One Rainy Day (20 page)

‘Oh, I know that, for I’ve found myself one.’ Peter stroked his chin as his eyes rolled to the ceiling. ‘If it’s only for six months, how about me calling you “babe”, or “honey”? Would either of those suit until I can call you “darling”?’

How could you fall out with him, Poppy asked herself. Perhaps in six months, when her life was more settled, she would grow closer to him, and when he touched her the missing ingredient would appear, as her mother said. ‘I think I’ll settle for “babe”. I rather like that.’

Poppy’s dream of advancing her prospects was strengthened the next morning when Mr John stood at the side of her desk with some letters in his hand. He didn’t speak, just stood there, staring at her face, and the swell of her breasts he could see down the front of her dress. He stood for ages, just staring. Poppy kept her head down, but she felt sick in her tummy as she imagined him licking his lips. In the end she could stand it no longer. ‘Do you want something, Mr John?’

‘Is that an invitation, Miss Meadows? If so, I would be very happy to take advantage of your offer.’ Conscious of his secretary sitting a few yards away, he kept his voice low. ‘Lunch perhaps? I know a very comfortable hotel not far from here. I would make sure you were well satisfied and back at your desk on time.’

Poppy raised her eyes. How she would have enjoyed telling him exactly what she thought of him. The very thought of him touching her was enough to make her cringe. ‘I’m
meeting a friend for lunch, Mr John. It’s a regular thing. We meet every day.’ She lowered her eyes while raising an open hand. ‘I’ll take the letters, shall I? I wouldn’t like to be late with them.’

The letters were put down with a heavy hand, and a very angry Mr John strode to his office. As he opened the door, he called, ‘Miss Slater, my office, now!’

Poppy pulled a face as Jean passed her desk, notebook and pencil at the ready. ‘I’ll see you later. We can talk at lunchtime.’

‘He may have money, but he certainly doesn’t have any manners,’ Jean said. ‘I can understand why you want to get out.’

Poppy put the cover over her typewriter before donning her coat and picking up the letters. It wasn’t raining, that was a blessing. And as she made her way up to Mr John’s client’s office, she was deep in thought, oblivious of the people passing either side. So when she felt a hand on her arm, she gave a start.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Andrew Wilkie-Brook had watched Poppy walking towards him, and had been in two minds whether to greet her. He desperately wanted to, for she was constantly in his thoughts, and he might never get another opportunity. ‘I just wanted to ask if you are recovered from the unfortunate accident?’

Poppy was flustered. First the sister, and now the brother! But perhaps she shouldn’t mention Charlotte in case the girl hadn’t told her family she’d been in the city. ‘Oh, I’d quite forgotten, but now I know who you are. Of course I have recovered. I wasn’t hurt. One or two bruises, but nothing to worry about.’ Poppy looked into his face, and without realizing she was doing it, she asked herself why she felt strange being near him. She’d had the same feeling the day he bumped into
her. Then she had thought he was a toff, looking down on her, but he wasn’t looking down at her now, he was looking straight into her face. ‘How is your sister?’

‘Charlotte is very well, thank you. I will tell her you asked.’ Andrew was lost now. He had no idea how to talk freely to a girl. He waved his hand towards the building behind him, and said, ‘This is where I work, if you ever need anything. Just ask for Andrew, Miss … er … I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Poppy. Poppy Meadows. But I won’t be troubling you. I will have no need. And now I really must go, Andrew. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, Poppy. I hope you don’t think I’m being forward calling you Poppy, but it’s such a lovely name.’

‘Thank you. But I really must dash or I’ll be getting the sack.’

With that she was gone, leaving Andrew cursing himself for being so shy. He was used to dealing with hard businessmen, yet couldn’t hold a conversation with a girl. How his father would laugh if he knew. It was different with Charlotte’s friends, and other girls from their social circle, for they were very easy to talk to. Their conversations were usually about hairstyles and clothes, nothing more serious.

And while Andrew was disappointed in himself, Poppy was wondering whether she’d done the right thing by not mentioning she’d spent time with Charlotte. Still, it was too late to worry now. What was done was done, and couldn’t be undone.

‘Only a couple of letters today, Amy.’ Poppy squeezed into the tiny box of a room the receptionist worked in. ‘How is life treating you?’

