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Stranger Passing By
Lilian Peake
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
AS THE dinner progressed, so the noise level rose. As a result, Crystal was finding it increasingly difficult to communicate with the guests immediately beside her, let alone the people seated on the other side of the long, narrow table.
‘I didn’t realise,’ Maureen Hilson was saying, leaning closer, ‘that the Ornamental You group employed so many people.’
Puzzled, Crystal frowned. ‘I thought you’d worked for them for years?’
‘I have, but I’ve never seen so many guests here before. They must have opened new stores by the dozen in the last decade.’ Maureen sounded worried. ‘I hope they knew what they were doing. Sometimes,’ she observed sagely, ‘I think it’s wiser to maintain the status quo, that is, not to expand, or, alternatively, to expand slowly and cautiously.’
‘You mean,’ Crystal commented, ‘that sometimes small really is beautiful?’ Maureen nodded, and Crystal went on, accepting a chocolate-coated mint sweet from the plate Maureen offered, ‘If there are so many prize-winners it seems to me that it might bring down the value of the awards.’
Maureen laughed. ‘These aren’t all prize-winners, dear.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘After all, there are the two of us, aren’t there? If every shop has two—and remember, as the manageress, I was offered another assistant in addition to you—’
‘Which means,’ Crystal put in, ‘that some Ornamental Yous probably have a staff of three?’
‘Right.’
‘All the same, I wish you’d collect the award, Maureen,’ Crystal urged. ‘You’re the more senior of the two of us.’ After a mouthful of coffee she groped agitatedly for her glass, taking a mouthful of wine, then wincing at the resulting incompatible taste.
Maureen laughed at her expression. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, Crystal. I think it’s better for the store’s image to have an attractive young woman go up there and accept the award.’
‘But—’
‘Look, dear, all you have to do is smile, take the prize prettily, shake the hand that’s held out to you and then it’s over. Anyway...’ they joined the assembled company, moving into the ballroom for an evening’s dancing ‘...the awards aren’t being made just yet, so for the moment you can forget your “ordeal”, as you seem determined to regard it.’
Music of a soothing, after-dinner variety came from a group positioned on a platform at the end of the long room. Guests drifted into circles and Maureen became deep in conversation with an old acquaintance. Feeling a little lost, Crystal found a seat near by.
‘Hi.’ A bright-faced young man seemed to welcome the fact that she had joined him. ‘You new?’
Crystal smiled. ‘Yes and no. I was beginning to appreciate the meaning of the expression “lost in a crowd”.’
The young man’s hand came out. ‘Roger Betts.’ His clasp was firm, his brown hair cut short, his upper lip showing signs of an attempt to cultivate a moustache.
‘Crystal Rose.’
Roger laughed. ‘I like that. I can just imagine a rose made of crystal. I bet you’re fragile.’
It was Crystal’s turn to laugh. ‘Sometimes, very.’
He looked at her with something more than interest. ‘Where’s your part of the world?’
‘These parts. It just happened that the firm chose this area for the awards ceremony. Or so my manageress told me.’ She looked at his round face, his slightly over-solid build, and guessed that he was tall. ‘Do you work for Ornamental You?’
Roger nodded. ‘But not in the retail side. I work at Head Office. I’m an assistant buyer—I help to select the goods you sell—plus I’m involved in looking for new sites for Ornamental. I’ve got ambitions beyond the retail trade, though. I’m taking a part-time university course in chemistry. I use my earnings to subsidise my studies.’
‘How do you tie in your course work with your job responsibilities?’
Maureen had finished her conversation, noted with a pleased smile that Crystal was well occupied and moved away, only to be caught by yet another old friend.
‘It’s not easy,’ Roger was saying. ‘I spend almost every evening surrounded by textbooks. I write until my hand nearly drops off—then I drop off!’
‘Wouldn’t a computer or a word-processor help?’
He shrugged. ‘It would, but I’d have to attend yet another course to learn how to use one. I must sound as if I come from the Ark—a bloke who’s let modern technology pass him by.’ His mouth went on a self-derogatory downward turn, but also, surprisingly, managed to smile at the same time. ‘I’m one of those guys,’ he went on, ‘whose thoughts flow better from their brains to the paper via their hands, if you get my meaning, rather than being channelled first through a keyboard. You—er—’ his eyes crinkled at the corners ‘—you haven’t got one, I suppose?’
‘A computer? I have, as a matter of fact. In my last job I worked with one, and when they updated they sold off their equipment cheap to their employees.’
‘Oh, joy,’ said Roger, brightening. ‘You couldn’t—um—wouldn’t—?’ Then he shook his head. ‘Forget it. Your boyfriend would have my guts for garters, if you’ll forgive the expression.’
‘He can’t,’ she returned, smiling, ‘because I haven’t.’
‘What, you—no boyfriend? I can’t believe—’
‘I did have, but—’
‘Roger, you so-and-so,’ an older man, shorter in stature and bespectacled, fisted him playfully on the arm, ‘how’re things?’
Roger clapped the newcomer on the back. ‘Haven’t met, have we, since the last Ornamental nosh-up? Meet my new friend Crystal—or,’ with a grin, ‘is it Rose?’
‘Both suit,’ said the other, shaking Crystal’s