Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  She stretched like a cat. ‘You know, Latham, you’re right about me making a lousy mother, but I’d still be willing to give you a child. Who knows, I might even grow to love it. After all, my mother loves my youngest brother, though Nicholas has always been a nauseating little creep. We could always hire a nanny to teach our offspring some manners. Come back to bed; I’ll do something nice for you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come here and I’ll whisper it in your ear.’

  He laughed when she did, flipped her over his knee and smacked her bare bottom.

  Martin tried to settle into his new job, but unfortunately Benjamin seemed unable to tear himself away completely, for he dropped in every day to chat to his employees and linger over a mug of tea.

  The visits were a nuisance, since they tended to undermine Martin’s need to assert his own authority. He had the feeling that Benjamin was looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t until the end of January that he found the courage to point this out to his employer.

  ‘They need to accept me as the manager, and so do you, Ben. We both know that changes have to take place. At the moment I’m clearing out the storage areas and doing a stocktake. I intend to send out a catalogue detailing goods that are reduced in price. I’ve also appointed Gregson as my assistant manager, so we work more closely together and I’m kept aware of the financial situation.’

  ‘Gregson is good at his job . . . Did you give him a raise?’

  ‘No, just an increase in responsibility.’

  ‘I’d like to see him rewarded.’

  ‘He will be, when Howard’s Toys is in a better position to do so. We need to get the overdraft down. Two of the employees have handed in their notice, and I’m not going to replace them.’

  ‘Oh, who are they?’

  ‘Young Dobbs is one. His brother is going to open a garage, and Dobbs is going to take up a mechanical engineering apprenticeship with him.’

  ‘He’s good with his hands, so should make a fine mechanic.’

  ‘Mrs Brewster is the other one.’

  ‘Mrs Brewster? But she has a family to support.’

  ‘And is expecting another. She and the children are going back to live in her parents’ home. Besides, the other workers resent her. In line with general sentiment, they think she’s keeping a man out of work.’

  ‘She would be if her man was employable. What will happen to her husband? Did she say?’

  ‘She was forced to take two days off work last week after he took a stick to her. The neighbours called the police and they kept him in the lockup until he’d calmed down. They should have called a doctor to give him a sedative. He’ll end up in prison, or even an asylum if he continues to be violent.’

  ‘You said Eileen is expecting a baby. Oh, my goodness, I thought . . . her husband was gassed, you see. I didn’t think—’

  ‘That doesn’t mean the urges are dampened. Violence is often a release for frustration, and sometimes the two go together.’

  ‘Quite . . . but she could work a little longer, surely.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to. She’s had enough.’

  Benjamin looked genuinely distressed. ‘She used to come to work with bruises, and once she had a black eye. She said she’d walked into a door. I didn’t believe her, but didn’t probe any deeper . . . none of my business really. I’ll talk to her on the way out. Are you settled into your flat?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve finished it. You should come over for dinner . . . Sunday perhaps, unless you’re busy.’

  ‘I usually spend a quiet day with Julia.’

  ‘She’s welcome to come too. Believe it or not I can cook. I’m not as good as your daughter, but can manage a roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, vegetables, and probably a trifle.’

  ‘A trifle.’ Benjamin’s face brightened. ‘I haven’t had a trifle since . . . well, for a while, anyway. Thank you, I’m sure Julia would like that. Come to think of it, things have been quiet for her on the social scene since New Year. Latham Miller has taken her out to dinner, or escorted her to the theatre a couple of times.’ Benjamin held out his hand and smiled. ‘Dinner on Sunday it is then. I’ll try not to be such a nuisance to you from now on, and I’ll cut my visits down to one a week to give you some breathing space. Rest assured, I do trust you. It’s just that it’s so damned hard to let go.’

  Benjamin stopped outside the office and took out his wallet. He extracted ten pounds and folded his fingers over it. No need to ask him who the intended recipient was, Martin thought, as Ben ambled towards the packing bench where Eileen Brewster worked. His employer was generous to a fault.

