Sarah gave a little sigh from all her exertion. “That’s good. It’ll really finish the windows off nice having the outside done as well.”
Sarah was through the back emptying a basin of dirty water from the second window when the bell went. She quickly took her apron off and went through.
A tall, elegant young woman came into the shop. She stopped at the door to shake the drops of her umbrella, and then left it leaning against the edge of the doorframe where it wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.
Sarah’s gaze immediately fell on the light wool navy suit with the white piqué over-collar, and the flattering three-quarter-length sleeves with long navy leather gloves. As the young woman came towards her, she quickly took in the details of the outfit: the skirt length – falling fashionably just below the knee – the dark grey rows of pearls, the navy shoes with the white button trim. Her accessories were equally impressive, a brimless navy hat over a sharp, dark bob and a matching navy leather bag with a rolled handle and clasp. Sarah had only ever seen similar outfits in a magazine before, or on the cover of a pattern. The outfit topped anything Sarah had seen worn by any of the well-dressed women she saw at Mass in Tullamore, or by the fashion-conscious women she saw in Grafton Street in Dublin.
“Do you have black sequins, please?” the woman asked, coming towards the counter. She removed a glove, then opened her handbag and brought out a small paper package. Carefully, she spilled a few sequins onto the counter. “Like these if you have them, or something very similar.”
Sarah tore her eyes from the outfit to look at the sequins. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I think we have some. I’m sure I saw black sequins in a drawer earlier this morning.” She moved across the floor to the trimming drawers.
“Oh, wonderful!” The woman’s eyes followed her anxiously. “I travelled up from London last night to do a fitting for a dress, and the only thing I hadn’t finished was the hem. When I looked at the outfit on, I suddenly realised that a row of sequins at the bottom of the dress would really pull the whole thing together.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “And of course I didn’t think to bring my little bag of sequins with me.”
Sarah looked at the vast array of boxes filled with buttons, press-studs, hook and eyes, beads and pieces of ribbon. She pulled another drawer out and immediately her hand fell on a row of boxes holding different-coloured sequins. “Was it plain black, or black with navy?”
“Oh, plain black, please – best to stick to the same all over. I’m absolutely sick of the bloody little things – I’ve hand-stitched hundreds of them on this dress.”
Sarah was shocked to hear such an elegant woman swearing, but she didn’t show it. She brought a box across to her. “Is it for a special occasion?”
“A wedding.” She took her purse out of her bag. “I don’t usually travel for fittings, but it’s my old school-friend’s wedding – I grew up in Newcastle – and I’ve made the dresses for her mother and aunt. They’ve been down to my rooms in London twice already for fittings.” She rolled her eyes. “Two of the most glamorous women you’ve ever seen – like Jackie Kennedy and her sister. The dress I’m making is for the bride’s mother, for the evening of the wedding. She has a beautiful coat and dress for the actual day.”
“Did you make that too?” Sarah lifted the small bags of sequins out of the box.
“No,” the woman’s voice was low and confidential. “She bought a Chanel design from one of the London stores when she was down for a fitting. I was relieved actually – it took me long enough making the two dresses.”
Sarah was very curious now. Although she had never seen an actual outfit, she had certainly heard of Chanel and knew it was the sort of design only very rich women could afford. She had never met anyone before who talked about high fashion designs as though it was an ordinary thing.
“If you don’t mind me commenting,” Sarah ventured, “your own outfit is beautiful. Did you make it yourself?”
The woman’s eyes widened and then she smiled. “Thank you. As a matter of fact, I did. It’s one of my own designs.” She checked her watch and then moved her attention to the sequins again. “I’ll take a full box of sequins,” she said. “I don’t know how many I’m going to need. I might have to do several rows on the hem, and I won’t know until I’ve started.”
Sarah bent under the counter to get a small paper bag.
“Your own suit is well stitched,” the woman said. She moved closer to get a better look. “Very well stitched. Did you buy it locally?”
Sarah looked at her in amazement. “No, I made it up from a pattern I bought in Dublin.” She slid the paper bag across the counter, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “That’s one and ninepence, please.”
The woman handed her a florin. “You made it yourself? Really? Well, you’re a very talented young girl . . .” She glanced around the shabby, untidy shop. “Do you work here full-time?”
“Yes,” Sarah told her. “I actually only started today.” Then, knowing that the woman was probably thinking that it wasn’t much of a place to work in, she felt embarrassed. “It will look much better soon. They’ve been short-staffed and it’s got a bit run-down. I’ve been busy cleaning and tidying the window and I’m going to start sorting things inside here now.”
“You’re obviously a hard worker,” the woman said, “and very trustworthy to be left in charge on your first morning.” She lifted her package and put it in her navy leather bag. “Do you mind me asking your name?”
“It’s Sarah – Sarah Love.”
“What a lovely, unusual name.” She looked towards the door. The rain had stopped so she went over, picked her umbrella up and fastened it. “Well, Sarah, thank you for saving my bacon with the sequins. I tried Fenwick’s haberdashery but they had no black sequins left, and a lady pointed me in the direction of your shop. If I’m ever back up in Newcastle and need anything else, I’ll know where to come.”
