Threads of Silk (13 page)

Although she was no nearer achieving her ambition of going to college, Ellie had started shorthand and typing classes and was becoming more and more absorbed in the business of weaving silk. She loved her job as well as living with Norah in the little cottage. She had become used to the quiet of the country – not that it was that quiet with cockerels crowing, tractors and combine harvesters scraping the hedges on either side of the narrow lanes and cows pleading to be milked. Here she felt safe and, in her work at Turner’s mill, she felt valued and appreciated.

Mr Turner was full of praise for her improvements in the office. If it weren’t for his son, Ellie would have been content. He just wouldn’t leave her alone. It was all right when his father was around, but over the last few months the old man’s health had deteriorated. He’d begun leaving more of the management of the business to Michael.

Ellie wondered whether he realized how little work his son actually did. She was now practically running the office on her own. Turner’s had been ticking over nicely – even if it wasn’t the thriving business it had been before and during the war. But, as she told Norah, things were going downhill under Michael’s mismanagement.

And now there was something else to worry about. Norah would be sad when she heard the news. Although she’d left Turner’s years ago, she still felt involved in the business and always spoke of her old boss with respect and affection. But Ellie would have to tell her – if only because it meant she might be out of a job herself soon.

They’d finished their evening meal and, as it was a warm spring evening, they decided to sit in the garden with their cups of tea. Ellie brought her sketchpad and box of watercolours out with her. Now that her life was more settled her interest in painting, which had lain dormant for so long, had been reawakened. It could have something to do with her beautiful surroundings, she thought as she breathed in the country scents, so different from what she’d been used to all her life.

She sighed. Despite her outward content, she still missed her family, her mother most of all. She tried not to think about Harry. She would always love him, but remembering him brought only pain. She just hoped that he was happy with his German bride and their child. He must be out of the army now. Had he returned to London to work in the market with Sid? She’d never know – there was no way she would ever go back to the East End.

She sighed and turned her attention to what Norah was saying. The older woman was always eager to hear what was going on at Turner’s.

‘So, young Michael hasn’t knuckled down to the job then?’ Norah finished her tea and set the cup down on the grass at her feet. ‘His dad must be so disappointed.’

‘I think that’s why he’s made the decision to sell up,’ Ellie said.

Norah looked up sharply. ‘Sell up – what do you mean?’

‘He’s had an offer from a textile manufacturer from up north – Manchester, I think. He hung on, waiting till Michael had learned the business. But I think he’s now realized that he’ll never be ready to take over.’ Ellie gazed across the garden, her face sad. ‘He was really broken up when he told me – angry too at seeing all those years of tradition being lost.’

‘That young man never was interested in work,’ Norah said tartly. ‘I could understand it when he thought his brother would take over. But, he’s the only son now Philip’s dead – the mill would have gone to him eventually.’

Ellie bent to pick up the teacups but Norah detained her. ‘Let’s stay out here a little longer – it’s a lovely evening.’

Norah had cut the grass earlier and the sweet smell lingered on the still air. The borders were awash with spring colours which glowed in the deepening dusk and overhead a couple of early swallows coasted on the warm breeze in search of a late supper. Ellie was reluctant to spoil the perfect moment but there was something else on her mind.

‘I know I haven’t much experience of business,’ she began hesitantly. ‘But I’m sure the mill was doing all right, although Mr Turner told me that things went downhill after they stopped producing parachute silk. He said they’ve been losing money ever since. But, according to the books, they should still be making a profit.’

‘You did tell me things were in a bit of a muddle when you first started there,’ Norah said. ‘After he lost his son, the old man went to pieces – lost interest in the business altogether for a while. As you’ve said, Michael isn’t much help – only interested in chasing girls and swanning around in fast cars.’

‘I suppose that’s it – as you say, things were in a muddle. Maybe I’ve got it wrong.’ Ellie changed the subject, asking teasingly how things were going with Trevor. Norah spent a lot more time at the café these days. Her home-made cakes were now a regular item on the menu and it seemed that Gloria was off the scene for good.

