Now and then Bel and Miss Snow worked together, but not very often for their work was different. Bel did most of her work in Mr. Brownlee’s room and was summoned by Mr. Wills when he required her services.
One morning when Mr. Brownlee had been away for about a week Bel was summoned by Mr. Wills and given a letter to type. It was to Mr. William Masterman offering him the appointment of agent to Messrs. Copping, Wills and Brownlee at Leith.
For a moment Bel hesitated and then she said, “But what about Mr. Anderson?”
“Anderson?” exclaimed Mr. Wills. “What d’you mean? There was some talk of Anderson but Masterman is older and has had a great deal more experience, besides he can take up the post at once. The other man isn’t free till September.”
“But I thought it was agreed, Mr. Wills.”
“Agreed!” exclaimed Mr. Wills irritably. “It was discussed of course but I’ve changed my mind about it. I suppose I can change my mind without reference to you, can’t I?”
“Mr. Anderson’s appointment has been confirmed.”
“Confirmed? How d’you know?”
Bel had every reason to know for she had written the letter to Mr. Anderson confirming his appointment. She explained this as tactfully as she could but Mr. Wills was angry—he was also incredulous. Bel was obliged to fetch a copy of the letter from the file and show it to him before he would believe her.
He snatched it out of her hand and read it. “Did Brownlee sign this?” he demanded.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Wills,” she replied.
The affair was most uncomfortable and Bel was distressed about it. Perhaps it was foolish to be distressed, for it certainly was not her fault. Mr. Wills had been annoyed with her and thought her interfering—but what could she have done? Should she have held her peace and allowed the appointment to be offered to Mr. Masterman? No, of course not, thought Bel. That would have been idiotic and it would have caused a lot of trouble . . . and, incidentally, wasn’t it just to prevent this sort of muddle and confusion that Mr. Brownlee had wanted her to be here? The whole thing showed up Mr. Wills in a very unpleasant light; he had been vacillating, suspicious and unfair.
How different from Mr. Brownlee, thought Bel.
*
2
After her unpleasant interview with Mr. Wills Bel returned to Mr. Brownlee’s room and got on with her work but she had not been there for many minutes when there was a knock on the door. It was a peremptory knock and at first she thought it must be Mr. Wills, pursuing her in anger. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast. Then she realised that it could not be he. Mr. Wills wouldn’t knock—he would throw open the door and walk in. Having decided this Bel was about to reply but before she could do so the door was opened and a face appeared round the edge. It was a young bony face topped with a thatch of unruly straw-coloured hair.
“Oh, I say, are you busy?” asked the intruder. “I’m sorry I knocked so loud. I didn’t mean to, you know. It was a mistake. I meant to knock quite softly.”
“Are you looking for someone?” asked Bel.
“You,” replied the intruder.
“Me?”
“Yes—at least I suppose you’re Miss Lamington. That frightful female said you were in Mr. Brownlee’s room.”
“You had better come in and shut the door,” said Bel briskly.
The intruder instantly did as he was told and was now revealed as a young man, exceedingly tall and gawky. His legs and arms were so long and loosely knit that he reminded Bel of a puppet. He was wearing grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket and it was obvious from the appearance of these garments that their owner had grown considerably since he had bought them.
“I say,” he said smiling in a friendly manner, “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
His smile reminded Bel of someone; she could not think of whom. “You had better tell me what you want,” she suggested. “I don’t know who you are, or anything.”
“Oh, I say, how stupid of me!” he exclaimed. “Of course I should have told you straight off, but that frightful female scared me out of my wits. I’m James Copping.”
“James Copping?”
He nodded.
Bel knew now. She had placed him . . . and now that she looked at him properly she realised who it was that had smiled in that same friendly way.
“James Copping,” he repeated. “Jim to you, of course.”
“Mr. James to me.”
“Oh no! I mean——”
“Oh yes,” said Bel, firmly. “Mr. James is the correct way to address the son of the senior partner of the firm.”
“It sounds so stuffy,” said Mr. James regretfully. He hesitated for a moment and then smiled, “But that’s just for the office, isn’t it? I mean when we’re having lunch——”
“Lunch?”
“I thought we could have lunch together.”
“But it isn’t nearly time for lunch!”
“Oh, I know,” he agreed. “But it will be, later.” He looked round and added, “The room seems a bit queer without Mr. Brownlee in it. Sort of empty—if you know what I mean.”
Bel knew exactly what he meant, but she was busy. “Mr. James,” she said in desperation. “I’ve got a most awful lot to do this morning. Look at this pile of letters!”
“Have they got to be typed?”
“Yes.”
“I could help,” he suggested. “There are two typewriters, aren’t there? I can type quite decently, you know.”
By this time Bel had realised that Mr. James was at a loose end and had dropped in to the office on the chance of finding employment. She remembered her conversation with Mr. Copping; he had said that Jim was abroad but would soon be returning from his travels and would have nothing to do until it was time for him to take up his position in the firm. He had said he didn’t want the boy to be “running about idle”. He had said that it was especially bad for a boy like Jim, who was “keen as mustard”, to have nothing to do. She remembered also that Mr. Copping was ill in bed and that Mrs. Copping was extremely worried about him.
