A Perfect Christmas (30 page)

Meanwhile, upstairs in the office, Jane Trucker was telling Cait, ‘There’s many in the company that
think
themselves capable of running this place . . .’ She suddenly realised what she had inadvertently said and vehemently hoped that the young woman she was addressing didn’t see it as a jibe against her, as Jane hadn’t intended it to be. Thankfully there was no sign from her demeanour that she had and Jane hurriedly continued: ‘. . . but no one who could step into Mr Swinton’s shoes and carry on where he left off. Maybe Mr Harris the accounts manager, Mr Gerrard the foreman over at the main factory, and a couple of the other foremen have the skills between them to do the job, but I can just imagine what trouble that would cause, each of them fighting to be top dog. So that leaves us with the only other option of advertising for someone, though this near to Christmas and the job only being short-term, I can’t see us getting anyone.’

Cait thought about this for a moment before she replied, ‘But if that’s the only option then we have to give it a try. And in the meantime we struggle on the best we can.’

Jane Trucker nodded in agreement as she closed her notebook, picked up the bulky folder of letters that she had asked Cait to sign and said to her, ‘I’ll go back to my office and telephone the newspaper office. Our advertisement should go in tonight’s
Mercury
.’

Cait watched her as she began to make her way to the door, and frowned. She had been very mindful today to watch exactly what she said and how she said it, but regardless all through their meeting this morning Cait strongly sensed that Jane wasn’t quite sure yet that the young woman she was dealing with had indeed had a change of heart. It was apparent that the formidable secretary wasn’t going to be so easily won over as Agnes had proved to be.

Cait’s brain cranked up a gear, whirling frantically in her effort to decide what she could do to convince Jane there’d be no going back to her old ways. Something else Glen Trainer had told her gave Cait an idea.
At busy times even the owner or manager will roll their sleeves up and get stuck in to help out
. She was well aware the secretary was over-burdened with work, trying to cover much of what a manager would normally deal with. She had a strained look about her. Perhaps Cait could offer to ease her workload by doing what she was capable of?

Jane had opened the door and was just about to step out when Cait called to her, ‘Miss Trucker, is there anything else I can do for you?’

She turned back to look at Cait. ‘We’ve covered everything for now, Miss Thomas.’

‘I mean, work that you need help with? I know you’re busy coping with some managerial stuff that I really should be doing but can’t, but I am a good typist and a dab hand at filing.’

The woman’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh! It is very kind of you to offer but . . . well . . . you’re the owner’s daughter, Miss Thomas. It wouldn’t be right for you to be doing that kind of work.’

Cait smiled at her. ‘Well, as I see it, you have been good enough to help me out, so I’d really like to repay the compliment.’

Jane’s shock was such that she stuttered, ‘Well . . . well . . . I am rather behind. I do have some correspondence I would welcome a hand with, and a huge pile of filing, and that would free me up to attend to other matters that need my attention.’

Cait smiled warmly at her as she stood up and walked over to join her. ‘Lead the way.’

Sitting on the bus on her way home that night, Cait was pleased with her efforts at self-improvement today and felt she had made a favourable impression on quite a few people. Jane Trucker was still being guarded towards her but had readily accepted her offer to help again tomorrow. Cait nearly let herself down on only one occasion when a young clerk from the general office had come into Miss Trucker’s office to bring her some stationery she had requested. On spotting who her helper was, bashing away on the typewriter, she was so surprised to see the boss’s daughter that she bumped into the desk and knocked over the remains of Cait’s cup of tea. It spilled over two letters she had just finished typing. Cait automatically started to retaliate in her old way but thankfully managed just in time to stop herself, instead smiling at the offender and telling her that no real harm was done as she could retype the letters.

She was so consumed by her own thoughts Cait had not noticed the middle-aged woman sitting several seats behind her, watching her surreptitiously, having followed her from a safe distance ever since Cait had left the factory.

