Goodmans of Glassford Street (12 page)

‘Will everyone please leave the building immediately,’ she repeated over the intercom. ‘Everyone gather outside in the street as quickly as possible.’

She went around the departments shooing everyone away as calmly as she could. It was difficult enough accomplishing this feat because of all the customers in the store, plus the staff. An extra worry was the opportunity for theft while all this was going on and her attention was diverted from her normal detective duties.

It was understandable in these harrowing circumstances that she completely forgot about her lunch date with Andreas. She had reached the ground floor and was shepherding the last of the staff outside when she spotted him. He was at the front of a mass of people now filling Glassford Street. The crowd were also spilling over into Wilson Street, Argyle Street and Ingram Street.

The police were also in Glassford Street now, and in the store with sniffer dogs. A couple of officers spoke to her and asked about the situation upstairs and in the offices and staff area. She was able to assure them that she had checked every corner, including the lavatories, and no one had been left anywhere in the store.

When she looked across again to where Andreas had been standing among some of the staff, he was not there. She went over to one of the women from the crystal and glassware department that he’d been standing next to.

‘That man who was standing next to you? Did you see where he went?’

‘You must be joking – in this crowd! But he asked about you.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, he asked what department you served in. I told him of course that you didn’t serve in any department. You were a detective.’

Her heart sank.

‘What did he say to that?’

The assistant laughed. ‘One word – Police? And then he beat a hasty retreat. Was he one of your shoplifters?’

‘I’ll have to go,’ Miss Eden said, ‘and see if the police have found anything.’

She now was far more upset by Andreas finding out she was a detective than she was by the bomb scare. She knew it! She just knew that her job would put a man off. But surely he might have met her and given her the chance to explain why she’d lied about it. Surely they could at least have been friends.

The police, helped by several sniffer dogs, had given the building a thorough search and found nothing, and so everyone was allowed to return. It was extremely difficult to get everyone settled back into their normal routine.

‘It must have been a bloody hoax call!’ Mr McKay sounded almost tearful. He was pale and shaking and she had to lead him upstairs to the canteen and fetch him a cup of tea. She began to wonder if she should have a word with Mrs Goodman herself. He definitely needed time off to get himself together again.

She sat down beside him at one of the canteen tables. A break for a cup of tea wouldn’t do her any harm either, though it was not normal practice to sit in the canteen with the staff – even the manager. This, however, had not been a normal day.

‘Who would want to do such a thing?’ Mr McKay said.

‘The police told me it was a woman’s voice on the phone.’

‘A dissatisfied customer, do you think? But surely not. We always do our best for customers. We very seldom have any complaints, and they are always dealt with very promptly and to the complete satisfaction of the customer.’

Miss Eden shrugged. ‘Revenge of an ex-employee? Someone who was sacked?’

‘That doesn’t happen often either.’

After a few sips of tea, Mr McKay added, ‘There was that girl who tried to steal the underwear. Her mother was angry at her dismissal, remember.’

Miss Eden looked unconvinced. ‘Mmm. Maybe the mother, but I wouldn’t think the girl …’

‘The mother phoned.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘You should mention that to the police.’

‘Yes, all right.’

She noticed how much Mr McKay’s hand was trembling every time he lifted his cup. It occurred to her for the first time that he might have been drinking. It was remarkably common for people to drown their sorrows in drink. He could lose his job as a result of drinking. She decided, for his sake, she would keep a close eye on him from now on. If she found out that he was indeed over-indulging in alcohol, she would try her very best to help him.

After they finished their tea, he went to his office and she returned downstairs. Now she worried about Andreas. He knew where she lived, so hopefully he would contact her tonight, or sometime soon. If he thought anything of her at all, and he had seemed to like her very much, he surely would not just disappear.

Later, waiting alone in the flat in Springburn, her hopes faded. There was no contact the next day either. Or the next. At first, she couldn’t understand it. All right, maybe a detective’s job wasn’t too attractive to a man. A bit off-putting, especially to someone a bit old-fashioned like Andreas, who liked ladies to be very feminine and probably dependent on their man. All the same, just to disappear like that wasn’t fair, wasn’t even polite, and he had such perfect manners. What with his bowing and hand-kissing and heel-clicking.

