Читать книгу Save Our Shop - Michael Wilton - Страница 6

Sally didn’t have long to put her theory into practice. Soon after leaving William, she was nearly run over by a sports car that came hurtling round the corner and braked suddenly in front of her.

Getting to her feet shakily, she came face to face with Clive, the driver.

“Can’t you look where you’re going?” he accused in a blind panic, his eyes fixed anxiously on his car. “It was all your fault,” he added automatically, bending down to wipe a speck of dust off the bumper. “You could have caused a serious accident…I don’t know what the owner will say….” Then realising who it was, he was taken aback, “Oh, sorry, Sally, didn’t see it was you.”

Trembling, she managed, “I see, that makes all the difference, does it?” Then remembering she was about to ask a favour, she modified her tone. “Oh, I’m all right, just a few scratches, I think. Forget it.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Clive apologised with a weak smile. “I was just on my way to have a spot of tea with your mother, Lady Courtney. I didn’t want to be late.”

“Stepmother,” corrected Sally automatically. “Don’t let me keep you then.”

“You sure you’re all right – there’s nothing I can do…?” he asked, half looking at his watch. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

“Wait…there is at it happens…,” she attempted a smile, as she pulled herself together, “I don’t suppose by any chance you know any publishers or agents, in your line of business…?”

Clive hastily shoved his business card back in his pocket, realising that the description ‘car dealer – we buy and sell anything’ didn’t quite live up to the kind of business she had in mind. “Well,” he said quickly, trying to look modest, “As a matter of a fact, being in PR I do have quite a bit of pull with one or two of the top boys– they often ring me up when they’re after a bargain.”

“Good,” beamed Sally, settling herself in the passenger seat, “in that case you can drop me at the school and I’ll tell you about it on the way…”

“So you see,” she wound up as they came in sight of the school, “…it would mean an awful lot to William if you could help him in any way. It would give him confidence, and put him on the right path…as well as helping his uncle make the shop a success. Especially,” she started to say, “after all those rumours about that wretched Foxey woman…” then stopped quickly, realising she had said too much.

Stifling his alarm at her enthusiasm about a possible rival , and making a mental note to find out more about the Foxey character she mentioned, he assured her craftily, “Of course, I’ll do all I can to help. I can’t promise anything but leave it to me. Let me have a copy of whatever he’s done and meanwhile I’ll find out who’s the best man to contact. And I think this is where I drop you off…”

And as he braked, a pile of papers shot out of his glove box and landed on her lap.

Picking them up and noting the name on the log book before replacing it, she repeated the name wonderingly, “…..Ron Smith? Who’s that, when he’s at home?”

Laughing it off nervously, Clive stuffed the papers back hurriedly and lied, “Oh, nothing to worry about - one of the previous owners, you know.” Cursing to himself that he hadn’t got rid of the forged papers when they’d cleaned the car out, he joked unconvincingly, “You get masses of paperwork when you take on a car, believe me…and talking about paperwork don’t forget to get me a copy of that young man’s efforts so I can get someone to see it…” and a fat lot of good it will do him if I have anything to do with it, he promised himself nastily.

As it happened, he had to satisfy his hostess with some of her own searching questions before he was able to put his ideas into practice.

Giving his encounter with Sally as an excuse for being late, he was rewarded with a sniff of displeasure. “Oh, how is the gel?” she enquired frostily, and without waiting for a reply she indicated a vacant seat on the terrace. “Sit there Clive do, while I get the maid to bring some tea and things.” She rang a bell, and to bridge the conversation, she moved into her customary line of enquiry to satisfy herself as to his position in society.

“Do say, if you don’t find it comfortable.”

“No, it’s absolutely splendid, Lady Courtney,” he assured her hastily.

“It’s actually Lady Frobisher Courtney, don’t you know,” she pointed out regally. “My husband is most insistent that people get it right, otherwise these old fashioned family courtesies just get lost for posterity - I expect you find the same thing.”

He was about to reply when the maid plonked the tray down on the table and nearly spilt the milk. “Careful, Mary, not there, mind what you’re doing,”she warned with a hint of steel in her voice.

“Now then,” as she passed a cup across to Clive. “Do tell me how your family is getting on. You’re one of the Suffolk Brands - a junior branch, I believe,” she added condescendingly – “let me see, I suppose it goes back a few years or so?”

