A Perfect Christmas

by Lynda Page

  Over in the canteen, Jan, who hadn’t worked for twenty years, was already feeling the strain and she’d only been at it two hours. Frying up two hundred sausages, then the same amount of rashers of bacon, cutting open and spreading margarine on a hundred cobs, readying the fat in pans for the fried eggs to be cooked fresh as required, and opening catering-sized tins of tomatoes and beans for those who wanted them on top of their sausage or bacon, grating cheese, slicing shoulder ham and tomatoes and onions for those wanting cold sandwiches . . . all this just to satisfy the appetites of the factory workers at ten o’clock, when they’d all swarm in demanding to be served quickly so as not to waste a second of their twenty-minute break. And there was still the dinner to be prepared yet, which today was cottage pie, peas and chipped potatoes, jam roly-poly and custard for pudding. In between this it was her job to take the trolley around the offices at eleven, but first she had to load it with the urn of boiled water for coffee and the huge pot of tea, plus a selection of filled cobs.

  Jan was just putting the last of the cooked sausages and bacon in the oven to keep hot when Hilda wobbled up to her. ‘You’ve done a good job there, Jan. Some of the sausages are a bit burned, but then some of the blokes like ’em like that. Used to the burned offerings their wives dish up to ’em,’ she added, laughing. ‘You’ve earned a break. Fifteen minutes. Help yourself to a cup of tea and a cob with whatever you want in it, then sit and enjoy it at the table where Maggie and Dilys are sitting. I’ll be joining you all in a minute. Today we must be back ready to serve on the dot of ten. Not that we never are but we’d best be diligent. Mrs Thomas, the big cheese, is expected. She’s never condescended to show her face on the factory floor let alone in here before, but you can never be sure that she might not decide to lower herself. I don’t want her to have any cause to pick fault, and the new manager that’s brought in led to believe I don’t run a tight ship in here.’

  She paused for a second as a thought struck. Her voice grave, she said, ‘Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know, would yer? Reg Swinton, the manager that interviewed you for the job yesterday, had a heart attack and died. So sad, such a lovely man. He’ll be a hard act to follow.’ Hilda wiped a tear from her eye and gave a sniff. ‘Right, come on, breaktime will be over before we’ve started ours.’

  As Jan made herself a bacon cob, then poured tea into a cup, adding milk and sugar, she wondered if Glen had heard the news about Reg Swinton and that the owner was on her way, only she wasn’t a Mrs Trainer but a Mrs Thomas. That must mean that Glen’s ex-wife had sold the business after all, and Jan wondered where that left them in their search for his daughter.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cait shivered as a blast of icy wind caught her on alighting from the bus, the second she’d had to catch to reach her destination. She had desperately tried to get back off to sleep after Agnes Dalby had left her bedroom earlier that morning, but had failed miserably. What had finally got her up and dressed was Agnes once again coming up to inform her that Miss Trucker had called yet again for information as to when they could expect Mrs Thomas’s representative to visit, and it became apparent to Cait that the woman wasn’t going to give up until she had been to see them.

  There was a freezing mist swirling over the murky canal waters when she made her way over the small hump-backed bridge and down the steps at one side, on to the slippery cobbled path that led to the dozen or so factories and warehouses backing on to the canal. It was only then that she realised she had arrived at the workers’ entrance to the premises and had to retrace her steps, go further up the main road and down the next road off it which led her to reception at the front of the premises. She found herself facing an old building with a tall chimney rising from it and a faded sign on its front: Rose’s Quality Shoes and Leather Goods, Established 1921. It nestled between a coal depot and a tea warehouse. When she arrived in the reception area, the young girl behind the desk wished Cait a good morning and asked what she could do for her.

  Cait had barely finished telling her who she was when, much to her surprise, the other girl fairly jumped to attention, as if she had just announced she was royalty, and blurted out, ‘Oh, please go straight up, Miss Thomas. I’ll telephone Miss Trucker to meet you.’

