Assured Attention

by Jane Tulloch

  A door was open, framing a thin angular figure who seemed frozen in place.

  “Mr McElvey, are you alright sir?” said Mrs Collins, rushing forward.

  “Look,” he spat. She inched around him and looked into his office. There, settled comfortably on the chair behind his desk, was the little cat. She blinked endearingly at Mrs Collins, then slowly stood up, stretched luxuriously and daintily stepped up onto Mr McElvey’s desk. Seeing her fully for the first time, it became clear that this was no ordinary cat. She had a chocolate brown face, legs and tail, but her body was beige in colour and she had four perfectly white feet. This was striking enough, but her bright sparkling blue eyes were quite stunning. As though fully aware of her effect on people, she sat down and began a comprehensive bath, her little pink tongue rasping over her paws as she delicately completed her toilette.

  Mr McElvey, at length moving forward into the office, stood aghast, emitting half syllables. “What the… how… who?”

  Following him in, Mrs Collins began, “Oh Mr McElvey I can explain…” before realising that she actually couldn’t. By this time other members of the management team began to arrive. Doors could be heard opening all down the corridor.

  Mrs Carr burst in officiously and then came to an abrupt halt. “A cat? In Mr McElvey’s office? Get it out, get it out at once.” she screeched, looking accusingly at Mrs Collins.

  “No wait.” Mr McElvey surprised them. He appeared transfixed by the lovely little creature. He stepped forward and stretched out a hesitant hand towards the cat. She stood up and arched her head into his hand. Unexpectedly, he began to stroke her between the ears and round the side of her head ending up by tickling her under her chin. The little cat revelled in this and began to purr loudly. Mr McElvey smiled. A rare event.

  “Coffee I think Mrs Carr if you please,” he said as he walked to his chair and sat down behind his desk.

  He reached out to the little cat again and she obligingly leaned in towards him.

  “She really likes you, sir.” Mrs Collins ventured at last. “Well I’d better be on my way. I’ll need to get things going in the kitchen.” She said this as she backed out of the room, half expecting to be called back. Mr McElvey nodded and looked around for today’s post. He opened the top drawer of his desk to look for a notebook and the cat stepped straight into it and sat down tidily. Mr McElvey laughed quietly then applied himself to dealing with the day’s mail.

  When Miss Murray popped her head around the door an hour later, she was amazed at the scene in front of her: the starchy Mr McElvey was leaning over his notes while a little cat, sitting in a drawer next to him, serenely observed the scene.

  Miss Murray tiptoed out and knocked on Mrs Pegram’s door.

  “Come quick Louise, you’ve got to see this,” she hissed.

  Mrs Pegram took in the urgency of her statement, but also noted the twitch in her friend’s mouth. Whatever was going on must be amusing she thought. The two ladies knocked and entered Mr McElvey’s room. Mrs Pegram could not hold back, “Ian! What’s going on? Who’s your friend?”

  Miss Murray laughed, “Oh yes you must introduce us.”

  “Well she um, she was just here this morning when I came in.” he replied. “She’s a nice little thing. Very friendly. She’s a girl I gather,” he faltered.

  “Where on earth did you get her?” queried Mrs Pegram.

  “I didn’t, I didn’t get her myself. She was just here this morning. Here, sitting on my seat nice as you like.” He began to stroke the little cat again.

  “Well I never,” burst out Miss Murray. “I never thought I’d see you coming round to the delights of feline companionship.”

  She continued to laugh, to Mr McElvey’s growing irritation.

  Ever practical, Mrs Pegram continued, “Well she must have come from somewhere.”

  “Mrs Collins, the lady from the canteen, seemed to know something I think, why not ask her?” he replied, very obviously going back to his work.

  “Right. I’ll do that.” Feeling dismissed, Mrs Pegram left the room and set off across the corridor towards the canteen. Still smiling, Miss Murray returned to her office.

  Mrs Collins couldn’t offer any explanation for the cat’s sudden emergence either. The two women looked at each other in some concern. “She’s obviously a pedigree of some sort. She looks like a Birman. I once saw one at a cat show. They’re very unusual.”

