you’d have thought I wanted to rob a bank or something. That’s why I decided to take up teaching, at least it got me out of the house.”
“What did your stepmother think of that?”
“She thought I’d soon get sick of it. Funny I suppose,” she grimaced, “when you think about it. She’s always been standing up for women’s rights, and all that. I suppose it’s different when it happens in your own family.”
William tried to conjure up a mental picture of the situation but failed. “Mm.”
“Anyway,” Sally got back to her original intention. “You dig out those stories and let me have a look – I just might be able to find someone to cast a professional eye on them.” She thought reluctantly of Clive for a moment, remembering vaguely he was supposed to be in advertising or something, perhaps he would know, and went on quickly, “one of those men that mother’s always foisting on me might be able to help, you never know.”
“But why are you offering to do all this?” William was mystified. “You must get this from your six formers all the time, when they’re leaving and looking for jobs.”
Sally gave a light laugh, not too sure herself. “We shop workers must stick together, remember. Just leave that side of it to me,” trying to convince herself that she was acting more like an understanding sister. “See you later after school”, she promised hopefully, “about teatime.”
Word Gets Around
Sally didn’t have long to put her theory into practice. Soon after leaving William, she was nearly run over by a sports car that came hurtling round the corner and braked suddenly in front of her.
Getting to her feet shakily, she came face to face with Clive, the driver.
“Can’t you look where you’re going?” he accused in a blind panic, his eyes fixed anxiously on his car. “It was all your fault,” he added automatically, bending down to wipe a speck of dust off the bumper. “You could have caused a serious accident…I don’t know what the owner will say….” Then realising who it was, he was taken aback, “Oh, sorry, Sally, didn’t see it was you.”
Trembling, she managed, “I see, that makes all the difference, does it?” Then remembering she was about to ask a favour, she modified her tone. “Oh, I’m all right, just a few scratches, I think. Forget it.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” Clive apologised with a weak smile. “I was just on my way to have a spot of tea with your mother, Lady Courtney. I didn’t want to be late.”
“Stepmother,” corrected Sally automatically. “Don’t let me keep you then.”
“You sure you’re all right – there’s nothing I can do…?” he asked, half looking at his watch. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
“Wait…there is at it happens…,” she attempted a smile, as she pulled herself together, “I don’t suppose by any chance you know any publishers or agents, in your line of business…?”
Clive hastily shoved his business card back in his pocket, realising that the description ‘car dealer – we buy and sell anything’ didn’t quite live up to the kind of business she had in mind. “Well,” he said quickly, trying to look modest, “As a matter of a fact, being in PR I do have quite a bit of pull with one or two of the top boys– they often ring me up when they’re after a bargain.”
“Good,” beamed Sally, settling herself in the passenger seat, “in that case you can drop me at the school and I’ll tell you about it on the way…”
“So you see,” she wound up as they came in sight of the school, “…it would mean an awful lot to William if you could help him in any way. It would give him confidence, and put him on the right path…as well as helping his uncle make the shop a success. Especially,” she started to say, “after all those rumours about that wretched Foxey woman…” then stopped quickly, realising she had said too much.
Stifling his alarm at her enthusiasm about a possible rival , and making a mental note to find out more about the Foxey character she mentioned, he assured her craftily, “Of course, I’ll do all I can to help. I can’t promise anything but leave it to me. Let me have a copy of whatever he’s done and meanwhile I’ll find out who’s the best man to contact. And I think this is where I drop you off…”
And as he braked, a pile of papers shot out of his glove box and landed on her lap.
Picking them up and noting the name on the log book before replacing it, she repeated the name wonderingly, “…..Ron Smith? Who’s that, when he’s at home?”
Laughing it off nervously, Clive stuffed the papers back hurriedly and lied, “Oh, nothing to worry about - one of the previous owners, you know.” Cursing to himself that he hadn’t got rid of the forged papers when they’d cleaned the car out, he joked unconvincingly, “You get masses of paperwork when you take on a car, believe me…and talking about paperwork don’t forget to get me a copy of that young man’s efforts so I can get someone to see it…” and a fat lot of good it will do him if I have anything to do with it, he promised himself nastily.
As it happened, he had to satisfy his hostess with some of her own searching questions before he was able to put his ideas into practice.
Giving his encounter with Sally as an excuse for being late, he was rewarded with a sniff of displeasure. “Oh, how is the gel?” she enquired frostily, and without waiting for a reply she indicated a vacant seat on the terrace. “Sit there Clive do, while I get the maid to bring some tea and things.” She rang a bell, and to bridge the conversation, she moved into her customary line of enquiry to satisfy herself as to his position in society.
“Do say, if you don’t find it comfortable.”
“No, it’s absolutely splendid, Lady Courtney,” he assured her hastily.
“It’s actually Lady Frobisher Courtney, don’t you know,” she pointed out regally. “My husband is most insistent that people get it right, otherwise these old fashioned family courtesies just get lost for posterity - I expect you find the same thing.”
He was about to reply when the maid plonked the tray down on the table and nearly spilt the milk. “Careful, Mary, not there, mind what you’re doing,”she warned with a hint of steel in her voice.
“Now then,” as she passed a cup across to Clive. “Do tell me how your family is getting on. You’re one of the Suffolk Brands - a junior branch, I believe,” she added condescendingly – “let me see, I suppose it goes back a few years or so?”
Clive rescued his cup as it slid of his saucer in his eagerness to agree with her. “Oh, yes, many hundreds of years…” then aware that there might be a conflict of interests, he added hastily, “Not as far back as your own line extends, I am sure…”
Her placid smile of contentment confirmed that he had said the right thing and he sat back with a sigh of relief. The next half hour was spent by his hostess in probing his background, with Clive crossing his fingers and making himself sound like a cross between a financial wizard and an up and coming leader of society. Even Clive found himself being impressed by his replies, which was not unnatural for a conman of his ability.
“And from what you were saying, I gather your business prospects are quite well established…”
“Of course, we are still expanding,” he assured her, hurriedly dismissing a picture of a ramshackle garage from his mind. “We’re no Rockefeller, but I am sure he would be happy to learn a thing or two from us in the way we do business…I’m not in a position to mention any names, you understand, but only yesterday I had a tempting offer to take us over - from a leading finance company…” He omitted to mention that it was in connection with a notice of foreclosure on his garage for not keeping up his payments, but his reply brought out a satisfied smile of acceptance.
He was beginning to feel