Yew Tree Gardens (16 page)

Mr Greaves dropped down dead in his office one morning in February. His lady typist ran screaming for help, but it was too late. He was quite dead.

Everyone was shocked by this, because he was only
sixty-four,
but Mrs Tolson dealt firmly with any female member of staff who started to go into hysterics or used this as an excuse for neglecting her duties.

‘Mr Greaves wouldn’t want you to upset our customers,’ she kept saying. ‘He’d tell us to carry on as usual, and that’s all we can do for him now. He made this hotel what it is, had been manager here since the beginning. A fine life’s work.’

The deputy manager took charge, but he was near retirement, and when someone asked him if he was going to become manager now, he shook his head. ‘I haven’t announced it yet, but I shall be retiring quite soon. Don’t worry, though. The Carlings always bear in mind the future needs of each hotel and they have several bright young men well trained and itching to take on a manager’s job.’

The hotel didn’t close for the funeral, but Mrs Tolson and the
deputy manager attended it, together with a representative from each area of the hotel. And of course, Mr Maurice Carling and his wife both came to London from Brighton for the occasion.

They were older than Mr Greaves had been and were showing their age, each needing a walking stick and moving very slowly. It was their son who was now in charge of everything.

Dennis Carling was solicitous of his parents, but very brisk and businesslike with the senior staff and clearly impatient to get the fuss over with.

After the funeral, it was no surprise when the Carlings announced over drinks and refreshments at the hotel that they were retiring completely from involvement with the hotels and leaving everything to ‘dear Dennis’.

The staff went about their business as usual that day, not even allowed to wear black armbands, because it might upset the guests. Whatever happened, the guests must have a happy stay, or they might not come back again, and without guests there were no jobs.

There was much speculation at all levels about what would happen next, who would be appointed. No one could replace dear Mr Greaves, no one! And a sharp-tempered manager could make everyone’s life a misery.

There were bound to be changes, there always were when a new man took over. What would they be? What would he be like?

Everyone was on edge.

Renie couldn’t help noticing that Mrs Tolson came back to the hotel after the funeral looking worried, as if she’d heard bad news. Though the housekeeper said nothing, Renie accidentally overheard her telling Miss Pilkins that she was worried about one
or two of the men Dennis Carling had marked for advancement and had mentioned in connection with the London Rathleigh. Apparently the final decision had not yet been taken.

‘What do you mean?’ Miss Pilkins asked.

‘Some of the younger generation care more about money than people, but Mr Greaves made money by caring about people, both the employees and the guests. And yet they …’

She lowered her voice then and Renie didn’t hear the rest of it. She wondered what else Mrs Tolson was confiding in her deputy.

Renie was extremely worried on her own account. Her job had been created by Mr Greaves, against the wishes of most of the senior staff. Would it be abolished now? Would she have to go back to being a waitress? Oh, she hoped not! She loved what she was doing and even enjoyed the accounting work she had taken on for Miss Pilkins, to that lady’s relief.

When there was a whisper that the new manager had been chosen, she waited anxiously to find out who it was. No one knew anything for certain, not even where the rumour came from.

Mrs Tolson summoned Miss Pilkins and Renie into her office soon afterwards. ‘Our new manager will be starting on Monday. You might have met him, Irene. I believe he worked at the Rochdale Rathleigh for a time.’

Renie looked at her in puzzlement. The only one who’d worked there temporarily while she was there had been … No, it couldn’t be that man. Please, no. Not
him
!

‘It’s Mr Ronald Judson, who is very well thought of by Mr Dennis Carling.’ She stopped and looked at Renie, saying flatly, ‘You don’t like him.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘It’s not for me to like or dislike the manager.’

‘I’ve worked with Judson before when he was younger. He was—’ She hesitated, then shook her head and didn’t pursue the matter.

But she’d said enough. Renie lay awake for ages that night, worrying. Surely Judson wouldn’t still be annoying the women staff, not if Dennis Carling thought well of him? Surely a manager wouldn’t … couldn’t … She shuddered at the memory of him grabbing her.