  By ‘straight up’ Cait assumed the receptionist meant she was to make her way up the stairs. At the top, she found a middle-aged woman hurrying down the corridor to meet her. She wore a harassed expression on her face but there was also an element of surprise mingled with it when her eyes fixed on Cait.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Thomas. How very nice to meet you. I’m Jane Trucker, Mr . . .’ she paused for a moment, realising what she had been going to say before she changed it to ‘. . . the manager’s secretary. I’ll show you through. I wasn’t sure whether you’d prefer tea or coffee so I’ve ordered both. As soon as you’re settled, I will inform the kitchen you’re here and have it sent up. I hope that is acceptable to you?’

  Cait was wondering why on earth she was being treated like a very important person. Perhaps her mother demanded such attention from those she dealt with here.

  Now in the manager’s office, Jane Trucker was standing by the chair to the front of the desk, it being obvious she was expecting Cait to take the seat behind it. Cait thought that was odd, but had no objection to sitting in the red leather chair behind the desk. It might be well-worn but looked to be far more comfortable than the chair opposite.

  With a sad expression on her plain face, hands clasped tightly in her lap on top of the shorthand book and pencil she had brought along with her, Jane Trucker said to Cait, ‘I hope you don’t object to my handling this situation, Miss Thomas, only Mrs Thomas usually dealt with Mr Swinton himself. As his personal secretary I did have a certain amount of contact with her too so . . .’

  Cait didn’t care at this moment who she dealt with, she just wanted to get this over with and go home. ‘Just what is this urgent matter only my mother can resolve for you?’ she demanded.

  Miss Trucker paused for a moment. Obviously what she was about to divulge was causing her distress. ‘Miss Thomas, it’s my very sad task to inform you that Mr Swinton passed away yesterday morning. He suffered a massive heart attack. Obviously we needed to inform Mrs Thomas as soon as possible, as you can appreciate. I have informed Mr Swinton’s widow of the reason why Mrs Thomas hasn’t yet been in contact with her to offer her condolences, but now that you’re here I expect you’d like to be in touch yourself and speak on behalf of the family. I know Mrs Swinton would appreciate that. I have her details.

  ‘As soon as the funeral arrangements have been finalised, I’ll inform you. We office staff are having a collection for flowers and the factory workers are having a separate one. If you wish me to arrange a wreath on the family’s behalf, I’ll be happy to do so. The more senior staff, myself included, would like to attend the funeral, but we need to ask you first if you have any objection to our taking the time off? Oh, also, I’d appreciate if you’d tell me if you wish me to arrange a car to take you to the church and then the funeral tea afterwards. I understand Mrs Thomas isn’t expected back for two or three weeks, so as her representative I assume you’ll be attending on her behalf? Unless you have managed to contact Mrs Thomas since my telephone call this morning and she’s making her way back as we speak?’

  Cait was staring at the woman blankly, wondering why she was telling her all this. Although it was sad, what did it matter to her mother that the manager of the firm that made her husband’s shoes had died? And why was this woman seeking Cait’s approval for the senior staff to attend the funeral? Something odd was going on here, something she couldn’t grasp. She asked, ‘Are you making special arrangements to go to the manager’s funeral for all your best customers?’

  Jane Trucker looked a mite embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to do that. ‘I will certainly contact them and make arrangements for those who wish to attend.’ She picked up her notebook and pencil and made a reminder note to herself.


  It was Cait’s turn to look at her in surprise. Why had the woman responded as if she were obeying an order? The throbbing headache she had woken up with that morning was returning with a vengeance. ‘Look,’ she said briskly, ‘can we just get on with whatever you called me in here for?’

  Jane looked taken aback for a moment. Reg Swinton had always treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, no matter how fraught he felt. As a professional, she managed to keep her feelings to herself and responded evenly, ‘Yes, of course. Would you like me to ask the senior staff to come up now?’

  Puzzled, Cait asked, ‘What for?’

