Threads of Silk

by Grieve, Roberta

  ‘That young man never was interested in work,’ Norah said tartly. ‘I could understand it when he thought his brother would take over. But, he’s the only son now Philip’s dead – the mill would have gone to him eventually.’

  Ellie bent to pick up the teacups but Norah detained her. ‘Let’s stay out here a little longer – it’s a lovely evening.’

  Norah had cut the grass earlier and the sweet smell lingered on the still air. The borders were awash with spring colours which glowed in the deepening dusk and overhead a couple of early swallows coasted on the warm breeze in search of a late supper. Ellie was reluctant to spoil the perfect moment but there was something else on her mind.

  ‘I know I haven’t much experience of business,’ she began hesitantly. ‘But I’m sure the mill was doing all right, although Mr Turner told me that things went downhill after they stopped producing parachute silk. He said they’ve been losing money ever since. But, according to the books, they should still be making a profit.’

  ‘You did tell me things were in a bit of a muddle when you first started there,’ Norah said. ‘After he lost his son, the old man went to pieces – lost interest in the business altogether for a while. As you’ve said, Michael isn’t much help – only interested in chasing girls and swanning around in fast cars.’

  ‘I suppose that’s it – as you say, things were in a muddle. Maybe I’ve got it wrong.’ Ellie changed the subject, asking teasingly how things were going with Trevor. Norah spent a lot more time at the café these days. Her home-made cakes were now a regular item on the menu and it seemed that Gloria was off the scene for good.

  Ellie smiled, pleased that her friend was happy, but she had other things on her mind. She’d sorted out all the old paperwork and the office was now well organized. Everything was ready for the final stock-take before the new owner, Alex Cameron, took over. But she was worried about what she thought were discrepancies. If only she could discuss it with Mr Turner, but he was hardly ever there these days. She’d mentioned it to Michael and he’d laughed, saying she was mistaken. It wasn’t her mistake though – she was sure of that.

  Although no one was supposed to know until it had been officially announced, news of the take-over leaked out, causing consternation among the weavers. At lunch time next day Jackie accosted Ellie. ‘It’s all round the factory. Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be friends.’

  ‘I was told in confidence,’ Ellie said defensively, biting her lip as she remembered that she had told Norah.

  ‘Well, I think we should have been warned if we’re about to lose our jobs,’ Jackie told her huffily.

  ‘I’m sorry – you’re right. It was just as much of a blow to me, you know.’ Ellie touched her friend’s arm, aware that the other girls were listening. ‘But I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m sure the new owner will keep you all on. It’s not as if the mill’s closing down altogether.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard,’ Jackie said, hunching her shoulders and moving away as the bus drew up.

  The next day the staff assembled in the weaving-shed, where Mr Turner informed them of the take-over and introduced the new owner. Ellie had already met Alex Cameron. He had spoken to her about her role in the firm just before the meeting and she’d been reassured by his firm handshake and the direct look from his grey eyes.

  ‘Will Turner has told me how much he relies on you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to depend on you, too, Miss Scott – or may I call you Helen?’

  ‘My friends call me Ellie,’ she told him.

  She liked Alex Cameron and felt that the business couldn’t be in better hands. Her only concern was that he’d told her Michael Turner would stay on as manager.

  Alex stood on a box and looked over the twenty or so heads gathered in front of the machines, smiling down at them as they shuffled their feet apprehensively.

  ‘I know the news over the take-over has come as a shock. However, before I go any further, I would like to reassure you all that your jobs are not in jeopardy. And, for the time being at least, we will continue to produce silk fabrics.’ There was murmuring and shuffling of feet and he held up a hand for silence.

  ‘You may have heard rumours that changes are planned – and it’s true. Change is inevitable – not just here, but in the wider economy of the country. We must move with the times, and that means updating our practices and our machinery. But, to implement those changes and to make Turner’s a thriving business once more I shall need workers.’ He paused and pointed a finger, encompassing them all. ‘You.’

  There were collective sighs of relief and Ellie realized that there’d been a very real fear of job losses.

  Alex then told them that, as he would have to make frequent trips back to Manchester to deal with his other business interests, he had decided to keep Michael on as his manager. ‘So, although Turner’s will no longer be a family firm, the interest and traditions developed over the years by the Turners and their forebears will, I hope, still continue.’

  Alex smiled and stepped down from the box, moving among the machines, shaking hands and greeting by name all his new employees.

  Ellie caught Jackie’s eye and walked towards her. ‘You’re not still angry with me, are you? I felt really bad – not saying anything.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m sorry I got a bit huffy – but when rumours start flying round, you don’t know what to believe. And I like my job here.’

  ‘So do I. What do you think of our new boss, then?’

  Jackie’s eyes sparkled. ‘He’s quite a dish. If I wasn’t spoken for already, I wouldn’t mind….’ She giggled. ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Don’t think so – not that I’m interested. Besides, he strikes me as being more interested in business than in personal relationships.’

