McQueen's Agency (15 page)

He stood up. ‘I’d better be on my way.’

Edna sat in her chair as he left and felt the tears start. Why oh why did her past history have to rear its ugly head again? Just when she thought it was all over.

Irene appeared with Billy. He had ice cream down the front of his shirt and Edna went to get a facecloth to clean him up.

‘That was nice of Mr Knox to come and visit you with flowers and chocolates. Will you be going to work with him again?’

‘No mum, I don’t think so.’

Marigold was heading to the village hall for a coffee morning. She had decided to take along some of the flowers from her garden for the sales table. There was always some sort of fund-raising going on. The hall seemed to need so many repairs these days, but Marigold had forgotten what part of the hall this particular sales table was for. Her friend Peggy had told her but she had been busy at the time, weeding the garden and tying back all the stray branches of the rambler rose bush, which threatened to engulf the front of the house.

There was quite a crowd when she arrived with her flowers in a large wicker basket. She was immediately approached by the president of the Womens’ Institute. A very small lady with loads of energy and full of big ideas.

‘Marigold, how lovely to see you and I see you’ve brought some lovely roses for the sale of work.’

Peggy came out from the kitchen area, wearing a flowery apron and carrying a large teapot. She sat down, out of breath. ‘That teapot has a lot to answer for,’ she grumbled. ‘It’s like carrying an elephant around.’

Peggy filled up her cup and another woman appeared with a plate of anaemic looking biscuits that looked as if they had seen better days. Against her better judgement, Marigold selected one and immediately regretted it. She abandoned it in her saucer. The tea was weak, it was like drinking hot coloured water.

Marigold was eager to talk to Peggy. In fact this was the reason she had ventured out this morning. When she awoke this morning it had been misty with a fine drizzle and she would sooner have stayed at home with Sabby.

‘Peggy, you live near Cliff Top House. Who owns it now?’

Peggy was taken aback. ‘Cliff Top House? I think it’s someone called Lamont. They have an antique business in Dundee and seemingly are doing very well. Now that the war is over, people are getting fed up of Utility furniture and they are looking for something with a bit of quality and design.’

‘Is the owner related to old Mr Abbot who used to farm there years ago?’

Peggy gave this a bit of thought. ‘I don’t know. Mr Abbot had a daughter who got married when she was about seventeen. There was some rumour that she had a child but she had moved away from the farm by then and I never heard anymore about her.

‘The war split families up, especially if the men were away fighting but I suppose she eventually moved somewhere else with her husband. I don’t know if she ever came back to see her father but I certainly never saw her again. Why are you interested?’

Marigold said it was just curiosity. ‘Molly from next door is working there at the moment and I just wondered who the people are. There’s a brother and sister and her husband. Then there are two men who also work there; a man called Mike and another man called Christie. He’s a Canadian.’

‘That’s right,’ said Peggy. ‘They’ve got a lovely cabin cruiser which regularly goes out to sea. Sailing must be a hobby for them.’

Marigold realised she wouldn’t get any more information from her friend so she stood up.

‘Well, I’d better go and inspect the sales table.’

The two women joined the large crowd milling around the pots of jam, garden produce and some home baking. Marigold bought two pounds of potatoes and a jar of strawberry jam which she reckoned she would have to pour onto the bread, owing to its runny mixture.

When she arrived home, she went out the back door and saw Molly in the back garden, hanging out her washing. A weak looking sun had appeared and the mist was lifting slowly. However, there was still a scattering of raindrops on the windows and she recalled her late mother telling her that this was a sign of more rain to come.

Still she didn’t say this to Molly.

‘Have you got time to come in for a cup of tea?’ she called over.

Molly said she would be over in a minute and was as good as her word. Sabby ignored her but Molly just laughed. ‘She doesn’t like me, does she?’

Marigold scowled at the cat. ‘Oh just ignore her. She’s completely spoilt.’

Marigold thought Molly was looking really nice today. She wasn’t wearing her working suit, which, although neat and business-like, was a bit severe. She was dressed in a simple floral cotton frock and her blonde hair was shining and swept back with a plastic Alice band which were all the rage at the moment.

