by Lily Baxter
‘Platt,’ Rita said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Miss Rita Platt from London, and I don’t like being called a liar, mister.’
Albert shifted from one foot to the other, glaring at Rita. ‘I never did, Mr Wallace.’
‘I’ll deal with you later, Mr Scott. There are customers waiting to be served. Ladies, if you would care to follow me, we will sort this matter out in private.’ Motioning them to follow him, Mr Wallace strode off towards the back of the premises.
‘You’re a lying bastard, Bertie,’ Rita muttered as she walked past him.
‘She’s upset,’ Miranda said hastily. ‘She didn’t mean it.’
He ran his finger round the inside of his collar. ‘I could lose my job if that young lady doesn’t keep her mouth shut.’
There was nothing she could say to this. She had little sympathy for a man who had plied a young girl with drink and empty promises, and she was thankful that Tommy Toop had been around to prevent Rita from committing a serious error of judgement. She left him to deal with the queue of curious customers and hurried after Rita, catching her up as Mr Wallace ushered her into the office. He closed the door and went to sit behind his desk. ‘Please take a seat, ladies. Perhaps we can discuss this without resorting to raising our voices?’ He addressed this remark to Rita who had slumped down on the nearest chair.
‘Your mate promised me a job,’ she said, pouting. ‘I was taken in.’
‘How and when did this occur, Miss Platt? I need to know the details.’
Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside Rita. ‘Do we need to go into all this, Mr Wallace? I’m sure my friend would accept an apology from Mr Scott, since it was obviously a simple misunderstanding.’
‘I can speak for meself, ta very much, Manda,’ Rita said, frowning.
Miranda chose to ignore her, concentrating her efforts on Mr Wallace. ‘Is there a job vacancy or not? That’s the question, and if there is Miss Platt would like to apply for it.’
‘I’m not sure I want the blooming job now,’ Rita said sulkily. ‘And I wasn’t lying.’
‘And I’m not sure that you are exactly the person we are looking for, Miss Platt.’ Mr Wallace leaned his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. ‘But you, Miss – I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Me?’ Miranda stared at him in surprise. ‘My name is Miranda Beddoes, but I don’t see …’
A slow smile spread across his florid features. ‘Are you related to Major Beddoes, by any chance?’
‘I’m his granddaughter and Miss Platt is our guest at Highcliffe. She’s a very respectable young lady.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure she is, but what I was about to say is that you are exactly the sort of person we would like to join our happy Morris and Mawson family. This is an old established business, Miss Beddoes; founded in 1887 and has served the community ever since. Quality and service is our motto.’
Rita rose to her feet. ‘Are you offering her a job and not me?’
‘I think you’ve answered your own question, young lady. We at Morris and Mawson are very particular about the type of person we employ, and I’m afraid your …’ he paused for a moment as if weighing his words, ‘your rather forthright manner might offend some of our valued clientele.’
‘You mean I’m too common to work in a shop?’ Rita leaned over the desk, gripping the edge as if she would like to tip it over and unseat him. ‘Is that what you’re saying, moosh?’
‘Don’t you take that tone with me.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises, Miss Platt. Or do I have to call the floor walker and have you removed?’
‘Him and whose army?’ Rita demanded angrily. ‘Anyway, I’m going. I wouldn’t stay in this dump a moment longer, and you’ve lost my custom, mate. So much for your blooming motto.’
Miranda stood up. ‘I think we’d better go, Rita.’
Rita marched past her to open the door, but she paused, seemingly determined to have the last word. ‘Oh, and your man, Scott. He’s not above trying to get off with girls by getting them drunk and making promises he can’t keep. If he’s the sort of bloke you employ it ain’t safe for a nice girl to work here.’ She stalked out of the office with her head held high.
Miranda made to follow her but Mr Wallace called her back. ‘Miss Beddoes, may I have a word in private?’
She turned to face him. ‘Yes?’
‘This has all been a terrible misunderstanding. I hope you won’t breathe a word of it to your grandfather.’
For a moment she almost felt sorry for him. ‘I think it’s best forgotten.’
