Threads of Silk (14 page)

‘I was gasping for that,’ Jackie said as she took a long drag.

Her friend held the packet out to Ellie but she shook her head. The kettle came to the boil and she filled two mugs and brought them over to the table.

‘What about you?’ Jackie asked.

‘I’m making some for Alex and Donald – I’ll take mine over to the office as well,’ Ellie said, refilling the kettle at the sink. She turned to her friend. ‘That’s a pretty blouse.’

Jackie had undone her overall, revealing pale-blue silk with an embroidered collar. ‘Made it myself,’ she said proudly.

‘It is silk, isn’t it?’

‘Of course – only the best for me,’ Jackie laughed. ‘I made it from an offcut – well two, actually. It was hard to get two matching pieces big enough though.’

Ellie remembered that the weavers were allowed to take offcuts – the ragged pieces of fabric left as the roll came off the machine. Sometimes material would get damaged or smeared with machine oil. The scraps were put in a box by the door and everyone was allowed to help themselves.

‘Why don’t you do the same?’ Jackie asked her.

‘I’m no good at sewing,’ Ellie said. But Jackie had given her an idea.

When she got back to the office, Alex had disappeared again. She went through to the laboratory, once the old throwing-shed. The two men had their heads together, intent on the machine which tested the breaking strain of the thread, as well as the amount it had stretched under tension.

‘Maybe this one will work, Donald,’ Alex said.

His colleague nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ve got to adjust the acrylic fibre to match the breaking strain of the natural thread. Once we’ve calculated that, we’ll be home and dry.’ He indicated the pointer which measured the tension on the thread.

Neither of them noticed as Ellie put the coffee down beside them and she smiled as she went back to her desk.

Perusing her sheet of figures once more, her smile turned to a frown. There was definitely something wrong. Now she had a good idea why Turner’s hadn’t been making the profits it should. She could no longer put off talking to Alex about it. But would she be able to hold his attention long enough to make him see how serious it was? And, wrapped up in his experiments, would he really care?

Ellie didn’t get the chance to talk to Alex before he dashed off on one of his frequent trips to Manchester, saying that Michael would sort out any problems. But she was sure now that Michael was the problem.

This time Alex was gone for six weeks and Ellie didn’t know what to do. Whenever Michael came into the office she bit her lip and clenched her fist. She was sure that if she was measured on the thread-testing machine she’d find she’d reached her own breaking strain. She laughed at herself, dismissing the fanciful thoughts. All the same, she willed her boss to return soon. He’d have to listen now.

She’d had her suspicions before, and they’d been confirmed when a customer phoned asking why his order was late. Michael told her there’d been a delay in the delivery of the thrown silk from their new supplier in Manchester.

But Ellie was sure they’d received it. She remembered the invoice arriving and Alex signing the cheque in payment just before he went away. Surely she hadn’t made a mistake and paid for goods not received. And hadn’t Jackie told her how quickly they’d managed to get the order out? Or was that for another customer?

She smiled at Michael, appearing to accept his explanation. But when he left the office, she went through the invoices carefully, then phoned the supplier to check the delivery date.

On the bus going home that evening she asked Jackie how soon the bolts of silk would be ready for packing. Somehow she wasn’t surprised when her friend told her they’d gone off the previous week. But what had happened to them if the customer hadn’t received them?

Puzzling over it in bed that night she remembered the strange van that had been parked near the loading bay a few days previously. Michael and someone she’d never seen before had disappeared in the direction of one of the disused buildings down near the stream. When she asked Michael who it was he’d told her it was an old friend who’d dropped in to see him. She didn’t believe him but his bold stare deterred her from asking more questions.

Now, she was sure that Michael was working some sort of fiddle – maybe selling their fabric privately and pocketing the money himself. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. Remembering the muddle the books had been in when she first came and how an apparently thriving firm seemed to be losing money, Ellie was sure it had been going on for some time. How could Michael cheat his own father, especially when he must have known it would mean the loss of the family business? Maybe he just didn’t care, Ellie thought indignantly. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it. She must find a way of stopping him.

It wouldn’t be easy now that he was in and out of the office so much. For a while, he’d left her alone and she’d thought that at last he had got the message that she wasn’t interested in him. Lately though, he’d taken to sitting on the edge of her desk again, watching her work. Had he realized that she was suspicious?

If only Alex would get back.

The cottage was so quiet that Ellie could hear the rain on the roof and the wind in the trees. Norah was at the café, where she seemed to spend even more time lately. Usually on a Saturday Ellie went in to Chelmsford on the bus to shop or go to the pictures but she didn’t fancy it in this weather.

