Four Fires (57 page)

'Excuse me, miss, I don't mean to be rude, but where did you get that beautiful suit?'

Sarah smiles, 'It's a new label, a Sarah Maloney.'

The store is fairly busy but Sarah has the same effect inside as on the pavement, shoppers and shop assistants alike stop and stare. As they walk to the lift, Sarah, talking out of the corner of her mouth, says to Mike, 'Well, we've either got it very right or very wrong.'

They take the lift to the fifth floor, which is Administration, and go to a window at the Credit Department and ask for Mr Pongarse.

The clerk behind the window looks momentarily surprised, 'You mean, Mrs Pongarse?'

Which is the first big shock as Sally Harris simply referred to 'Erica Pongarse, our MD' and they'd both thought Erica must be some European way of pronouncing Eric and assumed he was a man. A thought flashes through Sarah's head that maybe she's dressed a if

little too provocatively for a woman, even though the suit is intended as a stylish work outfit, but the no stockings, hat and gloves and the strappy sandals are definitely a tad risqué

The clerk now says, 'Wait on, I'll take you over.' He leaves the window and a few moments later comes through the door of the Credit Department and signals for them to follow. They cross the floor to an anonymous brown-stained door. The clerk knocks politely, then calls out in a brisk voice, Visitors for you, Mrs Pongarse!'

'Come!' a voice calls back. The clerk opens the door and leaves them to enter the rather dark interior of Mrs Pongarse's office on their own. A lady of about fifty is seated behind an incredibly cluttered desk. She's wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses and her greying hair is pulled back into a tight bun. There's not a skerrick of make-up on what they can see of her face which is half in shadow. She's rather overweight and is wearing a fairly shabby-looking, plain black dress of no distinction whatsoever and no jewellery, not even a brooch. Her legs, which can be seen under the desk, show that she's wearing sensible black shoes and elastic stockings. She looks up from whatever she's writing as they enter, takes off her glasses to have another look at Sarah and at the same time stubs a cigarette into an ashtray that's overflowing with butts.

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'Who are you?' she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer before turning to Mike, 'You are Mr Maloney, the designer, I take it?'

'Yes, madam, er, Mrs Pongarse, and this is Sarah.'

'Is she your sample?' It is said on the edge of rudeness.

'I beg your pardon?'Mike says, not understanding.

'That suit, your sample on a model.'

'Sarah is my sister,' Mike answers.

'You are a mannequin, Miss Maloney?' It is clear from how she says it that she doesn't think very much of the modelling profession.

'No, madam, I'm a medical student in my final year.'

'Medicine? University? Sarah Maloney, Sarah Maloney,' she repeats, then looks at Mike and Sarah. 'Weren't you the one that made all the fuss at the university, let me see, about six years ago, wasn't it?'

'It wasn't us that made the fuss, madam,' Sarah says.

I'm not so sure about that.' Erica Pongarse has a deep voice, which if you heard first over the telephone, you might easily mistake it for a man's. The room smells of stale tobacco.

Mike and Sarah are confused. They don't know what to expect, but certainly not the cold welcome they appear to be getting. Sally Harris had been so positive and enthusiastic about the meeting -a complete contrast to the reception they were now receiving from the Country Stores'

managing director.

'Barrington-Stone, wasn't it? Yes, I remember it clearly, she made quite a to-do in the papers and on the wireless. Always sticking her nose into everyone's business, that one.'

'I don't think I can accept that, Mrs Pongarse. Mrs Barrington-Stone is a personal friend,' Sarah's colour is still up.

Mrs Pongarse ignores Sarah's protest. 'Country Women's Association, interfering bunch, that lot. I suppose you'd better sit down.' She indicates the chairs placed in front of her desk. Like her office, they are not in the least pretentious but standard upright office chairs. If Mike and Sarah hadn't been so young and inexperienced, they might have reasoned that something must have happened to have caused Mrs Pongarse to become so antagonistic. Instead they sit silently, thoroughly confused. Mike looks about him, trying to make sense of what's happened.

The office too looks like Mrs Pongarse's desk, there are samples of clothes all over the floor and cardboard boxes, some opened, others still sealed. The walls are painted a dirty cream, and the skirting boards and picture rails as well as the door are stained in a deep mahogany brown.

