Authors: Rita Bradshaw

Always I'Ll Remember (7 page)

BOOK: Always I'Ll Remember

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Her eyes opened wider. Was he saying she had the job? Was he actually prepared to take her on?

‘Well?’ The irritation was back. ‘What do you say? You didn’t seem to have too much trouble speaking your mind a minute or two ago.’

‘Are you offering me the post of secretary, sir?’

‘Well, I’m not about to give you my job, am I?’ He smiled at her and she smiled politely back at his little joke, noticing the difference the smile made to his face. Her heart raced with excitement.

‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ she managed a trifle breathlessly. ‘When would you like me to start?’

‘Soon as possible, I suppose, but sort that out with Bernice.’ His tone made it plain he hadn’t the time or the inclination for such minor details, and this was further emphasised when he pressed a buzzer on his desk, saying, ‘I take it your next question is how much you can expect to be paid, eh?’ in the irritable voice.

She’d been so surprised and thrilled to be offered the position she’d forgotten to ask about her wage! Too late, Abby realised all Mrs Travis’s instructions on interview technique had flown out of the window.

Mr Wynford obviously didn’t expect a reply. Before the door opened to reveal his secretary, he said, ‘As you would expect, remuneration is in line with experience, age, qualifications and so on, added to which you’ll be working with Bernice for some weeks to see if you like the job and are suited. A trial run, so to speak. All right?’

She nodded.

‘You starting wage will be reviewed in two months’ time if and when you take on full responsibility, but if we say twenty-one shillings per week for the present, does that seem fair to you?’

Abby stared at him. Her last rise at the pickle factory had taken her up to twelve shillings - although lads of her age doing the same job earned more, which had always been a bone of contention with her - and here he was saying she would
start
at twenty-one shillings with a review once Bernice was gone and she was the secretary properly. If she was suited, that was. But she would be. She’d work twenty-four hours a day if necessary to make sure of it.

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

Whether it was the tone of her voice or the look on her face Abby didn’t know, but Mr Wynford smiled again, a real smile this time, which crinkled the skin around his eyes.

‘You’ll do, lass,’ he said, and she realised he was not as grim as he made out. ‘Now you wait in the main office while I have a word with Bernice and then she’ll see you out, all right?’

Back in the main office Abby stood just outside the secretary’s door, trying to calm her racing heart. She glanced round the large room. There were not as many people in it as she had first thought. Apart from two fairly young girls who had their heads down typing away in the far corners of the office, the rest of the personnel comprised one elderly man with white hair, two middle-aged men and three youngish men, one of whom was looking straight at her. She didn’t know whether to glance away or say hello - the former seemed rude and the latter forward - so in the end she just smiled and then looked down at the new white gloves she had bought specially for the interview.

A moment or two later she was aware of him standing at her elbow. His smile was wide as he said, ‘That’s a good sign, you being asked to wait like this. All the others have just been shown straight out.’

He was very good-looking. She stared into deep blue eyes set under a shock of light brown hair and found herself tongue-tied.

‘My name’s James Benson by the way.’ He held out his hand and she was aware that her smaller one was lost in his. ‘I’m Mr Wynford’s junior accountant, but don’t let the grand title fool you - general dogsbody, more like,’ he added with another smile.

‘Abby Vickers,’ she said a little breathlessly as her hand became her own again. ‘I’m . . .’ She hesitated, not knowing how to put it. ‘Mr Wynford has just offered me the job as secretary, on a temporary basis to see if I suit,’ she added quickly.

‘Has he? Good for him.’

The tone was frankly appreciative and Abby knew she had gone as red as a beetroot. When Bernice appeared in the next instant the older woman took in the situation at a glance. Her voice was indulgent but carried a slight warning as she said, ‘Hasn’t taken you long to make Miss Vickers’s acquaintance then, Mr Benson? I suggest you return to your work before Mr Hardcastle accuses you of slacking.’

‘I was just going.’ His grin took in the secretary but lingered a mite longer on Abby’s pink face. ‘See you again soon, Miss Vickers.’

As he turned away, Bernice said quietly, ‘I won’t introduce you to everyone now because you won’t remember their names anyway, but Mr Hardcastle,’ she inclined her head towards the elderly man who had the biggest desk in the room and a leather chair like Mr Wynford’s, ‘is Mr Wynford’s chief clerk and in charge of the office any time Mr Wynford isn’t here. If you get on the right side of him from the word go it’ll pay dividends, believe me. And Miss Cook and Miss Turner,’ she nodded to the two far corners of the room, ‘are your juniors, don’t forget that. It doesn’t do to get familiar with them, not when you have to give them orders and keep them up to scratch when necessary, all right?’

Abby nodded, totally out of her depth.

‘Come on.’ Bernice took her arm and ushered her out of the office. ‘You’ll get used to everything much quicker than you think,’ she said softly, ‘but right from the first day you need to remember what I’ve just told you. Start as you mean to carry on.’

Bernice took her on a short tour of the factory and sheds and the rest of the plant, all of which were situated at the rear of the office building. Abby was overwhelmed by the sheer size of Price and Osborne, not to mention the noise and general clamour once they had left the offices.

But it was exciting. And she was going to be someone’s secretary! Not a general typist in a pool, not even a shorthand typist attached to a secretary, but a secretary in her own right. What was her mam going to say to that?

This thought stayed at the forefront of her mind on the short walk home, so it was something of an anti-climax to find her mother out. After taking off her hat and coat Abby climbed the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Clara - Wilbert had been sleeping on a desk bed in the kitchen for the last few years. Abby pulled off her gloves and changed out of her Sunday dress and into one of her two weekday frocks before walking across to the narrow sash window and staring into the street below.

