‘Half-past three already. I shall have to go,’ Miss Packard said, her voice sharp with frustration. ‘It’s all taken much longer than I thought. I had hoped we would get the window dressed as well today, but it will have to wait till tomorrow. It’s so provoking! I only have until Thursday week, and then we have to go and stay with the beastly Teignmeretons. I’d far rather stay here.’
Daisy enjoyed the next week or so. It was like the time when they were first setting up the department, with Miss Packard breezing in and out at irregular intervals, stirring them up with her enthusiasm. It helped to dull the hopeless pain of unrequited love, if only during working hours. Keen to help prove that her employer’s odd ideas did work, she tried extra hard to make sales. Often when she approached them, women would say that they were only looking at the display.
‘Certainly, madam,’ Daisy would immediately agree. ‘But might I just show you our new range of golfing gloves?’ If she seemed unwilling, Daisy tried something else, caps, or stock pins, or warm underwear, depending on the type of woman she judged the potential customer to be. Nine times out often, they agreed, and once the goods were out on the counter, most of them bought. A small purchase made, some went on to be led into larger ones. Daisy achieved her highest weekly sales figures since the July Sales.
On the Thursday that Miss Packard was due to go on her visit Daisy felt quite depressed.
‘It won’t be the same without her coming in,’ she said, as she and Isobel got dressed.
‘No,’ Isobel sighed.
‘Yeah, I feel like that and all. Sort of flat, isn’t it? Lost the point of it, somehow.’
‘Oh, it isn’t that. At least, it is Miss Packard, in a way. I cannot understand her. She should be excited at the prospect of going to stay with the Teignmeretons. I expect they have the most beautiful country seat. There will be riding and visiting and dinners and most probably dances as well. And yet she claims she would rather be in the store. It really is very odd.’
‘I dunno. Takes all sorts, don’t – doesn’t – it?’ Daisy said. One thing she did know: it wasn’t half so much fun in the department when Miss Packard wasn’t there.
The day took its usual course. Daisy tried to keep up her sales, but somehow the customers did not seem to be quite so easily persuaded as before. She found she was feeling tired and achy long before she usually did. Perhaps it was just the time of the month. She wished for something exciting to happen. And then, at ten o’clock, a message came. She was to go and see Mr Mason, the Staff Manager. Her stomach gave a lurch of fear that swiftly turned to defiance.
‘Why? What’ve I done? He can’t hold nothing against me, I do good work, I do.’
The boy who had brought the message shrugged. ‘I dunno. I was just told to tell you. You better come now, he’s waiting.’
Daisy shot a suspicious look at Miss Higgs. It must be her doing. She didn’t like it that Daisy sold more than she did. Jealous old cow.
‘All right, I’m coming,’ she said.
She patted her hair, straightened her blouse, and followed the boy, her head held high. She wasn’t going to let that bitch think she was frightened. The same applied to Mr Mason.
The boy knocked on the door of his office, waited for the rather absent ‘Come in,’ and held the door open for her. Daisy marched in and plonked herself down on the chair in front of his desk without being asked. Mr Mason glanced up for half a second, then carried on writing something. Daisy could see that this was set to be a war of nerves. She was not intimidated by the Packards’ splendour any more, and what was more, she knew she was a good saleswoman.
‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked loudly.
Mr Mason finished his sentence, put down his pen, pressed blotting paper carefully over the sheet he had been writing, then looked up.
‘Yes. Miss – ah – Phipps, is it not?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I see. Well now, Miss Phipps, you’ve been with us for – let me see – six months now.’
‘Nearer seven,’ Daisy corrected.
‘Seven. Yes. Well, we’ve been looking through your records and I see that you have achieved some excellent results in that time.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So we’re transferring you to Baby Linens and Layettes.’
Daisy was dismayed. She loved Ladies’ Sportswear, she got on well with the people there, even Miss Higgs most of the time, and she liked the feeling that they were special under Miss Packard’s leadership.
