McQueen's Agency (2 page)

Along with Mary and Edna, she had another six names on her register; six friends who were willing to do a few hours work when necessary.

Molly watched as Edna walked away towards Dudhope Street, marvelling how well she walked in her high heels.

Ronnie reappeared at twelve o’clock with his ladder and paint pot. It took a few minutes to paint in the apostrophe in gold paint.

Molly gazed with pride at the sign. McQueen’s Agency was ready for business but was business ready for McQueen’s Agency?

Molly walked through the streets bright with flags, bunting and banners, which made a bright splash of colour against the grey sky. Lots of activities were planned for the next day but Molly didn’t think she would see any of them. A fine drizzle soaked her hair and face and seeped through the fabric of her coat, making her blouse and skirt cold and damp. It was going to be an uncomfortable journey home.

Fortunately, when she reached Craig Pier, the ferry was just docking and she ran to catch it. The ‘Fifie’, as it was better known, was quiet at this time of the evening, with only three cars and one lorry making their way slowly up the ramp.

She lived with her parents in Newport and the ferry journey each day was a bit of a bind, but there was nothing she could do until she saved enough money to renovate the rooms above the shop. As she huddled on a seat on the lower deck, she thought of the Coronation the following day. According to the newspapers, London was full to bursting with people pouring in to witness the occasion, from foreign royalty and dignitaries to journalists and cameramen from the television; the new invention that had captured the interest of the nation. People were camping out overnight on the streets and, judging by the weather, they were in for a cold, wet night.

She was glad when the ferry docked and she hurried up the road to the warmth of the house. In spite of it being June, her mother had put the lights on.

The agency was worrying her. It had been open for a week but so far no work had materialised. Then there was her parents’ ‘holiday’. This was to be Archie and Nancy McQueen’s last night at home for the next six months.

Her mother’s voice called out from the kitchen as she hung her wet coat up on the back door hook. ‘The tea is almost ready. It’s macaroni cheese.’

Her father rose from his chair by the fire, putting his paper down and taking his off his glasses. ‘Well, how did your day go, Molly?’ he asked.

Molly didn’t answer right away. She didn’t want to worry her parents on the eve of their longed for holiday. ‘I’m putting another advert in the papers and I’ve got another list of businesses. I’m planning to post off my cards tomorrow.’

‘I wish you were coming with us to Australia to see your sister,’ said her mother, spooning large portions of hot food onto plates. ‘After all, this is her first baby and surely you want to be there when it’s born.’

‘I’m not long come back from Australia, Mum. I’ve only been back nine months and I was at Nell’s wedding. Nell has a new husband and will be a new mother in a couple of months so she has her own life now, which doesn’t include me.’

This seemed to satisfy them both because the conversation turned to the imminent Coronation.

‘Isn’t it lovely to have a young queen on the throne? Queen Elizabeth the second.’

‘Actually she’s Queen Elizabeth the first in Scotland,’ said Archie.

Nancy gave him an exasperated look. ‘Oh stop being political, Archie. You sound like some of those Republicans who are going on and on about her title. She’s a brand new Queen and hopefully the country will forget all about the war and the rationing and let us all have a good life again.’

Molly smiled. Her mother had a good life. Archie had been a clerk in the offices at Craig Pier, from which passengers and motor vehicles bought their tickets for the paddle steamers that crossed the River Tay every day. His retirement two months ago had been a bittersweet moment for him. He loved his job and after they moved house a year ago, from Strathmartine Road to Newport, he missed the daily crossing of the river.

This long trip to the other side of the world was to celebrate his retirement. They would have a long cruise out, arrive in time for the birth of their grandchild, and spend time with Nell and Terry in sunny Queensland before sailing back again to a Scottish winter.

Later, in her bedroom, Molly took out the photographs from an old handbag and spread them on the bedcover. It was as if the hot sunshine shone out from them and Molly recalled the two years she had spent with Nell in Australia.

