by Valerie Tate
He arrived at his customary time the following Sunday with none of the sense of dread he’d felt on previous visits. He buzzed and waited, wondering if Alicia would be the one to answer the door. But she wasn’t. Instead, it was answered by a small, round lady with thick white hair, twinkling blue eyes, and cheeks that shone like a pair of ripe apples.
“Come in, laddie, come in. You must be Mr. Mallory. I’d know you anywhere from Miss Alicia’s description.” Her voice was a gentle Scots burr. “I’m Katie Stuart, the housekeeper.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll be very happy working here.”
“I’ve no doubt about it. Now, you just go into the parlor and sit down, and I’ll tell Mrs. Dunbar you’re here.”
Alice met him in the parlor, for once relaxed and smiling. “Hello, Chris. How nice to see you. We missed you last Sunday. I hope you enjoyed your weekend at home.”
They chatted a few moments while waiting for James and Alicia to come in from the garden.
“I thought we’d be more comfortable in the conservatory. If you like, we can go there now.”
He was more than happy to agree. The conservatory was furnished in wicker with thick floral cushions. Sun shone through the glass walls and filtered through the greenery. In contrast, the parlor, with its stiff formality, seemed gloomy and unwelcoming.
“I’m surprised you were able to find a housekeeper so quickly,” he said as they settled into the soft cushions of the sofa.
“Mrs. Stuart is an old friend. I’ve known her since I was a teenager. Her daughter, Nan, was my best friend in high school and I spent a lot of time in their home. I was so surprised when she answered my ad but her children are all grown and away, and the house was much too big for her alone, so she sold it. She’s been living in an apartment, but after being in a house she felt cramped and lonely. This way, she has an income and a place to live, and she’s able to invest the money from the house. She really is a dear.”
The jingle of china approached and Mrs. Stuart bustled in with a tray heaped high with goodies. “Now, my lamb, I’ve brought you some ‘Singing Hinnies’ straight from the oven, and cream, and some of my special strawberry jam. It won a blue ribbon, last county fair. And here’s a nice cup of tea, good and hot. Now, you get started. Don’t wait for Miss Alicia and Mr. Dunbar. They came in a few minutes ago but I sent them upstairs to wash up. You just dig in and I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”
Open-mouthed, Chris watched her bustle back out. “Singing Hinnies?”
Alice giggled like a young girl. “They’re a tea scone with raisins. She used to make them for me when I was a girl. Honestly, with her around, I feel sixteen again. She’s positively adopted us. Her daughter, Nan, married an engineer and they have three teenagers. They all used to live together, but his company transferred him to Vancouver last year and she’s been very lonely ever since. I think this is going to work out beautifully for all of us. She’s a marvelous cook and we share kitchen duty. And as for cleaning, I can barely keep up with her. I took your advice, though, and have hired your cleaning lady, Mrs. Gunther, to come in weekly.”
“You certainly have organized this quickly. I’m very pleased. It seems to be working out.”
“It’s working beautifully. Mrs. Stuart always had cats at home and so she’s used to them. And she certainly knows how to handle Marmalade.” She actually managed to say his name without grimacing. “And you were right. Having an extra person to keep an eye on him has reduced mishaps.”
“It should free you and Alicia as well, to get out more and socialize.”
“Yes, I can get out more, but, of course, a real social life is impossible.”
“Why is that?” he asked, more than a little annoyed.
“It’s just that I can’t accept invitations I can’t return. That has always been the problem.”
Exasperated, Chris stood up and walked to the French doors, trying to hide his annoyance. “I fail to see the problem. Mrs. Stuart can keep Marmalade away from your guests, and help you with the preparations.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. How can we have guests in when there isn’t even a comfortable place for them to sit? And it’s so hopelessly old-fashioned. The rooms are large and there are some lovely pieces, but everything is so cluttered and out-dated.” A look of distaste crossed her face.
“Well then, why don’t you bring things up-to-date?”
“You mean that’s possible?” she asked, startled.
“Of course. I’ve been as sensitive as any to the problems of the decor. I told you at the outset that you needn’t be afraid to approach me on matters concerning the house.”
“That’s right, you did. I remember. It’s just that James’ mother was always so against changing anything and I sometimes forget she’s gone.”
“You’ll have to okay all plans with me with respect to the existing furniture and any new pieces you want to buy, and there will be a budget, but the rest is up to you. What rooms would you want to change?”
She didn’t hesitate. It was clearly something she had thought about, and often. “The parlor and dining room, of course, and the foyer and upstairs hall. The library is fine the way it is but I’ll ask James if he’d like any changes. Perhaps some new draperies. Our bedrooms were all redecorated a couple of years ago so they needn’t be done. I think the only other rooms would be the bathrooms and the kitchen. They’re in desperate need of modernizing.”
“That’s quite an ambitious undertaking,” he said doubtfully, “but if you’re up to it, feel free to go ahead.” At this point he was willing to OK anything that would make Alice happy.
“Wonderful! I’ll start making plans this week, and next Sunday we can go over them. Now you help yourself to the scones and jam, and I’ll go and see what’s become of my absentee family.” Humming happily, she left the room and he heard her calling her husband and daughter, a lilt in her voice that he had never heard before.
