Dreams to Sell (9 page)

Poor old Norma, thought Roz, arriving at home. Wish she could find something to take her mind off my good luck she's always talking about. But, oh dear, now I'll have to go through my day all over again for Ma and Chrissie – it's their early evening home.

In fact, hers was not the only exciting news that evening. First, there'd been another postcard from Dougal to say he'd be coming home in two weeks' time with a weekend pass.

‘Isn't that grand?' cried Flo, for once looking really relaxed and pleased.

‘And I've got news too, or at least an idea,' said Chrissie. ‘It's for you, Roz.'

‘Me? What sort of idea?'

‘Well, Ma knows Richard, but you don't. You said you'd like to meet him but when I asked him if he'd like to come home sometime he said it'd be too much for Ma. As she'd not been well, you know.'

‘Well, that's a relief!' cried Flo. ‘I get all flustered with strangers coming here.'

‘Oh, Ma, Richard's not a stranger! You know him from the café! Anyway, Roz, what I thought was you could come to the Sunshine one evening and meet him there.'

Chrissie's eyes on her sister were very bright; she seemed as excited as though she was arranging something very important. And so it must be, for her, thought Roz, seeing as it concerned Richard, and he was now the centre of her universe.

‘You and Richard could both have something to eat and a nice chat together, eh?' she asked quickly. ‘What do you think?'

‘If it's what you want, of course I'll come,' said Roz. ‘But what about Dougal? He'll have to meet Richard too.'

‘Oh, yes, he'll be next, when he's got some leave. But you first, after I've fixed it up with Richard. And, Roz, you will wear something smart? Richard takes a lot o' notice of how folk look.'

‘I think things will work out well,' Roz had told Norma of her future in the property department, and in the days that followed it seemed she was proved right. Not only did Mr Shield's grasp of his new duties smooth away any anxieties she might have had, but the way he dealt so easily and charmingly with clients quite charmed her too. Though it would not be true to say that he was any better at his job than Mr MacKenna, he certainly brought his own gifts to it, she had to admit, and would be, as she'd heard someone say, an asset to the firm.

Another bonus for working with him was the definite pleasure she took in their driving out together to visit properties. Apart from his saying at times that he felt like cursing the ‘dear old Hillman' and that he was already planning to ask Mr Banks for a new car – or, at least, a better second hand one, which was all they could hope for, she knew that he enjoyed these trips as much as she did. This was his chance to learn from her which were the pricey areas of the city and which were not, and being as quick as he was it didn't take him long to absorb all she told him. Later, in the office, where he'd marked up which areas were which on the street map on the wall, remembering accurately all she'd said, he told her how helpful she'd been, his gaze so sincere, so intent, she'd felt particularly pleased.

Perhaps the best thing of all about the drives was that when they took particulars of houses she specially liked it was to find that he liked them too; that he was, in fact, as fascinated by property as she was.

‘I don't know why it is,' he told her, driving back to the office one afternoon, ‘but ever since I was a boy I've been interested in houses. Just to admire them, you know, and imagine how it would be to own one of them myself. Of course, I never had the faintest hope then of that happening.'

‘Snap!' cried Roz. ‘It was the same for me. I used to cut pictures out of Ma's magazines, and then I'd do drawings on bits of cardboard of all the rooms and stairs and bathrooms and such, and Ma would say, “Couldn't you draw something else? Why always houses?” I knew I'd never have a lovely one myself, at least, I couldn't see how, but I suppose I liked to dream. Still do.'

‘Well, that's what our clients do, isn't it? They're looking for a dream and we have to find it for them.' Mr Shield laughed. ‘And sell it. You might say that's what our business is – selling dreams.'

‘Which aren't always the right ones.'

‘No, but buyers have to settle for what they can get and can afford.' He sighed. ‘I always knew as a family we couldn't afford anything much. Dad did his best – he had a wee tobacconist's shop and we lived over it. He always wanted me to have a profession and I'm glad I managed to qualify as a lawyer just before he died.'

‘That must have meant so much to you,' Roz said quietly. ‘I'm so sorry you lost him.'