  The other woman looked surprised. ‘Well, for you to introduce yourself to them, Miss Thomas, as their temporary boss until Mrs Thomas returns. Presumably then she will let us know if she’s going to be running the place herself as its owner or if she will be looking to find a replacement for Mr Swinton.’

  Cait stared at her, stunned by this revelation. Surely she had misheard the woman. But she knew she hadn’t. She had definitely just said that Nerys was the owner of this company. Why had she never mentioned anything about it? She needed a few minutes to herself to digest this information. ‘I need some time on my own. You must have work to do,’ Cait said shortly.

  Another show of rudeness towards her proved too much for Jane Trucker and she responded brusquely. ‘Yes, of course. I do appreciate Mr Swinton’s death must have come as a great shock to you, considering how long and how tirelessly he worked for your family.’ She rose from her chair in a dignified fashion. ‘I’ll go and check where that tea and coffee has got to. Please call me on the intercom if you require anything or when you’re ready to continue, Miss Thomas.’

  Cait waited for a few seconds after Jane had closed the office door behind her, listening to her stout brogues thudding along the corridor as she made her way down to her own office, before she let her shoulders slump and dropped her head down on the desk. She hadn’t the least idea what was going on. She had never heard that the private income her mother lived on came from the profits of this business. But that was far less of a concern than the fact that it was obvious she was expected to run the company until her mother’s return.

  Cait raised her head and sat up straight, staring blindly across the room. Did she come clean to Miss Trucker that she had no idea how shoes were made, let alone how to manage the people who made them?

  But if her mother returned from her travels to find that her daughter had successfully dealt with this major crisis on her behalf, she couldn’t fail to see Cait in a more positive light. And then another thought struck. How hard was it to run a company anyway? After all, the workers did everything, didn’t they, and the boss just kept an eye on them to see that the profits were rolling in. If she made a success of running the business on her mother’s behalf, how could Nerys not allow her to keep the position permanently?

  She leaned back in the chair to rest her head against it, thinking how to proceed from here.

  According to the girls she worked with, it was the menials that did the brunt of the work and kept the business profitable, while the big boss and senior managers barked orders at one another, sitting on their backsides all day behind closed office doors, drinking tea and coffee and planning their expensive holidays. The life of a boss sounded good to her. No sour-faced supervisor breathing down her neck, making sure she did her quota, berating her loudly in front of everyone else for any mistakes, monitoring the times she arrived and left. Cait could come and go as she liked as the boss.

  She suddenly realised she was hungry. She could go to the canteen and see what was on offer. But then it struck her that a boss wouldn’t be expected to eat with the workforce. She couldn’t see her mother doing that anyway. There must be a separate canteen that catered for those in charge. She would need to ask Miss Trucker where it was. She supposed first, though, she ought to introduce herself to the senior staff. She had no idea what she would say to them, though.

  Then another thought occurred to her. Her clothes hardly reflected her new managerial status. In her hastily pulled-on thick jumper and black slacks, she wasn’t dressed in any manner to gain respect from the workforce. She needed to buy herself some smart new outfits, things that suited the boss of a company. But she hadn’t the sort of money that would take; for the last year all her spare cash had gone on buying things towards the house she and Neil had been going to share after their marriage.

  Then a picture of that pile of notes in the safe in her parents’ bedroom floated tantalisingly before her. Cait focused on that vision for several long moments while she came to a conclusion. Surely, in the circumstances, she would be doing the right thing, using some of that to kit herself out with? Her mother always looked immaculate, and as her representative Cait would be expected to do so too. But how did she explan away finding the secret safe and the keys to access it? She was no nearer coming up with a plausible explanation than she had been earlier. But her parents weren’t due home until after Christmas at least, so she’d time on her side.

  Excited at the thought of her shopping trip, she was about to pick up her handbag from the side of her chair and get up to go when the door opened and she looked over to see a woman wearing a white overall, with a white net hat concealing her hair, backing her way in, holding a laden tray. She swung around and hurried over to the desk, grateful to be putting the tray down on top of it. She then exclaimed, ‘Phew, that was heavy! I worried all the way from the kitchen I was going to drop it.’