Ellie smiled, pleased that her friend was happy, but she had other things on her mind. She’d sorted out all the old paperwork and the office was now well organized. Everything was ready for the final stock-take before the new owner, Alex Cameron, took over. But she was worried about what she thought were discrepancies. If only she could discuss it with Mr Turner, but he was hardly ever there these days. She’d mentioned it to Michael and he’d laughed, saying she was mistaken. It wasn’t her mistake though – she was sure of that.

Although no one was supposed to know until it had been officially announced, news of the take-over leaked out, causing consternation among the weavers. At lunch time next day Jackie accosted Ellie. ‘It’s all round the factory. Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were supposed to be friends.’

‘I was told in confidence,’ Ellie said defensively, biting her lip as she remembered that she had told Norah.

‘Well, I think we should have been warned if we’re about to lose our jobs,’ Jackie told her huffily.

‘I’m sorry – you’re right. It was just as much of a blow to me, you know.’ Ellie touched her friend’s arm, aware that the other girls were listening. ‘But I don’t know why you’re worried. I’m sure the new owner will keep you all on. It’s not as if the mill’s closing down altogether.’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ Jackie said, hunching her shoulders and moving away as the bus drew up.

The next day the staff assembled in the weaving-shed, where Mr Turner informed them of the take-over and introduced the new owner. Ellie had already met Alex Cameron. He had spoken to her about her role in the firm just before the meeting and she’d been reassured by his firm handshake and the direct look from his grey eyes.

‘Will Turner has told me how much he relies on you,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to depend on you, too, Miss Scott – or may I call you Helen?’

‘My friends call me Ellie,’ she told him.

She liked Alex Cameron and felt that the business couldn’t be in better hands. Her only concern was that he’d told her Michael Turner would stay on as manager.

Alex stood on a box and looked over the twenty or so heads gathered in front of the machines, smiling down at them as they shuffled their feet apprehensively.

‘I know the news over the take-over has come as a shock. However, before I go any further, I would like to reassure you all that your jobs are not in jeopardy. And, for the time being at least, we will continue to produce silk fabrics.’ There was murmuring and shuffling of feet and he held up a hand for silence.

‘You may have heard rumours that changes are planned – and it’s true. Change is inevitable – not just here, but in the wider economy of the country. We must move with the times, and that means updating our practices and our machinery. But, to implement those changes and to make Turner’s a thriving business once more I shall need workers.’ He paused and pointed a finger, encompassing them all. ‘You.’

There were collective sighs of relief and Ellie realized that there’d been a very real fear of job losses.

Alex then told them that, as he would have to make frequent trips back to Manchester to deal with his other business interests, he had decided to keep Michael on as his manager. ‘So, although Turner’s will no longer be a family firm, the interest and traditions developed over the years by the Turners and their forebears will, I hope, still continue.’

Alex smiled and stepped down from the box, moving among the machines, shaking hands and greeting by name all his new employees.

Ellie caught Jackie’s eye and walked towards her. ‘You’re not still angry with me, are you? I felt really bad – not saying anything.’

‘It’s OK. I’m sorry I got a bit huffy – but when rumours start flying round, you don’t know what to believe. And I like my job here.’

‘So do I. What do you think of our new boss, then?’

Jackie’s eyes sparkled. ‘He’s quite a dish. If I wasn’t spoken for already, I wouldn’t mind….’ She giggled. ‘Is he married?’

‘Don’t think so – not that I’m interested. Besides, he strikes me as being more interested in business than in personal relationships.’

Jackie laughed, nodding towards Michael, who was talking quietly to his father. His face was flushed and Ellie wondered what they were discussing.

‘Pity he’s not going instead of his father,’ Jackie said. ‘The creep.’

Ellie shuddered. ‘You don’t have to tell me. Anyway I’m sure Mr Cameron won’t let him get away with as much as his father did.’

‘Yes, he looks like he’s not easily fooled,’ Jackie said. ‘Who knows, Michael may mess things up so badly that Cameron will give him the sack.’

