Читать книгу Candlesight - Michael Liddy - Страница 4

This was a hard industrial area of the city, just as she remembered it. There were few trees, and those that forlornly persisted struggled through collars of binding concrete. They were all stunted, frail and weak. It was a grubby, grimy, shunned area. Everything was unkempt. A maze of wires criss crossed the street, caging the miasma of urban decay to the surface and forcefully keeping the blue sky beyond at bay.

Tiny rows of tiny terrace houses were crammed between bullying warehouses and factories, their fragile tenure on the street seemingly doomed, as the massive structures around them looked balefully down. She had the comical image of a warehouse shuffling sideways to gobble up the little dwellings.

Amelia dragged her eyes from the surrounds and came to a slow halt in front of the old familiar factory, turning off the engine. This brick building was particularly old, and unlike most of the others around that dated back to the '40s and '50s and were free of any form of decoration, the Havesheld factory had some rudimentary decoration to its imposing façade. Mostly it consisted of expressed brickwork forming a series of shallow arches at the top of the parapet and large corner piers, but there was also changes from the bluestone base, the reddish tan wall body and the rendered parapet.

A series of tiny windows dotted the lower level, starting at just under two metres in height, and extending up another two metres. All were protected by heavy metal bars and mesh fencing wire, adding to the jail-like qualities of its presence. All around there was the sense of age and decay; from the cracked masonry lintels above the windows to the crumbling render and eroded mortar around the bricks, but it was well built and amazingly solid. This wasn’t a charming or entreating edifice, not the sort of place to attract the attention of an entrepreneurial developer.

Pursing her lips, Amelia acknowledged that part of the reason she didn’t know much about the inner workings of the company's oldest establishment was that it was a depressing building of ill aspect. It didn’t surprise her that their head office was in a much more welcoming part of the city, and that they’d departed this place as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Stepping out of the car she glanced down at her watch and noted she was fifteen minutes early for her appointment with the enigmatic Ted Warwick. From their brief conversation on the phone she wasn’t particularly enamoured of him; while he had been cordial enough, there was something very garrulous and overbearing about his manner. For the moment she chose to ignore her first impressions. She didn’t need to like him if he was good at what he did and could help their plight.

Amelia hadn’t exactly decided how she was going to employ this man, but she had ideas. There were one or two of James’s design group that could be harnessed with a firm leash. She was a strong believer that there was nothing new under the sun, and that Havesheld’s brand was not about gratuitous trailblazing. In any event it was unlikely the buyers would respond to a dramatic about-face in their lines and they weren’t in the position, on any level, to embark on that course. But she did need a point of difference in the lines and in Coremade she saw options.

Smiling, Amelia walked towards the nondescript front door at the south-east corner of the building. His arrogance could be his greatest attribute. “As long as you're just a little commercial and don’t want to oversee every pair personally,” she whispered under her breath.

Before reaching for the rickety glazed aluminium framed double doors - that appeared to be a brutal '70s addition - she looked back along the street. Though it was 8:45am, and it was a brisk July morning, there was no sign of movement anywhere; no birds, no cars, no pedestrians. Only the hum of cars on the nearby overpass suggested this moment wasn’t frozen in time. There was something very sullen and dejected about the entire scene, as if it had been rejected by the rest of the world.

The front door opened onto a long corridor. With a high ceiling lit by fluorescent lights, it was extremely canyon-like. She stood for a moment trying to remember if she’d ever been in here before but couldn’t exactly place this room. The walls were an off-white colour, discoloured by years of cigarette smoke and pollution; the green patterned carpet on the floor was similarly faded and worn. It had an extremely musty aroma, one of old materials enclosed for ages.

A door opened next to her and a woman appeared holding a steaming cup of coffee. She glanced up at the sight of the person standing in the corridor and started slightly. “Goodness. I didn’t hear you come in.” A portly woman of late middle years, her florid features showed no recognition of the newcomer. “Can I help you?”

“My name’s Amelia Wightman, I’m here to see Ted.”

She may not have recognised her, but the surname struck a chord. “Oh.” She frowned. “Does he know you’re coming? We don’t have many visitors here.”

Amelia smiled. “He should, I spoke to him on Friday.”