  “And beautiful too if this one is anything to go by. What are we going to do with her though?” said Mrs Pegram, “She must belong to someone. I’ll put the word out round the departments and see if anyone knows where she came from. In the meantime, we’ll need to make some arrangements for her, if you know what I mean Mrs Collins?” She nodded meaningfully. Mrs Collins knew at once what Mrs Pegram was talking about and reassured her as to the litter tray she had set up in a discreet corner. She had also sent one of the juniors out to buy some cat food.

  In time the most probable history of the little cat’s arrival emerged. It transpired that a recent consignment of Persian rugs had arrived in the Carpet Department on the floor below. The rugs had been brought overland from Antalya via Paris by a family of enterprising carpet dealers. Mr Joshi had caught sight of a cream-coloured flash out of the corner of his eye as he opened one of the large boxes of rugs. But he had been concentrating on the contents of the box, keen to check that the rugs were of the promised quality. It was likely that at some point in the journey the little cat had seen an open box and, being a cat, jumped in and settled down happily. Now far from home, the little stowaway had jumped out and hidden as the boxes of rugs were being opened. She must have been frightened and hidden herself until the shop closed for the night; then she went exploring, her nose leading her to the food store cupboard in the kitchen. In the morning something had attracted her to Mr McElvey’s office. Certainly, she had walked past several other offices before she got to his and decided to settle on his chair.

  The sudden emergence of the cat was the first topic of the next morning’s management meeting. By that time Mrs Collins had taken her to a local vet where she was pronounced fit and well.

  Everyone was surprised when Mr McElvey refunded the costs for this visit from petty cash without demur. He even pressed Mrs Collins to return and ask whether quarantine was to be thought of. The vet, a practical man, considered the problem. The cat could have entered the box, if indeed that was how she arrived at Murrays, at any point between Turkey and Edinburgh, including several stops in England. Under the circumstances, he felt that as she was patently in good health, although slightly thin, a quarantine cattery wasn’t called for. When this was relayed to them, everyone’s relief was palpable.

  Over the next week the likeable little creature had a remarkable effect on store morale. She spent her time on the top floor between the canteen and the management corridor and was very popular with all. The uncertainty of her nationality added a certain cachet to her already glamorous appearance. She appeared to understand English, although perhaps that was going a bit too far as murmured endearments, such as she was almost universally subjected to, didn’t necessarily require translation. She would patrol the tables in the canteen during breaks and graciously accepted snacks from her new fans. She was a great attraction. On several occasions, when the cat was not to be found in the canteen, a flustered Miss Manson from Linens was discovered on her hands and knees whispering, “Puss, Puss,” at the door to the management corridor in the hope of enticing her furry friend out for a cuddle.

  Even Mr Timmins, a notorious hater of cats, developed a grudging liking for her when she demonstrated an unexpected skill as a mouser. Mr McElvey became the unhappy recipient of at least a brace of mice each morning.

  Mrs Pegram was keen to formalise the situation and brought the subject up at a management meeting. “She can sleep in the canteen cupboard if she wants to, generally making her presence felt overnight among the rodent population, and she can stay with Mr McElvey in his office duri
ng the day,” she said. “We’ll need to put her on the payroll to pay for her keep and vets bills etc. We’ll also need to find her a name. Any ideas anyone?” She looked expectantly at the team members around the table. The creature in question was sitting blissfully happily in a sunbeam on the wooden windowsill behind Mr McElvey. The painted Mr Murrays in their lavish gilt frames looked on with stern disapproval.

  “She’s such a beautiful little thing,” ventured Miss Murray, “vaguely oriental somehow.”

  Mr McElvey agreed. He was a great admirer of Gilbert and Sullivan and had recently attended the first night of that season’s Mikado. “I’ve got it,” he called out enthusiastically, “how about YumYum?”

  Barry Hughes, attending this meeting to discuss security matters, agreed. “Yes. She certainly looks good enough to eat.”

  Mr McElvey blanched. “What on earth do you mean man?”

