Authors: Lily Baxter
‘Maybe later, but I’ve got – ouch!’ She glared at Miranda who had nudged her in the ribs. ‘What was that for?’
‘Sorry. I slipped.’ Miranda seized her by the elbow. ‘We’re going into town, Granny. Can we get you anything at the shops?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘We’re out of tea and sugar and most of the essentials. I’ll have to ring my order through to the grocer.’ She met Miranda’s questioning look with a vague smile. ‘You don’t have to remind me that we’ve used up our rations on those poor women and their children, but this is the country. We barter things like garden produce and eggs. That reminds me I must go and check the hen coop. If those gypsies have been at it again I’ll have the law on them.’ She hurried off in the direction of the chicken run.
‘What was that for?’ Rita demanded, rubbing her side.
‘How were you going to explain the fact that you’ve got a job interview without admitting that you went into town and got paralytic?’
‘I never give it a thought.’
‘Well, if you do anything like that again don’t expect me to cover for you.’
Rita’s lips curved into a persuasive smile. ‘Come on, Manda. You don’t mean that. We’re mates, aren’t we?’ She slapped her on the back. ‘And mates help each other out, so I don’t suppose you could lend me something a bit tidy to wear, could you? I got to look the part.’
Miranda was tempted to refuse. ‘I just spent almost half an hour trying to wash the beer stains out of my white dress. It’s probably ruined and that was your fault.’
‘It was cider, not beer.’
‘It doesn’t matter now. What time is your interview?’
‘When I get there, ducks.’ Rita grabbed her by the hand. ‘Now about that outfit …’
An hour later, after a short bus ride into town on the rattle-trap bus, popularly known as the toast rack, they arrived at Morris and Mawson’s emporium. Rita was neatly attired in a white cotton blouse and navy-blue skirt, although she had insisted on wearing the strappy sandals which, Miranda thought privately, did not entirely go with the outfit. She herself had chosen to wear a pink gingham dress with a white collar and cuffs and the white gloves which her mother insisted were a must at all times. She had offered to lend a pair to Rita who had declared that she would not be seen dead wearing gloves unless the temperature was subzero, and the same applied to hats. Miranda had pointed out that a straw hat was not only neat, but prevented sunburn. Rita’s answer was to snatch up her purse and rush out of the door. It had proved to be a futile gesture as she had apparently squandered the borrowed ten shillings during her night out and Miranda had had to pay for both of them on the bus.
Unabashed, Rita peered into the shop window where mannequins were displayed in casual poses showing off beachwear. Colourful striped towels were laid out on sheets of yellow paper representing
sand
and an open picnic basket had been placed beside a deckchair. ‘Pathetic,’ Rita said, curling her lip. ‘Look at that background. Some twerp thinks that sloshing blue paint on a bit of cardboard looks like the sea. They should take a trip to Oxford Street and see how the big stores do things.’
Miranda glanced nervously over her shoulder in case anyone from the store might be hovering outside. ‘I wouldn’t let them hear you say things like that when you go for your interview.’
‘I’m not that daft.’ Rita braced her shoulders. ‘Here goes.’ She opened the glass door. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’
Miranda had been about to walk on but she hesitated. ‘I was going to do some window shopping.’
‘I thought you might like to see where I’ll be working.’
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
‘I don’t care either way.’
Miranda was quick to catch the note of uncertainty in Rita’s voice and she relented. ‘I might just come in and browse.’ She stood aside as a large overdressed woman pushed the double doors open and sailed out with her male companion trailing behind her, half hidden by a pile of bandboxes.
‘Seems like someone’s got plenty of cash,’ Rita said loudly.
Miranda shoved her unceremoniously through the doors before they could swing shut. ‘Keep your
voice
down,’ she whispered. ‘This is a small town compared to London, and everybody knows everybody.’
Rita flicked her hair back with a toss of her head. ‘I don’t care. Anyway, I’ve got to go and find those blokes. That’s if I can remember what they look like.’
‘You said you’d got an interview.’
‘I have, in a way. It was more a suggestion than an actual offer.’ She paused in between the perfume counter and the toiletries. ‘There’s one of ’em. Cooee! Bertie, it’s me, Rio Rita.’
