Opal Plumstead (32 page)

‘I didn’t think it was . . . nonsense,’ I said.

‘But it wasn’t the design,’ said Mrs Roberts.

‘I
embellished
the design,’ I protested.

‘Let me see.’ Mrs Roberts held out her hand.

I gave her the box lid. She stared at it. I waited for her outcry, but she didn’t say a word. She reached for a magnifying glass on her desk and examined my fairies.

‘Fairies!’ she said, peering at them.

‘I saw your beautiful fairy paintings, you see, Mrs Roberts, and I started to think about our designs. They have the name Fairy Glen on every box, so why not incorporate a few fairies on the picture as a novelty? So many people have a special gift box of Fairy Glen fondants or toffees or candy kisses. They keep them as treasure boxes for their letters or handkerchiefs or jewellery. I have one in my own bedroom. Perhaps some people go on and collect all three designs. But there’s no incentive to buy further gift boxes if they’re all identical. You might just as well be saving our time and using transfers. But if we had
different
fairies on every box, think how girls would love to set up a grand collection. I’m not suggesting a whole host of fairies because that would be too time-consuming, but several in different costumes and attitudes each time would still be a delightful feature. Well, I thought it would. I thought Miss Lily would
like
my idea once she saw it.’

‘You didn’t think to consult her first?’

‘I did wonder, but then I thought
Deeds, not words
would be more persuasive.’

Mrs Roberts gave me a sharp look, and then snorted with laughter. She actually threw back her head and roared. ‘Opal Plumstead, you are the most extraordinary girl,’ she said. She picked up my box lid and examined it again. ‘I can see why Miss Lily was so upset. The purity of her design is jeopardized. Yet I rather like your little fairies, and I like your sales pitch even more. I can see you have a good business head on your shoulders as well as an inventive mind. Let me think about this, Opal. I need to confer with the members of the board. Off you go now. And don’t take it into your head to do anything else revolutionary for a couple of days. I don’t think we could stand any further upsets.’

‘So you’re not cross with me now, Mrs Roberts?’

‘I’m cross with you for not being more tactful with Miss Lily, certainly, but I’m pleased with your initiative. Will that do?’

‘Yes, I think so. We are still friends, aren’t we? I know we have to be very formal here and you are my employer, but can I still see you at meetings?’

‘Of course. And I dare say there will be more picnic luncheons too,’ said Mrs Roberts, smiling at me properly at last.

I walked back to the design room in a daze. The other girls all looked at me, waiting for me to pack up my things and creep off in disgrace. They shook their heads in astonishment when I calmly started on a meadow design, planning in my head where the fairies would go. One would be paddling in a stream, another gliding along it on a lily leaf, and perhaps a third would be riding on a rabbit.

‘What are you up to now, Opal?’ asked Alice.

‘You’ll see,’ I said airily.

‘Didn’t Mrs Roberts give you the push?’

‘On the contrary. She
likes
my fairy designs. She thinks they’re a brilliant new idea. She says I can carry on doing them,’ I said. ‘Well, perhaps. She has to discuss it with the board first.’

‘They’ll never agree. We’ve always done it this way. What will Miss Lily say?’ said Alice.

‘Oh, bother Miss Lily,’ I said, though I felt hot and horrified when I remembered how she’d trembled.

Alice looked at me as if I’d blasphemed. ‘Pride comes before a fall, Opal Plumstead,’ she said. ‘You think you’re the bee’s knees just because Mrs Roberts has taken a shine to you for some unknown reason. You think you can shove your way in here and lord it over us when you’re just a chit of a girl. We’ve all been working in design for years. You mark my words, you’ll get your comeuppance soon enough. I feel it in my bones.’

‘You sound like a gypsy fortune-teller, Alice,’ I said, ‘and I never believe a word of that superstitious nonsense.’

I was secretly unsettled all the same. What if she were right? I had showed off abominably, but Mrs Roberts hadn’t actually said I could continue with my fairy designs. Perhaps the members of the board would all be traditional old fogeys, contemporaries of Miss Lily. Mrs Roberts owned Fairy Glen, but it sounded as if they had a say in factory policy too.