‘What are you planning to do today, Molly?’ asked Marigold, pouring out a nice strong up of tea, which was the opposite to the weak stuff she had just endured at the hall.

‘I’m doing some housework then it’s over to the office for some work. I’ve promised Mary I’ll look after the desk this afternoon to give her a wee while off. She’s done a great job with Edna’s client, Mr Knox, but she’ll be back in the office again next week because that job is finished.’

Later, Molly made her way to the pier to catch the ferry. The sun hadn’t managed to make much headway with the mist and although it wasn’t cold, she wished she had worn her woollen jumper and skirt instead of this thin frock.

The ‘Fifie’ was already docked when she arrived and she hurried aboard. She watched as the boat set off from the pier, its paddles churning up the water into a frenzy of white foam as it headed over the river to Dundee.

Normally, she would stand or sit on the upper deck to catch the sea air and the wind in her hair, but she felt cold this morning and decided to pay the extra money to sit in the saloon.

There were just three other women sitting in this glassed cabin, all quite old and wearing thick tweed coats and felt hats. Molly was amused to be sitting in the domain of the elderly, which was who this saloon normally catered for.

The ferry was extremely busy as it was a Saturday and lots of folk used it to go shopping in Dundee or to meet friends. Craig Pier hovered into view but she decided to wait till most of the passengers had alighted. She heard the large gangplank being lowered as metal hit the concrete of the pier with a loud clang.

She was making her way to the exit when there was an uproar ahead of her. A woman started screaming. A large crowd gathered around her as she lay on the wet stones of the sloping pier. She was shouting, ‘My handbag’s been stolen.’

Some of the passengers helped her to her feet and Molly saw that her face was bruised and her frock torn.

One of the passengers shouted that a man had made off with the woman’s handbag but he was nowhere to be seen.

A policeman arrived and the woman, who was now on the verge of hysteria and crying, said someone had pushed her and grabbed her bag. She said she almost fell into the water and if she had been nearer the edge, then she would have.

Molly hovered on the edge of the crowd.

‘I saw him,’ said one burly man who had his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal two large, colourful tattoos on his arms. ‘He was quite young, I thought, thin with dark hair.’

Another woman thought he was older and quite plump and there was this large variance in descriptions from the witnesses. Suddenly an ambulance appeared and the woman was put on board, protesting that she wasn’t hurt, but the policeman said it was just a precaution in case she had suffered from something more serious.

‘What was in your bag?’ he asked, as she made her way into the interior of the vehicle.

‘All my money,’ she cried. ‘Four pounds which is all I had left from my housekeeping money. I don’t know what my husband will say when he finds out. He’ll go mad.’

The policeman assured her he wouldn’t and this statement seemed to mollify the woman.

After the ambulance left, the small knot of people thinned out and made their way towards the street. One of the elderly women who had been in the saloon, but had moved right up to the action to watch all the drama, walked beside Molly.

She had shrewd grey eyes under a beige felt hat. ‘You know, it could have been you, my dear, who had her handbag stolen.’

Molly looked at her with surprise. ‘Me? Why do you say that?’

‘Well she was wearing a frock very similar to yours and her fair hair had one of those bands just like you’re wearing. And she is about the same size as you and the same age I would guess.’

Molly was shocked but she didn’t really believe this old woman’s theory. Why would anyone want to steal her handbag. She said this to the woman.

‘Yes, well why would anyone want to steal that woman’s bag? It didn’t have a fortune in it.’

‘Perhaps the thief thought it had.’

The woman gave her a shrewd glance. ‘Aye maybe he did, but just watch yourself, my dear.’

Molly didn’t think she was upset till she sat down in the office. Her hands were shaking and she found she couldn’t put the sheet of paper in the typewriter. What a strange thing to happen, she thought but, on the other hand, why should she have been the target?

Then she realised that normally she would have been in the same spot as the woman if she hadn’t gone into the saloon, and she had hung back until the ferry docked which was unlike her. She always made her way to the exit before the ferry docked.

Mary was getting ready to leave.

‘Are you planning anything special this afternoon?’ Molly asked.