  The two had a short conversation, then Benjamin slid the money into her hand. Patting her on the shoulder he walked away. Mrs Brewster watched him go then took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. Telling Gregson to make her pay up, he called her into the office.

  ‘We’re sorry to lose you, Mrs Brewster. You needn’t work your notice out, since there’s not enough work to keep you occupied. It won’t affect your final wage.’

  ‘That’s right kind of you,’ she said wearily. ‘I know you would have had to get rid of me sooner or later, so me leaving now saves you from going to the trouble.’ She took the money from her pocket and laid it on the desk. ‘I reckon I should give Mr Howard this back. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of his generosity.’

  Martin pushed it back towards her. ‘This is nothing to do with the factory. It was a personal gift from Mr Howard, so put it back into your pocket.’

  ‘My Jack . . . he was all right before the war, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine he was.’

  ‘Aye, I reckon you do, at that. I can see it in your eyes sometimes, the despair . . . only Jack can’t put it behind him. He has to lash out.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the children, you see . . . they shouldn’t be made to suffer.’ Her hands went to her stomach. ‘Jack’s been strange of late . . . I’ve got to put the children first, especially this new life. He wants me to get rid of it, but babies are precious.’

  ‘And the procedure is not only illegal, but dangerous to the mother.’

  Which was all right for him to say, when he would never be in her position, Martin thought, and he wanted to hug this careworn woman. He was seeing one of the aftermaths of the war – a different victim. Fate had not been kind to her. The war had sucked her man into its maw, voraciously ground him down and spat him out damaged beyond repair. He couldn’t get involved, only fob her off with a little extra in her pay packet, an extended hand and his words as sincere as he could make them. ‘Good luck, Mrs Brewster. I do hope all goes well.’

  On Sunday they went to the morning service. Afterwards, Julia drove her father’s car carefully through the streets to Martin’s flat in Finsbury Park.

  Martin came up the stairs from the basement to greet them. He had a grin on his face, and was wearing a striped apron of the type butchers usually wore. ‘Was that you I saw behind the wheel, Julia? I didn’t know you could drive.’

  ‘Oh, I’m just learning.’

  ‘Latham Miller’s chauffeur is teaching her. Latham said it would keep his man occupied while he’s abroad. Robert is making a good job of it . . . except she managed to mow down Nelson’s column on the way over.’

  Julia giggled. ‘I did not. Robert says I have aptitude, but he always grins when he says it, so I don’t know if I can believe him or not. I must say I like driving, and it’s quite easy when you know how.’ She shooed him towards the door. ‘Go indoors and take Daddy with you. I’ll be there in a minute; I’ve got a house-warming gift for you and need to get it from the back seat. I hope you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall.’

  Julia wasn’t at all sure, but she could only try as five minutes later she handed over her offering, a pair of tabby kittens in a wicker basket, to which she’d tied a red bow. ‘A boy was trying to sell them in the market, and he was so hungry-looking that I felt sorry for all of them. You will take them, won’t
you, Lee-Trafford? Once they’re house trained they’ll be company for you in the evening, and company for each other during the day when you’re not here. I’ve brought you some mince to feed them on.’

  He looked slightly dubious. ‘Are they male or female?’

  ‘How would I know? They’re just sweet little kittens.’

  ‘They won’t be so sweet if they grow into fully equipped tomcats. And if they’re female they’ll reproduce rapidly unless they’re fixed.’ He picked them up, his hands gentle, and lifted their tails.

  ‘Fixed? What on earth do you mean? How . . .?’

  He grinned at her. ‘They’re boys, and they’ll be simple enough to neuter. How? I’ll make a small incision in the scrotum, remove the testicles and tie off the ligaments. They look a bit on the skinny side; have you checked them for worms?’

  Of course she knew what fixed meant – she shouldn’t have asked. Her eyes flew open and her cheeks fired up.

