by Annie Murray
‘Have you been here long?’ He spoke in a relaxed way that put her at her ease a little.
‘Oh, no – only a few months.’
‘Really?’ He sounded impressed and turned to look directly at her, which brought an embarrassed flush to her face. ‘Where were you before?’
‘I was at Serck,’ she told him, trying to sound casual.
‘Oh, marvellous – that’s good . . .’
She wasn’t quite sure why this was so good, and it dawned on her that he was rather nervous of her, which somehow put her more at ease.
‘And you were working at Herbert’s?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I thought I’d go somewhere and do some time in a place that wasn’t the family firm – just for a while anyway. All good experience . . .’
He began to peel off as they got inside.
‘I’m going onto the floor for a bit.’ He turned, walking backwards as he spoke to her, moving towards the shop floor. See you up in the lions’ den!’
Katie laughed at this unexpected comment and heard his laughter too as he disappeared through the swing doors. She liked the way he was so light-hearted and ready for a joke.
She had to calm herself down as she climbed the stairs, because her face was all pink and she had a broad grin stretched across it. If only she didn’t blush so easily and give herself away. She stopped on the stairs and took some deep breaths.
‘Stop being so silly,’ she ticked herself off. ‘He was only making polite conversation with you – it doesn’t mean anything!’
But as she went into the office she could feel Lena Crosby staring curiously at her and felt herself blush even more. Even after she’d sat down at her desk, it was a long time before her heartbeat slowed to something approaching normal.
Over the next few days, whenever Simon Collinge came into the office, Katie always looked down and busily got on with her work. But sooner or later she would raise her head and become aware of his eyes fixed on her, though he was at his desk, seemingly wrapped in deep thought about a technical problem. She was astonished at his effect on her. She had never really believed all those romantic stories about women going weak at the knees, melting inside – or however they put it. Not until now. The very look of him, the curve of his long back, the lift of his hair in a boyish wave from his forehead, the way he sat hunched with his head in his hands, thinking hard, tapping his toes and sometimes drumming his fingers on the desk, the air of confidence he gave off – everything about his sheer masculine presence did make her feel, yes, soft and melting inside! And she was very embarrassed about it, because surely he was not looking at her on purpose, and she didn’t want to make a silly little fool of herself.
But he seemed to glance across at her often. Sometimes he would just raise an eyebrow in a humorous way, or pull up one side of his mouth in an uncertain smile. Soon he seemed to keep finding excuses to talk to her, passing her on the stairs up to the offices or on her way in and out of the building. They were only polite fragments of conversation. She had mentioned in the office that her mother had had the flu, and he asked if she was better. Or it was something about the weather, or the war. That was what everyone talked about – all the moans about rationing and shortages. But even this amount of attention felt very flattering to her and made her even more aware of him.
Katie, who had always made sure she was turned out well for work, found herself making an extra-special effort with her appearance. She always kept her clothes clean and well pressed, and her favourite was the navy suit and cream blouse that she mostly wore, knowing the outfit flattered her. Sometimes, instead of the jacket, she wore the skirt with a soft, cherry-coloured cardigan, which looked very striking against her dark hair. She made sure she kept her hair nicely trimmed, and it waved prettily along her shoulders. She rolled a piece of it and pinned it back from her face and knew it suited her. She knew she looked the best she could, under wartime restrictions.
Most of the day they were all in the office working flat out and there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation. Then one day, when Mr Graham was out of the office talking to a supplier, Simon Collinge finished dictating a letter to his shorthand typist and then, still in a businesslike voice, said, ‘Now, Mrs Crosby – I’d like you to pop out and see if you can find me some cigarettes, please.’ He fished in his pocket for money. ‘Here are my coupons – anything smokable will do.’
To Katie’s amazement, Mrs Crosby, who was a good few years older than both Katie and Mr Collinge, looked across at him with thinly veiled insolence and, tilting her head towards Katie, said, ‘Why can’t she go? She’s the office junior. And anyway, there won’t be any – I’ll have to go miles.’