  Jackie laughed, nodding towards Michael, who was talking quietly to his father. His face was flushed and Ellie wondered what they were discussing.

  ‘Pity he’s not going instead of his father,’ Jackie said. ‘The creep.’

  Ellie shuddered. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Anyway I’m sure Mr Cameron won’t let him get away with as much as his father did.’

  ‘Yes, he looks like he’s not easily fooled,’ Jackie said. ‘Who knows, Michael may mess things up so badly that Cameron will give him the sack.’

  Ellie hoped her friend was right. Her job would be so much easier if Michael was out of the way.

  Alex Cameron came through to the office from the old throwing-shed, a swatch of samples in his hand. He was frowning as he flicked through them.

  Ellie looked up from her column of figures and smiled at him. ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t quite cracked it yet – but I’ll keep trying,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll come right eventually,’ she said encouragingly. From the moment they’d met six months ago, Ellie had been impressed with Alex Cameron’s dynamism. He radiated energy – from the fierce grey eyes to the large capable hands which moved expressively as he outlined his ideas. She also felt comfortable with him. He was one of the few men she knew who didn’t look her up and down with a certain gleam in his eye. And he also spoke to her as an equal, never assuming that she wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.

  ‘I’ve invested a lot of money in this venture,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to fail.’

  ‘But you’re still making cloth in the Manchester mill – and we’re doing all right here. A new order came in this morning,’ Ellie said.

  ‘I’m not bothered about the silk. If things go to plan we’ll be putting in new machines and making the new fabric before too long.’

  The dilapidated throwing shed had been cleared of all the old and broken machines that had been stored there for years. The roof had been mended and the interior painted white to reflect the light. Alex had cleaned up and renovated some of the old machines for use in his experiments, including the old hand-loom.

  There was also a new machine
, lovingly tended by Donald Blair, an old friend of Alex’s, who had recently joined the firm to help with the experiments. Donald was so confident of their eventual success that he’d moved his wife and family down from Manchester.

  Alex, seeing Ellie’s genuine interest, smiled at her. ‘I know you think making silk is the only thing that matters – I admire your dedication to the business, especially as Mr Turner told me you’re still fairly new to it. But we have to move forward. We’ve been struggling against the import of cheap ready-made silk and cotton from India for years – and now there’s all these synthetic fabrics coming on the market. We’re making a type of nylon ourselves up in Manchester.’

  ‘I know – horrid slippery stuff that’s supposed to not need ironing,’ Ellie said with a cheeky grin.

  ‘That’s the whole point of these experiments,’ Alex said, perching on the edge of the desk and displaying the samples. ‘Imagine if you could make a material that looks and feels like silk but has the properties of nylon – durability, non-iron and so on. That’s what I’m trying to do – make a combination thread – part man-made, part natural fibre. It’s been done before, of course – but not with silk.’

  Ellie fingered the material, smiling at his enthusiasm. The sample squares were easily pulled out of shape and she knew that if they were made up into a garment it would soon become baggy and unwearable. Earlier samples had turned out coarse and scratchy or had not held the dye well. There were also problems controlling the build-up of static as the thread passed through the winding machine.

  ‘If we can’t solve that we can’t proceed. It’s one of the biggest problems with synthetic fibres,’ Alex said.

  ‘If anyone can do it, you can. You’re obsessed.’ Ellie laughed and he laughed with her.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But that’s how most new things come about – the inventors wouldn’t give up even though everybody else thought they were mad.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘I came to ask if you’d get me a cup of coffee – I need something to keep me going.’

  ‘OK. I’ll bring some for Donald too, shall I?’ Ellie got up and went towards the door. In old Mr Turner’s day the workers had brought their own sandwiches and flasks. Now Alex had turned one of the disused buildings into a rest room, containing a small kitchen area with an electric kettle and fridge.

  Ellie welcomed the chance of a break and a walk across the yard in the fresh air. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil Jackie came in with one of the other girls. They were laughing as they flopped into chairs and got out their cigarettes. That was another of Alex’s innovations – the chance for the workers to have a cigarette in comfort. There was a strict rule against lighting up in the storerooms and weaving-sheds, with instant dismissal for anyone caught breaking it. In the past it had been the custom to sneak out and have a quick puff in the shelter of the porch. Naturally enough, in bad weather it was tempting to hide behind one of the machines or bales of material. Now, there was no excuse and consequently less risk of fire in the mill.

  ‘I was gasping for that,’ Jackie said as she took a long drag.

  Her friend held the packet out to Ellie but she shook her head. The kettle came to the boil and she filled two mugs and brought them over to the table.

  ‘What about you?’ Jackie asked.

  ‘I’m making some for Alex and Donald – I’ll take mine over to the office as well,’ Ellie said, refilling the kettle at the sink. She turned to her friend. ‘That’s a pretty blouse.’

  Jackie had undone her overall, revealing pale-blue silk with an embroidered collar. ‘Made it myself,’ she said proudly.