‘But I –’ she began.
‘This is, of course, a promotion,’ Mr Mason interrupted. ‘You will be paid an extra shilling a week.’
Daisy was flabbergasted. Promotion after less than a year was almost unheard of. For several seconds she was speechless, as her loyalty to Miss Packard and the department warred with the thought of what she could do with an extra shilling a week. A shilling was a lot to someone who had known real hunger and cold. After sending money home, there wasn’t much left over at the end of each week. A great deal could be done with a shilling all to herself. And then there was Isobel. In a way, it would be a relief not to be with her all the time. But Miss Packard had taken her on, given her the job she had yearned for and the chance to get away from home. If Miss Packard had not been interviewing that day, she might not have got the job, and she liked to feel that she was repaying her by helping to make the department a success.
‘I’d rather stay in Ladies’ Sportswear,’ she said.
Mr Mason looked at her over the tops of his steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘You are not being given a choice, Miss Phipps. Packards decides where its staff should be employed. I am merely informing you of your good fortune.’
Say thank you nicely or take your things and sod off, in other words. Daisy knew how matters stood. When it came down to it, the bosses had the power. One shopgirl by herself was nothing, however successful she was at wringing sales from customers.
‘Kind of you, I’m sure,’ she said.
Mr Mason’s face set into rigid lines of disapproval. If she pushed him much further, she was going to get sacked for cheek, and that would be dreadful. She couldn’t bear to be expelled from Packards. She might never see Johnny again.
‘I mean, thank you very much,’ she amended. ‘When do I start?’
‘Next Monday. You report to Mr Fenton, the buyer. That will be all, Miss Phipps.’
He picked up his pen and returned to the writing. Daisy got up and walked to the door. Just as she was opening it, she couldn’t resist one last dig.
‘I dunno what Miss Packard’s going to say to this.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing a look of apprehension pass briefly over his face.
On the way back to the department, she went over it all in her mind. Something funny was going on here. People weren’t usually shuffled around from one department to another. It took time to learn just where everything was and what the prices were and what the selling points were of every item. Some people stayed in the same department from the day they joined Packards till the day they left. Intense loyalties grew up within departments, and rivalries between them. Generally, you were only moved if your department was being closed down or another expanded, and as far as she knew that was not happening in either Ladies’ Sportswear or Baby Linens. Promotion certainly would be a reason, but even then you usually got promoted within your department, and then not so soon after joining the store. It was all very odd. Daisy could only think that Miss Higgs was behind it somehow. She didn’t like being shown up by Daisy getting better sales figures than hers. Well, she wasn’t going to let the old cow know she was sad to be going, that was for sure.
She bounded under the archway to where Isobel and the other girls were waiting anxiously to see why she had been hauled up before Mr Mason. As luck would have it, there were no customers at all in the department. Daisy looked round at them all, grinning, taking her time.
‘You’ll never guess,’ she declared. ‘I been promoted! I’
m starting in Baby Linens on Monday.’
Isobel looked horrified. ‘Oh Daisy! You’re leaving? That’s dreadful, how shall I –? But – but – congratulations. I’m sure you deserve it.’
The other two girls repeated the congratulations, but grudgingly. They were jealous of her success.
‘Don’t envy you, going to Baby Linens. Funny lot, they are.’
Most surprising was Miss Higgs. She seemed genuinely amazed.
‘This is a shock, Miss Phipps. We shall miss you here. You others will have to work extra hard to make up for the sales Miss Phipps achieves, especially if it means we’re going to have to train up somebody new.’
As she took her place behind the counter, Daisy found she was close to tears. She was really going to miss Ladies’ Sportswear. It was almost like leaving a second family. And she was sure that Baby Linens was going to be dull by comparison, without Miss Packard coming in. It had been an honour, being part of her special department. She touched the tennis racquet brooch on her chest, and envied the girl who would wear it next.