Katie was shocked. What a way to talk to your boss! And she didn’t like the way Lena Crosby had tried to put her down.
If Simon Collinge was put out, he didn’t show it. He leaned on the edge of Mrs Crosby’s desk and, showing that he was not prepared to be contradicted, said, ‘Miss O’Neill works for Mr Graham, not for me. There’s no need to go far out of your way – just see what can be had round here. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, Miss Crosby . . .’
Lena Crosby got up, bristling with resentment and, with a nasty look from one to the other of them, went to get her coat.
‘Thank you,’ Mr Collinge called after her.
As Mrs Crosby left the room, a faint ‘Huh!’ from her emerged from behind the closing door.
‘I think I’ve just put my foot in it,’ Simon chuckled, and his eyes were full of amusement.
‘It’s cold out there,’ Katie said. ‘And she’ll have to queue – if there’re any cigarettes to be had.’ Although she couldn’t help noticing his expectation that someone would wait on him in this way, he was one of the bosses, however young, and she didn’t feel sorry for Mrs Crosby. She was too mean-spirited and vinegary. ‘I expect she just wanted to huddle up in here.’
‘Well, she’ll be back soon enough.’ He shook his head. ‘Not a great one for office banter, is she?’
‘Her husband’s a prisoner-of-war, apparently,’ Katie said.
‘Oh, is that the trouble? I hadn’t realized. But all the same . . .’
He picked a slide-rule up from the work table and turned it round in his hands in his usual restless way, pacing around the office until he somehow ended up perched on the edge of Katie’s desk. Finding him suddenly so close to her set her heart beating hard in self-conscious alarm. Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s just being chatty.
‘So – how’re you liking it here?’
‘It’s nice. I like it better than my last job.’ It felt like a silly answer, but what more was there to say?
‘Why’s that then? The stimulating company?’ He threw the rule up in the air and caught it just above her head, making her jump, then laugh.
Should she tell the truth: Because you’re here, because the pay’s better . . . ?
‘Well, it’s more interesting,’ she floundered.
He seemed to find this funny. She found that he was looking straight at her, interested, his grey eyes intent on her face as if he was looking right into her.
‘Tell me a bit about yourself,’ he said. ‘About Katie O’Neill – and not about work, I mean.’
Katie froze. All her life she had been conditioned to not telling people things. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. I just live with my mother. It’s all very boring, not like you, going to the university and everything.’
‘Well, yes – that was all right. I know I was lucky – but I was a complete flaming disaster when I got there.’ He started telling her jokes about things he’d done wrong or misunderstood; technical things. Katie didn’t really know what he was talking about, but she enjoyed his infectious laughter and, above all, that he wanted to talk to her. ‘Anyway, they let me stay on and finish, even though the war had started by then – I s’pose they thought we might all be useful for something when we came out the other end. I mean, going there was a privilege, I know tha
t, but in the end it was lots of blokes and machine tools and engineering. Nothing glamorous about it – and no nice girls like you. Not in engineering.’ He winked. ‘And in the end I knew I’d be back here, family firm and all that. Lucky again, I s’pose most would say.’
‘But isn’t that what you want?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Being here, running the firm and that?’
‘Oh – yes. I s’pose so,’ he said carelessly. ‘We’ve all got to do our bit. I’d have liked to join up really. Lads my age: it doesn’t feel right not going, even though you know really that you’re well out of it – well, if it’s anything like the last lot, anyway. Dad survived because he was running the firm. My uncle was killed out there in France. So I know that if we’ve managed to dodge Mr Hitler’s bombs, we’re the lucky ones being here.’
It hadn’t done him any harm, she thought. Good job, sporty car.
‘The only thing is . . .’ He was talking seriously now, with a boyish air of vulnerability. ‘In the long run it just feels as if it’s all been mapped out for me and I don’t have any say in it.’