Amy held the letters aloft. ‘I’ll take these through first, then
we can have a natter.’ And within minutes she was back, saying, ‘They’ll ring if a reply is needed. If they haven’t rung in ten minutes, Mr Simon said you could leave.’

‘Don’t you freeze, sitting in here all day with no heating?’ Poppy asked. ‘My teeth are chattering after five minutes.’

Amy grinned. ‘My hands feel the cold, but not the rest of me. I got meself well wrapped up this morning in one of me mam’s thick vests, a pair of her fleecy lined drawers, and thick lisle stockings.’

Poppy’s jaw dropped. ‘You don’t mean bloomers, do you?’

Amy nodded, her face creased with laughter. ‘I don’t care if it snows today, I’m as warm as toast. The only little worry I have is getting run over. I’d die of humiliation if I ended up in hospital and the doctor saw me bloomers.’

Poppy thought it was hilarious. ‘I didn’t think you could still buy bloomers. I’ve never seen them in the shops. I thought they were a thing of the past.’

‘Me mam gets them from the market. And I’ll tell yer what, Poppy, I’d rather be warm and out of fashion than freeze in the skimpy briefs the girls wear these days.’

‘Ay, don’t be putting years on me.’ Poppy laughed. ‘You can grow old if yer want, but me, I’m with the skimpy briefs.’

‘Oh, before yer leave, do tell me who the young girl is. You know, Charlotte. She’s a lovely girl, and I really liked her, but it sticks out a mile that she’s not one of us. How do you know her?’

Oh, dear, a little voice in Poppy’s head said. You can’t get away from brother or sister. They’ve got me telling fibs now. ‘Oh, I just bumped into her one day, and we got chatting. She’s not one of us, as you say, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a nice person. I’ve only met her twice, but I really like her.’

‘What’s her name, apart from Charlotte?’ Amy was curious. ‘And where does she live?’

Poppy raised her brows. ‘You are very nosy, Amy. And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t know her full name, or where she lives. And I really don’t care one way or the other. I’m certainly not going to ask about her private life, even if I do ever see her again. Which I very much doubt. The times I’ve met her were both by pure accident.’

Amy wrinkled her nose. ‘Pity that, ’cos I’ve never met anyone really wealthy. If yer do meet her again, will yer bring her to see me?’

‘I can’t promise anything, Amy, but we’ll see if she turns up again. Right now I’m more interested in my own life than anyone else’s. That’s why I’m going to love you and leave you now. I’m getting some help with my homework from a secretary where I work. She’s helping me in our lunch break.’

‘So ye’re sticking to it, are yer? I wish I had the guts to get out and find meself something better, but I’m too slow to catch a cold. I’ll be in this ruddy job when I’m due to draw me old age pension. That’s if I live that long.’

‘You’ll live to a ripe old age if you keep wearing fleecy lined bloomers.’ Poppy chuckled. ‘You’ll never get a feller, but you’ll always have yer knickers to keep yer warm.’

Poppy was wearing a smile as she walked back to her office. She couldn’t believe Amy was wearing old-fashioned fleecy bloomers. Still, if she had to work in a freezing office all day, she might sing a different tune. Having to work in those conditions in this day and age shouldn’t be allowed.

She was halfway down Castle Street when she felt her eyes sliding sideways to the office buildings across the street. Charlotte’s brother had come out of one of them, and waved his hand towards it when he said it was where he worked. But
there were two buildings with entrances very close together, and she didn’t know which was the one he meant. Then she mentally pulled herself together when a little voice in her head asked what difference it made where he worked. It had nothing to do with her, and she wasn’t interested anyway.

By the time she got back to her office it was lunchtime, so she made no effort to take her coat off. There was no sign of Jean, but she could hear Mr John’s raised voice and gathered he was in a temper and taking his spite out on his secretary. A minute later, when Jean came out of his office, Poppy knew she was right by the look of disgust on her colleague’s face. ‘Don’t let him get to you, Jean,’ she said. ‘Put your coat on and let’s get out of here.’

Once out in the fresh air, Jean gave a sigh of relief. ‘He is a dreadful man. I’m beginning to hate the sight of him. He has no manners whatsoever, and God knows how his wife puts up with him.’

Poppy linked her arm. ‘That’s her lookout. But you can bet a pound to a penny that whatever she puts up with, it’ll be in the lap of luxury.’