Clive rescued his cup as it slid of his saucer in his eagerness to agree with her. “Oh, yes, many hundreds of years…” then aware that there might be a conflict of interests, he added hastily, “Not as far back as your own line extends, I am sure…”

Her placid smile of contentment confirmed that he had said the right thing and he sat back with a sigh of relief. The next half hour was spent by his hostess in probing his background, with Clive crossing his fingers and making himself sound like a cross between a financial wizard and an up and coming leader of society. Even Clive found himself being impressed by his replies, which was not unnatural for a conman of his ability.

“And from what you were saying, I gather your business prospects are quite well established…”

“Of course, we are still expanding,” he assured her, hurriedly dismissing a picture of a ramshackle garage from his mind. “We’re no Rockefeller, but I am sure he would be happy to learn a thing or two from us in the way we do business…I’m not in a position to mention any names, you understand, but only yesterday I had a tempting offer to take us over - from a leading finance company…” He omitted to mention that it was in connection with a notice of foreclosure on his garage for not keeping up his payments, but his reply brought out a satisfied smile of acceptance.

He was beginning to feel he had passed the test, when she homed in on the reason for his invitation. “Of course,” she pointed out airily, “Our little estate is not vast – I forget how far it extends offhand, some three or four thousand acres or so I believe, but it will mean a lot of responsibility for someone to look after one of these days, and my husband and I will not be here to keep an eye on things forever.” She fixed him with a benevolent smile, “I don’t mind telling you this in confidence, Clive, as I know it will go no further…but I am most disappointed in Lancelot, our eldest boy. He’s shown absolutely no interest in taking on the responsibilities of the estate. And as for Sally…” she sighed. “…first of all it was motor racing, now her latest fad is teaching…if only you knew how she upsets me…” She pulled herself together and squared up like a sergeant major, “It needs someone with a wider vision – now, if only Sally had found the right man to guide her, to take all the right decisions on her behalf…” she paused and looked at him invitingly. “If only I knew there was someone to take on the challenge…someone I could trust…”

“You need have no fears on that score, as far as I am concerned,” Clive assured her eagerly, “You must know how much I care for Sally and…” he almost added ‘the estate’ as his mind dwelt lovingly on the money it would bring in, then quickly amended it to, “…all the responsibilities such a position would entail.”

At his words, Lady Frobisher Courtney unbent in her regal attitude to bestow a signal mark of blessing. “Dear Clive, you may kiss me. And now, if you’ll excuse me I, have to meet an old friend of the family, Ed-ward Newman, who is over here from the States to set up an English branch of his security business. He’s such a dear friend,” and one, she added grimly to herself, who will I hope help that useless son of mine get a job and wake his ideas up.

As he bent to do her bidding and kiss her on the cheek, Clive took the opportunity to spike William’s guns.

“I will do my best to make her happy, you can be sure of that.” He felt his way craftily, “I hate to be the one to spoil such a happy occasion, but you perhaps don’t know that Sally is being distracted in other directions at the moment…”

“Well, I know she’s taken up with this ridiculous idea of teaching, but I hope you will help to put a stop to that,” she retorted frostily.

“If that was the only problem…” he added, with just the right note of simulated anxiety.

“What else is there?” she barked, rising to the bait.

“Far be it for me to break any family confidences…” he began, taking a swift look to see her reaction. “…but I gather she’s taking more than just a friendly interest in a young man at the village store.”

“What?” The village store… you don’t mean…our village store?” Lady Courtney sat up with a jerk, giving the impression that someone had stuck a large hat pin in her amply padded rear. “Who is that, may I ask?”

Gratified at her response, Clive went on smoothly, “His name is William, I am told. I understand he’s been taken on by his uncle, Albert Bridge, the owner, while he’s looking for a job…unless the store folds up first, of course…”

His host started making mewing noises. “A…tradesman…”

“Yes,” Clive was enjoying himself, “according to reliable sources, the shop is on its last legs anyway - and you’ve heard the rumours going around about Albert?”

“No?” gasped his hostess faintly.

Clive leaned forward with relish, “Well, I hear there’s some kind of scandal about Albert Bridge and one of his helpers at the shop, someone called Mavis Foxey…It seems…”

“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more…” wailed Lady Courtney. “We must stop it before it gets any further. Oh the disgrace of it. Where’s my husband? No, Henry’s never here when I want him. I’ll deal with this myself. Take me to the shop immediately, d’you hear!”

