At first their customers came mainly out of curiosity and to slake their thirst with pots of tea. Naturally, both Dana and Caitlin tried to tempt them with a display of cakes and scones, but no one succumbed. Still, it was early days. They knew from their experience at the Willows that customers followed one another, a little like sheep following a shepherd, so that when one said she’d try a scone others would follow suit. Even so, it was a sad couple who faced each other across the ancient till at six o’clock that evening, when they finally put up the shutters and swung the
Open
sign to read
Closed
.
‘We haven’t taken enough money to reorder scones for tomorrow. I did think we might pop today’s batch into the oven, put it on a low heat and let customers think they were newly baked, but since most people know Sample’s scones when they see them I suppose that wouldn’t work. Oh, whatever will James say when we show him the till roll?’ Caitlin mourned. ‘He’s meeting us here at half past six, to give us time to clear up.’
‘I expect he’ll guess that Mondays aren’t good trading days,’ Dana said comfortingly. ‘If we’ve not done better by the end of the week, he might indeed be upset, but I’m sure things will improve, especially if you smile, Caitlin.’
And half an hour later, Dana was proved right. James came in, cast a desultory look at the till roll and said: ‘Well done! Oh, I can see from your faces that you think you’ve done badly because you only sold cups of tea,
but think of it like this. Every person who came into the tea room today and drank tea looked around her and undoubtedly liked what she saw. I don’t know if you realise, but you sold one hundred and forty cups, so now you have a hundred and forty satisfied customers.’
Dana interrupted without compunction. ‘How do you know they were satisfied customers?’ she asked pugnaciously. ‘For all we know, they might go off and tell their friends the tea was too weak or too strong. They might say they didn’t have a scone because we charge twice as much as they would have to pay if they bought it straight from Sample’s. They might say our chairs were uncomfortable …’
‘Did they?’ James Mortimer said challengingly. ‘Did you have one customer complaint? Did someone break a tooth on a Sample’s scone, or have hot tea spilt into her lap? Come along now, let’s hear the worst. Where’s the complaints book? I suppose you had to start one if your customers were so dissatisfied.’
Despite herself, Dana felt a smile curl her lips, and catching Caitlin’s eye she saw that her friend, too, was trying to stifle her amusement. ‘All right, you’ve got a point; no one complained,’ she admitted. ‘In fact several people – the ones who bought pots of tea and not just cups – asked for more hot water. I suppose that’s quite a good sign.’
‘And I had to go up to the dairy for more milk,’ Caitlin said eagerly. ‘The trouble is I think we over-bought; we were careful with bread, not knowing how much toast we would sell, but we honestly believed the scones would go like hot cakes. When we were working at the Willows, the women who came in for a sit down and a cuppa after
their shopping nearly always asked for a scone. It was the men who went for toast, but there aren’t many offices round here so we thought our customers would mainly be women and we thought—’
James Mortimer cut across her ruthlessly. ‘Don’t make excuses, because they ain’t necessary,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m telling you you’ve done well; at least as well as I expected, and I know a good deal more about the catering business than you’d credit. We’ll sell these scones off cheap tomorrow, even cheaper than what we bought them for from Samples.’ He gave her the benefit of his most engaging grin. ‘What attracts a customer to scones and cakes is the smell of baking. Tomorrow I want you and Dana to come in at nine o’clock and make a batch of fresh scones. I guess there’s ordinary scones and what they call rich ones, and I want you to make the richer sort; put plenty of sultanas into the mix, and more sugar, maybe? Anyway, make ’em good, real special.’
Dana remembered her mother making scones for special occasions and being allowed to scrape the bowl out. ‘Mammy used an egg instead of water to bind the flour and shortening and all that,’ she said eagerly. ‘She made the best scones in the whole of Ireland. I know the recipe and could whip up a couple of dozen in no time.’
James Mortimer nodded his approval, then gave Caitlin’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘See?’ he said, grinning and pointing at Dana. ‘You’ve got a partner who knows what’s what. But don’t forget the importance of the smell of baking. Your customers can go along to Samples and buy themselves a scone any time, but they can’t have a cup of tea with it, nor a sit down …’
‘And it won’t be buttered, or have jam on,’ Caitlin finished for him. ‘Oh, James, you’ve cheered me up no end. I was thinking you’d be upset and cross and want to close us down. Wasn’t I foolish?’