20
NOWHERE WAS REALLY safe, Isobel realised. She had escaped from a nightmare at the huge cost of leaving behind her family and her whole way of life. She thought she had found shelter at Packards, and in a way she had, for she had warmth, food, a roof over her head and the means to support herself She was protected from her brother-in-law, thanks, she had to admit, to that dreadful Johnny and his friend. But she was not protected from predatory men. They were everywhere. She tried to make herself less conspicuous, dressing her hair in the plainest of styles, wearing severe white shirt blouses without a hint of ruffle or lace. But had she known it, these fashions only served as a piquant contrast to her soft beauty. It certainly did not put off Johnny Miller. Neither did it put off Mr Perry Amberley Packard, who often strolled into the department and exchanged a few words with her. More worrying still, it did not put off his brother. Though he had done nothing overt, she felt the heat behind Mr Edward’s eyes, and it frightened her.
The Christmas season was fast approaching. Along with the rest of the store, Ladies’ Sportswear was dressed up with trees and ribbons.
‘We shall have a display of skis and skates and toboggans,’ Miss Packard decided. ‘Skiing is becoming very popular with more adventurous women. I have had Ladies’ Gowns design a very practical tailor-made with a short skirt – above the ankles – and a neat fitted jacket. Just right for skiing, although trousers of course would be infinitely better. You can recommend that our customers order one of them, and sell the thick golfing knickers and the little Tyrolean hats to go with it, as well as the skis and sticks and gloves, of course. And motoring goggles, too, to protect the eyes from the rush of cold air. Oh, it must be such fun to ski! To go flying down a mountainside . . . But at least we are going to Braisehurst for Christmas, so there will be some riding.’
Braisehurst, Isobel discovered, was the Amberley country seat. Miss Packard departed there a week before Christmas, having left behind copious instructions on promoting practically every item of stock as a suitable Christmas present for the sporting woman. The staff of Ladies’ Sportswear was left to cope with the pre-Christmas rush. For the last week before the festival, the store was open until nine o’clock each evening. In departments like stationery, jewellery, toys and the food hall, there was plenty of extra custom to keep the shopgirls and men busy, but for others it was just extra time standing on legs throbbing with fatigue. Isobel hardly knew how she got back to Trent Street each night. Even Daisy, when they met up at the end of the day, was exhausted.
‘I dunno about going back to my folks for Christmas day,’ she sighed as she dropped into bed. ‘It’ll be gone ten Christmas Eve before I get home. All I’ll want to do is sleep the blooming clock round.’
‘You are going home, then?’ Isobel asked.
‘Oh yeah. Got to, ain’t – haven’t – I? Never hear the last of it if I don’t. Anyway, it’ll be nice to see everyone when they’re in a good mood.’
‘Yes, of course. Families should be together at Christmas,’ Isobel said, but a feeling of desolation that had been hovering for weeks finally settled round her heart. She had nowhere to go for Christmas. No family to welcome her.
Daisy’s voice, laden with weariness, still managed to contain genuine concern.
‘Look, Iz, you must come home along of me. They’ll be pleased to see you. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.’
From what Isobel had gathered from the tales Daisy had told of her family, she was certain that their idea of fun was not hers. She would feel as she had done at the music hall, embarrassed and uncomfortable. She was sure they would all get drunk and sing the sort of songs that would make her ears burn.
‘That’s very kind of you, Daisy, but I really couldn’t impose on your family.’
‘Won’t be imposing. One more won’t make no difference.’
‘No, I couldn’t really. Thank you.’
Normally, Daisy would have argued, would have worn her down. But now she was too tired.
‘Suit y’self,’ she mumbled from under the blankets. Seconds later, Isobel heard her breathing steady into sleep.
From the bottom of her heart, Isobel envied her. To go off so sweetly like that must be bliss. She stayed awake, though her body cried out for sleep and her sore spirit craved respite from the constant unanswerable questions. How long could she keep going on like this? What did the future hold? The only defence against them was to focus on the immediate problem of Christmas.