  Jan looked appraisingly at the young woman on the other side of the desk and frowned. She was sure she’d come into contact with her – or someone very similar-looking – before, though she couldn’t remember where. She said to her, ‘You’re new, aren’t you? Just like I am today. And got yourself lost, did you, like I’ve just done?’ There was a chuckle in her voice when she carried on, ‘I thought it was bad enough finding myself in the cutting department. Felt a right idiot with all them faces looking at me wondering what I was doing in there, but you’ll really get it in the neck if any of the hierarchy find you in here. This is the big chief’s domain, love. This is my first day, but from the little bit of gossip I’ve heard about the owner she’s far too high and mighty even to introduce herself to any of her employees, except for the manager and his secretary, so if her daughter is anything like her, you could be for the high jump if she finds you in here. Come on, let’s get out of here before she comes back.’

  Cait was staring at her stony-faced. If her austere supervisor at work heard one derogatory word said against the boss she would waste no time in disciplining the guilty party. Cait realised she should take the same stance. ‘How dare you speak about Mrs Thomas in such a way? It amounts to no less than . . . than . . . treason.’

  Jan gawped at her, stunned. ‘Treason! She’s not the queen . . .’

  Cait interjected, ‘But she is your employer.’ Her mind then raced to come up with a suitable punishment and the only thing that came to mind was, ‘Go and collect your cards and leave the premises. And don’t expect to be receiving a reference.’ She then cringed inwardly. She had gone too far. This woman didn’t really deserve to be sacked just for speaking out of turn, but if Cait backtracked now it wouldn’t do her credibility any good.

  Just then the door opened and Jane Trucker appeared. She said to Cait, ‘I’m sorry to bother you . . .’ then stopped talking on spotting Jan. ‘Oh, you’ve brought the tray up, thank you. You can leave us now.’

  Jan seized the opportunity to make her escape. She scooted out of the door.

  Cait said to Jane, ‘I’ve sacked that woman as she was extremely rude about my mother. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere important to go. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll introduce myself to the senior staff then if you’ll arrange to have them come up to the office . . . shall we say about ten o’clock?’

  She made to walk out then but Jane stopped her with, ‘Oh, but Miss Thomas, I’m here to tell you that Mr Lakeland has just a
rrived. I took the liberty of explaining to him about Mr Swinton and he’s deeply upset, having dealt with him for many years now. He’s asked me to let his secretary know where the funeral is to take place so that he can travel down to pay his respects.’

  Cait looked non-plussed. ‘Who is Mr Lakeland?’

  ‘A very important customer of the company’s. He’s the owner of several shoe shops in and around London and the home counties. He’s here as he has become good friends with Mr Swinton over the time he’s been dealing with us and was passing through Leicester on his way to visit his daughter who lives in Sheffield. Mr Swinton told him that if he wanted to break his journey and drop in, he would show him an early preview of our spring range and offer him refreshments.’

  Cait froze, a wave of terror rolling through her. She was in no position to entertain clients, let alone a very important one. She’d be asked questions she’d not be able to answer and make herself look stupid. Neither was she dressed for the part, something she felt was of paramount importance. She blurted out to Jane, ‘I have a really important appointment now that I cannot miss. You’ll have to deal with him yourself.’

  Giving the other woman no opportunity to make any response, she grabbed her handbag and coat and rushed out of the room, leaving a dumb-struck Jane Trucker staring after her.

  When Jan arrived back in the kitchen, Hilda was stirring a huge pot of gravy with a large metal spoon. She called over, ‘Oh, yer back, lovey. I was just about to send the huskies out for yer. Got lost, I gather. Well, it’s n’ote we’ve not all done when we first started here. The place is like a rabbit warren. You found the boss’s office eventually?’

  Jan nodded. ‘Eventually. I had a funny experience when I did, though.’