A Perfect Christmas (23 page)

Cait spun on her heel to face the two young men responsible. One of them was extremely good-looking, almost as good-looking as Neil, and normally she would have been flattered to have captured his attention. The youth who had caught her eye was tall, his dark hair slicked back at the sides, long quiff fashioned into a DA. Under his gaping brown work coat, his clothes were Teddy boy-style. Like the majority of women Cait revelled in being found attractive by men, but she reminded herself that she wasn’t one of the girls in the office any longer but the boss and should conduct herself accordingly.

She felt it best to ignore the men so turned around and made to continue on her journey when another comment made her spin around once more. ‘Did you just call me a stuck-up bitch?’ she called angrily.

Jez, pretending to look around innocently, then brought his gaze back to her. ‘Who else d’yer think I’m talking to, yer daft cow? Look, no need to act shy with us, gel.’ A twinkle of mischief sparked in his eyes. ‘Fancy five minutes around the back of the bike sheds?’

She temporarily forgot that these two men would not know who she was and snapped angrily, ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Don’t you know who I am?’

It was Jez’s mate who answered. ‘Some frigid tart that thinks she summat she ain’t, dressed like a dog’s dinner.’ He poked Jez in the ribs. ‘Yer wasting yer time, mate. Yer’ll be lucky if the haughty bitch will allow yer to hold her hand, let alone get any further.’

Jez laughed. ‘Yeah, yer right.’ He smirked at Cait. ‘I’m hung like a donkey so it’s your loss, doll.’

‘How dare you . . .’

The scene was cut short by a middle-aged, balding man who poked his head out of the door behind the two young men. He addressed them both with an annoyed, ‘Oi, you two! You both asked to go to the men’s, not to go out for a crafty fag. Now get back inside. We’re still behind with the boxes for the order that’s due to go out . . .’

He was interrupted by Cait who demanded: ‘Are you in charge of these men?’

For the first time he noticed her. He looked startled for a moment before he responded, ‘Yes, but what has that to do with you, young lady?’

‘I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with me. I’m Caitlyn Thomas.’

Fred Holt’s face turned pale and he gulped audibly. ‘Oh!’

‘These men have just insulted me. I want them disciplined. Severely.’ Before she could stop herself, Cait blurted, ‘They’re both to be sacked. I want them off the premises right away.’

Astounded, Jez exclaimed, ‘Eh, now, hang on a minute! We weren’t to know who you was. ’Sides, it was only a bit of fun we was having. In’t right being sacked for having a bit of fun.’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ piped up his worried mate. ‘Just a bit of fun we was having. All the other gels here lap it up.’

Cait knew the two men had only been amusing themselves but felt that should she retract her decision, the rest of the workforce wouldn’t take her seriously. She couldn’t afford to back down now. ‘Well, I’m not one of the other girls. I didn’t find your way of talking to me a bit funny.’

Fred pleaded, ‘Oh, now, Miss Thomas . . . these two are good lads. They’ll apologise for upsetting you, I’m sure. Promise not to do it . . .’

Cait still felt that the men should be disciplined for their unwarranted rudeness to her, but deep down she knew she had reacted too harshly. But to relent and lighten their punishment would be to show that she was out of her depth, which in truth she was. ‘I’ve said all I have to say on the matter,’ she announced.

Not wanting to risk finding herself in the middle of another such situation, she decided to go back to the office and ask Jane to take her on a guided tour.

As she arrived at the secretary’s office, she found the other woman bashing out correspondence on her Remington typewriter. There was a harassed expression on her face when she said to Cait, ‘What can I do for you, Miss Thomas?’

‘I’d like you to show me round the factory.’

‘Oh, er . . . you mean right now, Miss Thomas? Only I must get these letters out today. They really should have gone yesterday but I didn’t have time . . .’

‘Don’t you have a typing pool to see to that?’ Cait asked her.

‘No, Miss Thomas. Each department has their own clerk-typist to deal with paperwork.’

‘Oh, I see. Then I suppose my walkabout will have to wait for when you aren’t so busy.’ She remembered something she needed to speak to the other woman about, but the shrilling of the telephone stalled her. Jane excused herself to answer it. Cait could tell that the conversation was not going to be a short one so left her to it.