  He was not familiar with the range of sticky pastries to which Barry referred.

  Blustering, Barry explained his thinking.

  Miss Murray and Mrs Pegram nodded at each other. “I think that’s settled then” said Miss Murray and turned to the little cat, “Hello, YumYum.”

  YumYum blinked calmly, yawned, stretched and went to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Toxicity

  Miss Eleanor McFarlane ran a tight ship. The ‘HMS’ Food Hall at Murrays was famed for its wide variety of food and drink. Hailing from all nations, each item was of unimpeachable quality and beauty of appearance. Chocolates from Belgium came in exquisite boxes, smoked salmon from chilly Scottish rivers was displayed to advantage in tartan trimmed cold cabinets, and wine and spirits bottles sparkled and winked in the lighting above their mahogany display shelves.

  The produce in the Food Hall was the best of the best and the steep prices reflected this, as did Miss McFarlane herself.

  Miss McFarlane was tall and slim to the point of frailty. Perfectly turned out at all times, her hair and make-up were subtly advantageous, and her clothes tailored to fit as though sewn by the best of couturiers. Striking though the image she presented was, it was her voice that most caught the attention. She spoke with what used to be called a ‘cut-glass accent’ or, more colloquially, as though she had ‘bools in the mooth.’ This added to her mystique as many naturally assumed that she came from a titled background or was even a (minor) member of royalty.

  Despite her appearance and manner of vague charm to customers and management, this charm was not apparent to her workers. Miss McFarlane was a harsh taskmaster with very high standards. She was very strict with her staff and unforgiving of any mistake, however small.

  Mrs Pegram regularly dealt with tearful ex-members of the Food Hall staff seeking re-appointment to another department. She discussed this at the management meeting one day. “Miss McFarlane’s done it again,” she opened. “That young Mr Pearson seems to have blotted his copy book and been summarily sacked.”

  Miss Murray was interested. “What’s he done? He seemed a promising young man?” she asked.

  “He mixed up the baking on display and made the hideous mistake of labelling Kaiser Rolls as Granary Assorted Rolls I gather.”

  “Is that all? Surely anyone can make a wee mistake like that,” queried Mr Philipson.

  “I know,” replied Mrs Pegram, “but I gather that this would, and I quote, ‘lead to our customers making erroneous choices to their severe disadvantage.’” This was said in an accurate imitation of Miss McFarlane’s accent. They all smiled in recognition.

  “Well, I’m all for high standards but this is a bit ridiculous,” Miss Murray continued. “Have you been able to fit Mr Pearson in somewhere else?”

  “Oh yes. Electricals were needing someone and he’s nice and tall… He can reach the light fittings,” she explained in answer to puzzled frowns.

  This brought nods of agreement from around the table and the team moved on to other agenda items.

  Miss McFarlane was not without support in her life’s work of maintaining high standards in the Food Hall. Her assistant, Miss Butters, had worked alongside her for many years. Miss Butters was the antithesis of Miss McFarlane; she was small, rounded to the point of tubbiness and her flyaway hair and rather untidy appearance rendered her a figure of fun among younger members of staff. Her smudged spectacles and down at heel shoes were frequently commented on.

  The staff could never understand why the immaculate Miss McFarlane favoured Miss Butters. However, favour her she did, and Miss Butters basked in her senior’s approval despite her dishevelled appearance. Popular opinion was that Miss Butters acted as a conduit between Miss McFarlane and the staff, thus reducing the actual time she had to directly deal with them. The Food Hall staff were glad of this as many had quailed at Miss McFarlane’s tone of voice when speaking to them. Miss Butters, the go-between, had known Miss McFarlane for many years and knew all her preferences as to paperwork completion, ordering quotas and display options. She was the only member of staff that Miss McFarlane trusted to cover her rare absences. She could be relied upon to agree with Miss McFarlane at all times and on all matters. Needless to say, the staff hated her too. The two women were referred to disparagingly behind their backs as ‘Her Ladyship’ and ‘Marge.’