All this went through her mind in a few moments. It was not her job to play nursemaid to this enormous child but she felt sorry for him and she liked him. There was something very nice about him, she decided. Suddenly she was visited by a splendid idea—it was an inspiration! She could employ him usefully and get rid of him at the same time.
“I know what you can do,” she told him. “If you really want to help you can take these letters to Mr. Nelson at Copping Wharf and ask him to translate them for us. He can do them while you wait.” She took the bundle of letters out of the drawer and handed them to him.
Mr. James looked at them. “They’re Spanish,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Just take them to Mr. Nelson. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Yes, of course I can—but why?”
“Why?” asked Bel in surprise. “What do you mean, Mr. James?”
“Why Mr. Nelson? It would save time if I did them, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you mean you know Spanish?”
“Spanish is easy,” replied Mr. James modestly. “I like languages, you know. They’re rather fun. I’m reasonably good at German and I’m learning Dutch. That should be useful, don’t you think? I mean the firm has a lot of trade with the Netherlands.”
“How clever of you!”
“Oh, lord, no! Not a bit,” declared Mr. James blushing to the roots of his straw-coloured hair. “Not a bit clever. It’s just a knack, really. Nothing in it at all. I’ll get on with the job, shall I?”
Bel did not know what to say (she was dumb) but her visitor did not wait for a reply. He took her consent for granted and, sitting down at the other table, he proceeded to get on with the job in a businesslike manner.
There was silence except for the tapping of the two typewriters.
Soon after one o’clock Bel had finished her morning’s work, and was ready to go out to lunch. Mr. James had finished too and produced
a sheaf of neatly-typed translations of the letters for Miss Lamington’s approval.
“Will they do?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh yes. They’re simply splendid—couldn’t be better. Thank you very much, Mr. James.”
“That’s grand,” he declared. “I’ve liked doing it. As a matter of fact it’s my first job for the old firm. I must tell the Guv’nor about it. We’ll go and have lunch now, shall we?”
“No,” said Bel firmly. “It’s very kind of you, but——”
“Oh I say! Why not? You’ve got to have lunch somewhere, haven’t you? I thought we could have it together. There are all sorts of things I want to know and we can talk while we’re pecking. Do say you will!”
“We had better not,” said Bel thoughtfully. “It might cause trouble.”
Mr. James was no fool. He said, “Trouble? Oh, you mean that frightful female! But she’d never know. We needn’t go out together. We could meet at the end of the street and——”
“No, it wouldn’t be the right thing.”
“But the Guv’nor said . . .”
“What did he say?”
“Oh well,” replied Mr. James, grinning from ear to ear. “If you really want to know his exact words, he said, ‘If you go to the office Miss Lamington’s the one. She’ll take you by your lily-white hand and lead you over the water’. It’s a song or something,” explained Mr. James. “I don’t know the song but I know jolly well what he meant.”
Bel did not know the song either, it was before her day, but Mr. Copping’s meaning was perfectly clear.
“That’s what he said,” repeated Mr. James.
Bel laughed. “But he didn’t say lunch.”
“I’m saying lunch,” declared Mr. James stubbornly. “As a matter of fact we could go to a decent place because I’ve just had a birthday.”
“A birthday?”
“Mun,” he explained tapping his pocket significantly.
“No,” said Bel, “no, I’m afraid not.”
“Oh I say! There are all sorts of things I want to ask you.”
He looked so crestfallen that Bel relented; she hesitated for a moment and then smiled. She said, “I usually have lunch at a small restaurant just round the corner, it’s called ‘Smart’s’, and of course if you decided to have lunch there I couldn’t prevent you, could I?”
Mr. James grinned. “But I’ll pay,” he said.
*
3
When Bel went in to Smart’s Restaurant James Copping was there, waiting for her, sitting at a table in the corner. He looked pleased with himself and so he was for he had got what he wanted. Bel was to find that in spite of his diffident manner Mr. James always knew exactly what he wanted and usually got it.
He rose politely as Bel approached and when they were seated handed her the menu. “Have anything you like. I’m paying, remember,” he said seriously.
Bel was amused. He was such a queer mixture. He was so very young—but so very large. He had such good manners—but he was so very awkward. At first she had thought him rather stupid, but on the contrary he was quick and intelligent. If Mr. James could be steered clear of pitfalls and could settle down he would be a great acquisition to the firm of Copping, Wills and Brownlee. His languages alone would be extremely useful, but he had character as well. Unfortunately the fact that his character was strong and determined would make the pitfalls all the more dangerous, thought Bel. She could imagine Mr. Wills resigning himself to a weak sloppy individual, but the entry into the firm of a strong determined young Copping would not suit his book at all.
Bel leant forward and said earnestly, “Mr. James, you’ll have to be careful. The office is a funny sort of place. There’s a lot of—of jealousy. I’ve had to contend with it myself so I know a good deal about it.”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It won’t be too easy. I can see that. Old Wills doesn’t want me of course. He’s a stinker, isn’t he?”