She was touched that he would admit such feelings to her. But, genuinely puzzled, she said, ‘Isn’t it like that for most people?’
Simon Collinge gave a slightly bitter laugh. ‘Ah, I can see you’re a realist, Miss O’Neill, not a romantic.’
‘Am I?’ she was saying, not sure if this was a compliment, when Lena Crosby pushed the door open, her nose pink with cold. Finding Simon Collinge on the edge of Katie’s desk, her expression stiffened further into one of sour disapproval.
‘Your cigarettes,’ she said, holding them out with a martyred air as if they were something rather distasteful. ‘Lucky they had some at that place in Digbeth.’
‘Ah – thank you very much! Much obliged,’ Simon Collinge said, taking them across to his own desk. As Lena went to take off her coat, he turned to Katie and winked, and she had to hide her smile.
That evening as she left the works, it was already dark as usual. She was walking along towards Bradford Street when the car drew up alongside her.
‘Let me give you a lift home?’ He had leaned across and wound down the window.
‘Oh – no, it’s all right. ‘I’ve only got to go to Digbeth to get the bus. There’s no need for you to go out of your way.’
‘It’s not out of my way, I don’t think. Somewhere off the Stratford Road?’
‘Yes, but . . .’ She began to cave in. It would be so nice to get into a car instead of freezing at the bus stop. And did this mean . . . ? What did it mean? Was she being pursued, or was this just a more general friendliness? How were you supposed to tell?
He was jumping out and coming round to open the door for her. ‘Come along – hop in.’
The car smelled nicely of leather inside. She realized just how comfortably off the Collinges were. She had heard through the firm’s gossip that Simon did not live out in Solihull with his parents, but in a little house of his own, which his father had bought for him.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, settling into her seat. Just friendliness, she told herself firmly. She was so beneath him – why would he even look at her?
‘Much better in the summer with the top down,’ he said. ‘Then you can really feel the wind in your hair! Right,’ he went on, once they were both in their seats. ‘Tell me where I need to go – we’ll soon have you home. I get a few supplementary coupons to get me to and from work, and I’m sure they’ll stretch to include your place.’ They pulled away from the kerb. ‘Not that I’m in any hurry to be out of your company . . . In fact,’ he looked each way as they crossed over into Cheapside, ‘I’d say it was rather the opposite.’
So it was more than friendliness! Katie had a feeling of unreality. Here she was, sitting in Simon Collinge’s car, and he was saying these things to her. She glanced at his profile in the gloom. He was so handsome. Had he really said he wanted to spend time with her? She was full of tremulous feelings. Was this love – could she be in love with this man already?
‘Whereabouts do you live?’ she asked, hoping that didn’t sound too forward.
‘Kings Heath. I’ve got my own little place. The old man bought it, more as an investment really, but he said he didn’t think us living and working together forever was the best of ideas. Especially after my being at the university. They thought I ought to stand on my own feet. They’ve still got my brother living at home. My sister’s married – with a couple of kids.’ He peered out of the windscreen as they slowed down again. ‘It’s flaming dicey, this blackout driving . . . What about you – your family, I mean?’
‘Oh, there’s only me and Mom. No brothers or sisters. My father died when I was very small.’
‘That’s sad. My goodness, I can’t imagine that – growing up on your own. It must make you very independent.’
Katie thought back to her odd, secretive childhood. ‘I suppose everyone’s different,’ she said carefully.
She enjoyed bowling along in the car, passing a couple of buses on the way, and the blacked-out cars and trams. All too soon they were pulling up outside the house. Simon cut off the engine.
‘Well – thanks very much,’ she said, reaching for the handle.
‘Wait – just a minute.’ He put his hand on her arm. She leapt inside.
‘What is it?’ She tried to keep her voice steady.
‘Look, Katie – I know we work in the same office, and we all have to be careful of our behaviour and such like. But would you come out with me? For a drink or something? You’re – well, I think you’re a really nice girl and I’d like to get to know you better. I could call for you . . .’