The woman stepped back inside to place the cup down on the counter. “Come with me then, I’ll take you down to where they all are.”

“Can you leave the front door unattended?”

The woman emerged into the corridor again and smiled warmly. “Pretty much the only people that come in are for warehouse deliveries, it will be fine for a few minutes.” She started walking down the corridor. “And you’ll get lost if I don’t show you.”

They walked along the corridor, the floorboards squeaking periodically as they went, and Amelia wondered why she’d need an escort. It was a square building, surely navigating couldn’t be that difficult. But as they passed through a series of rooms, passageways and warehouse spaces, she quickly dismissed that thought.

This was a building that had gone through numerous economic cycles in its long life, and weathered all the operational changes that entailed. It was apparent that every time something was needed, an existing space was altered to suit. Spaces were subdivided, partitioned, expanded, assimilated and walled off. The building didn’t need to be attractive or resolved; if it did the job, that was all that was necessary. After one and a half centuries of this attitude, what remained was a chaotic collection of corridors and rooms, all haphazardly tangled together. Amelia also noted that most of what they passed was completely unused. There was a sense of abandonment to the rows upon rows of doors in those dark corridors.

When they entered the fourth or fifth door from a large storage room that revealed yet another dark corridor, Amelia interrupted the woman’s continual chatter. “How much of this place is actually used for anything?”

She was silent for a moment before replying. “Um, well there’s the Coremade section over in the right corner, and then the big warehouse over the back. Apart from that it’s all closed up.” She regarded Amelia directly. “I’d suppose there’s maybe a third of the building being used. Maybe.” Unsure of the intent of her question and becoming a little uneasy, she turned back and continued walking.

At the end of another short corridor, the woman opened another of the interminable doors and nodded Amelia through and pointed. “Straight across the warehouse, there’s a set of double doors, that’s the Coremade area. If you’re ok from here I should probably go back.”

Nodding, Amelia smiled. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

Amelia passed the woman and squinted into the bright space. Huge racks of cartons were arrayed in rows, reaching up seven or eight metres, and it was another metre to the ceiling. Unusually, the ceiling was lined, though that term was applied lightly; much of the plasterboard was in the process of falling away. The copious amounts of light descended through a series of yellowed skylights scattered around the remnants of the crumbling ceiling.

To her right the warehouse section extended for more than a hundred metres and it was then that she noted the stacks in front of her were sporadically packed and appeared quite old. She could just make out the edge of a large sliding door at what she assumed was the back of the factory, and guessed that the more commonly used stock was stored at the front. Given the volumes that Havesheld turned over and that there were three additioional storage facilities, she couldn’t imagine this area ever being filled to capacity.

Drawing her eyes away from the dramatic vista along the rows of palettes and crates, Amelia crossed the room and approached the doors the receptionist had indicated. Large, and showing at least four different layers of paint, the heavy timber doors were slightly ajar. A slight gust of warm air reached her and she found herself eager to get out of the chilly warehouse. Grabbing the opened leaf with both hands she pushed her rather slight weight into it and was rewarded as it swung silently inward.

The scene within was exactly as she expected. This was a broad space thirty metres square with a high ceiling at least five metres high. Again there was a decrepit ceiling, though here it was mostly intact. In the spots where it had fallen away there was only the deep black of the ceiling space visible beyond. The concrete floor of the factory was littered with machinery of all descriptions. Some of it Amelia recognised; lasting and welting machines, auto roughers and old binding machines. There was also an ancient brusher and something she thought might have been a sole edge trimmer. Beyond that, she didn’t understand the purpose of the rest. One thing was certain though, all of the machines were old and well worn. Some of them were tucked into corners and unused, piled up haphazardly like debris in a heavy metal salvage yard, others were caked in years of dust.

There was life here though; a sprinkling of people moved around the space, and in pockets there were ordered arrangements of materials, workbenches, and the product in various stages of construction. This was definitely no modern production line though. It was more like a hangover of the 19th century; a well equipped cottage industry.

Peering past the collections of equipment, Amelia discerned that the rear wall of the large space was lined with a row of rooms. One, towards the centre, had a modern looking glazed front and within there appeared to be a well provisioned office. The purpose of the others was unclear but judging from the large double and sliding doors, they appeared to be used for something.