Meanwhile, back at the shop, William’s mind was in a ferment on a different matter.

“What time do you call this?” Albert greeted him as he dived behind the counter and found his uncle coping with a queue of customers. “I thought you’d forgotten us.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled taking over, “got talking to Sally”, then remembering the gossip that Sally had passed on, he tried to warn his Uncle. “That reminds me, I must tell you …”

“Not now, later,” said Albert hurriedly, seeing the queue beginning to build up.

“Be a good lad and find some more bags will you, we seem to have run out.”

By the time William had hunted down a new supply, the queue was getting longer and there was no chance to have a last minute word about Mavis.

However much he tried to keep his thoughts concentrated on the waiting customers, the exciting possibility that Sally might find someone interested in his story and get it published made it very difficult for him to work out what he was supposed to be doing amid the growing confusion around him. People kept on bringing up their items of shopping and dumping them on the counter – anything from assorted bread rolls to giant cornets – and waiting patiently for him to enter them up on the till, but as each item was presented to him it was immediately transformed in his mind’s eye into a copy of his new book with his name in fiery letters across the front cover.

To complicate matters, some of the goods on display did not have a price tag on them for some reason, and William had to ask them to hang on for a minute while he dived off to ask. But oddly enough, the customers did not seem to be at all concerned about the cost, for some strange reason. Judging by the inquisitive expression in their eyes they were nerving themselves to ask about something else, but didn’t quite know how to put it – particularly as the subject in question was his Uncle Albert.

As William soon realised by the look on their faces, it was evident that word had already got around and there was only one topic of interest in the waiting queue.

People were nudging each other, and suddenly a shout went up as old Harry, one of the regulars, hobbled in leaning on his stick, wheezing as he tried to get the words out. “Hi, Bert, did yer manage…you know?” He was immediately shouldered aside by widow Wendy who shook her umbrella fiercely at Albert.

“Repent while there is still time, oh miserable sinner…”

“What the ‘eck’s she talking about?” whispered Albert, looking up blankly.

“I keep trying to tell you, Uncle…” broke in William, trying to get his attention.

“Never mind,” urged Albert, taking note of the sudden influx of numbers. “Just keep on serving – blimey, this is good for business.”

As each customer was served in turn, they ended up about to ask something, then unable to get the words out, muttered ‘thanks’ and shuffled off with their purchases, some giggling and others asking after Albert and giving knowing looks. It wasn’t until Ted the painter turned up that he put the question bluntly the others had been dying to ask.

“Two ounces of my usual baccy, son,” he began, and directly he was served he came out with it. “Well, did he or didn’t he?” he winked, as he rolled a cigarette, lit it and squinted through the haze.

“Pardon?” queried William, handing over the change distractedly.

“Old Albert,” Ted repeated. “Did he pull it off…with our Mavis?”

“No, it’s not Mavis who’s doing it, William corrected absently, his mind still on the book – “it’s Sally.” Seeing Ted’s mystified expression, he explained. “You know, Sally who teaches up at the school.”

“You’re kidding.” said Ted glancing sideways at Albert, admiration mingled with wonder, his estimation of his old friend as a lady’s man going up in leaps and bounds. “Well, I’m blessed, I never knew he had it in him.”

William followed his gaze and clapped his forehead. “Oh no, you misunderstand me. I was talking about my book – Sally’s promised to look at it.”

Hearing the tail end of his remark, someone behind gasped and uttered “Coo, fancy that.”

Diverted for a moment, Ted looked interested. “Oh, you’re going to be a writer, are you? That reminds me, did I tell you about my poems…?” He was about to elaborate, when William interrupted him hastily, seeing the queue building up again.

“No, why don’t you bring them in…some other time.” He leaned forward confidentially, “Ted, it’s not true about Uncle, she’s only trying to stir up trouble…” as the people behind craned to listen in, he made sure they could all hear, “She only tried it on for a silly bet, and it didn’t come off.”

Unfortunately, his words were taken literally and only served to make the matters worse.

“What didn’t?” someone in the background wanted to know.

“Well, I never, that young missy up at the school…” The message was passed back.