She wandered aimlessly from room to room, peering out at the sodden garden through the streaming windows. It was a good time to try out her idea.

She’d never painted on silk before but before long she was totally absorbed, and her concerns about Michael faded into the background. She became fascinated by the way the colours sank into the material, giving a soft muted feel to the design. She used her watercolour tubes and a wet on wet technique which seemed to work well with the design she was doing. But if she wanted a hard edge, how would she stop the colours running into each other? The other problem was that the colours wouldn’t be fast.

Ellie bit her lip. There must be a way: special paints perhaps. She’d ask at the art shop next time she was in Chelmsford.

She sat back and looked at the finished design. Now she was ready to transfer it to a larger piece of fabric. How lucky she’d been to get that long narrow piece off the end of the roll. It had an oil smear in one corner, but she could cut that off and still have enough left for a scarf. Her sewing skills weren’t good enough for the fine stitches she’d need on this delicate material and she decided to tease out the threads at the edge to make a fringe.

But how to fix the material while she worked? She didn’t want to use drawing pins as she had with the practice piece. Perhaps Norah wouldn’t mind her borrowing her embroidery frame. If the scarf proved a success, she’d give it to her as a thank you present.

With the silk firmly in place, Ellie soon transformed the white material into a bright swirl of mauves, pinks and blues. It reminded her of the wallpaper design she’d painted – so long ago now it seemed – and her eyes closed against the remembered pain of her father’s contemptuous expression as he screwed the paper up and threw it aside. She thrust the thought away. No one would ever do that to her again. She knew she had talent – and one day everyone would know it, including Bert Tyler.

Norah was delighted with the scarf and only too happy for Ellie to use her embroidery frame. ‘You could make those and sell them,’ she told her.

Ellie laughed. ‘It’s just a hobby,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’d have to charge a lot if I had to buy the material – I was lucky to get this piece for nothing.’

She was pleased that Norah seemed impressed with her artistic talents and it gave her an idea. It was getting near Christmas and she would make scarves for the girls she’d become friendly with at the mill. She didn’t want to dip into her hard-won savings to buy presents.

She asked Jackie to get some more scraps for her, unwilling to enter the weaving-shed unless she had a genuine errand in case she encountered Michael lurking behind the bales.

She couldn’t avoid going across the yard for ever though. The time sheets had to be collected and she wanted to talk to Fred, the overseer, about the latest order. It was Michael’s job to monitor the work in progress but Ellie didn’t trust him. Last time the bales had gone missing she’d had a hard job persuading the customer not to cancel his order.

Everything seemed to be all right this time and Ellie wondered if she might have been mistaken. Or perhaps Michael was aware of her suspicions and was lying low. She said goodbye to Fred and collected the time sheets.

When she opened the shed door she was dismayed to see that the fine drizzle had turned to driving sheets of rain. She stepped back inside, hoping it would soon ease off.

As she leaned against one of the bales, Michael appeared in the doorway, shaking the drops off an umbrella. He spotted her and smiled.

‘I’m just going to have a word with Fred, then I’m going back to the office. If you wait, you can share my umbrella,’ he said.

Ellie would like to have refused but the rain seemed set to last. She wondered why Michael needed to talk to Fred. Were they working the fiddles together? She didn’t believe so. Fred had been with Turner’s since he was a boy and was now nearing retirement. Besides, she liked the old man and couldn’t bear to think ill of him.

She jumped when Michael touched her shoulder. He opened the umbrella and grasped her arm, pulling her closer as he threw open the shed door. She flinched away instinctively and he hissed through his teeth.

‘What’s the matter with you, girl? All I’ve ever done is ask you to go out with me – to have a bit of fun. But you keep fobbing me off with excuses.’

‘I’ve already told you – I’m not interested,’ Ellie said, trying to keep her voice steady. She couldn’t tell him she just didn’t like the way he looked at her.

‘Got your eye on the new boss, have you?’ he sneered. ‘Not good enough for you now, am I?’

‘You never have been,’ she retorted, regretting her words instantly as a flash of anger darted across his face and his grip on her arm tightened.

He threw the umbrella down and pushed her towards the pile of bales. As she fell against them he lunged at her, his lips curled in what was almost a snarl. ‘I’ll teach you who’s boss.’

‘Oh no you won’t,’ she muttered through clenched teeth as her knee came up and caught him between the legs. He reeled away, his face contorted in pain and anger, and Ellie grasped the opportunity to dive for the door.

She raced across the yard and burst into the office, leaning against the door and trying to catch her breath. She was shaking, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Gradually her breathing eased and she became conscious of the rainwater dripping from her clothes to pool at her feet. She ran her hand through her tangled hair and looked up to see Alex Cameron perched on the edge of her desk, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

She gaped at him foolishly. When had he returned? ‘I just went over for the time sheets,’ she said lamely.

