She supposed her face had already given her away and after closing the door behind her she walked across to stand in front of the desk. He waved at the chair she usually sat in while he drank his tea or coffee and they had their little chats but today she remained standing. ‘I need to ask you something, sir,’ she said evenly.
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘Did you tell Mr Mallard to give me the job in the restaurant? ’ She was watching him closely but the only reaction was a wrinkling of his brow.
‘I’m sorry, Amy, I don’t quite understand.’ He leaned back in the big chair, resting his elbows on the upholstered arms. ‘Mr Mallard has offered you a position in the restaurant?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And why would you think I had asked him to do that?’ She knew her face was red because she could feel the hot colour burning her skin. ‘I didn’t, not at first, but then . . .’ She didn’t know how to go on. She took a deep breath. ‘People seem to think it was because you had singled me out for the position. They think it was favouritism.’
‘People?’
‘I . . . I can’t say who, sir. I’m sorry. I promised, you see, and I wouldn’t want to get anyone into trouble.’
‘That’s not good enough. If there is talk of this nature it needs to be stopped. I insist on knowing, Amy.’
She hadn’t heard him speak in such a hard voice before and now a sense of panic was uppermost. He was going to be awkward and she couldn’t blame him but she hadn’t been prepared for this. She threw caution to the wind. ‘The thing is . . .’
‘Yes, what is the thing?’ he asked when she stopped in confusion.
‘The thing is most of the people employed here have families who are out of work. I know the slump is bad in the south where you come from, Mr Callendar, but it’s worse here. The shipbuilding and the mines are on short time and shifts are being cut, everyone’s scared to death of the workhouse. ’ She stopped, he wasn’t interested in all this. ‘I really can’t say who told me,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘I see.’ Charles waved at the chair again. ‘Well, sit down at least.’
Nothing more was said until she sat down. A good ten seconds ticked by and then Amy said again, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologising, for crying out loud.You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’
The bark in his voice brought her stiff and tense but to her horror she felt the pricking of tears at the back of her eyes. She couldn’t cry, not in front of Mr Callendar, she told herself, fighting the tears.
Then he said in a much quieter voice, ‘I’m the one who is sorry, Amy, for snapping at you, but this sort of thing makes me so mad. Look, I had absolutely nothing to do with Mr Mallard offering you the job, all right? Mr Mallard is my manager and he makes those sort of decisions with the staff who work here. I still like to have the final say in any new staff we take on but once people are working here, any promotions are left to Mr Mallard. Like the old Chinese proverb goes, why keep a dog and bark yourself?’
He was trying to make a little joke but for the life of her she couldn’t respond by smiling. But his voice had carried the ring of truth and she didn’t doubt him.
‘If Mr Mallard thinks you’re good enough to work in the restaurant it’s because you are and that’s all.’ He paused. ‘I should imagine the extra money will come in very handy at home so just look forward to the new opportunity and forget all this. I’m afraid when you get a bunch of women working together there are always petty jealousies and friction if one person does particularly well.’ He grimaced. ‘Oh dear, did that sound bigoted? Emmeline Pankhurst would be turning in her grave, no doubt. Thirteen years after the vote for women and I make a statement like that. I suppose you’re a champion of women’s rights like most girls these days.’
Was she? She didn’t really know enough about all that or lots of other things if it came to it but that was another thing she could look up at the library when she got the chance. Mr Callendar often set her mind thinking by the odd little remark he made, and since her chats with him she had realised how ignorant she was.
She smiled, eager to promote the lightness which had come into their conversation. ‘If by that you mean me telling my aunt I wasn’t going to be chief cook and bottle-washer at home any more now I was working, then yes.’
He nodded. ‘Good grief, yes, I’d forgotten about that. It caused ructions for days, didn’t it? But you were wise to start as you meant to carry on.’
‘That’s what Kitty said.’ There followed a silence during which their eyes met and held. Suddenly Amy felt flustered. She was finding Ellen’s words had changed the way she looked at Mr Callendar somehow. She’d always regarded him as her employer, and during their talks she had often felt sad for him when he had revealed what his family were like, but now she was seeing him as a man. A very attractive, engaging man. And she realised just how much she would miss their private talks if they stopped.
She stood up hastily. ‘I had better get back to the café.’
‘Of course. And please don’t concern yourself about this.’ He stood up with the politeness which was habitual with him and she inclined her head before turning and walking over to the door. She left the room without glancing backwards.
Dear gussy! Alone again, Charles plumped down in his seat with enough force to make the chair creak in protest. Well, he had known it would happen one day, hadn’t he? Ironic it had come about by something he’d had no hand in whatsoever, though. But of course all these months of having her bring his morning coffee and afternoon tea had set the tongues wagging, and he had arranged that. But the need to talk to her, to find out more about this child woman had been overwhelming in the beginning, and then the more he’d discovered, the more fascinated he’d become. And she was fascinating, Miss Amy Shawe.