  Benjamin guffawed with laughter. ‘I’ve never seen my daughter’s face turn quite so red.’

  Good job he hadn’t been there when Latham had educated her about sexual matters then.

  It was true that her face had warmed at Martin’s frankness. Though most of her understanding stemmed from guesswork, she wasn’t entirely stupid. She spluttered, ‘Heavens, how utterly and ruthlessly . . . surgical of you. I think I could have done without the tutorial.’

  He couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face. ‘I’m sorry, force of habit. Sometimes it was learn on the job in the army.’

  She struggled on. ‘I do hope you didn’t fix your patients in quite the same manner. Could you be kind and allow me to have the last word on this.’

  ‘I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I?’

  ‘I must admit . . . well . . . poor kittens. Checking for worms sounds entirely disagreeable to me.’

  ‘Never mind, I’ll see to it.’ One of the kittens began to purr and he stroked its stomach with his forefinger. The other made little squeaks. ‘They are rather sweet. Thank you for thinking of me.’

  His voice had a slightly ironic edge to it as he slanted his brilliant-blue eyes her way. He had an effect on her without even trying. She had never felt so attracted to a man.

  ‘What would you suggest I call them?’ he asked.

  ‘Anything you like. I did think Billy Boy might suit the darker one, since he’s a bit of a thug. I was going to call the other one Clara, but now she’ll have to be Clarence.’

  ‘You won’t mind if I call them both puss, will you?’

  ‘You’re perfectly horrid; of course I’ll mind. How would you like to be called puss?’ and she laughed. ‘And what’s more you look rather silly in that apron. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Yes . . . You can put some newspaper down on the bathroom floor for Billy and Clarence, and give them a saucer of milk. The bathroom is through that door over there. The kitchen is in the opposite direction beyond the dining room.’ Then in anticipation of her next question, ‘They’ll be warm in the bathroom; it has a radiator.’

  ‘You can be awfully bossy, you know.’

  ‘I do know. After you’ve done that, you can set the table if you would. The bits and pieces are in the dresser.’

  The whole place was comfortably furnished in a mannish sort of fashion – no frills or fuss. She remembered he’d grown up without a mother in his life.

  He gazed to where her father had made himself comfortable in an armchair by the fire. ‘Can I get you a drink, Benjamin?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a small glass of sherry.’

  ‘You, Julia?’

  ‘That would be nice. I’ll deal with the cats first. If I leave the basket lid open they can sleep in it for a while and can claw their way in and out if they need to.’

  The dinner smelled delicious, she thought, as she bustled about the dresser, opening and shutting cupboards and drawers while she looked for tablecloths, cutlery and cruets.

  Martin Lee-Trafford was talented in many ways. He made an expert Yorkshire pudding batter, pouring it into a sizzling pan of meat juices and placing it back into the oven to cook while the meat rested.

  ‘I’m impressed.’

  He appeared slightly embarrassed by the compliment. ‘I like to eat, so I thought I owed it to myself to learn how to cook. I don’t often get the chance to entertain others. I’m enjoying it.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to do it more often.’

  ‘I have some fairly good news for your father. I’ll tell him over dinner.’

  ‘Oh, good, he seems to have been a bit preoccupied of late. I think something is worrying him.’

  Martin waited until they were tucking into a delicious trifle before he told them, ‘I’ve had the twelve versions of the Rosie Doll packaged together as collectors’ items. We’ve catalogued them as a complete series while stocks last for ten shillings per series, and we’re beginning to shift them.’

  ‘And if we run out of early models?’

  ‘I’m negotiating with a department store to take the rest to distribute amongst its branches, along with the overstock of puzzles. The outcome will be a reasonably small profit, but at this stage it’s more important that we shift the stale stock and re-establish a cash flow.’

  ‘Well done,’ her father said.

  Julia gazed at him in mock dismay. ‘So that’s all I mean to you both . . . stale stock?’

  Her father patted her hand and chuckled. ‘It happens to us all in time, my dear.’