Bel felt like saying she couldn’t agree more, which was an idiom that Mr. James would probably have used himself.
“Well, I don’t care,” continued Mr. James, thrusting out his chin. “My father wants me in the firm and he’s the boss, so old Wills can go to blazes.”
Bel wondered if she should beseech him to be tactful, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that it would be useless. Mr. James couldn’t be tactful however hard he tried.
“You know, Miss Lamington,” he continued earnestly. “I’ve always wanted to go into the firm—ever since I was a kid. I used to go down to the Pool and watch the ships. I still do, quite often. It’s fascinating when you think of all those ships bringing cargoes from all over the world.”
“‘Ivory, apes and peacocks’,” murmured Bel.
“Yes!” he exclaimed nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s the idea! You understand. It’s not like an ordinary business. My great friend is reading law; he’s going into his father’s office—but a lawyer’s office wouldn’t appeal to me at all. My mother wants me to go to Cambridge but luckily the Guv’nor doesn’t agree. He sees my point. It would just be a waste of time because I haven’t got that sort of brain. I want to go straight into the business and learn the whole thing from A to Z—learn to pull my weight.” He paused and looked at her doubtfully. “D’you think I could?”
“Of course you could. You’re coming to the firm when Mr. Brownlee comes home. It’s all arranged, isn’t it?”
“Yes of course, but——”
“But what?” asked Bel.
“Listen, Miss Lamington,” said Mr. James—quite unnecessarily of course for Miss Lamington was giving him all her attention. “Listen Miss Lamington; I didn’t really mean to tell you this but I’m going to. The Guv’nor is ill—you know that. He was pretty bad, really—he gave us an awful fright—but he’s getting better, thank goodness. All the same he won’t ever be fit enough to do much in the office. That’s why I want to hurry up and learn to pull my weight. See?”
She nodded. “There ought to be a Copping in the firm.”
“Exactly. That’s what I mean. Gosh, I wish I was older! I wish I was there now, pulling my weight.”
“You will,” she told him.
“It’s going to take me a long time to learn,” he said with a sigh. “That’s why I want to start now—straight off—without waiting for Mr. Brownlee to come back. That’s why I’ve told you all this. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
Bel would have done almost anything for him by this time—anything in her power. “But I don’t see how I can help you,” she said regretfully. “Honestly, I don’t see——”
“Just let me come in and potter,” he explained, “I want to get the hang of it, if you know what I mean. Let me translate the letters. Tell me all you can. Take me by my lily-white hand—like the Guv’nor said.”
Bel smiled. “Well, I don’t see how Mr. Wills could object to you coming in and translating the letters.”
“Good!” said Mr. James nodding. “That’s fixed. It’ll be the thin edge of the wedge.”
Bel had a feeling that it would be the thin end of the wedge and the thicker part of the wedge would soon follow.
It was now high time for Bel to return to the office. She allowed her escort to pay for her lunch—he would have been distressed if she made any objection—and collected her bag and gloves.
“Would you like to go to the Zoo on Sunday afternoon?” asked Mr. James a trifle diffidently. “If you don’t like the Zoo we’ll go somewhere else. Anywhere you like. Just say the word.”
Bel laughed. “How do you know I haven’t got a date?”
“You haven’t, have you? You aren’t engaged or anything. You aren’t wearing a ring.”
“Why not take someone of your own age?”
“Oh I say, you aren’t as old as all that!”
“I’m twenty-four,” said Bel frankly. “At least I’m going to be twenty-four on Thursday—so you see!”
“That’s nothing,” he declared. “Beside
s, girls are so silly; I’d ever so much rather take you. If you tell me where you live, I’ll call for you at three o’clock. Will that be all right?”
“You had better ask your father,” said Bel.
“Ask him if I can take you?”
“Yes. See what he thinks about it.”
“Oh well——” said Mr. James doubtfully. “Oh well—but if he’s in favour of it you’ll come.”
Bel nodded. Somehow she felt sure that Mr. Copping would not be in favour of it.
Contrary to Bel’s expectations Mr. Copping raised no objections to the proposed expedition—he had known Miss Lamington’s parents—so the visit to the Zoo took place as arranged. As they walked round together and looked at the animals Bel’s feeling that she was playing the part of nursemaid was intensified. Her charge was a great deal larger than herself, but that seemed to make no difference to the feeling—none whatever, thought Bel, as she watched indulgently while he fed the monkeys with nuts and threw buns at the bears. He was enjoying himself immensely; that was obvious. Perhaps it was this capacity for enjoyment which made him seem so young.
Today Mr. James was immaculately attired in a lounge suit of fine brown tweed with a faint red line in it. He invited Bel to admire it—which she did.
“It’s new,” he told her. “The Guv’nor said I was to go to his tailor; he said I looked like a scarecrow. Of course I shall only wear it on Sundays.”
“You must wear it when you come to the office,” said Bel. “Yes, really,” she added, forestalling his exclamation of protest. “You simply must.”
“But look here——”
“It makes you look older,” said Bel craftily.
Bel Lamington Page 10