‘Since July,’ informed Wendy, folding a copy of the Daily Post and handing it to him. ‘She’s going to be a novelist one day but in the meantime she’s looking for a proper job. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Simpson?’ She felt like batting her eyelashes at him but didn’t have the knack.
‘I noticed she mentioned Miss Langton,’ he said.
‘Do you know the woman?’
‘I’ve met her. She’s what you’d call a bit of a tartar. I feel sorry for your lodger if she’s going after a job in her office.’
‘Tilly’s desperate for money. If she doesn’t get this job, then she might have to go and live back at home in Chester.’ Wendy sighed. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr Simpson?’
He appeared to collect himself and brought his head down so it was on a level with hers. ‘You can do me a favour.’
She almost answered I’d do anything for you but instead said, ‘What is it?’
‘I wondered if you’d put this poster in your window?’ He took a roll of paper from beneath his arm and opened it up and spread it on the counter.
Wendy gazed down at the photograph of the dog. ‘Is this the one that’s gone missing?’
‘Yes. It answers to the name of Bruce.’
‘You don’t think it’s been run over?’
‘No. It would have been found and a report made.’
Wendy felt in a bit of a dilemma. ‘I’ll have to ask Mam.’
He looked disappointed. ‘If you must.’
She felt mean not saying yes straight away but she knew that if her mother saw the poster and she had not mentioned it then she would tear it down immediately. She went to the door and called her mother.
Mrs Wright came into the shop and stared at Mr Simpson. ‘What is it?’
‘Mr Simpson asked if we could put this poster in the window for him, Mam. It’s of a valuable missing dog.’
‘I don’t like dogs,’ said Mrs Wright, stony-faced.
‘What’s that got to do with it, Mam?’ asked Wendy. ‘It’s not going to leap out of the poster and bite you.’ She could not resist a smile in Mr Simpson’s direction. He winked at her and she felt a glow warm her whole being.
‘Don’t be cheeky, girl,’ said her mother, before addressing Mr Simpson. ‘It’ll cost you sixpence for it to go in the window for a week.’
He hesitated and then nodded. ‘Let’s hope it’ll bring us some results.’
‘Why didn’t the owner put up posters?’ asked Wendy.
‘Why didn’t she go to the police?’ asked her mother.
‘She did but believes they don’t take cases of missing dogs seriously,’ replied Mr Simpson, ‘and the dog means everything to her.’
‘So how did she get to hear about you?’ asked Mrs Wright.
‘Word spreads,’ he said. ‘But just to help it along, I also placed another advertisement in the Echo.’
‘Smart,’ said Wendy, clearly impressed.
Her mother sniffed. ‘Why bother paying you? She could get another dog easily enough.’
‘She likes this one.’
‘I hope you find it,’ said Wendy, wishing her mother would keep quiet.
‘Thanks, love.’ He smiled at her and handed over a sixpence. ‘My address is on the poster if anyone comes in and says they have information as to Bruce’s whereabouts. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He tipped his trilby and walked out of the shop.
‘You can put up the poster,’ said Mrs Wright, staring after Mr Simpson. ‘And I wish you’d stop staring at him out of goo-goo eyes. He’s not for you, girl. I’m going in to chivvy our Minnie up to go out and look for a job. And while I think on, remind me to ask Tilly about those books upstairs. She still hasn’t done anything about them.’
Wendy nodded and picked up the poster and found some sticky tape to put it up. She thought of Tilly and of how she would have a lot to tell her when she returned.
* * *
Tilly had not taken the tram to Prescot but in every other way she had obeyed Mrs Pain’s instructions to the letter, so she had no difficulty in finding the Friendly Assurance Society office. Even so, she had butterflies in her stomach because she was not feeling a bit like herself but a character in one of her stories. She stood a moment outside the door to put on the spectacles; then taking a deep breath, she entered the building.
A young woman stood in front of a filing cabinet with her back to Tilly. She could hear her humming to herself. There was a desk with a typewriter and a pile of paper, as well as an in tray, out tray, and an ink stand.
Tilly cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me.’
The girl appeared not to hear her, so she spoke louder. This time the girl turned and looked at her. ‘Can I help you? Is it about a burial policy?’ she asked, eyeing Tilly’s sombre garb.
Her question gave Tilly an idea; one that might rouse the woman in charge’s sympathy. ‘As it happens, I have recently lost someone, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m desperate for work and I heard that there might be a job going here soon,’ she said eagerly.
The girl smiled. ‘I don’t know who told you but it’s my job that’s becoming vacant. I’m getting married.’
‘So I heard. Congratulations,’ said Tilly, clutching her handbag tightly with both hands. ‘You’re a fortunate young woman in this day and age.’
‘That’s not what Miss Langton thinks,’ said the other girl promptly. ‘She’s forever going on about marriage no longer being the only career open to a right-minded woman.’ She dropped her voice. ‘According to her every girl should be concentrating on leading an independent life free of men. Mind you, she missed the boat years ago.’