She was so excited, her heart beating so fast, she could hardly think what to say. Simon Collinge, asking her out! But she wasn’t allowed out: what would Mom say? Her mind was working very fast. All she could think of was that she must say yes, that seeing him again was the only thing that mattered, whatever else. She’d get round Mom somehow.
‘I’d like that,’ she said, thinking how weak that sounded compared to what she meant.
‘Tomorrow? Go on: say yes!’
‘All right – yes!’
‘Good, tomorrow it is.’ She saw that he had expected her to agree, assumed he would get what he wanted in life, and for a second she felt a niggle of resistance to him. But she wanted it too, so much! And he looked so delighted she had agreed that it took away any doubt. He leaned quickly towards her, and for a dizzy moment she thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but instead he released the door and pushed it open.
‘Well, good. Marvellous! I’ll see you in the morning. Goodbye, Katie. Have a good evening.’
‘Bye,’ she said, still recovering from the non-kiss. ‘Thanks for the lift.
‘My pleasure.’
When he’d driven away, his hand just visible waving, she stood outside the house, hugging herself, not noticing the cold. Simon, she muttered. He’d asked her out with him just like that! Simon, Simon. Tomorrow!
Thirteen
Does it show, she wondered the next morning as she walked into the office. Can anyone see that I’m – well, that I can’t stop thinking about him? That a smile keeps wanting to break out all over my face? She thought of her mother, of the way Vera had described falling in love with her father. Wasn’t this how it was supposed to be?
Vera had commented on her early arrival home the night before, and Katie had told her that she had been lucky with the bus. The first of the lies. How easily it slipped out. What else could she do with a mother who wanted to control every aspect of her life? She compounded the lie by saying that she had been asked to work late the next evening, that there was a rush on. Vera looked put out, but she couldn’t argue.
Simon Collinge was not there when she arrived, which was a relief and gave Katie time to compose herself. Mrs Crosby was the only one in the room, sitting behind her typewriter, with a compact open, putting her lipstick on, a hard pink that did not make her powder-dusted face look any more approac
hable.
‘Morning,’ Katie said. It seemed a good idea to try and keep Mrs Crosby as sweet as possible, though it was an uphill struggle.
The other typist snapped her compact shut and gave Katie a look of unveiled dislike. ‘Morning,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Miss.’
Catty bitch, Katie thought to herself. She sat at her own desk and was looking through her notebook in the cold winter light from the long windows when Mr Graham came billowing in.
‘Morning, ladies!’
Katie’s heart, which had started turning somersaults when the door opened, steadied again.
‘Now,’ Mr Graham said, struggling out of his coat. ‘Let’s get going.’
A few minutes later the door opened again. Katie glanced up in confusion, her cheeks reddening, but Simon Collinge swept into the room in his normal way, cheerful and relaxed, rubbing his hands together.
‘Morning, everyone! Flaming cold, isn’t it?’
His smile washed over everyone. Katie smiled back, politely. Business as usual – no one must know.
But as she was about to go back to work, she saw Mrs Crosby staring at her across the room with a knowing, spiteful expression.
She met Simon Collinge as arranged, round the corner from the works. Katie was relieved to know that Lena Crosby had gone home: she had seen her go mincing out of the office before Katie left herself, without saying a word, her camel coat belted tightly round her thin waist. Katie wrinkled her nose rudely at the woman’s departing back.
‘Goodnight to you too,’ she muttered, in Lena Crosby’s whingeing voice.
Then, dithery with nerves, she gathered up her things and hurried to the place where Simon was to pick her up. That was what she called him in her mind already: Simon, Simon . . .
His car came cautiously along with its blacked-out lights and braked beside her. Once again, he jumped out and helped her in, and she liked the way he was so gentlemanly. Not that she had any other males to compare him with except Uncle Patrick.