he could fully put his weight on it without doing further damage, the doctor reckoned.
Before Lily knew it, she’d been at Marlow’s a month, and Miss Frobisher took her to one side. Her probationary period was up.
‘So, how are you liking us?’
‘Oh, Miss Frobisher, I love it!’ exclaimed Lily. ‘I feel so lucky, I really do!’
‘Well, that’s good to know. You’ve certainly knuckled down after your rather … rocky start.’
Lily knew what she meant and hung her head.
‘It’s all right, Lily,’ said Miss Frobisher kindly. ‘I think you’ll do very well. I need a bright girl like you. There used to be six staff on this department – myself, three full-time salesgirls and two juniors. Now all my full-timers have gone off to do war work, so there’s only you and Gladys, and Miss Thomas and Miss Temple, who retired years ago, really – and Miss Thomas only part-time. You could be serving customers sooner than you think.’
Lily glowed. And gulped.
‘Don’t worry,’ Miss Frobisher smiled. ‘Ask the others if you’re not sure. Gladys will give you all the help she can, I know, and the salesgirls if they’re not busy. But never let a customer see you look confused. Take your troubles away to a colleague. Is that clear?’
Lily nodded.
‘I’ll try not to let you down, Miss Frobisher,’ she assured her. ‘I really am grateful for this job. And, well …’ Her eyes met Miss Frobisher’s cool grey ones for a moment. ‘A second chance.’
‘Then prove it to me,’ she replied, but with a smile. ‘And you can start by tidying away those vests, please.’
As usual, without even seeming to move her head, she’d noticed that Miss Temple had finished serving a customer and was now escorting her to the lift. Miss Frobisher herself swooped off to attend to a woman dithering by a display of little Argyll pullovers.
‘Mrs MacRorie! How good to see you … how are your boys?’
Lily moved to the counter and started re-tying the ribbons on the little crossover vests. As she slid them as neatly as she could back into their cellophane packets, her gaze drifted to Household where she could see Jim serving a tall, bulky man with a military moustache. The man was jabbing his finger repeatedly, evidently making a point. And making sure Jim took it …
‘I said “usual arrangement”, didn’t I?’ he boomed. ‘What part of that do you not understand?’
Jim paused in wrapping the purchase, a fancy chrome ashtray on a stand.
‘All of it, I’m afraid, sir,’ he replied, genuinely puzzled. ‘The usual arrangement for a purchase like this nowadays can only be “Cash and Take” or “Account and Take”. Is that what you mean? I take it you have an account with us?’
Sir Douglas Brimble looked at him coldly.
‘Of course I have an account! Do you think you’re being funny, young man?’
‘No, Sir Douglas, I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Not your idea of a joke? Nor is it mine. I’m not talking about my account!’
Jim still looked baffled.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, the same arrangement that I have with Mr Bishop. Look, just fetch him, will you?’
Maurice Bishop was Second Sales on the department, a sharp-faced chap in his twenties – an Army reject on account of his supposed asthma.
‘I’m sorry, sir, Mr Bishop has taken his annual holiday this week.’
This was not the answer Sir Douglas wanted. Irritably, he leant further over the counter and the jabbing forefinger made contact with Jim’s lapel.
‘Do you know how much I’ve spent in this store over the years? This past year, even? It’s customers like me who keep places like this going, especially in these straitened times. We pay your wages!’
Jim had certainly seen Sir Douglas in the store, indeed on their department, but he’d always been served by Maurice Bishop until now.
‘That may well be, sir, but—’
‘Account and Take indeed!’
‘Don’t you have a car, Sir Douglas? Is that the problem?’
‘Of course I have a car! Impertinence!’
Sir Douglas Brimble of Holmwood House, stockbroker, landowner, former councillor, and past Mayor of Hinton, was a man accustomed to getting his own way. Instantly.
‘My problem, as you put it, is that my wife dropped me off. I shall walk to the station where I am catching a train to Birmingham for a business lunch. If you think I’m going to lug an ashtray on a stand round with me all day, you’ve another think coming!’
There was a pause while the bristling moustache bristled.
‘Usual arrangement!’
The one thing Lily was still uneasy about was going to dinner alone. For the first few days after the incident in the shelter, she’d had to endure a lot of sidelong looks and questions and it was hard to explain away how she’d managed to be kept on without revealing what Miss Garner had told her. Even a few weeks on, she still felt some of the staff were looking at her, judging her, and, not knowing of Mrs Tunnicliffe’s intervention, wondering how she’d managed to hang on to her job. Lily certainly didn’t feel she could share the real reason for Violet’s hysteria – the secret wasn’t hers to tell – on top of which she felt strangely protective towards Violet. In any case, if she wanted further vindication, customer confidentiality, she’d learnt when she finally got to the end of the staff manual, was paramount. At the same time, she knew that her first day’s dinner break with Gladys had been an exception: the two juniors couldn’t be off the department at the same time. Today, however, as she left the sales floor, by great good fortune Jim caught up with her and they walked down to the canteen together. Lily was still getting used to the menu and brightened when she saw it was Irish stew.
‘Don’t get excited. Gravy with gristle,’ warned Jim, but Lily eyed the ladleful on her plate with relish. There were the usual collapsing potatoes too, and cabbage – again. But there was roly-poly with currants (‘If you can find them,’ warned Jim) for afters – and Lily intended eating every mouthful. They carried their food to a long table, squeezing with their trays held high past men from the warehouse playing cards for matchsticks.
It was then, as they ate, that Jim related his odd encounter with Sir Douglas.
‘But what did he mean?’
‘That’s what I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out. So I had to pretend I did.’
‘How?’
‘Come on, you go to the pictures, don’t you?’ grinned Jim. ‘You know the bit where our hero has a sudden thought, or realises something, or remembers. They do this knowing sort of look. So I gave him one of those.’
‘Knowing?’
Lily stopped with a forkful of stew halfway to her mouth. She’d never heard anyone talk quite like Jim. Not to her, anyway, not even Sid, who had a pretty vivid turn of phrase when he liked, the more so since he’d joined the Navy – and not in a good way, Lily’s mum often scolded. Jim’s tone was sort of casual, but confidential, and chatty. Now he tutted impatiently.
‘Like this!’
He mimed an expression somewhere between surprise and ‘Aha!’
Lily nodded uncertainly.
‘I don’t think Clark Gable’s got anything to worry about,’ she smiled. ‘And then?’
‘And then I apologised profusely. Claimed I understood. So Sir Douglas huffed and puffed, said he should think