‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ she murmured, sitting down.
‘Mrs Payne, no doubt you’re wondering why we’ve asked to see you?’ said Mr Taylor gravely.
‘I presume it’s to do with Mr Barnes’s will. I’m really sorry to hear he’s dead. I had no idea until I met Doris at the station.’ Her voice trembled and tears filled her eyes.
‘Quite so.’ He shuffled some papers on the desk. ‘He has left you some shares in the company.’
‘What!’ Her startled eyes turned to Nathan.
‘That’s what Mr Taylor said,’ he murmured, toying with the inkstand, avoiding meeting her gaze directly.
‘But why? I can’t believe it! What do I know about business?’
‘He believed you to be very astute,’ said Mr Taylor, smiling frostily. ‘You asked him questions about the business and seemed to take in all he told you.’
Molly smiled. ‘He liked to talk and I was interested. He was a good listener, too, wanting to know all about my life. He knew my mother when she was a girl. Maybe that’s why he was so kind to me. He asked how I’d have coped if I hadn’t got the job of looking after Jessica.’
‘You told him having a regular sum of money coming in, however small, could make the different between managing and the workhouse,’ said Mr Taylor.
‘It’s just commonsense. You only have to think of the five-shilling old age pension Lloyd George brought in for those over seventy. They shouldn’t have to resort to the Poor Law. People have their pride. That five shillings really helps families with children trying to help out elderly parents as well. Although in my opinion it doesn’t go far enough. Mr Barnes agreed with me. He was a philan-philanth-th-’
‘Philanthropist,’ supplied Nathan.
‘That’s the word.’ Molly’s eyes met his briefly and the blood tingled in her veins.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr Taylor impatiently. ‘All very true but someone has to pay for those pensions, my dear Mrs Payne. And people with money are already giving to many charitable works.’
‘When it takes their fancy,’ said Molly promptly. ‘And most make sure it doesn’t hurt their own pockets. They want to try being poor. They’d soon see things differently. Young Mr Collins knows. He hasn’t always had money.’
‘That’s enough, Molly,’ said Nathan, a slight tremor in his voice. Tm sure we all want the law changed to help the poor. But right now it’s you and these shares we need to talk about. Of course, this will was made before your husband turned up. How do you think he’ll feel about it?’ He sent her an unexpectedly challenging stare.
‘He’ll want me to sell them,’ she responded without hesitation.
‘There!’ Mr Taylor rested his hands on the desk. ‘I knew your uncle was wasting his time.’
‘I won’t, though,’ said Molly, jutting out her chin. ‘I’d be going against Mr Barnes’s wishes if I did that.’
There was silence.
‘But what if you were desperate for money?’ said Nathan.
She lowered her eyes, pretending to pick an invisible thread from her sleeve, not sure whether to say she was desperate. In the end she lifted her head and stared at him. ‘I’m having a baby. That’s quite a difficult situation to be in with your husband at sea and no money coming in till he returns. It would be nice to have a lump sum. But, as I say, I’ll go along with Mr Barnes’s wishes. I’ve a job with board and lodgings, and I don’t doubt that when Frank comes home from China a small regular income for years to come will make much more sense than blowing a lump sum in one go. The baby’s not due until May so I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.’
There was another silence.
Molly could almost hear Nathan counting the months in his head. His eyes hadn’t left her face. Mr Taylor cleared his throat and Molly gave him her attention. ‘Right. I will see that you have the share certificate once everything is sorted out, Mrs Payne.’
‘Send it to the factory,’ said Nathan, getting to his feet. ‘Mrs Payne can pick it up there. She should see over the place now she has an interest.’
‘Our business is finished then,’ said the solicitor, shuffling his papers together. ‘At this point, Mr Collins, your uncle always brought out the Madeira. A particularly fine one, as I remember.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘I think a glass for young Mrs Payne wouldn’t go amiss. She’s had a shock.’
‘A very pleasant one,’ added Molly hastily, thinking she would enjoy seeing over the factory. But what was Nathan thinking of, actually suggesting it?
