‘Oh yes, we don’t mind sharing,’ Caitlin said quickly. ‘And it’s a lovely flat; but why bother to come up if the landlord won’t let the place separately?’
‘Because we’ve reached a compromise, me and your landlord. If you’ll undertake to clean the place thoroughly, and that means redecorate, make good anything which needs doing – it needs rewiring, for a start – then he’ll let you have the place rent-free for the first three months. For the next three months he’ll charge a small rent, and you will have to find a trader willing to take on the butcher’s shop itself, without the storeroom at the back, because you’ll need that for access.’
There was a long silence whilst both girls grappled with what Mr Mortimer had said, and then Caitlin spoke. ‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ she said slowly. ‘Mr Thwaite wouldn’t even consider us as tenants, and this way he’d be dependent on us not only to make good his property but to find a suitable tenant for the butcher’s shop. Why should he do that, James?’
There was a pregnant pause before the man spoke and then he gave a rueful grin and took Caitlin’s hand. ‘Good girl; you’ve got a head on them pretty shoulders,’ he said, and Dana noticed that now he was beginning to relax the cockney twang was more in evidence than ever. ‘I’d better come clean. When we met I said I were a property developer. Well, that’s what I mean to be one day, but at present I’m what you might call on the fringe of the industry, having to box clever wi’ my cash. I didn’t tell old Thwaite that, of course, but—’
‘Does he know you’re acting on behalf of a couple of girls who know nothing about renting shops, let alone cleaning and decorating and so on?’ Dana cut in. ‘I dare say you found Mr Thwaite more willing to talk business with a man than he was with us, but it was plain he didn’t mean to be landlord to a couple of females …’
James Mortimer interrupted her without apology. ‘Shut your face,’ he said rudely, then gave her his lopsided grin. ‘Sorry, sorry … I had hoped … but I can see I’ll have to let you have the whole story. I’ve bought the perishin’ shop, flat and all, which means I’m your landlord.’
There was an astonished silence, broken by Dana once more. ‘But why are you letting
us
take on the flat? What’s different about us?’
This time he answered promptly and, Dana thought, honestly.
‘You done me a real favour, Miss McBride, even if you didn’t realise it. I’ve been having trouble finding suitable property for sale at a price I could afford. In normal circumstances Thwaite would have had the place cleaned up and made good before offering it for sale, but because it was truly foul he kept putting it off, letting it get worse and worse. When I came on the scene, before he’d had a chance to do a quick spit an’ polish job on it, I acted disgusted – well, I was – said I’d inform the authorities that the place was a health hazard, offered to take it off his hands for a song … and he jumped at it. So you see, I’m grateful.’
‘And when the three months is up, will you help us to find a suitable person to rent the shop?’ Caitlin asked slowly. ‘Because I’m sure Dana and I would be far too trusting and probably never get the rent …’
Dana laughed and gave her friend a shove. ‘You’re daft, you are,’ she said affectionately. ‘If Mr Mortimer is now our landlord, everything’s different. Isn’t that so, Mr Mortimer?’