He looked at her without smiling and she realized she must have dropped them in her flight across the yard. ‘Never mind the time sheets.’ He thrust the papers in his hand at her. ‘I’d like you to explain the meaning of this.’

Ellie reached out a hand for the papers which were covered with scribbled figures in her own handwriting. She was sure she’d put them away, worried that Michael might see them and realize their significance. As she collected her thoughts she wished she’d had time to work out what she was going to tell Alex. Why had he come back so unexpectedly?

‘Well, girl – explain,’ he said brusquely.

Ellie bit her lip. He’d never spoken to her like that before. Surely he didn’t think she was the dishonest one? Stammering, she tried to explain the discrepancies between the amount of thrown silk purchased for weaving and the finished cloth sent out to their customers. Someone must be selling off the surplus for their own profit. The amount was too great to be accounted for by spoiled material and natural wastage. She couldn’t bring herself to mention Michael, unsure whether Alex would believe her.

Throughout her halting explanation, Alex did not move from his perch on the corner of the desk, his grey eyes, hard as flint now, fixed on hers.

Ellie’s voice trailed away and she felt herself reddening as Alex continued to stare at her in silence. She felt embarrassed – guilty almost – as if it were her fault that such things had been allowed to go on.

‘Why didn’t you tell me of your suspicions before now?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to – but you were always so busy. I planned to speak to you as soon as you got back from Manchester.’

‘Never mind. I’ll deal with it now,’ he said sharply, getting up and striding out of the office.

Ellie sagged against the desk in relief. It wasn’t her worry any more. She hoped fervently that there would be no second chance for Michael Turner and that he would get the sack as he deserved. But she spared a thought for old Mr Turner’s distress when he found out what his son had been up to.

Alex realized he still had Ellie’s sheaf of notes and calculations in his hand when he sat down at the bench which ran along the far end of the laboratory. He’d managed to complete his business in Manchester earlier than expected and couldn’t wait to get back to his experiments. That was where his real interest lay and he resented time spent away from Essex.

Donald spoke from his end of the bench, where he was testing a new batch of fibres. ‘Glad to see you back, Alex. Come and take a look at this.’

‘Not now, Don. I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.’

Donald swivelled round at the impatient note in his friend’s voice. ‘Things didn’t go well up there then?’ he asked mildly.

‘Oh, no. It’s something else that’s come up. I just need to go over some figures.’

‘Business before pleasure, eh?’ Don said with a laugh, turning back to the thread-testing machine.

Alex didn’t reply, his head bent over the notes in Ellie’s neat handwriting. He’d have to do something about this. When he’d taken over Turner’s, he’d been fully aware that the business was going downhill. It hadn’t troubled him unduly. So long as the Manchester textile mill kept making money, he could afford to indulge his own interest. All he needed from Turner’s were the premises and the machinery – somewhere to conduct his experiments.

It was part of his agreement with old Turner that he kept the existing staff on as long as possible. They were good and loyal workers and he hoped to keep things ticking over until he was ready to start producing the new material. He hated the idea of putting any of them out of work. It would be hard for them to find new jobs in the industry, especially out here in the sticks, although there were a couple of silk mills still in production in Essex – one just up the road in Braintree.

But this new development was something else, he thought, as he pored over Ellie’s figures. He might not care about making money. But he did care about being cheated. He sat back and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. It must be someone who knew the business thoroughly – someone who also knew what a muddle the books had been in when he took over.

Could it be Ellie? He knew very little about her background, except that she wasn’t local like the rest of the workers. But he’d seen how hard she worked and been impressed with her genuine interest in the silk business, as well as in his experiments. He hoped his growing attraction to her wasn’t clouding his judgement.

Until recently his work and his experiments had been his whole life. But it wasn’t just the desire to know how the latest batch of thread-testing had gone that had brought him back from Manchester in such a hurry. His disappointment when he found Ellie wasn’t in the office was like a physical blow.

And now this. Was Ellie cheating him? He didn’t want to believe it but the figures in her neat handwriting, spoke for themselves. She must have an accomplice. Who was it, he wondered as he paced the room, pausing by the window. The heavy rain had brought an early dusk and the lights from the weaving shed reflected off the deepening puddles. A movement caught his eye and a figure came out of the shadows and slunk across the yard, disappearing in the direction of the disused mill building down by the stream. What was young Turner up to? Alex, aware of his manager’s reputation with the mill girls, wondered if he’d arranged to meet one of them there.