Back in her office, she flopped down on her chair and leaned back in it, giving out a long sigh to find herself back where she’d started just ten or so minutes ago.

She glanced idly around the office. To one side of her desk, against the wall, was a large bookcase crammed with dusty-looking volumes, their titles telling her they were all to do with the shoe trade over the ages, along with numerous copies of shoe-trade magazines and brochures from other firms. Normally such tomes would not have interested her in the slightest but it suddenly occurred to Cait that she should find out a little about the industry she was now in, if for no other reason than being able to converse knowledgeably on the subject when she was socialising with others in the trade, which she hoped to be in the future. She got up, went across to the bookcase and selected a book at random, taking it back to her desk. Much to her astonishment she found herself quickly becoming absorbed in the history of the shoe trade, astounded by the fact that until the middle of the last century all footwear was made by hand in people’s homes, wives working alongside their husbands and children until the invention of machines took the trade into factories, which were mainly in the Northamptonshire area. Before she knew it Cait had read the whole hundred pages and the hooter was sounding to announce to the workers it was dinnertime. She realised she was hungry herself.

She still hadn’t asked Jane Trucker where the boss’s dining room was but the thought of eating alone either there or in her office should she have a tray sent up did not appeal. She decided she would go out for lunch. There must be a decent place to eat around here. As boss she wasn’t confined to just an hour so she would string it out for as long as she could to while away some time. That just left the remainder of the afternoon to get through. She supposed she could try another book from the collection here but felt she’d read enough about the shoe trade for one day. Then a thought struck her. As boss she was at liberty to come and go as she pleased so she really didn’t have to come back to the office this afternoon if she didn’t want to. There was a film she was keen to see at the pictures,
The Ladykillers
, a crime comedy with Peter Sellers and Alec Guinness amongst other big-name British stars taking part. There was no reason why she shouldn’t go and see it this afternoon.

On her way out she was passing Jane Trucker’s office when she remembered there was something she wanted to speak to her about so made a detour.

Jane was just replacing the telephone receiver and it was apparent she was working through her dinner hour as a plastic box containing a sandwich and an apple stood open on her desk. She smiled a greeting at Cait and said to her, ‘Miss Thomas, I’m glad you’ve come in. I was just speaking to one of our suppliers of hides about a batch that’s late being delivered, which could disrupt our production schedule. It’s my guess what’s happened is that the firm has had an urgent order come in from another company, who have threatened to go elsewhere for their hides if they don’t receive supplies urgently. So what they’ve done is given them our order to keep them sweet, giving us a fabricated tale about the reason for the delay in our delivery. They never would have dared act this way with us before Mr Swinton died. Anyway, I’m waiting for a call back from their sales director with a firm delivery date, but it would carry much more weight if you’d be good enough . . .’

Cait knew the woman was going to ask her to speak to the supplier’s sales director and the thought terrified her. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Jane this so replied, ‘Well, if you’re waiting for a call I’ll make this brief. I want you to inform the foremen as a matter of urgency to pass on to the workers that in future there’ll be no more toilet breaks during working hours.’

Jane looked taken aback. ‘But people can’t be denied a toilet visit when they need one, Miss Thomas.’

‘It’s not the toilet they’re going to, though, is it? I witnessed that myself this morning when I went for a short walk and found several couples canoodling around the side of a building, two women having an argument, several other groups of people laughing and joking and smoking cigarettes . . . all on the firm’s time. So from now on the workers will visit the toilets before they start their shifts and during authorised break times only.’

Jane opened her mouth to inform Cait that all the workers in the production departments were on piecework, so weren’t paid if they weren’t physically producing anything. Those who did have an impromptu break would be up to their daily quota level as none of the workers would risk taking home a short pay packet at the end of the week. She could also assure Cait that those not on piecework were closely watched by their superiors, whose job it was to keep them in line. None of them were going to risk their jobs by turning a blind eye to shirkers. But before Jane could enlighten Cait on this, she was saying as she headed out of the office, ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Jane immediately called after her, ‘Oh, but Miss Thomas . . . what about Mr Swinton’s funeral this afternoon?’