‘No, no; it’s just that you’re new to the business. You’ll soon grow accustomed and get to know your customers’ likes and dislikes. Before long you’ll be able to predict how many scones or slices of toast you will sell on a rainy day and how many when the sun is bouncing off the pavement. Now come along. You’re much too tired to cook so I’ll take you out to Lyons Corner House and buy you a slap-up supper. How does that appeal?’
Dana and Caitlin beamed at him, then Dana rushed across to the customers’ coat rack and took down her jacket and Caitlin’s. ‘We’ve had nothing to eat all day because we were so anxious,’ she said, unlocking the door. ‘Come along, Caitlin. It’ll be grand to be waited on for a change!’
As time passed, it was soon clear to both girls that James Mortimer knew what he was doing. His prophecy regarding the tea drinkers had proved correct, and soon Dana was coming down to the storeroom kitchen by eight o’clock in order to bake her scones. At the end of the first month, they invested in a larger and much more modern cooker, and also an electric toaster which could toast two slices of bread simultaneously, a great help when they were busy.
Caitlin was keen to have cushions made for the rather unyielding wooden chairs they had bought, but James had shaken his head. ‘No, we don’t want customers lingering after they’ve had their tea and toast or
whatever,’ he had said firmly. ‘We want them to eat and drink up and then go, leaving space for more customers. If we make them too comfortable they’ll linger and lingerers pay nothing.’
Both girls realised that they could learn a good deal from James Mortimer, though there were some business practices which both Dana and Caitlin absolutely refused to use. He had told them to scrape burnt toast, to use margarine instead of butter, to cut down on the richness of the scones Dana baked each morning now they had plenty of customers, and to buy cheap cuts of meat when they began to make sandwiches for the lunchtime trade.
‘If we take advice like that, James, we’ll end up losing our good customers and our good reputation, and have to rely on folk whose only priority is cheapness,’ Dana had told him. ‘At present, we always buy Sample’s best white bread, which is so delicious that it scarcely needs butter or jam, but if we began to present the customers with the really cheap stuff …’
James Mortimer had flung up his hands in a gesture of defeat. He had been grinning. ‘You learn fast, ladies,’ he had said. ‘I won’t interfere with what you’re doing, at least until your six months is up. Then we’ll take a long, hard look at prices, profits and so on, and decide whether to expand, find somewhere better suited to our business …’
The girls had cried out at this. ‘It’s not your business, James, it’s ours,’ Dana pointed out. ‘We pay you rent; we’ve kept our side of the bargain, getting the place immaculate and keeping it so. We’re happy to take your advice when we’re not sure of our way forward, but further than that we aren’t prepared to go.’
To say that James looked startled was an understatement, Dana reminded Caitlin now, as they cleared the tea room after a particularly successful day’s trading. ‘He still thinks of Cathy’s Place as his baby, but it’s not, you know. We pay the rent he asks, do all the work, keep the books … well, I admit his advice has come in handy, but sometimes he gets quite the wrong end of the stick, and then we go our own way and so far we’ve been proved right. No customer complaints, no brickbats, lots of back-patting, no bills we can’t meet …’
‘Oh, all right, we’re perfect,’ Caitlin said rather crossly. ‘But if it hadn’t been for James …’
‘I don’t deny we couldn’t have done it without him,’ Dana said quickly. ‘But we’ve worked hard and now we’re reaping our reward and I don’t see why he should preen himself. Look at the flat, for instance. He had no hand in that, did he?’
The flat was indeed the girls’ pride and joy. They had not rushed into furnishing it with whatever was cheap, but at first had managed with two battered wooden chairs, an ancient cooker and a couple of truckle beds. They had had a blanket and a pillow each, but such luxuries as sheets and pillowcases had had to come later.
Now, however, halfway through September, the flat was as fully furnished as they felt necessary. The living room boasted an elegant three-piece suite in cream-coloured velveteen, a nest of occasional tables, a large walnutwood wireless set and a square of dark blue carpet patterned with roses and curtains to match. It was here that the girls relaxed, listening to the wireless and playing music on Caitlin’s Dansette record player.