Gradually, grudgingly, she faced an alternative explanation. The man was either a con artist trying to get British citizenship, or a crook of some kind. After all, he didn’t just echo the word ‘detective’ that the staff member from the crystal and glassware department had used. He said, ‘Police!’ then got off his mark.

What a fool she’d been. Later she relieved some of her anger and frustration in her karate class. She felt so glad the sensei said seniors could stay on after the class to work on focus pads. She partnered up with Brian, her usual sparring partner. She relaxed into fighting stance, weight evenly balanced, left hand leading, elbows tucked in. She exploded forward – left jab, right cross, thigh kick, right jab, left cross, thigh kick – moving smoothly forward, the sharp sock of skin on leather music to her ears. Sweat trickled down her face and her lungs pumped as she drove forward, letting her anger and aggression flow into the pads.

By Monday morning she felt much better. She was obviously well rid of the con artist. She’d had a narrow escape. She was concerned about Mr McKay, however. He looked worse. He looked as if he’d never slept and he had definitely been drinking. She had seen the results in enough people in her job to know the signs. While he was doing his usual routine of checking the departments, she slipped into his office. She noticed he’d begun to carry a large plastic carrier bag to work recently and suspected she’d find a bottle concealed in it. With that, she could confront him. That would be a first step in helping him. If she didn’t do something to try and help him, any day now Mrs Goodman would notice and immediately dismiss him. She couldn’t just stand aside and allow that to happen. Not to Mr McKay.

On opening the bag, she was astonished to find it packed with old clothes. There was also a bottle of Buckfast wine but it was the clothes that surprised and puzzled her. There was a stained, shabby pair of trousers, a grubby-looking shirt and coat, a khaki woollen balaclava and a pair of down-at-heel shoes. She couldn’t understand it. She returned everything to the bag and quietly left the office.

She couldn’t get the discovery out of her mind. Could it be that Mr McKay was leading a double life? Was he living like a tramp every night after leaving the shop? Was he changing into the old clothes and putting his day clothes into the carrier bag and carrying them around with him?

It seemed a crazy thing to do, but as his change of appearance and behaviour had only begun after the death of his wife, she thought it must be the result of his grief. She felt terribly sorry for him. She decided to watch him and follow him after he left the shop.

Before she got a chance to do this, incredibly, there was another bomb scare. It was absolutely terrible. She was sure thieves were having a field day lifting stuff on their way out, unseen among the mass of people being evacuated. Again she had to take charge of everything but this time she asked the police if they had recorded the telephone message, and they had. She then asked if she could go to the police station and listen to it. They agreed and, as she sat in the station listening to the recording, it came to her who the voice belonged to. Without a doubt it was the voice of the girl who had been dismissed for reeking of alcohol every day at work, and who had hidden her whisky in the lavatory cistern.

‘I recognise her,’ she told the policeman working the recorder. ‘It’s a girl who was sacked for drinking on the premises. We’ve still got her name and address on file.’

‘We’ll get that from you, and then pay her a visit.’

‘That won’t be enough to convict her, will it? Just my say-so?’

‘Don’t worry. Once we give her a visit and have a talk with her, you won’t be bothered with her again.’

She was very relieved about that. A bomb scare every week would soon, one way or another, have led to the ruination of the business.

Now she just had Mr McKay to worry about. By the time she returned to the shop, however, it was locked up and Mr McKay had gone. But there would be other days. She was a very determined woman.

‘Moira, I’m so sorry.’ Sam Webster looked the picture of wretchedness.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘I’m genuinely ashamed.’

‘What on earth have you done? Have you lost your job? Surely not. You’re one of the best employees Goodmans have. Mrs Goodman said so herself.’

‘No, it’s worse than that. Oh, Moira, please forgive me.’

‘For pity’s sake, Sam, tell me what’s happened.’