Ellie hoped her friend was right. Her job would be so much easier if Michael was out of the way.

Alex Cameron came through to the office from the old throwing-shed, a swatch of samples in his hand. He was frowning as he flicked through them.

Ellie looked up from her column of figures and smiled at him. ‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t quite cracked it yet – but I’ll keep trying,’ he said.

‘I’m sure it’ll come right eventually,’ she said encouragingly. From the moment they’d met six months ago, Ellie had been impressed with Alex Cameron’s dynamism. He radiated energy – from the fierce grey eyes to the large capable hands which moved expressively as he outlined his ideas. She also felt comfortable with him. He was one of the few men she knew who didn’t look her up and down with a certain gleam in his eye. And he also spoke to her as an equal, never assuming that she wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.

‘I’ve invested a lot of money in this venture,’ he said. ‘I can’t afford to fail.’

‘But you’re still making cloth in the Manchester mill – and we’re doing all right here. A new order came in this morning,’ Ellie said.

‘I’m not bothered about the silk. If things go to plan we’ll be putting in new machines and making the new fabric before too long.’

The dilapidated throwing shed had been cleared of all the old and broken machines that had been stored there for years. The roof had been mended and the interior painted white to reflect the light. Alex had cleaned up and renovated some of the old machines for use in his experiments, including the old hand-loom.

There was also a new machine, lovingly tended by Donald Blair, an old friend of Alex’s, who had recently joined the firm to help with the experiments. Donald was so confident of their eventual success that he’d moved his wife and family down from Manchester.

Alex, seeing Ellie’s genuine interest, smiled at her. ‘I know you think making silk is the only thing that matters – I admire your dedication to the business, especially as Mr Turner told me you’re still fairly new to it. But we have to move forward. We’ve been struggling against the import of cheap ready-made silk and cotton from India for years – and now there’s all these synthetic fabrics coming on the market. We’re making a type of nylon ourselves up in Manchester.’

‘I know – horrid slippery stuff that’s supposed to not need ironing,’ Ellie said with a cheeky grin.

‘That’s the whole point of these experiments,’ Alex said, perching on the edge of the desk and displaying the samples. ‘Imagine if you could make a material that looks and feels like silk but has the properties of nylon – durability, non-iron and so on. That’s what I’m trying to do – make a combination thread – part man-made, part natural fibre. It’s been done before, of course – but not with silk.’

Ellie fingered the material, smiling at his enthusiasm. The sample squares were easily pulled out of shape and she knew that if they were made up into a garment it would soon become baggy and unwearable. Earlier samples had turned out coarse and scratchy or had not held the dye well. There were also problems controlling the build-up of static as the thread passed through the winding machine.

‘If we can’t solve that we can’t proceed. It’s one of the biggest problems with synthetic fibres,’ Alex said.

‘If anyone can do it, you can. You’re obsessed.’ Ellie laughed and he laughed with her.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But that’s how most new things come about – the inventors wouldn’t give up even though everybody else thought they were mad.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘I came to ask if you’d get me a cup of coffee – I need something to keep me going.’

‘OK. I’ll bring some for Donald too, shall I?’ Ellie got up and went towards the door. In old Mr Turner’s day the workers had brought their own sandwiches and flasks. Now Alex had turned one of the disused buildings into a rest room, containing a small kitchen area with an electric kettle and fridge.

Ellie welcomed the chance of a break and a walk across the yard in the fresh air. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil Jackie came in with one of the other girls. They were laughing as they flopped into chairs and got out their cigarettes. That was another of Alex’s innovations – the chance for the workers to have a cigarette in comfort. There was a strict rule against lighting up in the storerooms and weaving-sheds, with instant dismissal for anyone caught breaking it. In the past it had been the custom to sneak out and have a quick puff in the shelter of the porch. Naturally enough, in bad weather it was tempting to hide behind one of the machines or bales of material. Now, there was no excuse and consequently less risk of fire in the mill.