They did not have guests often, being too tired after
each long day’s work. James was by far their most frequent visitor and he often came to help rather than to be entertained. Though Dana was perfectly capable of keeping the books, he liked to look them over and analyse each day’s sales. Profit fascinated him and he was full of ideas by which they could increase their turnover. But since much of his advice involved things like having two sets of books, one for the authorities to read and one which the girls should keep well out of sight, they treated it with a mixture of amusement and scorn, and though he had told them that one had to be one jump ahead in business and that practices which might seem a trifle sharp to their innocent minds were actually in common use amongst their competitors, the girls had remained firm.
‘If you want cheating tenants, remember that it isn’t just the public and the authorities which such people cheat, but landlords,’ Dana had told him severely. She had been paying bills – Sample’s, Mr Gregg the butcher, old Mrs Platt who made delicious jams – and now she waved him away impatiently, for he was standing at her shoulder, peering at the figures as she filled them in. ‘Do go away, James; you’re putting me off my stroke.’
James had backed down on that occasion but it worried Dana that her friend might embrace his values rather than her own. She realised that, since she and Caitlin were partners, both of them would be held equally responsible for doctored books or misleading figures, and decided she really must have a word with Caitlin.
So as soon as James had left, Dana tackled her friend on the subject. She had thought that Caitlin might become indignant, even refuse to listen, for it was clear that her
friend not only admired James but was more than half in love with him. And the feeling may well be reciprocated, Dana told herself somewhat uneasily. However, everything should be all right. Caitlin’s as honest as the day – she’s been brought up as strictly as I have myself – and I’m sure she won’t let James persuade her into bad ways.
Time passed, and by October the two girls realised that they were now running a very successful little business. James wanted them to expand, but so far the girls had resisted change. Why should they saddle themselves with complications such as bigger premises, paid staff and a whole new way of life, when they were so happy with the present arrangements? So despite his urging, James’s suggestions of expansion had fallen on deaf ears.
The girls had just cleared up and closed one extremely busy Saturday when James came thundering up the stairs two at a time and burst into the flat. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you,’ he said, and threw down a bulging file on their small kitchen table. ‘See if you can resist this, ladies!’
‘I’m too tired for much resistance,’ Caitlin said, but she sat down opposite him and gestured to Dana to do likewise. ‘What is it now, James? You keep having brilliant ideas, or you say they’re brilliant, but we’re run off our feet as it is, without you plotting to get us yet more customers!’
‘Ah, but this time it’s not just air-dreaming,’ James said, tapping the file. ‘I’ve had a fellow round to take a look at the tea room and he says he could do a complete conversion and so on in a month, maybe six weeks. He’s experienced in such things, I can tell you, got all the figures at his fingertips …’
‘You talked it over with this “fellow” without so much as consulting us?’ Dana interrupted incredulously, though she was not really at all surprised. James was often high-handed, and she had seen him only the previous day sitting at one of the window tables with a large fat man in a smart business suit whose spiky grey hair stood up like a cock’s comb on his round, bullet head. He and James had been deep in conversation, and Dana would not have dreamed of interrupting what had been clearly a business meeting. Thinking back, she remembered that James had gestured around him several times, pointing to a plan lying on the table half covered by teacups, saucers and plates bearing the crumbs of the scones they had devoured. He often brought business contacts into the café; Dana had thought nothing of it until now. She cleared her throat. ‘I’d better point out that I saw you in the café yesterday, so I take it that it wasn’t just tea and scones you and your fat friend were discussing. Really, James, didn’t it occur to you that it would have been good manners to introduce him to either Caitlin or myself? We don’t own the place, of course, but we are your tenants and must deserve some consideration!’
If she had hoped to discompose him, however, she was disappointed. He flashed her a big, self-confident grin then leaned across the table, meaning to chuck her under the chin. Dana dodged, though she said nothing. She had long ago realised that James automatically patronised women, convinced that the entire female race was inferior to the male. ‘Good manners? What’s them?’ he said cockily. ‘I’m a plain man, me.’ His eyes met Dana’s and she caught a flicker of something – was it humour? – in
his glance, but then he transferred his gaze from herself to Caitlin and Dana took back her unvoiced criticism, because his whole face changed when his eyes met those of her friend. If he really does love her, Dana told herself, I’d better listen to his latest hare-brained scheme before I tell him we’re not going to play.