Amelia stood and watched the scene for a little while, as her presence went unnoticed. There was a sense of relaxed purpose to the actions of the eight or ten people that moved around, not the frenetic bustle of the other factories she’d witnessed; this place had truly escaped from another age.

It was obvious to her that the office belonged to Ted; it perfectly matched the ego of the man she’d spoken to on the phone. As she approached it the appointments became more apparent; leather lounge chairs, heavy and ornate timber desk, a television, in a cabinet to the left and what could have been a private restroom leading off through a door to the rear right of a large built-in bookcase.

Ignoring the inquisitive stares that followed her path as she walked through the factory, she headed for the office and noted quickly that there was nobody within. Testing the door she noted that it was locked, and screwed her face up into a frown. “Somebody certainly has airs.”

From behind her a voice sounded. “Do you need something?”

Spinning around she regarded the middle aged woman who’d addressed her, looking up from a row of lasts. “Is Ted around?”

She shook her head slowly, not sure of whether to dismiss the stranger or not. “No, he doesn’t usually get in until ten or so.”

Amelia gave her a vague expression. “Really.” Reaching into her jacket she removed her mobile and flicking through the recently dialled numbers, found Ted's and selected it. Within seconds the call diverted to message bank and Amelia lowered the receiver. “I had an appointment to see Ted at 9am.”

The woman’s face curled up into a smile. “Who’d you make that with?”

Amelia replied calmly, “Ted.”

“Well, in all the years I’ve been working here, I’ve never seen him come in before ten. Are you a rep or something?”

Amelia was becoming frustrated now. “No.”

The woman persisted. “Well who are you then?” There was something almost belligerent in her tone.

She sighed. “I’m from head office.”

Her expression went from annoyed to anxious. Even down in this isolated pocket of the world, rumblings of the company’s difficulties must have filtered through. “Oh.”

By now a number of people had stopped what they were doing and were watching the exchange inquisitively. This was exactly what Amelia didn’t want. The last thing she needed right now were whisperings getting back to Richard of her having come down here and thrown the place into disarray. She needed to play down her presence.

“I’m just here to have a quick word with Ted to make sure he’s got everything he needs. We’re very happy with what’s going on down here and we want to make sure it stays that way.”

Her face swelled up into a smile. “I see. We do everything very carefully down here, every stitch is the right one.” At her more light-hearted tone, one by one they all returned to the tasks they’d been doing.

The woman's name was Valerie, and now that her territoriality and job security concerns were dealt with, she proved to be very knowledgeable of the division’s operations. In the further twenty-five minutes it took for Ted to finally arrive, Amelia learned a great deal about enigmatic Coremade brand.

Valerie had worked here for thirty-two years, and she spoke animatedly about that time. In all the time she’d been here Coremade had only produced a single product line; a black boot. It had been the same design through her first years working here, delivered in a simple but well made mountain ash box, lacquered in a deep black stain and varnish. That had changed in the 1990s. When faced with closure they’d undertaken Coremade’s first real product development. This had resulted in a doubling of the price and an expansion, though in relative terms slight, in the numbers sold. It had been more than enough, though, to keep the tiny division invisible.

“And this all came from Ted?

She smiled again. ”None of us would be here without him. He did all of this.”

Amelia was genuinely impressed. The loyalty and admiration this woman had for him was caused her to ignore her misgivings after the phone conversation. Not to mention that the qualities of the shoe and its ability to fly in the face of the industry’s departure from this country was remarkable.

Inexplicably Valerie dropped her gaze and a voice sounded from behind Amelia. “Who are you?” The tone was gruff and imperious.

Turning slowly, with complete unconcern, Amelia came to face an older man. He was taller than her by at least ten centimetres and in his mid fifties. His face was cavernous and clean shaven, with a shock of thick, dark hair crowning deeply furrowed brow ridges. The man’s eyes were of a deep blue, fierce and intense. In all he was an imposing figure, and Amelia understood why many here would be cowed and in awe of his bearing.

She, however, was not. “I had an appointment to see you half an hour ago.”