Eyes goggling, the woman in the blue blouse craning her head at the back hissed. “Wait till I see Ernie…”

“Nothing did,” repeated William raising his voice in exasperation. “Ask Uncle, he’ll tell you…”

“Oh, yus,” said Ted knowingly, I believe you, young William. Mind you,” he reflected, starting to roll another cigarette as he contemplated, “anyone trying it on with that Mavis would need to have his head examined to start with – isn’t that right, Squire ?” as Albert moved up to join them, attracted by the crowd gathering.

“What’s that?” inquired Albert. “Who wants his head examined?”

Pulling him away from the counter, William gabbled desperately, “I was trying to tell you, Uncle – Mavis is stirring it up about…you know,” he looked around to make sure nobody heard, but his voice was almost drowned in the background gossip. “…what happened in the shop yesterday. And now they’re trying to make out that Sally’s got something to do with it…”

“Oh,” enlightenment came to Albert as he surveyed the sea of faces. “Is that what it’s about?” He slapped his hand down on the counter, and burst out fiercely. “It’s all a lot of codswallop, as well you know, Ted. Mavis is nothing but a tiresome old gossip trying to win a bet. She’s got nothing better to do with her time… and as for that nice young Miss Sally, well…”

“Someone talking about me?” came a cheerful voice, as the young lady in question breezed in the shop. Immediately, the customers parted to let her through, waiting in anticipation.

Even Ted looked embarrassed, “Morning all – time I was off.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Sally looked around for the answer. “Have I got the plague or something?”

William broke the uncomfortable silence.”I’m afraid it may have been something I said…”

Coming to his rescue, Albert dismissed his remarks. “Nonsense. Just because that Mavis didn’t win her bet, that’s what started it all. Mind you,” he meditated, “it hasn’t done me any harm, come to think about it. We’ve had the best takings all week.”

Sally laughed in sympathy. “That’s what comes of being a hotbed of gossip – I heard all about it.” she added impishly. “You’re quite the village Lothario.”

Noticing the anguished look coming from William, she added lightly. “Well, where’s this masterpiece of yours. Am I going to be permitted to see it then?”

Sheepishly, William fished under the counter and hauled out a battered bundle, tied up with ribbon. “It’s in a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. You won’t like it.”

“How d’you know? Anyway, I’ve asked Clive to have a look at it,” she grimaced, “apparently he’s a big noise in PR. He knows everyone, so he tells me.”

“But I thought…” William started to say.

Sally smiled brightly. “I know, but I couldn’t find anyone else who might help. Besides, Mummy’s always telling me to make friends in the right quarter, so I might as well get him to do something useful. Must dash, I’ll let you know…byee.”

Aware of a sudden hush behind her, she turned and caught sight of a grim upright figure entering the shop, clearing an empty space right and left as the villagers scrambled to get out of her way.

“Oh, lor’,” gasped Sally apprehensively. “It’s ma.”

Surveying the scene haughtily through her lorgnette, Lady Frobisher Courtney barked, “What is the meaning of this sordid business you’ve got yourself into, young lady. I demand to know what it’s all about…”

Taken aback, Sally stalled, “Why, Ma what are you doing here…?”

“Never mind what I’m doing - what are you up to, young lady, is more to the point. I think you’d better come home and explain it all to your father.”

In desperation, Sally fired off a blind shot at random, in an attempt to divert her.

“I thought you were supposed to be meeting your American friend, Mr. Newman?”

Some of Lady Courtney’s fire evaporated, and she started getting flustered. “Was it today he’s coming? I thought it was tomorrow – that secretary of mine must have got it wrong again.”

Sally asked innocently, “Did you say it was two o’clock? It’s nearly that now.”

“Oh my goodness, so it is. I’d forgotten. What with…” she paused distractedly, “What is that ghastly noise out there. What is going on?”

But as she spoke she became aware that she was losing the attention of her audience. Suddenly there was a confusing medley of raised voices outside, and those left in the queue were craning their necks and beginning to melt away, anxious not to miss anything that promised to sound like a fight. A scuffle seemed to be developing, and she was nearly knocked over in the rush to get out and witness it at first hand.

Whipping out her lorgnette, Lady Courtney turned, “If this is the kind of rabble you attract, I think it’s about time I took my custom elsewhere,” she began, then taking a closer look, she added frigidly, “What a disgusting spectacle. It appears to be some kind of brawl – why, isn’t that the Mavis Foxey person I hear they’re all talking about? And who’s that with her? It looks as though it might be your wife, Mr. Bridge. How undignified!”