Tilly thought the girl was being rather unkind to Miss Langton and guessed she would not say such things about her if she were not leaving to be married. But before Tilly could speak there was the sound of footsteps approaching the other side of the door leading to an inner sanctum. The door opened to reveal a woman in her forties. She was tall and thin and wore a calf-length skirt in a dogtooth pattern of green and black, topped by an eau-de-Nil cotton blouse. Her brown hair was twisted up on the top of her head in a tight chignon. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked sharply.
‘My name is Matilda Moran and I heard that a job was becoming vacant here so I’d like to apply for it,’ replied Tilly in a quiet, well-modulated voice.
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘I would like to know how you heard about this job.’
‘From someone who comes to this office. I forget her name right now but she seemed pretty certain of her facts.’
‘Hmmm! Well, news does get around,’ said the woman, sitting down at the desk. ‘I am Miss Langton, secretary to Mr Holmes, the manager. Have you any references with you?’
‘Yes,’ said Tilly, glad that Seb had given her a glowing reference, not that it had done her much good so far. The other two she had in her possession were written by the headmistress of her former school and her typing course tutor. She opened her handbag and removed a thick envelope and handed it to Miss Langton.
The woman waved her to a seat and opened the envelope. She removed the sheets of paper and read what was written there. Then she stared at Tilly. ‘You seem to be well thought of by all and sundry. I will, of course, be checking these references to see that they are genuine and will need to consult Mr Holmes about your filling the position available before it could be offered to you.’
Tilly could not believe her luck. She knew the references to be genuine so did not care about the woman checking up on her. Of course, this Mr Holmes might be a problem but she did not see why he should not wish to employ her. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have to tell you that the position here is unlikely to earn you the wage of your previous one. You’re quite young to have been employed as a secretary.’
Tilly agreed. ‘I was very fortunate to be taken on by a family friend. I do understand that matters are different over here but I am willing to work hard to advance myse
lf.’
Miss Langton stared at her fixedly. ‘There is no room for advancement here, Miss Moran, so if that is your plan forget it. If you wish to advance in the insurance business then you will have to eventually move elsewhere. Unless you plan to marry as soon as possible?’
‘I have no such plans, Miss Langton,’ assured Tilly. ‘Rather I would learn from you and so gain valuable experience,’ she added, remembering what Mrs Pain and the girl listening to them both had said.
‘I am pleased to hear that.’ Miss Langton’s expression thawed. ‘You seem a sensible young woman and it is possible when you are a few years older that a position might open up in one of the other sub offices or even our main building down at the Pierhead.’
‘That gives me hope,’ said Tilly, venturing a smile.
‘There is one other thing I would like to know, Miss Moran.’
Tilly smoothed her face and said, ‘Yes, Miss Langton?’
‘I see your former position was in Chester. Why have you come to Liverpool?’
‘To be with my father,’ answered Tilly, without hesitation. ‘My mother is dead, you see, and he was all alone.’
‘I see. Well, you have my condolences, Miss Moran. If you’ll give me your address in Liverpool, I will be in touch.’
Tilly thanked her and left the building, hoping Miss Langton would not look too closely into her background. She had not exactly told a lie but she had not told the exact truth either, she needed this job. She removed the spectacles and replaced them in her handbag, deciding to do a bit of window shopping before heading back to the shop.
* * *
‘So how did you get on?’ asked Wendy, leaving the magazine open on the counter as Tilly entered the shop.
Tilly removed her hat and shook her red-gold curls loose. ‘I’m hopeful. Miss Langton is going to write and let me know. She has to check my references and consult the manager. I suppose there’s always the possibility that there might be other applicants. I’ll probably have to be interviewed by him, as well. But it’ll be worth it if it helps me on the way to a profession that will pay me more money eventually.’
‘You’re talking about your writing?’
‘Yes. But I can’t afford to give all my time to it just yet. I need to earn and save money to do that. I can’t sponge off people and I’ve no intention of starving in a garret. I’ve already sent off short stories and have written down some ideas for my novel.’ Tilly wondered what Wendy would think if she told her that one of her ideas had come from something she had read to her from the Echo. It involved an illegitimate child being left on a doorstep of a rich childless couple.
‘What about the books upstairs?’
Tilly frowned. ‘I’d forgotten about them.’
‘Mam hasn’t. She wants you to do something about them,’ said Wendy.
‘OK. Right now, I’m going to change out of these clothes. I wonder if your mam would still be interested in my idea about a library? It would mean speculating to accumulate. We’d have to have bookshelves made to fit in here and we’d have to have a register for borrowers and buy labels, and a date stamp and pad, and probably some new books that are popular so not easy to get out of the library without a wait.’
‘I’ll mention it to her,’ said Wendy, opening the flap for her to pass through. ‘By the way, you saw Mr Simpson this morning.’
‘I did?’ said Tilly, gazing into Wendy’s rosy face.
‘He was the one who held the door open for you.’
‘Oh! I’ve bumped into him before.’ Tilly smiled. ‘I think it was outside the shop the day of my birthday. He had nice teeth.’