How exciting it had been in the beginning, going out as emigrants on the Government’s £10 scheme, the luxury of the outward boat journey with food that they hadn’t seen since childhood and all the fun on board ship.

In Sydney they had both worked as secretaries and shared a flat together. They had made loads of new friends, spent long hours on the beach and generally revelled in the warmth of this new country.

She had met Tom on the boat. He was another emigrant leaving Dundee, hoping for a new and better life. He was a bit older than Molly and Nell and his parents had died.

They had spent lots of time together on the journey. Then in Sydney, where he quickly found a job as an electrician with a large company, their friendship had blossomed into something more serious.

Then it had all gone wrong.

Nell had answered an advert for an office worker on a remote sheep farm in Queensland, met Terry and got married.

Molly had travelled up to the farm for the wedding. She smiled when she recalled the wedding clothes. Nell was dressed in faded jeans and a white halter-neck top, while she had worn a thin seersucker dress with pastel-coloured stripes, both of them wearing flat strappy sandals. She remembered how hot the sun had been and how vast the fields were. Under the wide, blue sky they seemed to stretch to the very ends of the earth.

How happy she had been that day. She vowed then that she would spend her entire life in that country and that had been her intention until arriving back in the city. A letter was waiting for her; a simple white envelope that held no warning of its contents.

Tom was dead.

He had been a passenger in a van involved in a road traffic accident. The driver, a work colleague, had escaped unharmed. Tom had often told her what a reckless driver his colleague was. Always driving too fast and taking unnecessary chances. He had been told off by the boss of the firm but he never heeded any warnings and now this accident had happened and Tom had paid the price with his life while the driver had escaped unharmed and had even been acquitted of the charge. She couldn’t stop thinking if only Tom had been with someone else in another vehicle or if the boss of the firm had been more strict with this reckless driver then Tom would still be alive. Her days were filled with angry thoughts of ‘If only’.

She felt ashamed now but at the time she had wished it had been the driver who died, a thought that sent her almost crazy, raging at the four walls in the flat and crying non-stop. Nell had come to see her but the joy and pleasure had all disappeared to be replaced by a deep sadness and rage.

She had carried on working for a few more months, going out and coming in but never ever leaving the flat except for work. Then she booked her passage home, bringing with her the money she had saved; the money she now hoped would finance the agency.

The trip home had been a terrible time for her. It was a complete contrast to the journey out. She stayed in the cabin for most of the day, only venturing out at night for an evening meal. Then she would walk the decks for hours until tiredness drove her to bed.

To start with some of the cabin crew had asked her if everything was all right but after the first week they stopped, apart from one kind steward who brought her meals to the cabin and checked on her periodically. No doubt they thought she was some kind of crazy woman.

She quickly gathered all the photographs and stuffed them back in the handbag. It was a pity that memories couldn’t be stuffed away like that, pushed into some dark handbag and put away in the wardrobe.

It was going to be a busy day tomorrow. She would drive the family Anglia to Wormit station where her parents would catch a train on the first step of their journey to Southampton, and the ship
The Golden Empress
. Then over to the agency where hopefully there would be clients all eager for her services.

In spite of her sad memories, she slept quite well and Coronation day dawned grey, misty and drizzly.

Her mother was ready to leave. She gazed out the window at the weather.

‘What a shame the sun’s not shining for the Queen.’ She turned to Molly. ‘Now you will be all right on your own, Molly?’ Her voice sounded concerned. ‘This new venture is a worry to us but if it doesn’t work you will go back to Woolworths, won’t you?’

Molly had worked in the department store ever since arriving home. She had loved the work and the company of the other girls but had set her heart on being her own boss. Molly, who didn’t want to contemplate failure, nodded.

‘Of course I will, Mum. Don’t worry about me.’

‘If you need any help just ask Marigold next door. She said she would keep an eye on you.’ Her mother stopped to load the suitcases into the car. ‘And you’ll look after Sabby?’

Sabby was the large tabby cat. Her father, with his wicked sense of humour had named her after one of his favourite films,
Sabu, The Elephant Boy
but because the cat was a she, the name had been changed to Sabby.