He walked out onto the patio and lounged complacently against the door.
“Mr. Mallory.” A conspiratorial whisper from behind drew him sharply around.
“Oh, Mrs. Stuart, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry, laddie, but I didn’t want Mrs. Dunbar to overhear. Will ye come with me into the garden for just a wee minute?”
Mystified, he nodded and followed her away from the house into the comparative privacy of the garden.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Stuart?” he asked, feeling ridiculous to be whispering in the bushes.
“Oh, nothing, laddie. I just want to thank you for what you’re doing for this family and my lovely Alice. When she and my Nan were young, she was like a second daughter to me. You can’t imagine what a lovely little thing she was, so fun-loving and pretty.” She smiled in reminiscence and sighed. “I used to worry about her even then. All she ever wanted was to go to parties and have a good time, and I was afraid she wasn’t preparing herself for life. But then she married Mr. Dunbar and I thought everything would be all right. We lost touch over the years, but I always kept an eye on her, and it near broke my heart to see what was happening to her. Mind you, now, I’m not saying it was all old Mrs. Dunbar’s fault. I’m not blind. But still, I think the old lady could have tried harder. She never wanted Alice for a daughter-in-law and never gave her a chance. It kind of soured my poor, bonnie girl. But that’s all water under the bridge and I’m not one to speak ill of the dead. This is just a round-about way of saying that what you’ve done for my little Alice and her family can never be repaid, but you should know the good you’ve done, and that I, for one, am grateful.” She sniffed and fumbled for her hankie. “Now, I’ve said my piece, and if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just slip around to the kitchen door. Please don’t say anything about what I told you. You just go and have your tea while it’s still hot.” She turned to go, then, hesitating, impulsively reached up and kissed him gently on the cheek before she hurried off around the house.
He watched her
until she was out of sight, feeling very touched, then turned contentedly back to the house.
That feeling of contentment carried over through most of the next week.
* * *
James called on Friday and asked to meet for lunch, and Chris was very gratified at the gesture of friendship.
They met at the town’s best restaurant, a little Italian place in an old converted house on the main street. Chris was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that he had an ulterior motive in accepting the invitation. In the face of James’ goodwill, Chris hoped to enlist his aid in the pursuit of his daughter, but his ulterior motives were to be lost in what James had to say.
Di Angelo’s was as busy as usual, but the Dunbar name procured a table without waiting, much to James’ embarrassment and the annoyance of those ahead of them in line. They ordered and made small talk until the food arrived. Chris could sense James had something on his mind but left it up to him to bring up whatever was bothering him.
“I’m glad to have this opportunity to express my gratitude for how happy you’ve made Alice. I haven’t seen her so excited in years. We’re up to our elbows in decorating books and wallpaper, paint and fabric samples.” He laughed briefly, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s not the reason I asked you to meet me, though. I thought I should let you know what was happening before I made any final decision.”
‘Final decision’? Surely he wasn’t thinking of divorcing her just when things were looking up.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t understand. Happening with what? What ‘final decision’?”
“I’m not making myself very clear, am I? You must know that for some years the company has been having financial difficulties. I’ve held out, hoping things would improve, but I’m about out of ideas, and I’m afraid that in the near future I’m going to have to close the factory. I’d like to do it while we still have a good reputation.”
Chris’ appetite suddenly left and he pushed his lunch aside. James looked beaten. “Are you sure there’s nothing to be done?”
“If there is, it escapes me. We just can’t compete any more. Our costs keep rising, wood prices are out of sight, and it’s putting us out of the reach of most people. The large department store chain that has always been our major customer has just informed me that at the end of our current contract they won’t be renewing. I know we could turn out cheaper furniture if we mechanized and used an assembly line, veneers and compressed wood products, but I refuse to compromise the reputation of the company by producing lesser quality furniture. The Dunbar name has always stood for excellence. Furthermore, even if we could solve the market problem, we just can’t get skilled craftsmen. It seems no-one today wants to work with his hands. Most of my employees are nearing retirement, and when they’re gone, I don’t know how I’ll replace them.”
“I’m so sorry. I know this must be very hard for you.”
“I thought you ought to know since the estate owns 49% of the company. You know that when my father died, he left everything to mother, except the controlling interest in the firm. He felt I’d need that in order to run it successfully.” He smiled bitterly. “At any rate, when we close I feel that I’m obliged to give each employee a year’s salary as well as their pension. After that, and once we’ve paid all outstanding debts, whatever’s left, if anything, will be divided.”
“Will you do me a favor, James? Don’t do anything just yet. Give me some time to look into things.”
“Very well. How much time will you need?”
“I don’t know just yet. Just don’t do anything for a while. Would it be possible for me to tour the factory?”
“Of course. Any time you like.”
“How about first thing Monday morning?”
“All right. I’ll be expecting you. Now, if you don’t mind, I don’t seem to have much appetite. I think I’d just better get back to the office. I’ll take care of the check on my way out.”
