A Step Too Far (25 page)

     ‘Isaac Eldon.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, he is here and so is the man who worked on the project alongside him.’

     ‘Jacob Hawley, an employee of Titan Engineering of Darlaston.’ Sharp eyes watched over the rim of a teacup.

     So they did know! Then perhaps they should know the offer of assistance for what it was really worth.

     Looking deliberately at the face of each of the men, his voice calmer than his emotions, Arthur Whitman returned levelly, ‘Both are here. Isaac Eldon, the man who construed the whole idea, and Jacob Hawley, who helped design and construct the machinery necessary for the production of Finished Cavity Forgings, between them seeing the whole thing up and running
without
the assistance of any government department, technical or otherwise. Would you care to speak with them? Who knows, they may be able to accomplish the miracle you spoke of.’

     His smile still bland, he watched the flinch of eyes, the uncomfortable shuffle of cups on saucers. The dart had hit the board, and with no insignificant result!

     ‘If that will not be an impediment.’

     Arthur Whitman raised a patronising eyebrow before depressing a button on the intercom. ‘Not at all, we are well used to interruption, and equally well used to dealing with it.’

‘It be a lot to ask.’

     Isaac Eldon ran a hand through hair not totally protected from dust by the flat cap he pushed back.

     The Ministry officials having taken their leave, he stood with Arthur Whitman and Jacob Hawley, the three of them poring over machinery blueprints spread across the desk.

     Whitman’s answer was almost apologetic.

     ‘They knew that, Isaac, but they had to ask it all the same. Of course, if it can’t be done they will understand, there will be no blame.’

     ‘D’aint say it couldn’t be done.’ Isaac bent to the blueprints. ‘I reckons if we made modifications ’ere,’ he prodded the paper with a finger, ‘and another ’ere then it’s possible to give the Ministry what it be callin’ for, what say you, Jacob?’

     Today was not the first time Isaac Eldon had pondered this particular question. Stepping aside, Arthur Whitman watched the two figures bent over his desk. Isaac had pinpointed where improvement could be achieved too quickly not to have already thought long and hard on the problem; and Hawley had agreed, adding his own ideas on how existing machinery could be adapted while entirely new ones were being made. Had they discussed between themselves this very question of a possible increase in production? Whitman smiled at the naivety of the thought – of course they had.

     ‘There be a problem.’ Isaac turned from perusing the blueprints. ‘Least there be one from my point o’ view an’ I thinks Jacob sees it an’ all.’

     The two of them saw a problem. Why then had they not broached it while those Ministry representatives were here? Holding the question inside, Arthur Whitman glanced toward the papers spread across his desk.

     ‘Aint nothin’ to do wi’ that.’ Isaac’s glance followed to the blueprint. ‘That be easy enough to alter . . . it be the other stuff they be wantin’.’

     ‘What Isaac is saying,’ glancing at the other man, Jacob Hawley took the brief nod as agreement to continue, ‘what we
both
are saying is every request the government makes for a new type of weapon needs its own particular range of projectile. This requires the adapting and re-tooling not only of existing machinery but the designing and installing of new ones, itself no mild headache, but it is the accommodating of that new machinery will be the major problem, here at Prodor there is not space enough.’

     ‘I see.’ Whitman nodded. ‘That is a problem, but  . . .’

     ‘Can’t be no buts!’ Isaac put in flatly. ‘Them rockets we’ve been asked for can’t be made in no corner an’ neither can the launchers needed to fire ’em! What be needed is another factory, one given over entirely to the production of heavier armaments.’

     Lower lip caught between his teeth, Arthur Whitman thought for a moment. ‘There might be a place – you know it, Isaac, the New Crown Works.’

     ‘Ar!’ Isaac nodded. ‘That could do nicely, there be several buildins to the place, all of which can be made suitable to ’ouse plant and equipment.’

     ‘I’ll get a surveyor over there in the morning, have him draw a map of the area.’

     ‘No maps, they leads to trouble!’ Checking his slip of the tongue, Isaac went on quickly. ‘What I means is that which don’t be set to paper can’t be said to be what it ain’t.’