‘And will you think about my offer of a job, Miss Beddoes? You are just the sort of person we’re looking for.’
Miranda thought quickly, considering her options. She had not finished the secretarial course and without qualifications she would be unlikely to get a job in an office. At least working in the department store would give her some financial independence, until the time came for her to join up. With both parents wholly absorbed in the war she was determined to do her bit when the opportunity arose. ‘I will take you up on that, Mr Wallace,’ she said slowly. ‘But only if you give Miss Platt a job too.’
Before he had a chance to speak, Rita poked her head round the door. ‘Are you coming, Manda?’
‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She waited until Rita was out of earshot. ‘Miss Platt really does need a job. Her mother died recently; she’s lost her home and she has no other family. She’s very bright and keen to get on, and I’m sure there must be something she could do in a big and successful store like Morris and Mawson.’
‘I suppose I might find something for her to do in packing. If your grandparents have taken her in that is a recommendation in itself. Major Beddoes is an important man in this town.’
‘Then can I take it that she’s got a job?’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Beddoes.’ He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a printed form. ‘Get her to fill this in and return it to me. I’ll start her in the packing department and see how she gets on, but I’ll be keeping an eye on Miss Platt. You can tell her that from me.’
‘Packing?’ Rita stared at Miranda in disbelief. ‘That old stuffed shirt has offered me a job in packing?’
It had started to rain and they were sheltering in the shop doorway. ‘Don’t go off at the deep end. It’s a job and you’ll earn some money. You need work if you’re going to save up enough to go back to London.’
Rita’s bottom lip trembled. ‘But I wanted to be a lady working in the perfume and cosmetics department.’
‘And you might yet. If you do well and try not to fly off the handle every five minutes, you could get promoted. You need to show them just what Rita Platt can do, and forget about Scott. He’s a pig, but you won’t be working with him. Unless, of course, you’re afraid you can’t cope.’
‘Me? Afraid? Don’t talk soft. I can handle men like him. I’ll have to when I’m a pin-up girl. They’ll be begging for signed photos and taking me out on dates to expensive restaurants. I’ll be a star.’
‘Of course you will. Now let’s get the bus home before we get soaked to the skin, and you can tell Granny the good news.’
The air raid siren screamed its warning signal just as Miranda, Rita and the rest of the staff walked through the shop doors. There was a moment of stunned silence followed by mild panic.
‘Is it a practice run, Mr Wallace?’ One of the older women clutched her hands to her heart as if she were about to collapse in a faint.
‘I don’t know. Everybody go downstairs to the basement. Mr Scott, make sure that everyone in your department leaves the shop floor.’ Mr Wallace rushed into his office and came out again with a tin hat on his head and a whistle in his hand. He blew a sharp blast as the terrified staff rushed towards the staircase. ‘Single file. Don’t rush. That’s an order.’
‘Give a chap a tin hat and a whistle and he thinks he’s Hitler,’ Rita
whispered, giggling.
‘Hush, he’ll hear you.’ Miranda gave her a warning look, but she doubted if Mr Wallace could have heard Rita’s comment above the agitated chatter of the women and the deeper voices of the men, who were all trying to appear cool and calm, even though some of them had pushed to the front.
‘Whatever happened to women and children first?’ Rita demanded in a loud voice.
‘I’ll look after you, love.’ A middle-aged man with dark hair greased back from his forehead and a thin pencil moustache like those favoured by Hollywood heart-throbs attempted to put his arm around her shoulders, but Rita slapped his hand away.
‘Give over, you silly bugger.’
‘Have you forgotten me already, Rio Rita? I’m Joe.’
‘Hurry along,’ Mr Wallace said with another sharp blast on his whistle. ‘No talking. Get under cover.’
‘It’s a practice. I know it is.’ A thin girl with suspiciously blonde hair pushed past Joe in an attempt to get to the stairs first. ‘Get out of my way.’
‘It’s a false alarm, Liz. Don’t blow a fuse, darling.’
‘Pig,’ she said, making a grab for the handrail. ‘You might think you’re God’s gift to women, but you’re not.’
‘This is a wonderful start to a new job,’ Miranda whispered, receiving a wink and a smile in response from Rita as they were swept downstairs to the basement.