‘Yes, he's still a huge miss to my mother and me. In fact, I feel a bit guilty, coming away to work and leaving her, though she does understand I need to move on. At present, she's in a small rented house, but I'm planning to buy her a cottage one of these days – something of her own. How about you, Miss Rainey? You live with your family?'

‘With my mother. My dad worked for the electricity station at Portobello, but he was killed in the war. At El Alamein.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘Yes, it was a terrible blow. But I have a sister, Chrissie, and my brother's just joined the army as a regular. We live in a flat in St Leonard's.' She shrugged. ‘It's all right, but no dream. We have the use of a bathroom, though.'

‘And so do I – in my flat in Marchmont. No dream, either, but I share it with a guy I knew at university, so it's not expensive. Gives me a chance, I hope, to save up for Mother's cottage.'

Interesting, Roz thought, to learn about her new boss, and to feel so much at ease with him. Seemed Norma was right to say she'd been lucky. So far, at least.

Arriving back outside the office in Queen Street, she had begun to gather up her papers ready to leave her seat when Mr Shield slightly touched her arm to detain her.

‘You know we were talking of using first names the other day?' he asked lightly, fixing her with a steady gaze.

‘Yes?' she answered cautiously.

‘Well, I want to ask – would you really mind if I called you Roz just when we were alone together? I know it wouldn't be the right thing in front of clients, or even colleagues – knowing Mr Banks's views – but if we're just in the car or the office on our own, it seems so formal, you know, to call you Miss Rainey.'

‘I suppose it does. It's just what I'm used to.'

‘I know, but I do want us to be friends. So much pleasanter if you're working together, don't you agree?'

‘Oh, yes, I do. I want to be friends, too.'

‘Well, then.' He gave one of his smiles. ‘How about calling me Jamie?'

‘Jamie,' she repeated softly, as though trying the name for size. ‘It seems strange.'

‘No, just friendly.'

‘Only in the car, then,' she said after a pause.

‘Or in the office, if we're on our own.'

‘I'm not sure about the office. People are always coming and going.'

‘We're not exactly committing any crime, Roz.'

At his saying of her name, she felt a strange little thrill and lowered her eyes, which was foolish, eh? Surely her eyes couldn't give her away?

‘Just before we go in,' he went on, ‘may I ask, is Roz short for something?'

‘Rosalind.'

‘Shakespeare's Rosalind?
As You Like It
?'

‘No.' Roz smiled. ‘Ma doesn't go in for Shakespeare. It was a name in a show she saw once, something by the man who wrote the waltzes – Johann Strauss, I think – and she liked it so much she gave it to me. Only it was, in fact, Rosalinda, and she thought Rosalind was more suitable.'

‘But you became Roz, anyway. I think it suits you.' Jamie reached over to take his briefcase from the back seat. ‘Ah, well – back to the grindstone, eh?'

Feeling as though something had very slightly changed since they'd been away from the office, Roz went to make a cup of tea, first studying herself in the mirror in the staffroom. She looked … how did she look? Self-conscious, maybe? Surprised? Or, no different?

He's just being friendly, she thought. It's his way. They were all first names where he worked before, he said so – it doesn't mean a thing that he wants to use first names here. All the same, he was Jamie now, and she was Roz. Without a doubt, something had changed.

Going into work the following morning, Roz's feelings were confused. On the one hand, she found herself believing that Jamie Shield was, as she'd earlier decided, just being friendly with all that first name stuff. On the other hand, though, there was the way he looked at her, which was – well, different from the way Mr MacKenna had looked at her, or any of the lawyers at Tarrel's.

She'd had some experience in the past of young men who'd been attracted to her – without any encouragement from her – and it seemed to her that their way of looking at her had been rather like Jamie's. But then she could be wrong – she could be imagining things, seeing something that wasn't there, and would feel a fool, all right, if that proved to be true. In fact, she felt rather foolish already, and was certainly not looking forward to meeting Jamie's eyes, whichever way they were looking at her.