What if he hadn’t changed? What if he still remembered her? As manager, he’d be in an ideal position to get his own back on her as he’d once threatened.

She might even lose her job completely. What would she do then? Not go back to Nell, that was sure. But she had her savings, so she’d be all right till she found another job, surely. Only … how did you find another job without references? Especially a good job, like the one she had here. There weren’t many chances like this for women, especially younger women like her.

She had such a feeling of apprehension about this.

Mrs Tolson was frowning more than usual, too.

Mr Judson arrived soon afterwards, looking plumper than Renie remembered and wearing a very well-tailored suit. He sailed into the hotel like a king visiting his subjects. Renie tried to keep out of sight but the way he looked at one of the prettier maids hadn’t changed. That fast sweep of the eyes up and down her body gave him away.

The senior staff were summoned to his office and the rest of the staff got on with their jobs, not stopping to gossip, working as hard as they could, in case he did an inspection of the hotel. Even the page boy wasn’t whistling today.

A little later, Renie caught sight of Mrs Tolson walking back to her office, a grim expression on her face. When she was summoned to see her, Mrs Tolson said, ‘He had a list of employees and questioned what you were doing.’

‘Is he going to send me back to being a waitress?’

‘I’m not sure what he’s going to do. I just wanted to say …’ She lowered her voice. ‘If you need references, I will provide them, whether Mr Judson agrees or not. You’re a hard worker and I won’t have you thrown on the street.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Better get about your duties now. What are you doing today?’

‘Miss Pilkins wants to go over the accounts.’

Mrs Tolson’s face relaxed into a near smile. ‘She’s excellent at her job, but is terrified of figures. It’s a good thing she has you.’

Renie didn’t meet Mr Judson face to face for a few days, though once or twice she felt as if someone was watching her. That was easy to do in a place with large plants and pieces of furniture strategically placed to make areas for guests to sit and talk.

She did the only thing she could: got on with her job and ignored the uneasy feeling.

The third day after Judson’s arrival, a lady guest received a telephone call bringing bad news from home: her husband had died. As the telephone room was just off the hotel foyer, Renie was called to comfort the sobbing Mrs Wallace and did this to the best of her ability.

Mr Judson himself turned up to commiserate with the guest on her loss. His eyes were very sharp and assessing as the guest wept and clung to Renie’s hand.

‘Such a kind young lady,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘If she could stay with me for a while …?’

‘Of course.’ He turned to Renie. ‘You know what to do?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve dealt with this sort of problem before.’

He nodded and turned back to Mrs Wallace. ‘If you need any further help, don’t hesitate to call me, my dear lady. We at the Rathleigh are completely at your service.’

Renie stayed with the distraught woman until her son arrived to escort her home.

Mr Judson came to show them out and Mrs Wallace stopped to say, ‘I want to commend Miss Fuller, who has been a great comfort to me.’

Mr Judson stood next to Renie at the door of the hotel, then turned to her. ‘Clearly you do your job properly.’

Relief flooded through her.

He gave her a wolfish smile. ‘But I haven’t forgotten how you behaved in Rochdale. You’d better start considering how much you want to keep the job, hadn’t you?’

She watched him walk away, saw Mrs Tolson staring at them from across the foyer and hoped she hadn’t betrayed her shock. And fear.

He had changed for the worse, seemed more powerful and more confident that he could do what he wanted.

But she didn’t want to keep her job if it meant letting him have his way with her.

Mrs Tolson disappeared into her office and Renie went to tidy the room where she’d sat with Mrs Wallace.

Thank goodness she’d saved her money!

And thank goodness Mrs Tolson would give her a reference, whatever happened.

Gil was again summoned to attend a dinner party at his parents’ house in London. His mother hadn’t said what this was about, didn’t need to. She’d be producing more women for him to meet. Where did she find them all?

He went up to town in the morning, taking Horry with him because Walter had a bad cold.

They left their luggage at the station and went to the shoemaker, whose place of work was nearby, to order some new shoes for Gil. After that they went on to the exercise specialist for a check-up.

‘Your leg has improved,’ the man said. ‘We’ll work out some more demanding exercises for you – but not too demanding. And we’ll see if anything can help your arm.’