When they were all assembled Mr Wallace carried out an impromptu roll call. Minutes later the all clear sounded and everyone trooped back upstairs to take their positions as the doors were opened and the first customers began to trickle in.
Miranda and Rita spent the first ten minutes in Mr Wallace’s office receiving their instructions. He sent Rita downstairs to the packing department, and she slouched off with her shoulders hunched in a mute gesture of rebellion against what she considered to be a menial position.
‘Now then, Miss Beddoes,’ he said smoothly. ‘I have great hopes for you and so I’m starting you off in the haberdashery department under the aegis of Mrs Dowsett, who is one of our longest serving and most respected employees. She will explain your duties.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wallace.’
He moved towards the doorway. ‘Follow me.’ He led her through the store, and having introduced her to the buxom lady behind the counter, he sauntered off to speak to a group of customers.
Mrs Dowsett seemed less than delighted to have Miranda assigned to her counter. She looked her up and down as if trying to find something in her attire to criticise. ‘I know your grandmother.’
Miranda was instantly wary. ‘I believe she’s quite well known.’
‘Notorious, I should say.’ Mrs Dowsett sniffed and continued to tidy the ribbon drawer. ‘You may finish this for me. When you’ve done that come to me and I’ll find you something else to do.’
‘Just a moment.’ Miranda caught her by the sleeve of her black dress. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Dowsett, but you can’t make remarks like that and just walk away.’
‘And who are you to question me? You are on dangerous ground, Miss Beddoes. I’ll allow such a piece of insolence to pass this once, and only because you are new here, but if I have cause to reprimand you for anything further you will find yourself in Mr Wallace’s office.’
‘But …’ Miranda bit her lip. She could see that this was not the time to press the matter further, but she was burning with indignation and even more determined to get to the bottom of such a defamatory remark. She set to and tidied the rolls of ribbon, and did all the mundane tasks allotted to her without comment. At lunchtime she met Rita outside the building and they walked to the seafront where they sat on a pile of sandbags and ate their meat paste sandwiches.
‘I’m down in the bloody basement,’ Rita said, swallowing a mouthful of food. ‘I’m working with that idiot Joe Hoskins, who thinks he’s the reincarnation of Rudolph bloody Valentino, and a young boy who’s a bit simple.’
Miranda took a sip from her bottle of Granny’s lemonade. ‘It’s a job, Rita. I hate mine too but until something better turns up, it looks as if we’ll have to put up with it.’
‘It makes me even more determined to get back to London as soon as I’ve saved up enough. I’m not hanging about in this place and getting me bum pinched by Joe Hoskins whenever he passes me in the corridor.’
‘He didn’t!’
‘He damned well did, and he got a slap around the chops for his pains.’
Miranda almost choked on her sandwich. ‘Good for you.’
‘I’m not going to be messed about with.’
Miranda glanced at the clock on the Esplanade. ‘Good Lord, look at the time. We’d best get back to work.’
‘Back to slavery, you mean.’ Rita scrambled to her feet.
Miranda stowed the bottle in her handbag and stood up. ‘At least you don’t have to work for an old cow like Mrs Dowsett. She’s said some nasty things about Granny and I want to know why.’
‘She’s probably just jealous. I’d ignore her if I was you.’ Rita linked her hand through the crook of Miranda’s arm. ‘C’mon. Back to the coalface.’
Halfway through the afternoon, Miranda was standing by while Mrs Dowsett demonstrated yet again how to measure material and cut to the required length. The customer waited patiently and Miranda tried to look interested, but she found her attention wandering. Mrs Dowsett seemed to have a sixth sense for such things and she paused. ‘Are you observing this, Miss Beddoes?’
The customer tut-tutted beneath her breath but it was still audible enough, and Mrs Dowsett smiled apologetically. ‘I am so sorry, madam. Training new girls is always a tedious process. Pay attention, please, Miss Beddoes.’ She cut the cloth, snapping the blades of the scissors with a flourish. ‘There, you see – a perfectly straight line with no wastage. Now you may fold and wrap Madam’s purchase.’