  Unsurprisingly, the atmosphere in the Food Hall was not good. Morale was very low indeed. Such staff as remained in employment considered that they held onto their jobs by the skin of their teeth and always felt as though they were “treading on eggshells,” as one said to another.

  Miss McFarlane and Miss Butters had worked together for years, and worked was the word for it. Unsuspected by the management team and most staff, Miss McFarlane was quite prepared to roll up her lacy sleeves and work every bit as hard as her workforce. She was first in the loading bay as consignments of rare fruit were delivered, even going so far as to clamber into the backs of the delivery lorries and inspect the cargoes before they were offloaded. She would fetch and carry heavy wine boxes and climb up ladders to high shelves to display exotic tins of virgin olive oil or unusual liqueurs. After a session of such hard physical labour and a quick visit to the Ladies Room, she was restored to her usual pristine self.

  Miss Butters knew this and respected her for it. She was especially impressed that her manner never changed and she was as icily polite to members of staff as she dismissed them as she was to customers searching for a particular delicacy.

  Perhaps surprisingly, Miss McFarlane was very popular with the customers. They felt that she added a real touch of class to the Food Hall and some insisted on dealing only with her. She was often consulted regarding catering for social events and frequently graced them herself. Even the less well-off customers appreciated being served by her; they were glad she understood that some people would rather have one really nice item than six lesser ones. Her policy of selling scones in small packets of two, or single cream cakes, was a popular one and many proudly carried home their small delicacy in a Murrays bag. However, Miss McFarlane infinitely preferred her more socially prominent customers to the little women in their best coats buying a wee treat for later.

  It was in relation to one of these socially prominent customers (or “posh yins” as Miss Butters called them) that the latest staff member had fallen foul of Miss McFarlane. Young Darren Smith was an enthusiastic new recruit. He had told Mrs Pegram in his interview that he had always wanted to work at Murrays. Blinking at her through his spectacles, he had confided breathily that he “Fair liked the Food Hall,” and wondered, “What would ma chances be of a job there?”

  Mrs Pegram was a little surprised that he aspired to the Food Hall but was uncomfortably aware that it had yet another vacancy. She looked at him speculatively. He would need to smarten up; Miss McFarlane would not allow him in her department dressed as he was in a too tight brown suit with an obviously grubby collar. The tie would have to go too, she thought, or at least the egg on it. However, it was refreshing to meet such a keen young man. It was a pity he was so obviously o
verweight. She brightened as she thought that after all it was the Food Hall: he could be seen as a good advertisement for their delicious wares. She smiled as she stood up and shook his hand. “Welcome to Murrays,” she said. “The Food Hall it is. You can start on Monday.”

  The next Monday a visibly nervous Darren presented himself in the Food Hall. Miss McFarlane, far from welcoming the new recruit, glanced briefly at him, grimaced, and sent him to wash his hands.

  “Too, too filthy,” she called out over her shoulder as she stalked off to inspect and deplore a new delivery of “imperfect” handmade chocolates.

  Darren looked at his feet in embarrassment, then around him at the others who had gathered to welcome the latest victim.

  “Welcome to the Food Hall. It’s always like this by the way,” said Mrs Clark, a mouse-like person of relative longstanding (ten months) in the department.

  “Oh, er, right.” Darren stammered. “Where shall I…?” he faltered, wondering where to wash his hands.

  “This way son,” said Miss Butters (Marge) grimly and led him off to the hand basin in the backroom. The others looked after them and shrugged their shoulders. “Well, he won’t last long,” was the general consensus. They returned silently to their various tasks.

  The chastened Darren returned soon after and, at Miss Butter’s direction, he set to work turning all the tins and bottles around on their shelves so that their labels faced the front. He concentrated so hard on this task, with his tongue protruding slightly as he mouth-breathed, that he kept steaming up his glasses and having to stop to polish them on his tie. No one thought to tell him when he could take a break so he continued doggedly for several hours. He began following customers around, rapidly rearranging any stock item that they may have picked up to examine more closely. He didn’t seem to notice the irritated glances he was receiving as he followed, hot on their heels, breathing loudly.