He hesitated, then blurted out, ‘The B. & B. – The Floral. I didn’t go there the last time because the woman in The Floral had come on to me. I mean, really come on to me. I told her I was happily married and loved my wife. I told her I was never going back to her B. & B. But … oh, what’s the use of making excuses, Moira. That first time, I slept with her. I immediately regretted it. I told her that she meant nothing to me. I told her, but she’s a determined woman. She keeps trying to contact me.’

There was a long silence. Eventually Moira said, ‘I can’t pretend I’m not hurt and disappointed, but I think I can understand – being away from home so much, I suppose you get lonely. I know I do.’

‘Oh, Moira.’ He rose and took a step towards her, arms outstretched, eager to embrace her, but she stopped him in his tracks.

‘No, Sam. You’ll have to give me time. It’s still been a shock. I can’t just immediately carry on as if nothing has happened.’

‘No, of course not, darling. But I promise you it’ll never happen again. I regret it so much and I’m so very sorry.’

Moira looked miserable and tight-mouthed. But she nodded, then heaved herself out of her chair.

‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

After his wife had left the room, Sam cradled his head in his hands. He hated himself but at the same time he felt intense relief that he had managed to get it off his chest. At least now, Viv’s threats to tell his wife didn’t matter. If Viv contacted him and tried to threaten him again, he could now say, ‘She knows.’

Even if Viv turned up at the store, he could still say, ‘It doesn’t matter what you say now. I don’t care.’

He did care, that was the trouble. It was terrible to see Moira so unhappy. Every aspect of his life recently had become unexpectedly more difficult. Mrs Goodman seemed to have become cooler to him and more critical. Indeed, she seemed to be concentrating unusual and questioning attention on all the buyers these days. And of course the bomb scares had caused a complete upheaval, absolute chaos. The manager was pretty useless these days and the store detective wasn’t in a good mood either. No doubt that was because of the extra goods that had gone missing during the bomb scares. He dreaded to think what would happen if there was yet another one.

He gazed around the comfortable sitting room, with its deep, cream-coloured leather chairs and settee, piled with colourful red and gold cushions. There were frosted glass doors leading into the dining room and the dining room had a hatch into the kitchen. They had had many a good party meal in the dining room. Betty and Alice enjoyed inviting friends along. Moira knew all the neighbours and they took turns of having coffee together in each other’s houses most mornings. Both he and Moira were members of the local bridge club and often enjoyed a game with some of the neighbours.

They all had a busy and happy life, especially a happy family life. He must have been mad to put it at risk. He’d had no feelings for Viv. Now he had. He hated her. But his hatred of her was not nearly as strong as his hatred of himself.

Moira returned to the room carrying a tray. Immediately he got up and lifted the tray from her, and set it down on the coffee table.

‘I’ll see to it,’ Moira said, and began arranging the cups and saucers and pouring out the tea.

‘And how was your day?’ she queried, after taking a few sips of her tea. She usually asked this, but never in such a cool, polite voice. He had always shared all his experiences with her. Except the one with Viv, until now.

‘There was another bomb scare.’

Moira tutted. ‘A hoax, do you think? They didn’t find anything, did they?’

‘No. Whoever it was must be mad to do a thing like that.’

Just then Betty and Alice came in. Betty said, ‘We got everything you wanted, Mum. Plus some lovely wee profiteroles and cream sponges. Miniature ones. If we got too many, they’ll keep in the freezer.’

It was then he remembered that some neighbours were coming in later with their families, who were friends of Betty and Alice. Alice was home for the weekend.

‘Sounds delicious,’ he said. ‘When’s everybody coming?’

‘About eight or just after.’

After having a cup of tea, Moira and the girls went through to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. He offered to help but was told just to keep out of the way.

‘Go and watch TV or something.’

Then later, when Mr and Mrs Brown and Mr and Mrs Campbell and their daughters were in and settled in the sitting room, Mrs Campbell said, ‘You’ll have seen the evening paper?’

‘No,’ Moira said. ‘The girls did the shopping and I forgot to tell them to get a paper. Why?’