Later, she stood on the station platform and waved her parents away until the train was half way across the Tay Bridge before driving the Anglia back to the garage.

Later, in the office, she was despondent that no enquiries had come in. Edna appeared and they sat down with a cup of tea but no clients.

Edna kept looking at the door every time someone passed by. If she could have drawn people in by the intensity of her stare then the office would have been mobbed. However no one even gave a passing glance to the shop, let alone crossed the threshold.

Later Edna’s mother and son appeared and she introduced them. Billy looked like his mother. He had the same dark hair and brown eyes.

‘I’m taking Billy into the town to see the celebrations,’ said Edna’s mum, Irene.

Molly said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone wanting our services today Edna so go off and spend the day with your family. Maybe some work will come in tomorrow.’

Molly was tidying up the reception area when the bell above the door made a small musical sound. At first she thought Edna had come back for something which made the woman’s appearance quite startling.

She looked like a film star, dressed in an expensive looking grey suit with matching black shoes, handbag and a small black hat perched on her blonde wavy hair. She was beautiful. The only thing to mar the perfection was the woman’s right arm, which was in a sling. Molly saw the white bandage, just visible at her wrist.

The stranger hesitated in the doorway. Molly went over and introduced herself.

‘Good morning, I’m Molly McQueen, owner of the agency. Can I help you?’

She felt quite dowdy next to this exquisite creature.

The woman seemed to make up her mind. ‘My name is Mrs Lena Lamont and I’m looking for a temporary secretary for a few weeks,’ she gestured towards her arm, ‘until I get this plaster off. My husband, brother and I run a family antique business and I do all the paperwork, but since my accident I haven’t been able to keep up with it and it’s starting to pile up. It’s mostly typing, filing and taking down letters. I saw your advert in the paper.’

Molly made a great show of looking at the empty diary. ‘Yes, that can be arranged, Mrs Lamont. When do you want her to start?’

‘Oh, as soon as possible. Perhaps next Monday.’

Molly could hardly believe her luck. This job would keep Edna employed for a while. She got all the relevant paperwork out of the desk and wrote down the details.

‘We work from home most of the time and my address is Cliff Top House. It’s just a few miles from Newport-on-Tay.’

Molly gave her a sharp glance, ‘Can you give me the directions to the house, please?’

‘Of course. It’s about five miles from Newport, on the St Andrews Road.’

Molly wrote all this information down and asked, ‘What time would you like our secretary to work?’

Mrs Lamont gave this a bit of thought. ‘Perhaps ten o’clock in the morning till three o’clock. If we need any more I can always arrange it with her in advance. I may need help on a Saturday but not on a Sunday.’

Molly offered her client a cup of tea but she declined. ‘My husband will be picking me up. We came over on the ferry. We have a shop in the Nethergate, Lamont Antiques, and I like to drop in every now and then. We also wanted to see some of the events that are planned for the Coronation celebrations but the town is so busy we might give it a miss.’

After she left, Molly kept a lookout for Edna to give her the good news and also to give her the times of the ferry and the bus that regularly ran from Newport to St Andrews.

According to Lena Lamont, the bus stop was a few hundred yards from Cliff Top House.

By four o’clock, there was no sign of Edna so Molly decided to go to her house later with the details.

She was debating about closing up at five thirty when the phone rang. Molly, who hadn’t taken a message on it since it was installed, looked quite dazed at the insistent ring before picking it up.

‘McQueen’s Agency 3435.’

‘Good afternoon. I saw your advert in the paper and I want to hire someone who can do shorthand, typing and bookkeeping.’ The man had a pleasant voice and sounded quite young.

Molly couldn’t believe it. Two jobs in one afternoon.

He started to give his details and Molly had to lean over and grab the diary.

‘My name is Mr Knox and my address is 27 Constitution Place. I’m writing a book and I need help with taking notes and typing the manuscript. Is it possible to have someone tomorrow? I’ll need her for a week or two.’