There was a sudden hush as shoppers and counter assistants alike turned their heads to stare at her. Miranda wished the floor would open up and swallow her. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘There’s me pal, Bertie,’ Rita said, waving furiously. She teetered through the crowded aisles between the counters to throw her arms around his neck.
He slipped free from her clutches, flushing to the roots of his hair. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said loudly. ‘My name is Albert, miss. May I be of assistance?’
‘Oh, c’mon, ducks. You remember me, don’t you?’
He straightened his tie. ‘Are you looking for something in particular, miss?’
‘You and that other bloke – can’t remember his name – you told me there was a job vacancy in the store. Or was you just chatting me up?’
Miranda could see the manager stalking towards them in his swallowtail coat and starched Gladstone
collar
. She tapped Rita on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps there’s been a slight misunderstanding.’
‘Shut up, Manda. This is between laughing boy here and me.’
‘Really, miss,’ Albert said, lowering his voice. ‘I think your friend is right. You are labouring under a misapprehension.’
‘Whatever that is when it’s at home, it ain’t what I’m labouring under, mate. You said there was a job going and I’m here for an audition – I mean interview.’
By this time a small crowd of onlookers had gathered around them and Miranda was wishing that she had walked away and left Rita to her own devices, but the manager was upon them and his dark eyebrows had knotted together in an ominous frown. ‘What is the problem, Mr Scott?’
Chapter Seven
ALBERT GULPED AND
swallowed, his flush deepening. ‘Nothing, Mr Wallace. It’s just a case of mistaken identity. This young person seems to think that we’ve met, but I can assure you that it’s quite untrue.’
Rita’s eyes flashed. ‘You’re a …’
‘You’re probably right, Mr Scott,’ Miranda said, giving her a warning look. ‘That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it, Rita?’
Mr Wallace fixed Rita with a cold stare that would have silenced an ordinary mortal. ‘I suggest we continue this conversation in my office, Miss er …’
‘Platt,’ Rita said, squaring her shoulders. ‘Miss Rita Platt from London, and I don’t like being called a liar, mister.’
Albert shifted from one foot to the other, glaring at Rita. ‘I never did, Mr Wallace.’
‘I’ll deal with you later, Mr Scott. There are customers waiting to be served. Ladies, if you would care to follow me, we will sort this matter out in private.’ Motioning them to follow him, Mr Wallace strode off towards the back of the premises.
‘You’re a lying bastard, Bertie,’ Rita muttered as she walked past him.
‘She’s upset,’ Miranda said hastily. ‘She didn’t mean it.’
He ran his finger round the inside of his collar. ‘I could lose my job if that young lady doesn’t keep her mouth shut.’
There was nothing she could say to this. She had little sympathy for a man who had plied a young girl with drink and empty promises, and she was thankful that Tommy Toop had been around to prevent Rita from committing a serious error of judgement. She left him to deal with the queue of curious customers and hurried after Rita, catching her up as Mr Wallace ushered her into the office. He closed the door and went to sit behind his desk. ‘Please take a seat, ladies. Perhaps we can discuss this without resorting to raising our voices?’ He addressed this remark to Rita who had slumped down on the nearest chair.
‘Your mate promised me a job,’ she said, pouting. ‘I was taken in.’
‘How and when did this occur, Miss Platt? I need to know the details.’
Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside Rita. ‘Do we need to go into all this, Mr Wallace? I’m sure my friend would accept an apology from Mr Scott, since it was obviously a simple misunderstanding.’
‘I can speak for meself, ta very much, Manda,’ Rita said, frowning.
Miranda chose to ignore her, concentrating her
efforts
on Mr Wallace. ‘Is there a job vacancy or not? That’s the question, and if there is Miss Platt would like to apply for it.’
‘I’m not sure I want the blooming job now,’ Rita said sulkily. ‘And I wasn’t lying.’
‘And I’m not sure that you are exactly the person we are looking for, Miss Platt.’ Mr Wallace leaned his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. ‘But you, Miss – I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?’
‘Me?’ Miranda stared at him in surprise. ‘My name is Miranda Beddoes, but I don’t see …’
A slow smile spread across his florid features. ‘Are you related to Major Beddoes, by any chance?’