There is not a single picture on the walls and the overall effect is depressing.

Three large military-green filing cabinets rest against the wall to the right of Mrs Pongarse's desk.

Judging from the heavy maroon brocade curtains, which are drawn, a large window is situated directly behind her. Mike imagines it must look out onto Elizabeth Street. The floor covering, like the curtains, is in a well-worn maroon with the thread showing through on a spot directly behind the chairs, indicating that generations of minions have stood on this spot to take their orders and that the offer of a seat is not the usual courtesy.

In the centre of the ceiling hangs an old-fashioned, very ugly, six-stemmed chandelier, shaped like a spider's legs and ending with

bell-like shades in opaque glass. Of the six lights, three of them are not working and the remainder cast a low, depressing light, so that the office appears to be in a sort of permanent twilight.

A modern desk lamp with a green metal shade rises above the clutter on the desk and casts a circle of yellow light into the layers of paper scattered around it. The light extends far enough to include Mrs Pongarse's torso, neck and half her face, ending in a sharp line under her nose so
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that the remainder of her face is in shadow. When she talks, you can see her mouth moving but it's difficult to interpret what her eyes might be indicating.

It is obvious Mrs Pongarse is quite unaware of her surroundings or how they might affect her visitors. This is an office created without sentiment, made for work, it is a neutral environment that would operate regardless of the time of day or night, sunshine or rain. It made Mike think of a rather large cave and Mrs Pongarse as a bear with a very sore tooth which doesn't much welcome intruders.

Mrs Pongarse removes several sheets of paper to the side of her to reveal a squawk box. She leans forward. Pressing the button she barks, 'Miss Harris come!'in what is clearly a command to be instantly obeyed.

Sally Harris must have been waiting close by, though where the squawk-box voice ended was anyone's guess. There had been no sign of a secretary when they'd been ushered in by the credit clerk. The door opens almost immediately to reveal Sally Harris, who, smiling pleasantly as she walks towards them, first greets Mrs Pongarse with a polite 'Good morning, Mrs Pongarse' and then says 'Hi' to Mike. Mike rises from his chair and introduces her to Sarah, who stands up to shake her hand.

'What a lovely suit, a Sarah Maloney I take it?' Sally Harris says. Her pleasant welcome is a contrast to her managing director's coldness and Mike suddenly feels better.

Sarah smiles and nods and they all sit down. There is a moment of awkward silence before Sally Harris smiles and says, 'Well?'

Then Mrs Pongarse starts right off, 'Miss Harris has told me what you want, Mr Maloney, so we don't need to repeat any of that. You are a young designer and you need backing to get started.

Am I correct so far?'

Sally Harris looks over at Mrs Pongarse in some alarm as she picks up the abruptness, even rudeness in her manner.

'Yes, madam,' Mike says. Though he is somewhat surprised, he is under the impression that Sally Harris was the one who made the proposition to him. Still, he keeps his mouth shut. He looks over at Sally and sees that she too is confused.

Mrs Pongarse now looks over at Sarah, 'Why have you brought your sister?'

It is the squawk-box voice, a business voice, a voice accustomed to the sort of authority that might be exercised by the headmistress of a private school for girls and one which is clearly intended to intimidate.

It is a manner which would have worked with ninety-nine per cent of young blokes, especially those from the bush, but Mike has spent the last five years in Flinders Lane among some pretty feisty women. While most may have been factory workers, nonetheless, some, such as Mrs P

with half the contents of her 4711 bottle down her gullet, the manageress and even some of the Jewish workers, many of whom had come from privileged backgrounds before the war, could and often did put a flea in your ear as effectively as any boss. What's more, if you got an Italian or Greek worker riled, you knew about it soon enough and in no uncertain terms.

'There were two reasons, madam,' Mike answers politely. 'Sarah is the cleverest and the wisest person in our family and I asked her to be present.' Mike tilts his head slightly, looking into Mrs Pongarse's eyes and smiles, 'We've never done something like this before.'

'And, of course, what a lovely way to show off your talent,' Sally Harris says, 'Sarah's suit is stunning.' Mike can see she's trying to show

him that she's on his side.