Ted drew his eyes away from her immediately and walked past, fumbling for keys in his pocket. Without facing her he spoke back to her. “I never take meetings before 9:30, you must be mistaken.”

Amelia suppressed an instinct to retort with an icy suggestion that she’d write him up on it. There was no point in causing disruption here. It wasn't likely she’d spend much time with these people or in this place and there was no point in stamping her authority. Glancing back over at Valerie, she saw the woman give her a compassionate smile.

Her voice was little more than a whisper as Ted kept his back to them and entered his office. “Don’t worry about it, he can be a bit grumpy in the morning.”

Giving her a thin-lipped smile, Amelia nodded and turned to follow Ted as he kept his attention away from her and retreated behind the large oak desk. On closer inspection, the office was indeed well fitted out; chairs, desks, couches, tables and fittings were all very good quality. It was very obvious to her that this was someone’s personal domain.

She stood quietly as Ted peered down at a collection of papers on his desk, pointedly not meeting her intent stare. Just as Amelia’s irritation began to spiral, he finally looked up at her as he sat down at the high backed leather chair. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”

Not responding for the moment, Amelia put her satchel down on the floor, deliberately nudging the door closed as she did so. With an exaggeratedly casual gesture she sat down at the outer of threechairs in front of the desk and spoke quietly. “You may have heard that Havesheld is going to go through some changes. James has resigned.”

That statement had exactly the desired effect and for the first time Ted showed veiled interest. “No I hadn’t, Richard hasn’t said anything.” His voice did hold a note of scepticism.

“This happened last week, it hasn’t been made public yet, though I’m sure it’s getting out by now.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “There’s no danger to Coremade, but as part of the restructure we need to change the presentation of the remaining brands.”

He sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “What’s this got to do with me?”

Amelia gave him a shallow smile. “I like what I’ve seen of Coremade, I like what it is now. I think there’s some value in having you comment on the new lines we’re going to come up with, both from a design and detail perspective.”

His response wasn’t at all what she expected. Ted seemed to puff up with self importance for a moment but then, quickly, a veil of obstinacy returned. “That’s nice, but I’m not particularly interested.”

Frowning, Amelia retorted quickly. “Why?”

“My commitment is to Coremade. I made it, I built it, I’m the reason it survived, and I don’t want to be distracted.”

Finding this response strange, Amelia was at a loss for words. For a moment she was silent and then she finally responded uncertainly. “I’m not suggesting you leave here.”

He reached down to his desk and flicked idly through a stack of papers. “Does Richard know you’re down here?”

Almost at the point of exploding, Amelia tried one last attempt. “He knows I’m here.” At that statement he regarded her a little more openly, though not much, and she continued in an entreating voice. “Ted, this isn’t going to impact on anything and what you have to say could really help. All I’m asking is that we discuss some new lines and look at a few prototypes. It can just be you and me if you like.”

There was silence in the room as Ted seemed to consider the proposition. Finally he spoke in a gruff voice. “I’ll think about it.”

Unsure for a moment whether to force him or acquiesce, Amelia opted for the latter and rose from the chair. She simply couldn’t fathom his reservations. By any measure this could only be considered flattering and deferential. “I’ll leave you to think about it.”

No response was forthcoming; he simply nodded imperceptibly and dropped his eyes to regard the papers on his desk. Shaking her head slightly, Amelia realised this was the only acknowledgement he was going to give. Without further comment she rose and reached for the door, her temper piqued.

From a quiet corner of the large room, a man lifted his eyes from the last he was gently stretching a piece of leather over and watched the woman’s departure. The motion was slow and timid, as if he feared being noticed. With his head still tilted towards the bench his eyes flicked briefly in her direction before dropping back down again. There was a slouched cast to his demeanour and nothing remarkable or noteworthy about his appearance; his clothes were nondescript and plain, and his dark brown hair hung lankly over his brow.

Before he returned to the task before him, a momentary pang of anxiousness swept through him and he repeated the same diminutive gesture to look for Ted. Watching him carefully for a few moments his nervousness dissipated. There was no sign of stress, or frustration in his supervisor’s demeanour and clearing his mind of paranoid fears the man drew his eyes back to the finished piece of leather.