He swivelled round in the chair to face the window. But she was still a complete innocent, even if her outward form had matured dramatically in the last year. It had seemed quite incredible to him at first, the fact that she had come from the tangle of mean streets in this dockside town and yet was as she was. Damn it, he’d been an arrogant so-and-so when he had first arrived here. A grim smile touched his mouth. Thinking that only the upper classes could have finer feelings. He had since learned that working-class respectability was fiercer and more unforgiving than anything he had known in his hitherto sheltered life.
He half turned, reaching into the drawer for the whisky bottle and glass. He would have to stop drinking so much. It was something he told himself several times a day, every day. The neat alcohol warmed him and the bottle had gone down an inch or two by the time he replaced it in its hideyhole.
He shouldn’t have put Amy in the position where she could become a focus of common gossip. He’d had his warning from Robin even before the girl had started working for him. He sighed, shaking his head. But he had found he was selfish where Amy was concerned, selfish and weak. The only thing to his credit was that he hadn’t told her how he felt, nor would he until she was some months older, perhaps approaching sixteen or just after. Of course he had no idea how she’d view his attentions or whether she would think he was too old for her. She liked him, but liking wasn’t loving.
He sat for some minutes more, lost in thought, his eyes cloudy, and this time when he reached into the drawer he did not reproach himself.
Chapter 8
Bruce glanced round the table as Amy told them her news. His family’s reactions varied but none was a surprise to him. His father was genuinely pleased for her, his mother was thinking only of the extra housekeeping coming her way, Eva was as jealous as blazes and Harriet, as ever, was taking her cue from Eva. Betsy and Ruth and the youngest two were interested only in their dinner. These responses, if not all favourable, were relatively normal. And then there was his brother. Bruce turned his head and looked directly at Perce who was stolidly eating, his eyes on his plate, but his brother’s impassive stance didn’t fool him.
When had it first dawned on him that Perce liked Amy, and moreover that his cousin was aware of Perce’s feelings and did not welcome them? He wasn’t sure. It could only be a matter of weeks ago. He was probably as thick as two short planks not to have noticed earlier.
Bruce speared a piece of mutton with his fork and began to chew, his thoughts centred on Perce. He had hero-worshipped his brother at one time. Perce had always been broader and bulkier than him and had made sure the school bullies left him alone when they were younger. Lately, though, since Perce had got mixed up with Stan and his cronies, his brother had changed. Or perhaps he’d always had a bit of a nasty streak, like their Granda Shawe, and he’d never noticed. Whatever, since they had been on short time he had the feeling Perce was sailing close to the wind more and more, involving himself in shady deals with the motley crew from the East End he was so pally with. Not that his mam minded, not with Perce slipping her extra housekeeping often as not. Perce wasn’t mean, he’d say that for him.
Thomas, sitting at the side of him, spluttered over a piece of the mutton stew he was eating, half choking, and Bruce’s mind returned to concrete things for a moment. ‘Steady on, you.’ He patted the small boy on the back, half laughing, and Thomas’s bright eyes laughed back at him. It was no coincidence the child was sitting next to him. Thomas looked up to him in the same way he himself had looked up to Perce in years gone by, and the pair of them had a bond which didn’t exist with his other siblings.
He took his eyes from the child and glanced at his father who was congratulating Amy on her move to the restaurant.
Ronald’s gaze met his in the next instant and as though he knew Bruce was the only member of the family who would give the right response, he said, ‘Doing all right for herself, isn’t she? Twelve months and she’s already on her way up.’
Bruce smiled at his father but spoke directly to his cousin when he said, ‘More than all right. You’ll be manageress of that place before you’re finished, lass.’
Amy’s reply was lost in the harsh scraping of Perce’s chair as he stood up. ‘I’m off. Business in town.’
‘Business?’ Ronald’s voice was sharp, and not for the first time Bruce felt his father was as suspicious of Perce’s activities as he was. ‘What business are you doing at this time of night?’
Perce turned at the kitchen door and looked at them all, his handsome face unsmiling. He shrugged. ‘Probably nowt,’ he said offhandedly. ‘A pal of mine mentioned a boat brought in some damaged goods they were going to sell off cheap but there might be nowt in it.’
More likely goods that fell off the back of a lorry. Bruce stared at his brother. But if Perce wanted to risk a spell inside, that was up to him. He was sick of challenging him about it. And he was glad Perce was going out; he wanted to ask Amy if Perce had tried it on at all but there always seemed to be someone or other about. Perhaps tonight he’d be able to have a quiet word with her. He had thought more than once lately about striking out down south, especially since he had been on short time, but he didn’t like the idea of Amy being left without any protection if Perce had his eye on her. Not that he thought that Perce would try to make her do anything she didn’t want to. Did he?
As Perce left the house, Bruce was forced to recognise he really wasn’t sure.
An hour later Bruce had his opportunity to ask Amy about Perce. Eva and Harriet and the twins were playing outside, the two younger children were in bed and Ronald and May were arguing heatedly in the kitchen, a not uncommon occurrence. Amy had taken a pile of mending through to the sitting room and was tackling a torn shirt sleeve when Bruce walked in.