But Cait did not hear her. She was already out of earshot.

Jan could tell immediately she clapped eyes on Glen as he made his way over to where she was waiting for him on the canal tow path that evening that he had heard the same rumours she had. There was a grim, worried expression on his face. This, though, wasn’t the place to discuss matters, and Glen would talk about it when he wanted to. In a repetition of the previous night, they were both seated by the fire after dinner had been cleared away before he gave a heavy sigh and looked across at her, so many emotions blazing from his eyes it would be impossible to name them all.

In a helpless tone he said, ‘I don’t know what to do, Jan.’

‘About what?’ she asked, as though she had no idea.

‘Have you heard the rumours going around about Lucy?’

She could tell by the look in his eye, the tone of his voice, that he was hoping she hadn’t, meaning that matters might not be as bad as he feared they were. Just a few of the staff disgruntled by his daughter’s idea of leadership, not the majority. Jan nodded and said gravely, ‘According to what’s being said, your daughter doesn’t seem to be making herself very popular, does she?’

He shook his head, grim-faced. ‘Not from what Harry Owens told me, no, she isn’t. According to him she’s acting like she’s the queen bee and all the workers better do as she says or suffer harsh consequences.’ His face screwed up into a mask of mortification. ‘And apparently she’s really upset everyone because she didn’t attend Reg Swinton’s funeral. Never even showed her face or sent an apology. His widow was extremely upset, as you can imagine, Reg having worked tirelessly for the firm for the length of time he had. Harry said that it was very embarrassing for the staff who attended.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Jan mused. ‘That really is unforgivable of her. Anyway, in respect of the way she’s lording it about, in all fairness, Glen, she’s only sixteen.’

‘Seventeen in January,’ he corrected her.

‘Then she’s still sixteen now. When I was her age, I thought I knew everything. Wouldn’t listen to any advice my elders tried to give me but believed everything people of my own age told me, even things that my own common sense should have told me were complete bunkum. One of the things I believed was that the top brass sat in their ivory towers all day, waiting for us minions to keep them in champagne and caviar. Of course, it wasn’t until I grew older and wiser that I realised the truth of what the bosses really got up to when I thought they were idling: handling critical day-to-day issues that affected the success of the company. Didn’t you think that too before you wised up?’

‘No. My father made sure I knew everything about running a successful business. The moment I was old enough, I was shown what went on behind closed doors.’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Jan folded her arms under her shapely chest and said matter-of-factly, ‘Well, your ex-wife is to blame for letting your obviously grossly inexperienced daughter have free rein with the company while she’s swanning around on holiday, not giving a damn. Serves her right if she comes back to find the place has gone to the wall.’

Glen eyed her sharply. ‘Wouldn’t be much help to the people who rely on their jobs to keep a roof over their family’s heads and food on the table, would it? I couldn’t bear to see the company suffer, and especially not at the hands of my daughter with her daft ideas about running it. Her grandfather started that company from scratch, put his last penny into it, built it up by working all hours . . . to provide for his family and have something of value to hand over to me when he retired. Or, as it turned out, died. I worked hard to build on what he’d left me. When Lucy was born I vowed to work even harder, to ensure she had a good inheritance. I can’t just stand by and say nothing when she’s doing so much damage.’

Jan frowned. ‘What do you propose then, Glen? If you want to have any hope of building a relationship with Lucy, you need to pick your time and place carefully and be very sensitive in your approach.’

Glen stared at her blindly. His emotions were in turmoil. He might not have set eyes on his daughter for fifteen years but his love for her and sense of parental responsibility had never diminished. He was torn now between a desperate need to protect Lucy from the vicious tongues that would be lashing her for the way she was acting, excuse her behaviour, blame himself somehow for it, while the other part of him wanted to demand from her just why she thought she was a superior being with the right to treat those she saw as beneath her as if they didn’t matter. He vehemently hoped that Lucy’s behaviour was just the result of her immaturity. She was obviously not equipped for the role she’d been forced into. Jan was right and Nerys must be out of her mind to think that a girl of such tender years could do what was being expected of Lucy, just because she herself didn’t want to cut short her holiday.