‘I’m his granddaughter and Miss Platt is our guest at Highcliffe. She’s a very respectable young lady.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure she is, but what I was about to say is that you are exactly the sort of person we would like to join our happy Morris and Mawson family. This is an old established business, Miss Beddoes; founded in 1887 and has served the community ever since. Quality and service is our motto.’
Rita rose to her feet. ‘Are you offering her a job and not me?’
‘I think you’ve answered your own question, young lady. We at Morris and Mawson are very particular about the type of person we employ, and I’m afraid your …’ he paused for a moment as if weighing his words, ‘your rather forthright manner might offend some of our valued clientele.’
‘You mean I’m too common to work in a shop?’ Rita leaned over the desk, gripping the edge as if she would like to tip it over and unseat him. ‘Is that what you’re saying, moosh?’
‘Don’t you take that tone with me.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises, Miss Platt. Or do I have to call the floor walker and have you removed?’
‘Him and whose army?’ Rita demanded angrily. ‘Anyway, I’m going. I wouldn’t stay in this dump a moment longer, and you’ve lost my custom, mate. So much for your blooming motto.’
Miranda stood up. ‘I think we’d better go, Rita.’
Rita marched past her to open the door, but she paused, seemingly determined to have the last word. ‘Oh, and your man, Scott. He’s not above trying to get off with girls by getting them drunk and making promises he can’t keep. If he’s the sort of bloke you employ it ain’t safe for a nice girl to work here.’ She stalked out of the office with her head held high.
Miranda made to follow her but Mr Wallace called her back. ‘Miss Beddoes, may I have a word in private?’
She turned to face him. ‘Yes?’
‘This has all been a terrible misunderstanding. I hope you won’t breathe a word of it to your grandfather.’
For a moment she almost felt sorry for him. ‘I think it’s best forgotten.’
‘And will you think about my offer of a job, Miss
Beddoes?
You are just the sort of person we’re looking for.’
Miranda thought quickly, considering her options. She had not finished the secretarial course and without qualifications she would be unlikely to get a job in an office. At least working in the department store would give her some financial independence, until the time came for her to join up. With both parents wholly absorbed in the war she was determined to do her bit when the opportunity arose. ‘I will take you up on that, Mr Wallace,’ she said slowly. ‘But only if you give Miss Platt a job too.’
Before he had a chance to speak, Rita poked her head round the door. ‘Are you coming, Manda?’
‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’ She waited until Rita was out of earshot. ‘Miss Platt really does need a job. Her mother died recently; she’s lost her home and she has no other family. She’s very bright and keen to get on, and I’m sure there must be something she could do in a big and successful store like Morris and Mawson.’
‘I suppose I might find something for her to do in packing. If your grandparents have taken her in that is a recommendation in itself. Major Beddoes is an important man in this town.’
‘Then can I take it that she’s got a job?’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Beddoes.’ He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a printed form. ‘Get her to fill this in and return it to me. I’ll
start
her in the packing department and see how she gets on, but I’ll be keeping an eye on Miss Platt. You can tell her that from me.’
‘Packing?’ Rita stared at Miranda in disbelief. ‘That old stuffed shirt has offered me a job in packing?’
It had started to rain and they were sheltering in the shop doorway. ‘Don’t go off at the deep end. It’s a job and you’ll earn some money. You need work if you’re going to save up enough to go back to London.’
Rita’s bottom lip trembled. ‘But I wanted to be a lady working in the perfume and cosmetics department.’
‘And you might yet. If you do well and try not to fly off the handle every five minutes, you could get promoted. You need to show them just what Rita Platt can do, and forget about Scott. He’s a pig, but you won’t be working with him. Unless, of course, you’re afraid you can’t cope.’
‘Me? Afraid? Don’t talk soft. I can handle men like him. I’ll have to when I’m a pin-up girl. They’ll be begging for signed photos and taking me out on dates to expensive restaurants. I’ll be a star.’
‘Of course you will. Now let’s get the bus home before we get soaked to the skin, and you can tell Granny the good news.’
The air raid siren screamed its warning signal just as Miranda, Rita and the rest of the staff walked
through
the shop doors. There was a moment of stunned silence followed by mild panic.
‘Is it a practice run, Mr Wallace?’ One of the older women clutched her hands to her heart as if she were about to collapse in a faint.