He pushed the bell next to the fireplace and seconds later Doris came into the room. She glanced at Molly who only stared blankly at her. Doris shrugged and addressed Nathan. ‘What can I do for yer, sir?’
‘A bottle of my uncle’s Madeira, please, three glasses – and some of Cook’s little almond biscuits.’
‘Three?’ Again Doris glanced at her friend and this time Molly winked.
‘Three,’ repeated Nathan, coming from behind the desk and approaching Molly. ‘I presume you’ve seen Jessica, Mrs Payne?’
‘Yes, Mr Collins.’
‘And how do you think she’s looking?’
‘Very well.’ Her face softened. ‘I hope you’re not having too much trouble with her now?’ She paused, adding in a low voice. ‘Your mother – how is she?’
A shadow darkened his eyes. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘She’s furious about the will,’ he murmured. ‘Angry that my uncle left you shares and her just some objects d’art – and, of course, she’s to live here for the rest of her life.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Molly, then blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No. But then she accused me of poisoning my uncle,’ Nathan said, tight-lipped, ‘and I didn’t find that very funny.’
Molly was shocked. ‘You must be worried sick about her! I take it – he did make you his heir?’
‘Of course. But it’s not only that, I’m afraid, Mother’s now saying Jessica’s your baby.’
Molly almost dropped the glass Doris handed to her. ‘She must be m-mad,’ she stammered, not knowing where to look.
‘She’s definitely getting worse. Remember you told me she thought you were your mother at times? I mentioned it to my uncle and he said they used to be friends but fell out over some cousin. He doesn’t know the whole story because he was living away. I want her to see a doctor but she’s refusing.’
‘I see,’ said Molly, relief flooding her that he hadn’t taken his mother’s remark to heart. Even so she felt weak and tossed the wine off in one go.
‘Go easy,’ said Doris disapprovingly. ‘That’s good stuff that is.’
‘Fill Mrs Payne’s glass again, Doris,’ said Nathan, draining his own. ‘And mine. This is a day for shocks.’ He took his glass and went over to speak to Mr Taylor.
‘And why’s it a day for shocks?’ asked Doris, taking in Molly’s pale face.
‘Mr Barnes has left me shares in the company,’ she whispered. ‘And I’ve just told Mr Collins I’m having a baby. He’s counting the months.’
Doris’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh, my sainted aunt, yer don’t mean it? He can’t really believe… it could be your husband’s!’
‘Of course it could. But it could just as easily be his.’ Molly was starting to feel slightly hysterical and took a grateful gulp from her refilled glass.
‘Don’t rush that one down, it’s a waste of good Madeira,’ said Doris. ‘Why did yer have to go and tell him? Keep yer distance, that’s what I say. Here, have a biscuit with it. You mustn’t get drunk.’
Molly nibbled at the biscuit. There was a bubble of laughter inside her struggling to get out. Why she should find the whole situation funny she did not know. Perhaps she was the one going mad, not Nathan’s mother? She half-listened to the men’s conversation about dividends, church furniture and electrical fittings. Then, feeling even more that her life had become unreal, she slipped out of the room.
‘I’ve got to get out of here.’ Molly seized Doris’s arm. ‘Where’s Jessica?’
‘With Flo. Well?’ Doris’s eyes searched her face as she pushed open the baize-covered door at the end of the passage. ‘Did he say anything else to you? Will you be seeing more of him?’
‘I might have to. He wants me to pick up my share certificate at the factory.’
‘Convenient,’ said Doris, giving her a knowing look.
‘It doesn’t mean a thing. Nathan’s got a lot on his plate now with having to run the factory – as well as having a dotty mother. He’s not going to have time for me.’
‘If you say so. But I don’t believe a word of it.’
Neither did Molly but she pretended not to hear the remark, saying she was going to see Jessica, and headed for the kitchen.
* * *
In the days that followed not an hour passed when Molly was not thinking of Nathan’s getting in touch with her. But it was to be three weeks before she received a letter from Mr Taylor informing her that her share certificate was ready to be collected, and adding: Mr Collins assures me that any time this week will be convenient for you to pick it up from the factory.