James Mortimer nodded. ‘Well, not everything; you will still have the property rent-free for the first three months, starting in a few days when the sale’s gone through, and I shall still expect you to clean, decorate and so on. The obvious solution to both my problem and yours is for you to take on the shop as well as the flat. Of course, if you feel no desire to own and run your own business, then I suppose I’ll have to help you to rent out the butcher’s shop, but surely you must have skills of various sorts? All young women knit and sew,
and cook of course. Remember, if you were to take on the shop yourselves, then you could use the storeroom and your profit would easily pay the rent I should ask; indeed you could double the size of the shop.’ He smiled coaxingly at Caitlin. ‘Wouldn’t you like to own your own little business? Say you sold knitting wools, patterns, embroidery silks … oh, I don’t know, but I expect you do! And then there’s confectionery … homemade toffee, fudge, sticks of rock even …’
‘Come come, Mr Mortimer, let us be practical,’ Dana cut in, seeing the doubtful look on her friend’s face. ‘Such shops would need to be stocked, and I can’t see any reputable bank lending money to a couple of girls like Caitlin and myself. There’s a Depression on, as the government keep reminding us, and besides, if you sold knitting wool you would be expected to have samples – jerseys, matinée jackets, socks and gloves even – on show. I’m a rotten knitter and can’t embroider for love nor money, and even though I dare say I could whip up some homemade fudge and toffee, I couldn’t do it on a commercial scale without staff, and heaps of ingredients.’ She looked wistfully round the tiny hall in which they were standing. ‘It’s awfully good of you, Mr Mortimer, but running our own business just isn’t on the cards unless we can find a wealthy backer. In fact I’ve just realised that we shall have to furnish the flat, which will take every penny we possess. We shall have to continue working at the Dining Rooms too, so the improvements to the property will have to be done during the evenings and on Sundays …’
James Mortimer made an impatient gesture. ‘I’ll find you a couple of cheap beds and mebbe a Primus stove,’
he said. ‘But look, girls, I’ve not come up the Thames on a biscuit, you know. You come from Ireland, but you can’t kid me that your families are poor as church mice. You neither of you speak with even a touch of the brogue and though I’ve only known you a few weeks, Caitlin, it’s clear you’re well educated.’ He turned to Dana. ‘And no doubt you are the same, Miss McBride. I’m self-taught I am, dragged myself up by my bootlaces, but I can recognise quality when I see it. What about a loan from your families? It isn’t as though you would be asking them to give money, but to invest in a venture which I’m sure could be a real success.’
Dana shook her head decidedly. ‘I’ve explained to Caitlin that after my father’s death things at home became difficult. I couldn’t possibly expect my mother to help me,’ she said briefly. She turned to her friend. ‘What about you, Caitlin? I know you more or less ran away, but that’s about all I do know. Any chance of a loan from your people?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Caitlin mumbled, and then brightened. ‘But I’ve an uncle who might come across. He spoiled me rotten when I was a kid. He might lend me some money, just so’s he could tell the rest of the family we were in touch, ’cos I’d have to give him my address, otherwise he couldn’t send money, could he?’
‘Well there you are then,’ Mr Mortimer said triumphantly. ‘I mean to pay for the cleaning, repairs and decoration, but you’d have to furnish the flat yourselves. If you decided to go at the end of three months, you could take the furniture with you …’
‘But not the painting and decorating, nor the rewiring,’ Dana reminded him sharply. ‘I no longer wonder why
you are willing to let us rent the flat, Mr Mortimer; it’s very much in your interest to do so.’
Mr Mortimer began to bluster, to say that he was presenting them with a grand opportunity, but then he caught Caitlin’s eye and gave a reluctant laugh instead. ‘Well, all right, maybe I shan’t do too badly out of it,’ he admitted. ‘Tell you what, if you did decide to take on the shop, I’d arrange a loan – a proper bank loan – so that you could buy at least some of the stock you’d need; the rest you should be able to finance yourselves with the help of your families, because I can’t believe blood relatives would turn down such pretty, clever girls.’
‘I wouldn’t even ask,’ Dana said stiffly. How dare this man suggest that she and Caitlin might sink their pride and beg for money! But Caitlin was saying enthusiastically that they could buy second-hand, that they only
really
needed the beds which dear James had already said he would supply, that she did have a little money saved up from her wages at the Willows …
‘Oh please, Dana; I’m longing to have a place of my own so I am,’ she wheedled. ‘I’ll write to my uncle this very day …’
‘I give up,’ Dana said loudly and crossly. ‘Very well, we’ll take on the flat and start cleaning and repainting here – and in the shop of course – this weekend.’ She turned to Caitlin. ‘And if it all goes horribly wrong at least we shall still have our jobs at the Dining Rooms.’
‘And three months living in the flat rent-free,’ Caitlin reminded her. ‘And I wouldn’t mind selling knitting wool and embroidery silks … it wouldn’t take up much room …’
‘Right; let’s shake on it,’ Mr Mortimer said briskly,
holding out a square, capable hand. ‘And you must call me James, Miss McBride, since we are partners now.’
‘Huh!’ said Dana, but she said it quietly, too quietly for either of the others, already heading for the stairs, to hear. And though she had little faith in Mr Mortimer’s plans or promises, she was aware of a thrill of excitement at the thought of moving into the flat and perhaps starting up their own business in the shop beneath. Life, she told herself, would at least be interesting over the next three months.