     ‘I don’t follow, surely a surveyor’s map  . . .’

     ‘Will show not only where New Crown Works be situated, but the proximity of others, this one among ’em!’ Isaac interrupted sharply. ‘What we be makin’ at Prodor be vital, we’ve all been told that, so vital the Gerries be tryin’ their best to see it destroyed; the number and severity of their raids proves as much. It would only take one wrong sort to get ’old of a copy of a map such as the one we talks of to send its information to the enemy . . . I don’t need tell you the rest.’

     ‘I doubt we have one of the wrong sort in Wednesbury,’ Arthur Whitman chuckled, ‘but then secrecy is paramount. I will contact the Ministry, ask their views before going ahead.’

     Would they tell him? Returning to the workshop Isaac’s thoughts ran on. Would the authorities allow Philip Conroy to reveal to Arthur Whitman the fact of a young lad’s homework being utilised by a headmaster who turned out to be a retired officer of the German
Wehrmacht
, an officer turned spy? Would they let Conroy tell of enemy communications citing the Black Country as the base for the target they searched for, the factory responsible for producing finished cavity shell forgings? A factory not, as that spy had been led to believe, hidden beneath the golf links, but here at the ‘Shadow Factory’ . . . here at Prodor.

23

He had been there again today. More angry than afraid, Katrin stared blankly, her mind seeing only the figure across from the town library, a figure which turned to watch her as she walked along Spring Head, then followed her across the Market Place and along Lower High Street until she reached the White Horse Hotel. There the figure had remained while she continued along Holloway Bank to Prodor.

     It had proved the same every morning and evening. Jim Slater waited for her to pass just as he had waited that first time, except as yet he had made no attempt to speak to her, merely followed. No doubt it was his way of scaring her, of frightening her so much she would concede to his demand she be ‘pleasant’ to him.

     Never! She breathed the disgust rising inside. Jim Slater had more chance of seeing pigs fly! But on the other hand she had to do something, find some way of putting an end to what had fast become a nuisance. But what way? None as yet had presented itself.

     She could stay on here at the office, wait until her father was ready to leave; but that could be well on into the early hours – he and Isaac Eldon regularly stayed late working on their latest project.

     Eldon! Thoughts veering off at a tangent, Katrin remembered a boy smiling at her, at herself handing him a sheaf of papers, then at a woman in a public telephone kiosk, her head and shoulders hunched, shielding her face from any curious passer-by, one hand held half over the mouthpiece adding to the indistinctness of the disguised voice. It should have worked! Katrin pushed the pictures from her mind. It
should
have succeeded but somehow it had not. And failure was not something Katrin Hawley would accept.

     She shrugged into her coat. As with the nauseating Jim Slater so with Isaac Eldon. She would find a way of dealing with both.

‘Hey, not thinkin’ of doin’ a bye turn are you, Kate?’

     ‘If ’er is then ’ers got more go in ’er than me, I be that dummocked I couldn’t do another hour not if ’n the Devil hisself fetched me!’

     ‘Me neither,’ Alice answered. Then to the woman just inside the factory compound who had put the question, ‘We all be worn out, Kate be doin’ what we all do, tekin’ a breath before runnin’ for the bus.’

     ‘Then you’ll needs be quick for it’s almost ’ere, but it’ll like be already full an’ so will the next ’alf dozen.’

     ‘Like as if I didn’t know!’ Alice’s dour reply followed the stream of workers passing through large gates daubed in the drab colours of camouflage.

     ‘Might as well start walkin’.’ Taking from her pocket the scarf which had served as a turban all day, Becky Turner drew it protectively about hair tossed by a lively breeze.

     ‘Nosy Nora weren’t right was ’er, Kate? You’re not thinkin’ of stayin’ late?’ Having walked a few yards, Alice turned to look back at the girl who had not moved.