‘Yes, I’m going swimming with Rita at the swimming baths then we’ll maybe have our tea in a café before going home.’

Molly smiled at her. ‘Well, have a pleasant day out.’

Rita was waiting for her outside. She was carrying the two rolled up towels with the swimsuits neatly tucked up inside.

Molly watched as the two girls made their way down the Wellgate. Mary must have made it up with Rita, she thought.

As they walked along the Murraygate, Rita was grumbling. ‘I thought you would never get finished today. I stood outside for ages.’

Mary said she hadn’t. ‘I saw you when you arrived and you were only waiting for two minutes at least so don’t exaggerate, Rita.’

They reached the Victoria Arch and they joined a crowd of people who were all heading for the swimming baths. After walking over the narrow swing bridge they made their way into the building.

The cubicles had small half-sized doors and Mary, who was really modest about undressing in public, squeezed into her blue seersucker swimsuit and pushed her hair under the swimming cap.

Rita was already in the pool when she came out and she made her way into the water, which was freezing.

‘I’m sure my legs have turned blue,’ she said but once they were in the water it didn’t feel so bad. The girls slowly swam a few lengths of the pool then Rita went and stood on the diving board. Mary sighed. Rita always did this because she liked to show off her new black swimsuit with the polka dot panel around the waistline. But it was a wasted effort today because there was no one in the pool that they knew.

Mary came out of the pool and climbed to the middle section of the board and dived into the water. She was an excellent swimmer and Rita, who had walked back to the water’s edge, looked on with envy.

She thought Mary looked babyish in her blue swimsuit. It wasn’t like the fashionable one she was wearing.

The girls swam for another hour and then made their way back to the cubicles. Mary was drying her hair with the towel while Rita started munching on her ‘shivery bite’; a small snack that they always ate after a swim.

A cool wind had sprung up when they reached the swing bridge. Mary was glad she had her short jacket with her. Rita, however, was wearing a thin dress and had sandals on her bare feet.

‘Where will we go for our tea?’ asked Mary.

Rita shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t mind. Any place where it’s a bit warmer than this.’

‘Let’s go to Keiller’s restaurant and have a high tea.’

They were almost at Shore Terrace when Rita saw the handbag. ‘Somebody’s lost her handbag,’ she said, picking it up and opening it.

Mary didn’t think she should have done this and warned her. ‘You’d better hand it over to the police, Rita.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘I’m just looking to see if there’s a name and address in it.’

The handbag was a cheap-looking plastic affair with a heavy chrome clasp and the contents were sparse. There was a purse with some money in it. Rita counted it.

‘Two pound notes, three ten bob notes and some coins,’ she said out loud. ‘There’s also a door key and a white handkerchief but that’s all.’

‘Do you see a policeman around that we can give it to?’ asked Mary, but although there were crowds of people waiting at the bus stances at Shore Terrace, there was no Bobby to be seen. ‘Let’s take it to the police station in Bell Street,’ she suggested.

‘I’m not going all the way to Bell Street. We’ll look for a Bobby on our way to Keiller’s.’

When Mary scanned the road looking for a policeman, she suddenly saw the man from the Palais. Drawing back into the shadow of the Arch, she said, ‘It’s that man who was at the Palais. You know, the one who frightened me.’

Rita looked excited. ‘Where?’

Mary pointed to the dock where boats could be seen bobbing on the water. ‘He’s in a boat over there, but don’t let him see you.’

Rita stepped out from the shadows and looked at the boats. She saw him standing on a lovely white cabin cruiser. Her eyes were shining. ‘Have you seen the boat he’s got? He must be loaded with money and he’s really very handsome.’

Mary suddenly became frightened for her friend’s sake. ‘Please don’t let him see you, Rita. He’s a horrible man.’

Rita was still holding the handbag. ‘I think I’ll forget about the high tea, Mary, if you don’t mind. I’m really cold in this thin frock so I’ll just catch the bus back home.’ She handed over the bag. ‘Maybe you can take this to Bell Street and hand it in. I’m sure the poor wifie will be goings nuts over losing it.’