Since arriving back at the flat at six-thirty that evening, Glen had managed to keep himself busy making up the fire, having everything ready to mash a pot of tea, and potatoes peeled and shaped into chips ready to cook when Jan came home. Now it was approaching seven and he was anxiously sitting in his armchair, wondering why she wasn’t back by now and worried something had happened to her . . . the temperature today had been far too low to melt the hard frost of last night and it was slippery out tonight. He feared she might have met with an accident. Or maybe Miss Thomas had spotted her and Jan was down at the police station now, having to explain away her actions. It was seven-forty-five by the time he finally heard her key in the lock and jumped out of his chair to greet her.

‘I was so worried about you,’ Glen told her, helping her off with her coat and hanging it up for her along with his own on the hook on the back of the door. ‘I was convinced you’d had an accident, slipped on the ice or something. Or that you’d been spotted by Miss Thomas.’

Jan was rubbing her hands and stamping her feet in an effort to bring life back to them. She smiled up at him and through chattering teeth quipped, ‘Nice to know you care. Now get out my way so I can reach the fire. I’m frozen to the marrow.’

He was so relieved to see her safely back, he realised that he cared more for her than if she was just a friend. He would have been even more shocked if he’d had any notion that Jan felt just the same about him.

By the time he came through with a cup of tea for them both she had just about thawed out and was ready to talk. Before he could ask her anything she put him out of his misery. ‘Nerys lives across the other side of town, that’s why I’ve been so long. It’s two bus rides away and they don’t run so regular after rush hour is over. I had to wait longer for the return journeys. It’s off the London Road . . . Elms Road it’s called . . . in a gabled house, four bedrooms at least with a huge garden. Mind you, it’s small compared to some of the huge places on that street and round about. You could have six families living in some of those. I wouldn’t like to be employed as a cleaner in one of those places. Anyway, goal achieved.’

He visibly sagged with relief. ‘With no mishap to you?’ he asked in concern.

‘None apart from frostbite. So there’s nothing else we can do now except wait patiently until Nerys gets back.’ She intuitively read the expression that crossed Glen’s face then. ‘Look, I know she didn’t show any thought for you whatsoever when she was carrying out her despicable plan against you, and obviously hasn’t since, but even Nerys has to have a morsel of compassion in her somewhere. Anyway, let’s stop talking about her for now. You went to apply for those jobs you told me you saw advertised on Saturday afternoon. Any luck?’

‘Well, I thought I might be in with a good chance at one factory. The manager was still in his office when I got there and agreed to see me, and the receptionist let slip when she was showing me to his office that they hadn’t had anyone suitable apply yet. The interview seemed to be going well, I told him the same background story as I did to Reg Swinton, but this man did ask me if I’d had any trouble with the law in the past. I suppose I should have said I hadn’t and risked them not doing any checks on me, but I decided they just might. As soon as I told him I had, and what for, even though I tried to convince him I was innocent, the interview was terminated.’

‘Oh, well, his loss,’ said Jan reassuringly. ‘There are other Reg Swintons out there, Glen, who’ll only have to look at you to know you’re just not capable of doing what you were accused of. Someone will take you on. Look, as I’ve told you before, should something happen which means you have to leave your job immediately, then my wages will just about cover the rent and food, as long as you have a real passion for bread and lard. We’ll cope until you’re working again. Oh, thinking of food, I’d best get cracking on some dinner for us,’ she said, reluctantly withdrawing her legs from where they were resting on the hearth.

Glen was staring at her thoughtfully. If Jan was prepared to make such a sacrifice for him, did he dare hope that meant she cared for him as more than just a friend?

Slippers on and cardigan pulled tightly around herself to ward off the cold air in the kitchen where the heat from the fire didn’t quite reach, she made to rise. Glen stopped her, saying, ‘You stay put. I’ve got the meal under control. Won’t be a banquet but even a mere man like me surely can’t make a muck up of egg and chips.’