Chris started to protest but James was gone, winding his way through the tables, shoulders drooping, head bowed, a picture of dejection and defeat.
Chapter 14
Some piece of cake! Night after night hiding in these bushes and for what? Not even the sight of him. Just rabbits, raccoons and that rotten little mutt next door. But his luck had to change sometime…
Wait a minute. What’s that by the corner of the house? Yup, that’s him. At last! That’s right, you come right this way. Look at him, strollin’ across the lawn, sweet as you please, straight for him. A little bit closer and he’d have him. Just a little bit closer …
Damn!
It’s like the cat knew he was waiting for him. Almost within reach and then, at the last minute, straight up into the tree. And now sitting up there laughing at him.
And that rotten mutt next door is barking to wake the dead, which is what he’ll be if I ever get my hands on him.
Chapter 15
Monday morning arrived much too soon. Chris had begged off Sunday dinner, unable to face either Alice’s enthusiasm or James’ depression, and had spent the time trying to think of a way to save the business.
The factory was a large, square, brick structure overlooking the lake. It would be a prime site for a developer wanting to convert it to lake-front condos, he thought.
James met him at the door and showed him through.
“I’ve always been fascinated by wood-working. There’s such a sense of satisfaction in feeling something come to life under your hands,” Chris said appreciatively.
“I know how you feel. To see a piece of furniture emerge from a block of wood. I never really wanted to be involved in the management side of the business, but there was no other choice. At any rate, at least I’ve been able to keep my hand in, until now, that is.”
They watched the men working with their chisels, lathes and files, each one working on a single piece of furniture until the final finishing. There was a thin layer of sawdust covering everything and the rich, pungent scent of wood filled the air.
“This is the finishing room,” James said as they mounted a flight of stairs to the second floor. “The men use a special compound and each piece is rubbed for countless hours until a fine, glossy finish is achieved.” He caressed a table with a loving hand, his pride in their work evident in every gesture, every word. No wonder that he’d rather pull out than lower their standards.
“I don’t see any sofas or armchairs here.”
“No, that’s soft furniture and we don’t make that. There used to be another company in town, Bolton’s, and they manufactured the soft furniture, but they went out of business a number of years ago. We make hard furniture: chairs, tables, bedroom and dining room suites.”
“It’s marvelous furniture. I’ve never seen finer. You know, I’ve got a friend, Peter Harrison. We went to college together but he dropped out part-way through and I didn’t hear anything of him for years. Anyway, I ran into him when I was home a couple of weeks ago and it turns out that he’s living in a small town making hand-hewn furniture. He works mostly in pine and, of course, on a very small scale, but he did say he wished it were possible to work on a larger scale and with finer woods. I’ve been thinking about him ever since you spoke to me on Friday, and it’s given me an idea. There must be many people like Pete, working on their own, who’d like to work on a larger scale but don’t want to get stuck on an assembly line. So, for a start, I phoned him yesterday and told him about your company and he’s very interested. I thought it might be possible to hire Pete and perhaps others like him to fill the gap, and in the meantime start an apprentice program to bring younger men and women into the business. With the unemployment situation the way it is, I’m sure there must be a lot of young people who’d like the opportunity to earn as they learn.”
“It sounds like a good idea, but I’m afraid there’s no money to fund a program like that, and besides, it still doesn’t solve the sales problem.”
“You didn’t let me finish.
You remember I’ve mentioned my sister, Connie, the one who is studying to be a horse vet?”
James nodded, bewildered at how this had anything to do with their discussion.
“Connie told me once about an apprenticeship program near Toronto. It was started by a local saddler and it became so successful that it is now an official apprenticeship program of the Provincial Government, with funding from the Department of Labor. I’m going to look into it this week. For now, I think it would be possible for the estate to give you a loan to get started. After all, it’s in the estate’s interest to keep the company going, help it show a profit.
“As for sales, it’s true that your furniture can’t compete in the same market as companies that produce assembly line furniture, but why should it? There’s nothing that says you have to appeal to the mass market. You produce fine quality furniture. There’s a market for that, and judging by the housing that I saw being built in Toronto last week, it’s a growing market. Any number of good specialty stores across the country that have upper or upper-middle income clientele would have a ready market for your furniture.”
“It’s possible, if we could get the manpower.” James looked at him speculatively, excitement and hope growing in his face. “You know, high schools all run wood-working programs as part of their Design and Technology curriculum. It couldn’t hurt to approach them. They might know some students who’d be interested in an apprenticeship program.”
James’ excitement was contagious.
“I’ll get Pete to call you and set up an appointment.” Chris promised. “You work out a budget for the apprenticeship program, and we can get together and discuss it.”
“Good, and I’ll start approaching the more exclusive furniture stores. I think you’re right. I was trying to run the company the way my father did. He was able to appeal to a broad market, but those days are gone. Nowadays, most people can’t, or won’t, afford solid wood furniture. We’ve got to aim at a different, more affluent market. Come, we can talk more in my office. I’ll put some coffee on. I had Mrs. Stuart pack some cookies. I think they’re shortbread,” he added, like a small boy with a special treat.