Chapter Two
DANA WAS PERCHED
precariously on the top of a ladder, carefully whitewashing the ceiling of the butcher’s shop, when the door opened and a man came cautiously in. ‘Hello, James. Come to see how we’re getting on? Well, you might as well make yourself useful and pass me that paint pot, ’cos this one’s running dry,’ Dana said cheerfully. She still regarded James Mortimer with suspicion, but got along with him better, thinking that his affection for Caitlin was genuine and that he accepted her presence without finding fault … he could scarcely do so, she thought, since she was working so hard on his property.
Two months had passed since the momentous day when they had agreed to move into the flat above the shop when it was ready for occupation. Now that she knew James Mortimer better, she was able to appreciate his good qualities – his sharp mind and quick reactions – though she chided him from time to time over what she thought of as his sharp business practices. She knew he had got tenders for work which they could not tackle themselves and had heard the tradesmen grumbling that he never paid the agreed price, always finding an excuse for reducing the sums quoted.
However, to Caitlin and herself he behaved in an exemplary fashion. They had agreed to take a lump sum for the work they did on both shop and flat, and to do him credit he never asked them where the money had gone, or how much Caitlin had managed to persuade her rich uncle to hand over. Dana knew of course and was daily grateful for Uncle Seamus’s generosity. Uncle Seamus was childless and had made a great deal of money out of a lucky investment in South African gold mines. Now, he seemed to consider his niece’s suggestion that he might put money into whatever venture she decided to undertake as a sensible proposition, which might well make them both a little richer.
You’re a grand lass so you are
, he had written in his spiky, old-fashioned hand.
I’m happy to be able to help you but shall expect regular reports on how you’re doing once you start trading. As you know, I’m a betting man, willing to put my money on anything which looks as though it might make me a good return. I shall come over to England next spring for to watch the Grand National and have a bet or two, so I shall be sure to visit Heyworth Street and see how my little niece is doing
.
But it was still only July, so there was plenty of time to get the place respectable before Uncle Seamus so much as left Ireland, far less arrived on their doorstep.
Now, Dana gestured to a number of paint pots standing on the butchery counter. In the fullness of time, this counter would be replaced by a modern one, either glass-topped to display the goods inside or with a shiny mahogany surface, but for now they preferred that any mess should land on the old counter. ‘I don’t know which one you want,’ James said, prising the lids off tins and
peering in at the contents. ‘This one is undercoat – it says so on the lid – and this one’s hard gloss; does one hard gloss a ceiling?’
Dana gave a crow of laughter. ‘No, of course not. The whitewash is in the big tin, on the very end of the counter,’ she said gaily. She had lost all her fear of offending James and despite his occasional attacks of ‘I’m the boss!’ she now treated him much as she did Caitlin, or indeed Ernie at the Dining Rooms, for both girls still slogged away at the Willows, working on the Heyworth Street property evenings and weekends. The rewiring was done and the plumber would come next week to pipe water up to the flat. At present the only supply was in the storeroom so if they decided to let the shop to someone else they would have to have further work done. But already the girls had practically given up all thought of renting out; with James’s help, they would start their own business just as soon as the work on the shop was finished. They even meant to have an electric heater over the sink in the flat, a very modern contrivance, which would save them having to boil kettles whenever they needed hot water.
‘There you are.’ James handed up the big tin of whitewash and relieved Dana of the empty one. He looked round approvingly. ‘Sensible to leave the ceiling till last and a good thing you wrapped your head in that length of muslin, otherwise you’d be a ravishin’ blonde instead of a ravishin’ redhead.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Still quarrellin’ over what sort of shop to start?’
‘We never quarrel, we just discuss,’ Dana said placidly, beginning to stroke the paint on to the ceiling once more. ‘And I don’t know why you think doing the ceiling in
here will be the last job – the last painting job I mean – because you’re wrong. The entire shop has to be left until the electrician has finished and I’m only doing the ceiling because the plumber has sworn neither he nor his mate will need to touch it when they start the pipework.’
‘Well, whatever you do, you do well,’ James said tactfully. ‘How’s work at the Willows going; any more talk of sackings?’