As he went off into the kitchen, Jan slid off her slippers, resting her feet on the hearth and settling back in her lumpy chair, issuing a contented sigh. Before their son’s accident, Harry had been a wonderful husband, but like most men he’d believed cooking was a woman’s job. She had agreed with him then, he was out at work all day providing for his family and it was her job to look after them, but she had been tired too occasionally . . . men never did appreciate that running a house was just as hard as labouring over a machine in a factory. After a particularly gruelling day labouring over the washing tub and mangle, it would have been nice if Harry had offered to see to their evening meal once in a while so she could put her feet up and read the evening paper. She would like to think she could get used to having Glen cook for her now and again, but she couldn’t because sooner or later he would be in a position to fund a place of his own and then they’d part ways. Hopefully they’d still remain friends, though, and see each other now and again for a catch up. She wanted Glen to get on and build a good life for himself. God knew he deserved to have the best future possible, considering he’d been callously robbed of all he’d had. As a moral and compassionate human being herself, Jan would do all she could to help him achieve that for himself, but selfishly she hoped that it would happen later rather than sooner.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T
hree days later, Jane Trucker took a sip from her tepid cup of tea and said to Cait, ‘Until a temporary manager is appointed you’re still in charge, Miss Thomas, so it’s down to you who we select out of this lot.’ She inclined her head towards the pile of application letters they had just been opening together. ‘I’m surprised we’ve received so many, considering the post was advertised as only temporary, but word has probably got out on the grapevine about Mr Swinton’s death and the applicants think that temporary in this instance refers to a trial period. I expect they’re hoping if they prove themselves, the job could become permanent.’

Cait looked down at the forms for a moment before she shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘Well, you’re far better qualified to know than I am.’

Jane shook her neatly kept crop of iron-grey hair. ‘I’m not qualified enough to make major decisions such as this one, Miss Thomas, and neither is anyone else in the factory. I’m afraid this is one only you can make.’

Cait sighed heavily and looked pensive. The applicants all professed to have the necessary skills and experience, but she was aware that not every prospective employee told the truth. She herself hadn’t been entirely honest when she had applied for the job with the fruit and vegetable wholesaler’s after passing her exams at secretarial college. At her interview she had unashamedly claimed that she had often worked for a novelist at weekends during her training, although she never had, but felt this was bound to make her look like a better prospect than an applicant with no experience at all. Of course she’d covered herself by saying the author had since passed away, in case they decided to check on her.

But even if Jane Trucker and she set about the huge task of checking out every claim on the application letters, to ascertain the applicants were being honest and above board, she had no idea what questions to ask when interviewing them or what traits to look for in them to determine whether they’d be the right sort of person to manage Rose’s. Much to her surprise, she did now actually have some feelings for the staff, and wanted to assure them all of a decent future.

She needed someone who had managed a factory to help her choose the right man for the job, and where on earth was she going to find anyone with those credentials?

Then she knew exactly where she could.

Gathering the application letters together, Cait said to the older woman, ‘Leave this with me, Miss Trucker. I know just the person who can help me with this.’

Thinking it must be a friend of the Thomas family, she said, ‘Very well.’

Application letters secured in a manilla folder, Cait went in search of Glen. Not knowing exactly where the maintenance room was situated, it took her a while to find it by asking directions en route. It was apparent to Cait that everyone she approached was aware of who she was by now, but judging by their guarded manner towards her they were still extremely wary of her. She hoped that by being polite towards them and showing her appreciation she would start to win them over. She finally found the maintenance room but to her dismay it was empty. And it could hardly be called a room either as it was no bigger than a large cupboard and crammed so full of all manner of items, stacked along the shelves lining the walls, that there was hardly room for the small desk and chair. She was pondering how to find out where Glen was now when someone came in.

‘Looking for Glen to report a repair job, love?’

Cait turned around to see a middle-aged man struggling under the weight of a pile of shoe boxes. She assumed he was heading for the packing area, which she had spotted to the right of the maintenance room on first arriving. From a distance, Harry Owens couldn’t see the features of the young woman in Glen’s office, but as he drew closer recognition struck. Realising just who it was he had spoken to so casually, he spluttered, ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Thomas. I thought you was one of the gels from up in the main offices, wanting something fixing.’