I’d just have to convince them with my work. I painted my meadow at lightning speed and inserted my fairies. I didn’t break for lunch: I worked straight through the hour, having sips of water and nibbles of bun as I painted. I moved straight on to the butterfly design. The butterflies were always painted large, one Red Admiral, one cabbage white and one cobalt blue. This gave me the chance to make my fairies large too, with detailed faces. I gave them little outfits, seemingly fashioned out of flower petals, and wings in matching butterfly designs. They were all three flying together, holding hands, a girl pointing her toes gracefully, a boy running in the air, and a baby kicking his chubby little legs.

‘Such nonsense,’ said Alice, peering over my shoulder. ‘You wait till Miss Lily comes back.’

‘Miss Lily isn’t my employer,’ I said. ‘I’m taking these straight to Mrs Roberts.’

I picked up my two box lids and went along the corridor to Mrs Roberts. I knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ she called, sounding a little impatient.

When I put my head round the door, I saw that she was poring over figures in a big accounts book. She frowned when she saw it was me.

‘Not you again, Opal.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Roberts. I just thought I’d prepare you two other examples of my fairy designs for when you have your board meeting,’ I said. ‘Would you care to glance at them?’

‘Later – I’m in the middle of totting up these figures,’ she said.

I put them down carefully on the edge of the desk. She gave them a quick glance and then picked them up.

‘My goodness, Opal,’ she said, standing.

‘Do you like them?’

‘They’re fantastic,’ she said. She sounded almost as excited as me. ‘They work. They work brilliantly.’

‘I’ll be able to do different fairies on each and every box. I’m practically brimming over with ideas.’

‘They could be an entirely new deluxe range, our Fairy Glen speciality,’ said Mrs Roberts.

‘So you’ll try to persuade the board?’

‘They won’t need persuading, believe you me.’ Mrs Roberts reached for my hand and clasped it. ‘Well done, Opal. You have real talent – and persistence too. Well done indeed!’

THE BOARD WERE
equally enthusiastic about my designs. It was decided that the other girls would work on the three classic designs while I simply painted my fairies on top for the special deluxe range. Mrs Roberts suggested my wages needed revising and paid me an astonishing twenty-one shillings a week.

‘Don’t you dare tell any of the other ladies in design, though.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ I declared.

‘And try to be extremely meek and tactful with poor Miss Lily.’

I did my level best, but no matter how I behaved, it was clear that Miss Lily could hardly bear the sight of me now. She actually shuddered when she caught glimpses of my fairies. After a month or so she handed in her notice.

I felt terrible. ‘It’s because of me, isn’t it?’ I said to Mrs Roberts.

‘Well, you haven’t helped, certainly. But Miss Lily is well past retirement age. She would have needed to stop work soon anyway. We’re giving her a very good pension in recognition of her long time here. There’s no need to look so stricken, Opal.’

I felt very guilty all the same and worried about poor Miss Lily, but I’m afraid I was not downcast for long. I gloried in my new senior position in the design room. I loved going to work now. I stopped wishing I could go back to school and complete my education.

It was wonderful to have the extra money too.

‘You don’t have to mind those wretched babies any more, Mother.
I’ll
take care of the housekeeping from now on,’ I said loftily.

‘It’s very good of you, dear, but I rather like having my babies around me,’ said Mother. ‘And perhaps this fairy stuff is just a flash in the pan. You’ll run out of ideas, or they’ll get tired of you and put you back on your basic wage.’

‘No they won’t, Mother!’ said Cassie. ‘Our Opal’s done wonderfully.’

Mother didn’t seem to think much of my fairy designs when I brought them home to show her. She said, ‘Very nice, dear,’ but it was plain she wasn’t impressed.

However, Cassie thought them marvellous. ‘You clever old thing! I’m so happy for you, Opie,’ she said, hugging me.