The door had hardly closed when the bell went again and Lucy Harrison came in. She shut the door slowly behind her, then she turned towards Sarah with a deepened brow. “What have you done with the window?”
The look on her face made Sarah’s heart lurch. “I gave it a bit of a clean . . .” Her eyes flickered over to the second window which was only half-done. “I haven’t finished yet.” She swallowed hard, trying to work out what she’d done wrong.
“But you’ve completely changed it . . .” The frown was still there and there was a little nerve working in one of her cheekbones. She shook her head and then walked straight past Sarah and into the kitchen.
Sarah stood for a few moments, then she followed her employer, asking herself what had she done wrong.
Lucy was sitting at the table with her head in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah started explaining again, “but I thought you would want me to keep busy in between serving customers. I wouldn’t have touched anything if I’d known you didn’t want me to.” It was then that she noticed the dark-haired woman’s shoulders shuddering. “Lucy?” She moved towards her. “Are you all right?”
Lucy nodded her head. “Take . . . no . . . notice.” Her voice was a half-sob. “It’s me . . . it’s not anything you’ve done. It’s me . . .”
The shop bell went.
“I’ll get it,” Sarah said. “The kettle’s boiled. I thought you might be ready for a cup of tea.”
“That’s kind of you.”
A few minutes later, Sarah went back into the kitchen. Lucy Harrison was standing at the work-top with two filled mugs of tea.
“I’m sorry for my behaviour earlier.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m sorry if it sounded as though I were criticising you. It was quite the contrary . . . I’m very, very grateful for the work you’ve done. It was the fact that I feel . . . I feel that you shouldn’t have had to do it. I knew you were coming towards the end of last week, and I should have made an effort to have the shop looking decent for you.” She threw an agitated hand in the air. “But
– as usual – I kept putting it off, and then, it was too late.”
“It doesn’t matter . . .”
“Oh, but it does. I procrastinate with everything and then make things doubly difficult for myself. I’d planned to ask you to help me to sort the windows when you had settled in. I had envisaged us taking turns, spending a few days getting things sorted out . . .” She halted again. “But I just didn’t have the energy, and I convinced myself that it didn’t look too bad.”
“But it didn’t,” Sarah said quickly. She felt so bad for the poor woman that she wanted to say anything that might just make her feel better.
“It was unfair of me, it’s your first day and you’ve worked so hard.” Lucy’s voice sounded crackly and upset again. “I don’t know what comes over me at times. I knew in my head you were only helping but I just couldn’t stop myself from feeling . . .”
“It really is okay,” Sarah told her in a firm but kind voice.
“Thank you . . . thank you.”
Sarah bit her lip, at a loss for what more she could say.
“I really should have been more understanding . . .” Lucy’s voice tailed off. “My cousin told me you’ve just been through a difficult time back home – a very difficult time, and the last thing you need is some silly, highly strung woman telling you off.”
Sarah caught her breath. Lucy Harrison obviously knew about the events that had caused her to leave home. She lowered her head, feeling waves of embarrassment and humiliation creeping over her. There was a silence again. When she eventually looked up and saw the anguish stamped on her employer’s face her self-pity vanished to be replaced by a flood of compassion for this rather odd, dark-haired woman.
“Honestly, I’m grand.” Sarah smiled warmly now. “Coming here will be the making of me. I enjoyed doing that bit of cleaning and tidying – it took my mind off all the trouble that happened recently.” As she heard herself say the words, Sarah realised she was speaking the truth and not just placating her boss. She could see Lucy was listening now, so she continued. “It can’t have been easy running the place on your own, trying to juggle the shop and orders and all that kind of thing. You’ll find things much easier now there’s the two of us.”
The shopkeeper studied Sarah for a few moments and then she smiled. A proper kind of smile that reached her grey-green eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “Of course things will be different now there are two of us.”
Chapter 12
When Sarah stepped out into Pilgrims Lane again, it was a much busier place than it had been earlier in the morning. She paused for a few moments observing the customers going in and out of the various shops, the bicycles and vans parked outside, and the odd car rattling down the cobbled stones. The smell of hops that had enveloped her earlier had evaporated, but she could still detect hot baking smells and the strong smell of coal smoke. She supposed that she would get used to the coal and begin to hardly notice it. The way she was with the turf back home. She often heard visitors in the hotel remark on the lovely peaty smoke that wafted over Tullamore, so she knew it was something you got used to.
Lucy had insisted that she take a full hour off now and have a walk around the surrounding streets to acquaint herself with the city. Remembering the book on crocheting she wanted to buy, Sarah crossed the cobbles to the bookshop, and then changed her mind. Instead of going in, she turned and walked towards the top of the lane, the part she had not seen yet. She had a feeling that if she went into the shop she would get stuck with David McGuire, and she did not want that.
She wanted to have a look around the shops and the streets on her own without having to talk to someone, or having to watch every word she said in case the subject came around to why she had come to Newcastle.
Within five minutes of browsing around, Sarah was fascinated by the variety of buildings and the different businesses within them. The city was now bustling with people and traffic and she had to be careful that she didn’t walk into people or the tall lampposts or litter-bins that seemed to be placed every few yards.