She had the rest of the afternoon free; she had told the forewoman at the factory she wouldn’t be back that day. Clara and Jed wouldn’t be home from school for a while, so she decided to pop round and tell Aunty Audrey her news. No doubt her mam would play up if she found out she’d been next door before telling her, but it wasn’t her fault her mam wasn’t in. And she had to tell someone. She was bursting. Her Uncle Ivor would likely be in too; he had hurt his back at the shipyard the day before and the doctor had told him to take the week off unless he wanted to end up unable to move.

Decision made, Abby ran lightly down the stairs and through the house into the backyard, taking just a moment to breathe in the warm sunshine in the lane beyond before she made her way into the yard next door. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful,
beautiful
day! Twenty-one shillings!
Twenty-one shillings.

As she entered her aunt’s scullery, Abby called her normal greeting, ‘Anyone at home?’ before pushing open the kitchen door which, unusually for her aunt, had been shut. And then she paused on the threshold to the room, staring in surprise at her mother who had just got to her feet from where she’d been sitting or kneeling by the side of Ivor’s armchair to the left of the range.

Her mother stared at her with what Abby could only describe to herself as a strange look on her face, but it was her uncle who spoke, drawing her gaze. ‘Hello, lass,’ he said, his voice natural but his face strained. ‘You’re back early the day.’

‘I’ve been for an interview.’ Her uncle’s back must be giving him gyp, he looked awful.

‘Oh aye? Where was that then?’

‘Price and Osborne. The Accounts Manager wanted a secretary and I thought I’d try for it.’

The lilt in her voice was a giveaway, and her uncle smiled as he said, ‘Don’t tell me you got it?’

‘Aye, I did.’

‘Well, I’ll be blowed. You’re a canny lass an’ no mistake.’

It was noticeable her mother hadn’t said a word, and now Abby’s eyes turned to her. ‘I’ll be giving in my notice at the factory tomorrow, Mam,’ she said. ‘All right?’

‘Why ask me if it’s all right? You’ll do exactly as you please as usual.’ Then her mother turned and seated herself at the kitchen table.

As Abby looked at her, such a bewildering mix of feelings washed over her she couldn’t have told anyone how she felt. Her voice flat, she turned to her uncle and said, ‘Is Aunty Audrey in?’

‘She’s gone to the shops, lass. Your mam just missed her by a minute or two.’

Abby watched her uncle as he carefully adjusted his position in the battered old chair, wincing as he did so, and his voice was irritable when he continued, ‘Damn nuisance being stuck here like a sitting duck,’ and his eyes moved to her mother.

A sitting duck? That was a funny thing to say, wasn’t it? And she had never seen her uncle in such a bad mood. She didn’t know what to say for a moment and then she proffered, ‘I’m sorry about your back, Uncle Ivor.’

He nodded. ‘Thanks, lass. To tell you the truth I’m counting my blessings the day. A twenty-foot plank fell from the deck above and caught me a glancing blow on the back but it could’ve easily sent me off the platform I was working on. There was a thirty-foot drop beneath and I’ve seen a bloke killed like that in the past. It’s not pretty.’

If he had a face like that when he was counting his blessings she didn’t know what he’d be like when he was annoyed about something. But everyone knew how dangerous the shipyards were and she’d worried about Wilbert when he first started working with his uncle and cousins. He hadn’t been able to sleep the first week for the awful ringing in his ears due to the noise from the squads of riveters, caulkers and drillers, and the second week he had come home and vomited after seeing a ship-wright crushed by a falling rudder. There wasn’t a week went by when Wilbert didn’t relate some horror story, and he was always covered in cuts and bruises and had already lost the tip of one finger when he had caught his hand between two metal plates.

‘Sit yourself down, lass,’ her uncle said now. ‘There’s a fresh brew and a piece of your aunty’s sly cake if you’ve a mind for a bite. She’ll be back soon.’

Abby looked at her mother but she didn’t raise her head from her cup or offer to pour the tea. Still, at least her mam had come round to see her aunty, which was a good thing, Abby told herself. Likely it had been to enquire how Uncle Ivor was, but that didn’t matter. She just wished her mam would come down off her high horse and be nice to her aunty now and then.

‘Has Granda had a cup?’ Abby asked her uncle, and when he shook his head, she said, ‘I’ll take him one through then. No doubt he’ll be gasping.’ Her uncle smiled at this but her mother’s face remained straight, and after a mental shrug Abby poured the tea and left the room.

Nora stood up and closed the door into the hall after her daughter before reseating herself, and when Ivor said, ‘You shouldn’t have done that, it’ll look queer,’ her only response was to shrug her shoulders.

After a couple of moments had ticked by she raised her head, staring at the man who had become an obsession with her. Her voice low, she said, ‘I meant what I said a minute ago before she marched in, I’m at the end of my tether. I’d run away with you tomorrow if you’d give the word.’

Dear gussy.
Ivor ran his hand across his brow. When would she ever let up? Apart from that one time five or six years ago when he’d been blind drunk on New Year’s Eve and she’d caught him outside in the privy and damn near helped herself, he hadn’t touched her since she’d been pregnant with Wilbert. She knew how he stood, he’d spelled it out plain that it was over and that he regretted every sordid minute. What more could he do, for crying out loud? ‘There’s no question of us running anywhere,’ he said flatly.

‘Because of her. You feel a responsibility to her.’

‘I love her, Nora. I’ve told you times.’

BOOK: Always I'Ll Remember

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