‘Yes, Mrs Dowsett.’ Outwardly meek but inwardly fuming, Miranda made a neat package and was about to give it to the customer when Mrs Dowsett snatched it from her.
She examined it closely. ‘It will do, but it’s a bit slipshod, Miss Beddoes. Do better next time.’ She passed it across the counter. ‘Young girls these days have to be taught everything. One cannot get the staff.’
‘Beddoes?’ The customer peered into Miranda’s face. ‘Are you related to Maggie Beddoes by any chance?’
Ignoring the warning look from Mrs Dowsett, Miranda smiled and nodded. ‘She’s my grandmother.’
‘I know her well. We’re both members of the Women’s Institute. Tell her that Doris Appleby sends her regards.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘Well, goodbye, dear,’ Mrs Appleby said, dropping the parcel into her basket. ‘Good luck with your new job.’ She acknowledged Mrs Dowsett with a brief nod of her head and walked off.
‘Don’t ever do that again,’ Mrs Dowsett hissed.
‘What have I done wrong now?’
‘And don’t take that tone with me, young lady. You are a junior here and you do not enter into personal conversations with customers.’
‘I’m sorry, but she spoke to me. All I said was …’
‘Miranda, is that really you?’ Isabel Carstairs edged her way through the crowded shop floor to approach the counter. ‘You didn’t tell me that you worked here.’
‘It’s my first day.’ Miranda shot a sideways glance at Mrs Dowsett who was now positively seething.
‘What did I just tell you, Miss Beddoes? This is not a cocktail party, although I hear there are plenty of those at Highcliffe.’
Isabel stiffened. ‘I beg your pardon, but I was speaking to my friend. I’m a customer and I don’t think Mr Mawson would be too happy to hear that one of his senior staff had been discourteous.’
Mrs Dowsett’s haughty expression faded into one of total chagrin. ‘I beg your pardon, madam. No offence intended.’
‘None taken,’ Isabel said, smiling. ‘Now, if I may have a word with your assistant perhaps you would like to attend to that lady who
is waving a pair of gloves in order to attract your attention.’
Mrs Dowsett moved off, every inch of her considerable frame bristling with indignation.
‘Izzie, that was very naughty of you,’ Miranda whispered. ‘I’ll be for it when you’ve gone.’
‘I don’t think she’d dare. Anyway, what are you doing here? I wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing, Miranda.’
‘It’s not, but I’m going to be staying in Weymouth for longer than I thought, and I have to do something. I was offered the job and I wanted to earn some money.’
‘Well, I admire your spirit.’ Isabel glanced over her shoulder as Mrs Dowsett finished serving the customer. ‘We can’t talk here. What about lunch tomorrow?’
‘We only get half an hour.’
‘How about dinner? To tell the truth, I’m so bored I could scream. I’ll pick you up at seven, if that’s all right with you. I’m sure Mrs Beasley can make us something delicious, despite rationing.’
‘Thanks. That sounds lovely.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. Bye, Miranda.’ Isabel leaned across the counter. ‘Don’t let the old tabby bully you.’ She strolled off towards the lingerie department.
Miranda waited for the inevitable dressing down, but Mrs Dowsett seemed to have her temper under control. However, she managed to exert her authority by sending Miranda down to the basement to tidy up the stockroom. In the narrow corridor at the bottom of the stairs she narrowly missed a collision with Rita, who was laden with parcels and small packages tied up with string. ‘Where are you going?’ Rita demanded. ‘Is there another air raid practice?’
‘No. I’ve been sent to tidy up the stockroom. Where are you going with those?’
‘There’s a van waiting in the delivery bay, apparently. You’ll never guess who’s driving for them.’
‘Who is it?’
‘The docket says T. Toop. At a guess I’d say that was our friend Tommy.’
‘Let’s hope he isn’t taking them in his handcart,’ Miranda said, chuckling.
‘Maybe they’ve got one of them bicycles with a big basket on the front.’ Rita pulled a face. ‘I’d give anything to see him pedalling along with his bony arms and legs stuck out at angles and a fag hanging out of the corner of his mouth.’