When she wanted to cross a busy main road, she had to follow the crowds, watching carefully for cars and buses and trams. When the streets got wider and the buildings taller, she realised she was in the heart of the city. She looked along at the unusual curved, Regency-style stone buildings, and then glanced up at the place name – Grey Street – and she felt a small flutter in her chest. Only a few weeks ago she could never have imagined being in a place like this. She hardly knew Dublin and she’d lived only a train ride from it all her life.
Every time she caught the train from Tullamore to the city, she would have a knot of anxiety at the thought of negotiating her way through the crowds in Henry Street or Grafton Street, and the O’Connell Street Bridge which merged the two areas. Even catching the bus to and from the train station into the centre had seemed like a great adventure. And yet, here she was, in a city maybe bigger than Dublin, and knowing that she would be working only a few minutes away from all this every single day. Strangely, the thought of being part of such a big city seemed to comfort her.
In Tullamore almost every second person would acknowledge you, and she could guarantee that she would know someone to chat to on every single walk up the main streets. On her return from working in the hotel Martina had greeted her every night with, “Well, any news? Who did you see today?” And her sister-in-law would know almost everyone that Sarah mentioned. And if she didn’t know them, she would make it her business to find out, ferreting around between Sarah and James until she pinned down the precise family and the townland that the person came from. And while Martina was a particularly inquisitive person, Sarah knew that her friend Sheila’s family would ask the same questions and so would Patricia Quinn’s. A pang struck at her heart at the thought of her so-called friend, but she pushed it away and made herself concentrate on crossing roads and looking in shop windows.
As she went along, Sarah realised that all these strange people going about their business, taking no heed of her, made her feel the same as everyone else. She would bump into no one here who knew anything about her. No one who knew what Con Tierney and Patricia Quinn had done. She could walk around here with her head high and pretend that nothing bad had ever happened to her.
That knowledge gave her a warm comforting glow, and made her step all the lighter. She wandered around for another ten minutes, at one point wondering if she might have doubled back on herself. The smell of hot pastries drew her to stand outside a baker’s shop. She deliberated whether or not to buy a warm sausage roll and maybe a cake to bring back to eat in the kitchen. Then, the familiar fragrance of frying fish wafted past and she noticed there was a café next door.
She walked up to the glass window, then halted to look in. It had dim, rose-tinted lighting, vinyl-covered seats in small booths, and a bar-type area with high stools. She could see several waitresses rushing up and down in their black dresses and white pinafores and hats taking or delivering orders. Most people were sitting in groups at the booths, but there were two girls around her own age sitting at the single seats in the bar area. They were both dressed in smart fashionable suits, with matching hats. One was flicking through a magazine while she smoked a cigarette, and the other looked as though she was reading a letter. There were three other unoccupied seats.
Sarah wondered if she had the nerve to go in on her own.
Then she heard the music – Elvis Presley singing “It’s Now or Never” – and she made up her mind. She walked to the glass door, took a deep breath and walked in. She went over to one of the chairs, and then suddenly realised that the seat was several inches too high to just casually sit down on. She stepped back to check, and then realised there was a wooden bar on the legs which she presumably would have to hoist herself up on. She was working out how to negotiate it when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned around quickly.
“I thought I recognised that Rapunzel hair. Do you need a leg up?” David McGuire said, a wide grin
on his face.
Sarah looked at him, then surprised herself by grinning back at him. She knew it was mad making so free with a stranger but there was something about his manner that made her feel she’d known him for years. “Yes, I was just trying to work out how to get up on this thing.”
“Ah, there’s a knack to it. Put your heel on the bar and then lean your hands on the counter and push up,” he told her. Then, when she started to move, he reached a helping hand to hoist her up onto the stool. “Well done,” he said, laughing. “You’re obviously not used to sitting on the high bar-stool in pubs.”
“Indeed I’m not,” Sarah told him. “The only bar I’ve been in regularly is the one in the hotel back in Ireland where I used to work.”
“A multi-talented woman.” His eyes were bright with laughter. He sat up on the stool beside her now, then checked the crease in both legs of his perfectly pressed suit trousers. “And how are you getting on with Miss Harrison?” he asked. “Has she frightened you off yet?”
“No,” Sarah said, “she’s actually very nice.”
David put his two forefingers in the shape of a cross. “D’you not think she looks a bit like a vampire with all that black hair and dark eyes and white face?”
Sarah lifted up the menu book. “I’m not even going to answer that.” Then, without taking her eyes off the menu, she said, “Do you come in here regularly, or did you see me coming in?”
He turned his head to the side. “D’you mean you didn’t even notice?”
Sarah looked at him now. “Notice what?”
He patted his head with one hand. “I was just coming out of the barber’s when I saw you walking in here. He’s practically scalped me. I won’t need another haircut for about six months.”
Sarah looked out of the window and spotted the red and white spiralling pole on the opposite side. “Ah . . .” She glanced at his tidy, glistening dark hair but couldn’t see any difference from this morning.
Sarah Love Page 10