Mike smiles. 'Yes, I admit, I wanted you both to see one of my garments being worn. I thought it might be useful to see that my work

is practical.'

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It's not a bad answer for a young bloke. Mike has learned heaps about the rag trade and in particular from Mr Stan, who often smiled when he was in a tight corner and was always polite to buyers or debt collectors, but who never took a backward step and was a master of the counter punch.

He'd once told Mike that the only time you kneel is when you know that the bloke who holds the gun at your head will pull the trigger if you don't 'But even then, don't beg, it is much easier to kill a man who stands and pleads for his life than one who kneels because not to do so will show him to be a fool. Believe me, I know/ Mr Stan then quoted one of his lines. When you play the game, don't justify, don't complain,

^ There's nothing in her manner to suggest that Mrs Pongarse is impressed with Mike's reply, and she completely ignores Sally's remark about the suit. In the light, the line of her mouth remains tight. 'I'm not at all sure that the garment Miss Maloney is wearing is suitable tor our clients We have fifteen stores, thirteen of them in the country. I can't see young people in the country wearing a suit like that, they have no money and even less fashion sense.'

'But Mrs Pongarse, we talked about a young women's shop in the arcade 'Sally Harris protests.

There's talk of Myers opening a Miss Melbourne shop in Bourke Street and at the Gladstone Shopping Centre, all the signs indicate that the time is right.'

That will do, Miss Harris, that was only an idea, your idea as 1 recall.' It is clear she wishes to diminish Sally Harris's involvement, though Sarah picks up on this immediately.

'You're quite right, Mrs Pongarse. I come from a small country town and I'm sure if I walked down King Street in Yankalillee with this outfit on, someone would call the superintendent from the mental asylum up the hill to come and fetch me.' Sarah smiles, trying to lighten the mood of the interview. "I seem to recall you have two shops in the city, this one and one in Brisbane. A Country Stores Young Shop, perhaps within the confines of the two city shops, could work very well.' Sarah says all this in a rather la-di-da voice which Mike hasn't heard before. Medicine isn't the only thing she's learning at the university.

'Thank you, Miss Maloney, for teaching me my own business. What are you 'saying?' She doesn't wait for an answer, 'Are you suggesting our clothes are too conservative?'

Mike jumps in at this point, 'Yes, for the younger market! Not just yours, everyone's styles are too old! The rag trade isn't catering for young Australian women, madam. Norma Tullo is the only one out there.'

'He's right, Aunt Erica,' Sally Harris says, forgetting to address her aunt formally as she'd previously done. Tullo's doing very well with the

younger set.'

Mrs Pongarse turns, her lips drawn even tighter if that's possible,

'And you'd know, of course!'

'I am the buyer after all,' Sally Harris protests. 'I should know what's happening in town.' She's clearly annoyed and not a little confused at being given such short shrift from her aunt.

It is becoming clear to Mike and Sarah that while Sally Harris may be all-powerful outside the environment of her aunt's office, Country Stores has only one boss and a pretty grizzly one at that. Mike hadn't known that Sally, who was the youngest buyer in the retail industry, was Mrs Pongarse's niece, which he now thinks may explain her elevation in the business at such a young age. But right now Mrs Pongarse is treating her like a schoolgirl.

Mr Stan, of course, would have known of the relationship and this might also explain his seduction ploy. Sally Harris was clearly good at her job. Unmarried and in her early thirties, she'd also grown accustomed to the good things in life but was dependent for them on a domineering aunt and an ultra-conservative retail organisation. Seducing a young and talented designer and then becoming his champion was a way of striking back, showing her aunt that she too had ideas. Perhaps the seduction was unnecessary to bring all this about, but, what the hell,
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Mike was young, good-looking and there to be plucked, a leaf from the virgin creeper.

Who can say how much of this would have gone through Mr Stan's mind? Probably not the part about Mike being a young and talented designer. But you can bet he'd worked the rest out and thought it was worth a try. If he could get his summer range out and paid for before he closed down, he'd be a happy man. As it happened, he sold all but eight hundred dresses to Grace Bros in Sydney. He complained bitterly about the discounts he had to offer them, but you can bet your baby booties he came out of the deal on the credit side of the ledger.