Without wasting any more time explaining her mistake, Albert had already flung off his apron and was already halfway out of the shop, ready to give his support to Hettie who was locked in combat with Mavis.

He was just in time to pull them apart when Mavis looked around, making sure she had an audience. “Get your hands off me. After what happened in the shop, I’ll see your name is mud, you’ll see…”

“You lying hound,” cried Hettie indignantly, diving back into the fray. The next moment Mavis staggered back, nursing a black eye.

It was all too much for Lady Courtney. She took hold of her daughter purposefully as she noticed her edging away, trying to make her escape. “Come with me, Sally,” she ordered, pushing her way through the excited onlookers. “I won’t have you consorting with this kind of rabble.”

“But ma, they’re my friends…” protested Sally.

“Nonsense,” objected her mother, tightening her grip. “I particularly want you to meet Mr. Newman. He has a daughter who I want you to get to know. I promised Ed-ward I’d find the right kind of people for her to meet.”

Keeping her head down and avoiding the mad scramble around them, she charged disdainfully through the throng looking straight ahead, and in doing so barged right into the back of a stout man backing out of a taxi, knocking him flying.

“Say, what the heck…?” The man wheezed as he struggled to pick himself up, “What’s going on here – some sort of revolution?”

Collecting herself, Lady Courtney apologised profusely. “I’m dreadfully sorry – why it’s Ed-ward…Ed-ward Newman. Please forgive me, I’d no idea.”

Raising his stetson in acknowledgement, her friend straightened up in bewilderment, “Why gee, it’s Margery, I thought you said it was a quiet place around here?”

“Oh, it is normally,” Lady Courtney assured him. “Very peaceful.” She glanced around hurriedly. “Why don’t we all go back and tell me all about your plans over a cup of tea – I see you have a taxi…”

“Well darn it, that is mighty nice of you, Margery, but see here, Veronica my little girl is organising somewhere to stay – I guess I oughta find out what she’s managed to come up with…”

“Oh,” said Lady Courtney sounding a trifle put out. “Splendid, meanwhile may I introduce my gel, Sally. Sally, say hello to Mr. Newman.”

Newman clasped her hand enthusiastically. “Hello, Sally. Gee, this is swell. I can see you and my daughter Veronica will get on just fine. Why, here she is…Veronica, my dear, I want you to meet…”

Disregarding the introductions, his daughter interrupted impatiently, “Oh, there you are, paw. I’ve been looking for you all over. The van’s loaded up waiting, come along…what a mob…”

Wheedling, her father tried to sooth her. “O.K, Vee, just coming. First, just say hello to my good friend, Lady Courtney and her daughter, Sally. I’m sure you’re going to get on just fine…”

Thawing slightly at the mention of a title Veronica allowed, “How do, Lady Courtney…?”

“Charmed, I’m sure…,” beamed Lady Courtney. “And this is my gel, Sally. “You two must get together – I’m sure you’ll find a lot in common…”

“Hello,” greeted Sally politely. The two girls glanced at each other warily – Sally feeling slightly upstaged by the sophisticated outfit Veronica was wearing, and Veronica in turn feeling immediately jealous of the wholesome image that Sally presented.

“Say, paw,” Veronica returned to her immediate problem, ignoring the proffered hand. “Let’s get going, you know what these removal men are like.”

“Ah, sure, if you say so, Vee. If you’ll excuse us, Margery, I guess we’d better see what they’re up to – we don’t want to upset anyone before we’ve even moved in.”

“Moved in?” faltered Lady Courtney, “you mean you’re planning to live here…in the village?”

“Why sure, anything wrong in that? Where is the place, Vee honey, I forget?”

Veronica consulted a piece of paper. “It says here, “The Forge, High Street” Come on, let’s go see.”

“The Forge”? puzzled Sally, turning to her mother. “Isn’t that the cottage next to Hettie and the smallholding?”

Veronica wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Yeah, that’s something we need to take up with the agents, paw. There’s some sort of pig farm alongside. They didn’t tell us about that.”

“Pig farm?” paled Lady Courtney. “That’s almost next door to the village shop…” her voice trailed off aghast.

“That’s great,” said Newman enthusiastically, beaming around happily at the mixed reaction to his news.. “Why we’ll have all our stores available on tap. I call that real neighbourly…”