‘Let’s forget about work for a while and talk about something more interesting.’ Jean was pushing the café door open when she turned her head to ask, ‘Did you bring your notebook with you?’

Poppy swung her handbag. ‘It’s in here. I spent an hour on it last night, but if you’re not in the mood we can leave it until tomorrow.’

Jean found a table for two and sat down. ‘I think I’ll have the soup again. It’s always tasty and filling. And there’ll be time to go over your homework.’

‘I’ll have the same,’ Poppy said. ‘I’ll put the order in, and it’s on me today. Just a little thank you for helping me out.’

After they’d finished their lunch, Poppy poured out two cups of tea before passing her notebook to her friend. ‘And the best of British, Jean, ’cos it’s my first try and I couldn’t really understand what I was writing. So if I couldn’t understand what I’d written, there’s no chance for you.’

When Jean had pushed the door of the café open, she’d been really down in the dumps, fed up with life in general. But going over Poppy’s homework was as good as a tonic, and she laughed so much it brought tears to her eyes.

Poppy didn’t know whether to laugh with her or cry. ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’

‘I find it really funny,’ Jean said, wiping a tear away. ‘But I don’t think Mr Jones will see the funny side. What I suggest is that I write down in shorthand the lines Mr Jones has written in longhand. That way you can keep looking at mine until you’ve learned the shorthand for each word he has written. And don’t look so downhearted, Poppy, because everyone finds it difficult at first. You’ll soon catch up with the rest of the class because you are doing extra homework. And you’ll have two teachers. I can’t do much for you, but even fifteen minutes in our dinner hour will be a good help. I bet in a month’s time you’ll find it’s all clicked into place.’

Poppy was feeling good, inspired by Jean’s words. ‘I’ll press on if it kills me, Jean. I am so determined, nothing will stop me. The sooner I can tell Mr John where to put his job, the better. And you’re not too old to look for another place, either! I bet there’s plenty of firms would take you on with your experience. Just think of Mr John’s face if we both gave notice. Ooh, I’d look forward to that.’

On her way to night school on the Thursday night, Poppy didn’t know whether she was looking forward to handing in her homework or not. Even though she’d spent hours on it herself, and she’d had help from Jean over lunch for the past two days, she still didn’t feel confident. And when the school gates loomed up, her mind went back to when she was a little girl and didn’t want to let go of her mother’s hand outside the gates of the school she attended.

Poppy took a deep breath, told herself she was no longer a little girl, and strode across the playground. The school was mostly in darkness, for only two of the classrooms were used for the evening classes. There was a hum of conversation as pupils exchanged notes, and Poppy headed towards Joy and Jane, the two girls she had befriended. They waved when they saw her, and Joy called, ‘We’ve saved you a seat.’

‘How far have yer got, Poppy?’ Jane asked. ‘Did yer manage to get the hang of it?’

Poppy rolled her eyes as she sat down. ‘Only Mr Jones will be able to answer that when he checks my homework. I did my best, spending time on it every night, but I’ll have to wait for his opinion. I won’t be as advanced as you two, seeing as you had a two-week start on me, but I’ll catch up, given time.’

A hush descended when the teacher entered the room. He
was a middle-aged man, with a round pleasant face, and he wore his glasses halfway down his nose, so he could see through or over them. After greeting the pupils, he said, ‘I will write tonight’s homework on the blackboard, and you can start to copy it into your notebooks. The couple who were late joining the course, I will check your homework first before you begin to copy what is on the board.’

‘Oh, crikey,’ Poppy moaned, ‘that means me. I hope he gives me good marks.’

‘There wouldn’t be much point in him giving you good marks if you don’t deserve them,’ Jane said. ‘You’d never learn if he did that. Which would mean you never getting the good job you’ve set your heart on.’

There was silence in the room, except for the sound of chalk grating across the blackboard. When he’d finished, Mr Jones said, ‘You may start now. Late starters to my desk with their homework.’

Poppy joined the other girl walking towards the teacher’s desk. ‘Just leave them there,’ Mr Jones said. ‘You can begin copying what’s on the board while I check them.’

Poppy sat down and picked up her pencil. ‘I can’t stop me hand shaking,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Anyone would think it was a matter of life or death. I’m letting it get the better of me, and that’s daft.’

‘Stop talking, Poppy,’ Joy said, ‘everyone is giving yer daggers. They can’t concentrate when you’re gabbing away.’