On Sunday she told Mr Evandale all about my success. ‘He seems very tickled, especially as you’re so young. I rather think he’d like to meet you, Opal. Would you like to meet him?’

‘Yes – yes I would,’ I said, though I felt uncertain. I’d imagined him in so many Gothic guises, preying on my poor sister, that he’d become a fairy-tale ogre in my head. Yet I felt I
should
meet him, for Cassie’s sake. I was also pleased he was taking an interest in me now.

‘Then I’ll fix it,’ said Cassie. ‘Perhaps we can go on a little outing together? Up to London, perhaps?’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘It seems such ages since we had that wonderful weekend with Father, doesn’t it?’

‘Oh dear, yes. But we’ll be able to go on other outings with him when he comes back,’ I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed this now.

Father still wrote his monthly letter, but it was a thin, flavourless document, politely asking after our health and wishing us well. He didn’t engage with any of us on a personal level and still told us nothing about himself. I could hardly bear to imagine how he was coping.

I was sure he would be desperately worrying about us too, so I wrote him a long letter telling him about my triumph at Fairy Glen, my new status in the design room, and my magnificent new salary. I hoped that this would reassure him, but reading through it again, I realized I sounded as if I were bragging. It might make Father feel worse rather than better, more diminished if his own daughter had suddenly become successful. I tore up the letter and ended up writing almost as uninformatively as Father himself.

Dearest Father
,

A day doesn’t go by when we don’t think of you. We are so concerned about you. But please don’t worry about us. We’re all flourishing and I have had a promotion at work – though we can’t be truly happy until you are back home.

I remain your devoted loving daughter,

Opal

I drew him a few little fairies in the margins as whimsical decoration, but then felt they looked rather too frivolous. I tore up that letter as well and wrote out a plain version. Cassie wrote a line too, telling Father she loved him. I hoped Mother would do the same, but she shook her head. She no longer seemed to have any love left in her – for Father, for me, even for Cassie. The only ones she made a fuss of were the wretched babies.

That Sunday Cassie came back from seeing Mr Evandale even later than usual, but managed to lie smoothly enough about a long evening of card playing at the Alouettes’.

‘With Philip?’ Mother asked eagerly.

‘Of course,’ said Cassie.

‘There must surely be an understanding between the two of you now?’ said Mother.

‘I think so,’ Cassie replied.

‘But he hasn’t formally asked for your hand?’

‘Oh, Mother! Patience,’ said Cassie.

‘How on earth are you going to sort this out?’ I asked her. Mother had gone to bed and we were alone together at last.

‘Oh, you’re such a worry-pot, Opie. I can string Mother along for ages yet. I am good at it, aren’t I?’

‘But at some stage she really
is
going to expect you to come home with a diamond ring on your finger.’

‘I
have
a ring,’ said Cassie, reaching into her chemise and fondling Mr Evandale’s signet ring on the ribbon around her neck.

‘Yes, but it’s plain that’s not an engagement ring. And Mother will want to meet Philip eventually.’

‘Then I shall tell her we’ve had a sudden disagreement. I’ll say I’ve suddenly realized he’s a pathetic fool. No, Mother would think me the fool for turning him down. So I shall say I’ve discovered him canoodling with some other lady and I am now heartbroken. She will make an extra fuss of me.’

‘Does Mr Evandale know how extremely duplicitous you are?’

‘I’m not sure what “duplicitous” means. The words you come out with, Opie! But he knows I’m a little minx. I’ve told him all the tales I spin to Mother and he thinks it’s a hoot.’

‘Then he can’t be a very nice man himself.’

‘Nice men are generally very, very boring, Opie,’ said Cassie in a worldly-wise way. ‘Anyway, nice or not, he’s still keen to meet you. He’s suggesting next Saturday.’

‘Saturday?’

I often attended meetings at the local WSPU now, and sometimes went back to lunch with Mrs Roberts, but I knew she was spending this weekend visiting her son, Morgan, at school. So I
could
be free on Saturday . . .