a decent work environment, good pay – all that kind of stuff.’ He paused as his mobile rang. ‘Hi babe!’ He turned to Frankie and mouthed, ‘It’s Alice’, like she hadn’t already worked that out for herself. ‘What? Oh. You’ve seen it . . . What do you mean? Who should be grateful?’
He bit his lip. ‘Dad didn’t know. What? . . . No, I’m sorry I can’t come today – I’ve got stuff to do. We’re going to make the party for the KOT kids even bigger and that means going flat out for the next few days. Hey, why don’t you come over and we’ll tell you all about it?’
Another pause.
‘Oh. OK, then. See ya. Bye!’
‘Is everything OK?’ Frankie asked sweetly, trying not to feel pleased that it obviously wasn’t.
‘How come Alice can be so adorable ninety per cent of the time and then suddenly say something that makes me wonder whether it’s the same person?’
‘I guess we all have off days,’ Frankie murmured, thinking that ninety per cent was a bit on the generous side. ‘What did she say?’
‘That she can’t see what all the fuss is about and the Mexicans are lucky to have a job at all considering they are all . . . well, I’m not going to repeat her opinion of them.’ He sighed. ‘I guess it’s pretty much the way she thinks about the kids I work with. You know what she said? That I was turning into a boring do-gooder and that I’d get nowhere in life if I spent all my time worrying about what she called “the dregs of society”.’ His face flushed and his jaw tightened. ‘Anyway, enough of all that. We need to make a start on the party arrangements before William comes. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you drive to the station to meet him? Give him a surprise to see you behind the
wheel?’
‘You’d do that? You’d come with me? I mean, he’s not due till six-thirty and you usually see Alice —’
‘Not this evening,’ he said firmly. ‘This evening is all about you.’
Frankie and Ned were in the garden, deciding where the bouncy castle should go, when Henry came up the drive in his MG Midget.
‘Hi, you guys!’ he called. ‘Surprise!’
He jumped out of the car and pulled a large bag from the passenger seat.
‘I twisted the arm of the costume department at the Royal,’ he said. ‘Told them about the party, the charity and all that, and they’ve lent us these. Mind you, if we mess them up we have to pay to get them cleaned! And they want us to put up a few posters advertising their kids’ half-term shows in October.’
He pulled out a pile of costumes and held them up one by one. ‘A cat – that was from Dick Whittington last year apparently, a clown, Bob the Builder and – heaven knows what this is?’
‘Upsy Daisy,’ said Frankie. ‘They’re great – thank you so much! Now all we have to do is find someone to wear them.’
‘I’ll do Bob the Builder,’ Henry said at once.
‘You?’ Frankie gasped.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s your birthday party, you want it to work well for the kids – what’s to argue about?’
He got back in the car and grinned up at her. ‘Better get home and practise my bricklaying!’ He laughed. ‘See you!’
And with that he was gone.
‘He’s such a nice guy,’ Ned commented. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘Mmm,’ Frankie said and busied herself with folding the costumes back into their bag.
They arrived at the station ten minutes before the train was due, which was just as well because it took Frankie three attempts to reverse into the only available parking space.
‘You must be so excited,’ Ned said. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen your brother?’
‘Face to face? Seven months,’ she said. ‘We Skype when we can but it’s not the same. I can’t wait. There’s so much to catch up on.’
‘Mmm, I guess.’ Ned looked thoughtful. ‘Not least about you and Henry. He’s your first real boyfriend, right?’