For a while a solution danced before her, warm and tempting. She could go back to her sister’s house. The air would be rich with the smells of cooking there. The larder would be full, the house decked with holly and ivy, the tree twinkling with candles. There would be piles of mysterious parcels tied in pretty ribbons. She could take the few shillings she had managed to save from her wages, pack her things, buy a train ticket and be there within hours. She would be welcomed back like the Prodigal Son. Her sister would fall on her and weep and vow not to let her out of her sight again. She would be petted and cosseted, waited on and entertained. She would never more have to stand behind a counter or try to persuade a reluctant customer to buy. Her sister would provide for her, her sister and – her brother-in-law. There the bubble burst. To go back would be to agree to what he wanted her to do. It was just a dream. She had to stay here. Her Christmas would be spent at Trent Street.
The next day was the twenty-third of December, and seemed even longer than the one before. Isobel somehow missed Daisy in the flood of shopmen and girls coming out of Packards at the end of the day, but was too tired to look for her. She plodded towards Trent Street like a dumb animal, hardly noticing anything but the bleak weight inside her.
‘Isobel – Miss Brand – excuse me –’
It was Johnny Miller. She did not stop.
‘Miss Brand – I was wondering – I know it’s very late –’
He sounded unusually hesitant, not his irritatingly perky self at all.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said.
‘Please –’
He put a hand on her arm. She hadn’t the strength to resist. She stopped.
‘I – I wanted to ask you a big favour. I wondered – would you like to come to my folks’ place for Christmas Day? I mean, I know you can’t go home, and it won’t be much fun at Trent Street, and they’d be very happy to have you. It’s not what you’re used to, I know, but there’ll be a good spread, and we go to church and everything, and my sister will play the piano and there’ll be singing and that, and – and I wish you would come.’
Isobel was so low that for a moment she almost considered accepting. The Millers were a good deal more respectable than Daisy’s family, from what she had gathered. His father had been a small shopkeeper, his widowed mother now lived with her daughter and her husband, a master carpenter. They would not get drunk and the songs round the piano would not embarrass her. But tired and depressed as she was, she still knew that ther
e was a price. The welcome she would receive would not be just for the day, but potentially for life. Young men, even those as brash as Johnny Miller, did not invite young women to share their family Christmas unless they had serious intentions.
‘That’s very kind of you, but I can’t accept,’ she said, trying to put steel into her voice, and failing.
‘But why ever not? My sister’s got a goose in. I told them all about you and they’re dying to meet you. They all really want you to come.’
Isobel could just picture them all looking at her with open curiosity, and Johnny introducing her with a smile of possessive pride.
‘I’m sorry, but I have a prior engagement,’ she said.
‘A prior –? You mean you’re going somewhere else? But where?’
‘To Daisy’s family,’ Isobel lied, avoiding looking him in the face. She wished she was not such a coward. Why couldn’t she just tell him she did not want to go?
‘Oh – well – but I thought –’
‘I’m sorry,’ Isobel repeated. Somehow she set herself in motion again, but she could not get rid of Johnny. He walked along with her.
‘Perhaps New Year, then? Would you come for that? We always have a family party. You’d like it, we have First Foot and everything. It’s like a tradition. My granddad came from Scotland and they make a big thing of it up there. We all go outside then, and hear the ships hooting on the river, and wish a Happy New Year to all the neighbours. It’s ever so friendly, you’d like it, really you would. Say you’ll come, do.’
They reached the door of number twenty-four. Isobel took hold of the handrail to haul herself up the steps. She took a deep breath and gathered up the very small reserve of emotional strength she had left.
‘I don’t think so, thank you,’ she said, and went inside before he could say any more.
Christmas Eve was one long rush of last-minute shoppers. Many people seemed to be buying their entire list of presents, and even Isobel found that they were easy to sell to. But by closing time the staff were practically on their knees. Daisy came back to Trent Street, changed, collected her parcels and after one more attempt at persuading Isobel to come with her, went off to join her family.
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