  Martin was clearly puzzled as he gazed from one to the other.

  Her father enlightened him. ‘The Rosie doll was modelled on Julia for all these years. It was a tenth birthday present for her from her mother and I. Julia named the doll after her grandmother, and she designed the wardrobe for the latest one.’

  Martin’s eyes reflected his amusement. ‘I thought the doll looked slightly familiar. Oh, dear, I seem to have stuck my foot in my mouth again.’

  ‘You most certainly have.’

  ‘There’s worse to come, and I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, Julia. I’d prefer it if we dropped that line altogether. We also need to get into cheaper lines . . . soft toys with musical box innards, or automatons. Plastic figures and cardboard dolls’ houses rather than expensive wood.’

  ‘Howard Toys are known for their quality. We make the best rocking horses in Europe. They were one of the Howard factory’s original products and we exported them abroad.’

  ‘Daddy used to paint the speckles on the grey ones, and sometimes he allowed me to help. Each rocking horse is signed with his name,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a whole herd of horses living on the third floor of the factory. I agree they’re of good quality . . . so good in fact that they’ll never wear out or need to be replaced unless they’re attacked by woodworm. The last sale of a horse was over a year ago. We must produce lines that have a good turnover, and that will take time to build up.’ He fell quiet for a few moments, then said, ‘I’m sorry Ben. Perhaps you should have sold the place to Latham Miller after all.’

  Julia gave her father a sharp look. ‘Latham offered to buy the factory? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He shrugged. ‘What was the point when I had no intention of selling it to him. Latham only wants the building. The toys are my life, as they were for my father and my grandfather before him.’

  ‘But if the toys no longer produce a profit—’

  ‘You know nothing about business, my dear. Let’s drop the subject, shall we? Do what you have to do, Lee-Trafford. When things improve I daresay a better offer will come along. In the meantime, another serving of that delicious trifle wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Taking up his dish, Julia went to the sideboard and filled it. She was steaming a little at the unaccustomed rebuke from her father. She wished he’d treat her as though she was an adult, especially in company. When she placed it gently in front of him, she said, ‘Latham Miller is usually happy to discuss business with me.’


  ‘I daresay he’s humouring you when he does.’

  ‘So why didn’t he tell me he’d made an offer for the factory?’

  ‘It could be that he’s of the same mind as me, that business and women don’t mix. You should ask him. Perhaps he’s just waiting for the right opportunity to turn up. He’s probably hoping you’ll turn me to his way of thinking, so he can pick up the place cheaply. Well, I won’t let you do that, Julia. Howard’s Toy factory is my life. Now . . . I will hear no more of it.’

  He’d wounded her, and the hurt she felt spread coldly through her. ‘Daddy, that’s completely untrue. How can you think that? Don’t you trust me?’

  He sighed. ‘There are two things in life that I love deeply. One is the factory and the other is you, Julia. I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s Miller I don’t trust. Enough now!’ He scraped the last remnants of trifle from his bowl, dabbed the napkin against his lips, and sat back, patting his stomach.

  ‘Oh . . .’ She didn’t tell her father that Latham had proposed marriage to her. On the times when they went out together he was an amusing companion who went out of his way to please her. As he’d promised he didn’t pressure her. He was a perfect gentleman, giving her flowers and chocolates, which her father ate, since he’d developed a sweet tooth of late.

  When Latham kissed her it was pleasant enough, though not exactly earth-shattering. She sensed about him something of the predator watching and waiting to pounce. She couldn’t help being aware of him when they were together, and she wondered how it would be with him. Her head told her that Latham would be a very good catch indeed, and Irene had told her he was wicked. But on the times she’d decided to say yes to him, her instinct stopped her from uttering the word – yet, she couldn’t say no, either.

  She felt the need in her to become a wife and mother, as her parents had fully expected of her.

  Her glance fell on Martin. He’d been watching her, his mouth curved into a soft smile, his eyes faintly sympathetic. ‘I’ll make us some coffee.’