The first thing she saw, however, when she went into the property department for their short morning – on Saturdays they finished at noon – was a leather holdall by Jamie's desk. Was he going away? If so, he hadn't told her.

As she was slowly preparing for work, he came in from the hall, papers in his hand, his eyes once again appearing to light up when he saw her.

‘Roz, there you are! I've just been checking some conveyancing work I had to do for Mr Wray while waiting for you.'

‘I'm not late,' she said quickly and he laughed.

‘Always so touchy about that! Of course you're not late. I just wanted to tell you I'll be leaving early today – I'm catching the lunchtime train to Berwick. I've squared it with Mr Banks that I can make the time up later.'

‘You're going down to see your mother? I saw your bag when I came in and wondered if you were going away.'

‘Sorry, I forgot to mention it. I'll probably be going down to the Borders once a month. Keep everybody happy.'

‘Your mother will be thrilled, I bet. We're expecting my brother next weekend – it'll be his first time home since he joined up and Ma's so happy.'

Which was true and a wonderful thing to be able to say, Roz thought, wondering if she should cross her fingers. Oh, long may it last, anyway, that Ma was happy and willing to keep on forgiving Dougal for his enlistment.

‘He's liking it in the Lowland and Borders?' asked Jamie. ‘I was in the King's Own Scottish Borderers myself, during the war. Came out to finish my studies at St Andrew's.'

‘Every day you tell me something interesting,' she remarked, smiling, as she moved towards her own office. ‘I didn't know you went to St Andrew's.'

‘A very pleasant place to be after war service. But I can't believe you find me interesting. I'm a lawyer, for heaven's sake!'

‘A property lawyer – there's the difference.'

He was studying her again, his eyes searching her face. ‘You're the one that's interesting, all the same,' he said quietly. ‘I'd like you to tell me more about yourself. Perhaps we could …'

He stopped, shrugged a little, said no more.

‘Could what?' she asked, after she'd waited.

‘Nothing. I was just thinking aloud.' He turned aside, looked at his desk.

‘That the post?' she asked.

‘Yes, I haven't opened it yet, but don't worry, I'll sort through it. You carry on with what you want to do.'

‘Coffee at ten o'clock?'

‘Yes, please!'

By eleven o'clock he was gone, trilby hat pressed over his thick hair, raincoat over his arm, holdall in one hand, hurrying for the station, while Roz was left to make a few delegated phone calls to clients, finish off some typing and tidy up. The weekend stretched ahead, a long, long desert with no oasis of work. Or seeing Jamie.

At the thought that came unbidden to her mind, she caught her breath. What had that meant, then, that thought? Since when had she looked forward to seeing him? Since yesterday and that business of calling each other by their first names. Since she'd begun to wonder about the way he looked at her, and compared it with other looks from young men who'd made their feelings known, to her impatience and lack of response.

But there was no way Jamie was going to make his feelings known, because he probably hadn't got any in the way she was imagining again. ‘Perhaps we could …' he'd begun, but had not finished whatever he was going to say. Had it meant anything? ‘Nothing', he himself had said. He'd just been ‘thinking aloud'. Not with much purpose, then.

Twelve o'clock struck on the grandfather clock in Tarrel's hall and, with her face showing all the questions in her mind, she put on her outdoor jacket, combed her hair and closed the door of the property department behind her. All she had before her was an empty flat and a lonely lunch, with both her mother and Chrissie at work but, leaving the office, she heard Norma calling to her and waited.

‘Roz – your sister's on the phone. Glad I've caught you!'

‘Chrissie? She never rings me.' Roz, turning pale, was instantly thinking the worst. Something had happened to Ma. She'd collapsed at the cash desk – been taken to hospital – ‘Quick,' she told Norma, ‘give me the phone.' Then, ‘Chrissie, what's wrong? Is it Ma?'

‘What do you mean? Nothing's wrong with Ma. Richard said he could come to the café this evening and I'm wondering if you could, too? If you're not doing anything else?'

‘This evening?' Roz was breathing evenly again, her colour returning. ‘Bit short notice.'