Molly decided to go on her next day off. She dressed in her Sunday best and with what felt like a score of butterflies in her stomach, made her way to the factory. ‘Good morning, Jimmy!’ She popped her head through the hatch, enjoying watching him scramble to his feet, dropping his newspaper and cigarette in his haste. ‘Is Mr Collins in?’
‘Oh, it’s you.’ He picked up the smouldering butt and blew the end into glowing life. ‘I thought it was someone important.’
‘I am important. I’m a shareholder in this company.’ Molly discovered she enjoyed the sound of the words rolling off her tongue. ‘A shareholder,’ she repeated.
He grinned. ‘Fancy your chances now, do yer? You must have been closer to the old man than I thought. All we got out of it was a morning off for the funeral and a half crown in our wages last week. Not that I’m complaining. Most bosses wouldn’t remember their staff. He was a real gent was old Mr Barnes.’
‘And the new boss?’
Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Not as confident as he seems, if you ask me. Lets fly when things go wrong. You made your quarrel up?’
Molly fought against a rising tide of colour. ‘None of your business,’ she said, tilting her chin. ‘Perhaps you can let him know I’m here?’
‘I could.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘But you know I’m not supposed to leave my post. I’ll give you directions.’
Molly felt like swiping him one for making her feel small. ‘Thanks,’ she said, tight- lipped. ‘But get a move on. In a way I’m one of your bosses now.’
He had the grace to look discomfited and hurriedly told her where Nathan’s office was.
Molly hurried along a corridor and up a flight of stairs, glancing at doors as she went, aware of the sound of machinery. EMBROIDERY AND GARMENT ROOM, she noted, and felt a thrill of excitement, determined to see what lay on the other side of that door later. She came to the office but there was no sign of Nathan.
A woman was working at a typewriter. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.
Molly felt that hot tide of colour envelop her again. How she wished she could control it. ‘I’m Mrs Payne.’ Her voice sounded husky and she cleared her throat. ‘Mr Collins asked me to call. I’m one of the shareholders,’ she said loudly.
‘Oh, yes.’ The woman’s haughty expression thawed. ‘He’s been expecting you, Mrs Payne. He’s in the furniture workshop. I’ll take you there.’
Furniture workshop! He hasn’t wasted any time. Molly felt that thrill of excitement again.
The workshop was downstairs towards the rear of the building. As the secretary opened the door Molly caught sight of Nathan, sandpaper in hand, with another man turning a length of wood on a lathe watched by a youth. For a moment she was lost for words then the secretary spoke and Nathan turned and saw Molly. He smiled. ‘I wondered when you’d turn up. What d’you think?’
She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘It smells gorgeous.’ She glanced round at shelves containing a range of chisels and planes, mallets and saws. There were tins of nails of all sizes and shapes.
Against a far wall planks of wood were piled while the floor was littered with woodshavings and sawdust.
He laughed. ‘Better than a bottle of scent! Come over here and I’ll show you what I’m doing.’ He nodded dismissively to his secretary and she closed the door behind her.
Molly walked slowly towards him.
‘Feel this wood,’ he ordered.
She dropped her bag on a bench and he seized her hand, placing it on a chair he was working on, moving her fingers along its length. There was a sensual feel about the act and Molly’s heart beat a little faster. ‘It’s like touching satin,’ she murmured.
‘Walnut.’
She glanced into his face, suddenly realising it was only inches away from hers. His hand stopped moving as their eyes met and held. There was no need for words. Molly felt heat engulf her. She removed her hand quickly, aware of the man and the boy only yards away. ‘What other woods do you use?’ Her voice sounded louder than she’d intended and she blushed again. I have to stop this, she thought, vexed with herself. I am a shareholder in a company. I could be somebody one day.
‘Pine – that comes from Canada. Oak, from Wales, elm – mahogany occasionally,’ said Nathan.
‘Can I see over the rest of the factory?’