Gil wasn’t optimistic about the arm, but was pleased to have his opinion about his leg confirmed.

As they came out into the street, he said, ‘Let’s go and have something to eat. I don’t want to go to my mother’s yet.’

Horry looked at him with a wry smile. ‘It’s only two days, sir.’

‘It’ll feel like two years.’

‘Don’t you want to marry?’

‘Not unless I meet someone special. What about you?’

‘I’d lose my job and I like working for you.’

Gil was pleased to hear that, but puzzled too. ‘What made you think you’d lose your job? We could easily provide you with married quarters.’

‘Oh. I thought people didn’t like having married servants. Walter said so, anyway.’

‘Walter’s a bit old-fashioned. Don’t let working for me hold you back if you want to get married.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing. Who’d have me with this battered face?’

‘All sorts of women would consider themselves fortunate.’ And that was when Gil realised that this logic applied to him, too.

‘It takes a rare sort of love,’ Horry muttered.

‘It happens, though.’ And perhaps, Gil thought, it could even happen to him. But not if he rushed into a loveless marriage. If he hadn’t met anyone by the time the eighteen months were up, he’d tell his mother he wasn’t going to marry someone unless he thought they’d be happy together.

Something hard eased inside him at this decision.

‘Well, it can’t be put off any longer. Let’s go and visit my parents.’ They retrieved their suitcases from the left-luggage office and took a taxi to Yew Tree Gardens.

Horry looked out of the window disapprovingly. ‘Couldn’t they have chosen nicer trees than yews?’

Gil shrugged. ‘I rather like the dark green.’

‘I don’t. Those trees remind me of churchyards and graves.’

The taxi came to a halt.

‘Here goes.’ Gil paid the fare then walked into the house, knowing better than to carry his own suitcase here. The butler was holding open the door, a maid was waiting to take his outdoor clothes, while the bootboy slipped up the basement steps to help Horry with the luggage.

From the drawing room came the tinkle of teacups. ‘Is my mother entertaining friends?’ Gil asked the butler. ‘Perhaps I’d better go and sit in the library.’

‘I think your mother would prefer you to join them, sir,’ Bartlett said.

‘Oh.’ He braced himself mentally. ‘How many am I facing this time?’

‘Two young ladies and their mothers.’

‘Here goes, then.’ Gil let Bartlett throw open the door and announce, ‘Mr Gilbert is here, ma’am.’

‘Ah, Gil dear. I’d expected you earlier.’

And it began again: introductions, small talk, one silly giggling girl, one older, quiet one. Neither of them roused anything but boredom in him, and he followed the advice of the old adage of looking at their mothers to see what they’d become. No thank you.

Dinner brought another pair of youngish women to be displayed for his inspection. He knew one slightly, had met the brother of the other. The evening seemed to go on for ever.

‘You’re not trying,’ his mother said over breakfast the next day.

‘I came up to London, didn’t I?’

‘You’d already made up your mind not to like anyone.’

He looked at her very seriously for a moment, then said, ‘No. Actually, I hadn’t. I’d really like to marry one day. I love having a child to care for and would like others.’

‘You’ll keep trying, then? Let me introduce you to girls?’

‘Yes, of course I will. I promised, didn’t I? But if it comes down to it … I won’t marry if I don’t think I can have a happy life with the woman … even if it means breaking my promise.’

‘You’d break your word to me?’

‘Rather than be unhappy for the rest of my life, yes.’

‘Then I shall have to try harder to find someone. You are staying for luncheon, aren’t you?’

‘If you wish. I think I’ll go out for a walk first. I have to exercise this leg and gentle walking seems to help.’

‘Is there nothing they can do about the arm?’

‘They don’t think so, but we will keep trying if there is talk of any new treatment. Unfortunately, none has proved useful so far.’

As Renie walked round Yew Tree Gardens during her luncheon break, she sighed. Judson had been here for over a week and was like a shadow looming over her. He hadn’t done anything yet, but he’d looked, and smiled slyly, and somehow she just knew he was only biding his time.