     He was there. Waiting across the street from the factory! How long would he make do with merely watching, how many more mornings and evenings would this fiasco go on before he tired of the tactics and changed to a more physical approach? She did not need two guesses to figure out what that would be. Slater wanted sex, and whether it followed a night ‘on the town’ or was the result of dragging her into a hedge, it would make no difference to him.

     ‘Hey, Kate!’ Alice had returned to stand beside her, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, you feelin’ all right?’

     It was no ghost, she only wished it was!

     ‘You do look pale.’ Becky had come to where they stood. ‘Would you like Alice an’ me to take you to the Ambulance Room?’

     Still silent, Katrin shook her head. Medical assistance was not the sort of help she needed.

     ‘What about ’er dad? Should we fetch him? He was in the machine shop when we left.’

     ‘N . . . no!’

     Anger made the reply tremble but with Becky’s quick, ‘Hey, you look absolutely terrified’, Katrin realised it had been taken for the trembling of fear, and with that cognisance came another, one which could put an end to Mr Jim Slater’s unwanted attentions. Swallowing hard, releasing breath in tiny gasps, forcing just enough tears to make her eyes glint wetly, Katrin whispered, ‘It . . . it’s nothing, I . . . I’ll be all right.’

     ‘Like bloody hell it’s nothin’! Becky’s right, you do look terrified, an’ if it’s down to nothin’ then I’d hate to be frightened by summat . . . hey!’ Alice came up short, ‘Has somebody in the works said somethin’ they oughtn’t, ’cos if they ’ave then they’ll ’ave Alice Butler to reckon with!’

     Katrin shook her head and pressed a clenched hand to her mouth, holding back a shudder of feigned sobs.

     ‘
Just when you think tomorrow will never come it’s yesterday.
’

     The words her father had said so many times to a young girl anxious for a special day to arrive spoke in Katrin’s mind. So it was now. What she had thought might be a while in presenting itself was already taking her hand.

     ‘Not . . . not in the works.’ She kept up the charade.

     ‘Can’t be your dad, I mean . . . well, he looked—’ Becky stumbled over her possible blunder. ‘Eh Kate, I hope there be nothin’ wrong there.’

     Katrin measured a pause long enough to feed concern then said, ‘Thank you, Becky, it is nothing to do with my dad.’

     ‘Then what ’as it to do with?’ Alice demanded. ‘An’ don’t say it’s nothin’ ’cos we can all see it is, so let’s get it said or else
I
fetches your dad an’ he can sort it.’

     ‘There is nothing you can do, Alice, really.’

     ‘’Ow d’ you know when you ’aven’t said what it is?’

     The shift changeover completed, those whose stint was finished gone their various ways, others who had come to begin work having disappeared into the building, Katrin judged the moment perfect to reveal her ‘fears’.

     ‘I . . .’ she hesitated, must not appear too ready to divulge her worry, ‘I’m being stalked.’

     ‘You’re bein’ what?’

     ‘It means bein’ followed.’

     Piqued by her understanding being at issue, Becky’s reply was tart. ‘I knows what it means Alice Butler, I ain’t daft. What I don’t know is what leads Kate to think such a thing.’

     ‘That does.’ Permitting herself a brief nod in the direction of the street, Katrin turned her head away. ‘He follows me here every morning and at night he follows me home.’

     ‘Who, why?’ Becky queried again.

     ‘I know who, an’ why can wait ’til later.’ Hackles at full tilt, Alice was through the gate and crossing the road despite the blare of horns from traffic moving in both directions.

     ‘You!’ She marched up to the figure who as yet had made no attempt to move. ‘What the hell d’ you think you’re doin’ followin’ after Kate Hawley!’

     The snarled reply carried a lethal warning but Alice paid it no mind, retorting instead, ‘Naught but a pile of muck when I be talkin’ to Jim Slater!’

     Slater’s lips curved in a snide imitation of a smile.

     ‘Very ladylike!’ he said, contempt in every syllable, ‘but then what can be expected of a Butler, not one of the family would know what a lady was.’

     ‘Mebbe they don’t,’ Alice flashed back, ‘but every one of ’em knows a toerag an’ that’s what you be, a nasty dirty little toerag.’