‘Of course. That’s why you’re here.’ He removed his khaki apron, dropping it on a bench and reaching for the jacket that hung on a hook.
He ushered her through the door. ‘How many shares do I have?’ Molly felt as if she was walking on a tightrope. One step in the wrong direction and she would fall off. They had to keep their relationship on a businesslike footing and it wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps she should sell the shares? she thought miserably, guessing what Frank could make of all this.
‘Five. Mr Braithwaite has thirty, his daughter twenty. I have thirty, Jessica fifteen. Of course, until Jessica is twenty-one I control her vote. We have as many votes as shares when it comes to making decisions. Mr Taylor explained it to me. Not that I couldn’t have worked it out for myself, I’m not an idiot. But you know what lawyers are.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Molly, thrilled to bits that her daughter should have fifteen shares. ‘But my arithmetic’s good enough for me to work out that my five are important. Mr Braithwaite and his daughter can’t outvote you so long as I vote on your side.’
‘Which I hope you always will, Molly?’
‘I can’t see myself doing otherwise at the moment. Why? Do you think he’ll vote against you? How does he feel about yourworkshop?’
‘I put the money my uncle left me into it so there was no argument.’
‘What about electrical fittings?’
‘They’re for the future. We haven’t the money to invest at the moment. But we should live long enough to see the fruits of our new ventures. We’re young enough.’
She liked the way he used the word ‘we’ despite her being such a small shareholder and having a husband in the background whose presence Nathan must resent if he still wanted her. I shouldn’t be thinking of him wanting me, she thought. Oh, Frank, why do you have to be away so long? I could cope with my feelings for him better if you were around and I wasn’t so lonely.
Nathan stopped in front of a door which had CANDLE ROOM emblazoned on it and opened it. ‘Candles are made two ways,’ he said, leading her over to where several men stood dripping wax from a height on to lengths of wick. She did not interrupt as he went on explaining, although his uncle had previously described to her the different processes. Cheaper candles were made in moulds; the more expensive by the method of wax being built up in layers on dangling
wicks, each layer being allowed to harden before the next was applied.
The Wickroom and the Finishing and Packing room followed on. He left the Embroidery and Garment room to the last.
They entered to the clatter of machinery, foot treadle Singers and flashes of colour. Molly had seen similar machines in a shop in the city centre. There were four of them here and all were in use. But there were also women measuring or cutting out from rolls of blue and cream cloth. A dumpy elderly woman was putting the finishing touches to a Celtic cross on a purple chasuble with exquisite tiny stitches, while a girl sewed a golden fringe onto a green figured satin stole. Lastly Molly noticed a young girl folding a flame red altar frontal in tissue paper and placing it in a cardboard box.
‘I could be happy here,’ she murmured.
Nathan nodded. ‘You feel about fabrics the way I feel about wood.’
‘It’s the differences in texture and colour and what you can make of them.’ Something far more than warmth gleamed in Nathan’s eyes as he took her elbow and she trembled inwardly. It really was madness their being together. ‘Come and meet Mrs Arkwright. She’s been watching us for the last few minutes. She knew some cousins of my uncle and mother in the old days. One of them died of stomach trouble. He worked in a weaving shed in Colne with her.
‘Colne. That’s near Pendle, isn’t it?’ said Molly as she took Mrs Arkwright’s hand.
She was a woman of medium height with greying hair caught up in a twist on the top of her head.
‘Aye, missus, but the witches are long dead. Poor misguided women. You’re a Lancashire lass, too, I believe?’
Molly smiled, thinking her accent wasn’t as bad as Jimmy made out. ‘That’s right. Your women are turning out some lovely work.’
‘Aye, there’s some churchmen who are right peacocks. Mr Collins tells me you can embroider and use a machine?’
‘Yes. And that reminds me.’ Molly turned to him. ‘My machine?’
He said ruefully, ‘You don’t have to tell me. I forgot. What’s your address?’
She hesitated before telling him and he frowned. ‘It must be hard work cooking and waiting on tables. You must take care of yourself.’
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