‘They’re at it again, tearing strips off each other.’ He shook his head wearily.‘Why can’t they give it a rest now and again?’
There was no reply to be made to this. Instead she tried to lighten his uncharacteristically melancholy mood. ‘Is this one of your shirts and, if so, what on earth have you been doing to tear it so badly? The sleeve’s hanging on by a thread.’
He glanced at the offending article. ‘It’s Perce’s.’
He sensed rather than saw her recoil, and when she quietly put the shirt back in the basket and brought out one of Thomas’s little vests, he sat up straighter on the hard horse-hair sofa and said without any preamble, ‘Has Perce been bothering you?’
‘What?’ The small vest fell out of her fingers.
‘He has, hasn’t he? What’s he said? What’s he done?’
There were a few moments of silence in which he imagined all sorts of things before she said, ‘He hasn’t done anything.’
‘But he’s said something? Something that’s frightened you?’
Again the hesitation before she said, ‘No. No, he hasn’t.’
He didn’t believe her but he couldn’t very well drag the truth out of her. ‘If he does anything, I want you to tell me, all right? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Whether she understood him or not he never got to find out because his father stomped into the room in the next moment, his face as black as thunder. ‘You coming for a jar?’
Bruce stared at his father. Unlike quite a few of the men they worked with, his father rarely frequented public houses, even on pay day. He would sometimes have a bottle of beer at home but that was normally when he or Perce had brought a couple in, and this had happened less and less since they had been on short time. His father’s only indulgence was his baccy.
‘Now?’ Bruce asked, looking up into his father’s furious face.
‘Aye, now.’
Bruce got to his feet. The row was probably a continuation of the one the night before; his mam never let anything drop.
Amy watched them go. She was aware of her aunt banging about in the kitchen but she didn’t go in to her, her mind preoccupied with her conversation with Bruce. She was glad her uncle had come in when he had. She didn’t lie very well but she couldn’t tell Bruce the truth. If he started on Perce, there was no knowing where things would end. And it wasn’t as if Perce had done anything since the time he’d told her she was going to be his lass. He might well have forgotten all about it; he had girlfriends, after all. This thought carried no conviction. She only had to catch Perce’s eye now and again to know he still wanted her.The expression on his face at these moments had the power to make her flesh creep.
She began to apply neat stitches to the little vest, her thoughts causing her to frown as she worked. If it wasn’t for the knowledge of how much it would upset her grandma, she would ask Aunt Kitty if she could move in with her and Mr and Mrs Price. They would be happy to have her, she knew they would, but her gran wouldn’t understand why she wanted to leave Uncle Ronald’s and she couldn’t very well tell her about Perce. If her gran then told her granda he’d twist it round so it was all her fault somehow, and Perce would probably deny everything anyway. A huge family row would ensue and it would be her gran who would be the most upset. No, she had to stick it here, Perce or no Perce, but if he came out in the open and said anything else she would make it plain she hadn’t changed her mind and never would.
She sighed, breaking the thread to the vest with her teeth and then reaching into the basket for another garment.
It was some time later when the front door knocker banged. Once upon a time she would have jumped up and answered the door herself, now she waited for her aunt to do it. She wasn’t going to go back to being at everyone’s beck and call and it was little things like this that set the tone, she’d found. She still did plenty to help round the house - she glanced at the basket of mending - but these days it wasn’t taken for granted and her aunt actually thanked her now and again.
She heard voices and then the sound of someone being shown into the front room. Her aunt popped her head round the sitting-room door in the next moment and the look on her face brought Amy to her feet. ‘It’s the Father,’ May whispered as Amy hurried over to her. Father Lee had come partly out of retirement the year before when the situation with the young priest had be
come sensitive, and now it was the elderly priest who made any necessary house calls. ‘Father Fraser rang him and asked him to come round.’
‘Is it Gran?’ Amy’s hand clutched at her throat and all the colour left her face.
‘No, no, it’s your granda. He was took bad at work apparently. Can you go and fetch your uncle from the Blue Bell? It would be the one night he’s out drinking. I don’t know what the Father will think.’
Amy, her eyes wide and questioning now, began to say, ‘What’s happened to—’ but her aunt cut her off with an urgent flap of her hand.
‘Get your hat and coat and go now. And be sure to tell him the Father’s waiting to talk to him. And tell Eva and the others to come in while you’re about it, I didn’t realise it was so late.Your uncle at the pub and the bairns out playing in the dark, the Father will think we’re as bad as the McHaffies in Newcastle Road.’
The McHaffies were a family notorious for their in-sobriety and neglect of their numerous dirty-nosed offspring, and knowing that whatever had befallen her grandfather, the priest catching them on the hop would upset her aunt more, Amy said, ‘No, no he won’t, he knows you and Uncle Ronald too well for that.’ She brushed past her aunt as she spoke and hurried into the kitchen and through to the scullery where her outdoor clothes were hanging on their peg.
The Rainbow Years Page 13