  ‘It is silk, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course – only the best for me,’ Jackie laughed. ‘I made it from an offcut – well two, actually. It was hard to get two matching pieces big enough though.’

  Ellie remembered that the weavers were allowed to take offcuts – the ragged pieces of fabric left as the roll came off the machine. Sometimes material would get damaged or smeared with machine oil. The scraps were put in a box by the door and everyone was allowed to help themselves.

  ‘Why don’t you do the same?’ Jackie asked her.

  ‘I’m no good at sewing,’ Ellie said. But Jackie had given her an idea.

  When she got back to the office, Alex had disappeared again. She went through to the laboratory, once the old throwing-shed. The two men had their heads together, intent on the machine which tested the breaking strain of the thread, as well as the amount it had stretched under tension.

  ‘Maybe this one will work, Donald,’ Alex said.

  His colleague nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ve got to adjust the acrylic fibre to match the breaking strain of the natural thread. Once we’ve calculated that, we’ll be home and dry.’ He indicated the pointer which measured the tension on the thread.

  Neither of them noticed as Ellie put the coffee down beside them and she smiled as she went back to her desk.

  Perusing her sheet of figures once more, her smile turned to a frown. There was definitely something wrong. Now she had a good idea why Turner’s hadn’t been making the profits it should. She could no longer put off talking to Alex about it. But would she be able to hold his attention long enough to make him see how serious it was? And, wrapped up in his experiments, would he really care?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ellie didn’t get the chance to talk to Alex before he dashed off on one of his frequent trips to Manchester, saying that Michael would sort out any problems. But she was sure now that Michael was the problem.

  This time Alex was gone for six weeks and Ellie didn’t know what to do. Whenever Michael came into the office she bit her lip and clenched her fist. She was sure that if she was measured on the thread-testing machine she’d find she’d reached her own breaking strain. She laughed at herself, dismissing the fanciful thoughts. All the same, she willed her boss to return soon. He’d have to listen now.

  She’d had her suspicions before, and they’d been confirmed when a customer phoned asking why his order was late. Michael told her there’d been a delay in the delivery of the thrown silk from their new supplier in Manchester.

  But Ellie was sure they’d received it. She remembered the invoice arriving and Alex signing the cheque in payment just before he went away. Surely she hadn’t made a mistake and paid for goods not received. And hadn’t Jackie told her how quickly they’d managed to get the order out? Or was that for another customer?

  She smiled at Michael, appearing to accept his explanation. But when he left the office, she went through the invoices carefully, then phoned the supplier to check the delivery date.

  On the bus going home that evening she asked Jackie how soon the bolts of silk would be ready for packing. Somehow she wasn’t surprised when her friend told her they’d gone off the previous week. But what had happened to them if the customer hadn’t received them?

  Puzzling over it in bed that night she remembered the strange van that had been parked near the loading bay a few days previously. Michael and someone she’d never seen before had disappeared in the direction of one of the disused buildings down near the stream. When she asked Michael who it was he’d told her it was an old friend who’d dropped in to see him. She didn’t believe him but his bold stare deterred her from asking more questions.

  Now, she was sure that Michael was working some sort of fiddle – maybe selling their fabric privately and pocketing the money himself. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. Remembering the muddle the books had been in when she first came and how an apparently thriving firm seemed to be losing money, Ellie was sure it had been going on for some time. How could Michael cheat his own father, especially when he must have known it would mean the loss of the family business? Maybe he just didn’t care, Ellie thought indignantly. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it. She must find a way of stopping him.

  It wouldn’t be easy now that he was in and out of the office so much. For a while, he’d left her alone and she’d
thought that at last he had got the message that she wasn’t interested in him. Lately though, he’d taken to sitting on the edge of her desk again, watching her work. Had he realized that she was suspicious?

  If only Alex would get back.

  The cottage was so quiet that Ellie could hear the rain on the roof and the wind in the trees. Norah was at the café, where she seemed to spend even more time lately. Usually on a Saturday Ellie went in to Chelmsford on the bus to shop or go to the pictures but she didn’t fancy it in this weather.

  She wandered aimlessly from room to room, peering out at the sodden garden through the streaming windows. It was a good time to try out her idea.

  She’d never painted on silk before but before long she was totally absorbed, and her concerns about Michael faded into the background. She became fascinated by the way the colours sank into the material, giving a soft muted feel to the design. She used her watercolour tubes and a wet on wet technique which seemed to work well with the design she was doing. But if she wanted a hard edge, how would she stop the colours running into each other? The other problem was that the colours wouldn’t be fast.

  Ellie bit her lip. There must be a way: special paints perhaps. She’d ask at the art shop next time she was in Chelmsford.

  She sat back and looked at the finished design. Now she was ready to transfer it to a larger piece of fabric. How lucky she’d been to get that long narrow piece off the end of the roll. It had an oil smear in one corner, but she could cut that off and still have enough left for a scarf. Her sewing skills weren’t good enough for the fine stitches she’d need on this delicate material and she decided to tease out the threads at the edge to make a fringe.