‘Once seen never forgotten,’ said Wendy, and sighed. ‘He brought us a poster to put up in our window. Didn’t you notice it?’
‘I can’t say I did but then I wasn’t looking,’ said Tilly.
‘Go out and have a look,’ said Wendy. ‘There’s a reward for any information.’
Tilly went outside and gazed at the poster of the dog. She smiled to herself, thinking that the great detective had been hired to find a missing dog. Bigamists, dogs, what next? She went back inside the shop.
‘I bet he wishes he could be more like Sherlock Holmes or even Sexton Blake, tracing jewel thieves or spies.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Wendy. ‘Trouble is that I’m sure private detectives get paid more money between the pages of magazines and books than in real life, and there’s always a risk they could get shot or even killed.’ She shivered. ‘He’s much safer doing what he’s doing than playing at Sexton Blake.’
Tilly agreed and went upstairs, thinking she needed to work more on her book. She had started off with her hero being the baby left on the step and had not got much further. Perhaps when he grew up he could have nice teeth like Mr Simpson. For a moment she wished she had looked her best when he had held the door open for her, instead of so dowdy. She berated herself for caring what another man thought of her when it was Don she eventually wanted to marry. Anyway, she could not afford to be thinking too much about real men if she was to create a fictitious hero for her readers to fall in love with.
Chapter Nine
‘A couple of letters have come for you,’ said Mrs Wright, placing them on the table in front of Tilly.
‘Thanks.’ Tilly finished her toast and eagerly picked up the envelopes. It was a week since she had gone along to the office of the Friendly Assurance Society and had almost given up hope of hearing from them. One of the envelopes was brown and rather large and when she shook it something inside slid up and down. Curiosity would have had her open that one first but as it did not have a Liverpool postmark she opened the other one first.
‘Would you believe it?’ said Minnie, interrupting her perusal of the letter.
‘Believe what?’ asked Peter, glancing at his sister, who was reading last night’s Echo.
‘A crocodile was found in a dustbin in Paris,’ she answered.
‘Shush,’ murmured her mother. ‘Tilly’s reading her letter. Anything about that job you went after, girl?’
‘Yes.’ Tilly darted a relieved smile at her landlady. ‘I have an interview with the manager the day after next.’
‘Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘You owe me money.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Tilly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. ‘But I have been sorting those books out upstairs and writing stories and sending them off.’
‘The man thought he was drunk and seeing things but it turned out that it was definitely a crocodile,’ said Minnie, glancing across at Tilly. ‘Wouldn’t you like to put that in a book?’
‘Only if it was a murder mystery and about to gobble someone up and then leave the remains in the yard and disappear.’
‘Oo-er! What a thought,’ said Peter, grinning. ‘But what if, like the crocodile in Peter Pan, it had swallowed something precious.’
‘You mean like a clock?’ asked David. ‘Tick-tock.’
‘No! Jewellery.’
‘Now that’s more like it,’ said Minnie, glancing at Tilly as she slit open the larger envelope. ‘There was something about a man being charged with housebreaking the other day. He’d been released from Dartmoor on license but failed to report to the police.’
‘Where was this?’ asked her mother.
‘The robbery was in Liverpool. He went and pawned a watch and that led to his arrest. Don’t you think an authoress could find all kinds of plots for books out of the newspaper, Tilly?’
Tilly lifted her head. ‘You talking to me?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ sighed Minnie. ‘What’s in the envelope?’
‘Don’t be nosy, girl,’ admonished her mother.
‘I’m not being nosy, just interested,’ said Minnie.
Tilly said shortly, ‘It’s a letter from my brother-in-law and a belated birthday letter from a friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ She got up and left the kitchen and hurried up to her bedroom.
She dropped the letter from Miss Langton on her desk and then sat on the bed and took out Seb’s letter and postal order. She stared at the latter, not wanting to cash it but knew that if she didn’t, then she was going to have to pawn something. She found the contents of his letter worrying but had to accept there was little she could do to help Georgie over the measles, except pray. She could not even visit because Seb had told her to stay away. Fortunately the other two children had already had the disease and recovered without any lasting effects. She could only hope that Kenny and Hanny’s twins would not catch it from him.
Setting aside Seb’s letter and the postal order she picked up the envelope that Seb had said had come in a letter for him from Don. Inside it were two photographs. She glanced at them and then decided to read the letter first. It was brief and to the point and she felt deeply disappointed because she had missed his long descriptive letters in his sprawling handwriting.
Dear Tilly,
I’m sorry to have missed you when I arrived in Liverpool. I hope that there will be a chance for us to meet in the future. In the meantime I hope you had a happy 17th birthday.
Don.
The words were so flat that she wanted to weep but instead she swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at the photographs again. Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed as she gazed at Don’s face. He had shaved off his moustache and looked younger. He was resting against a car and in the background was what appeared to be line after line of crosses.
She turned the photograph over to see if there was a message on the back and read Lest we forget. Obviously, he believed that she was capable of working out that the words had a double meaning: to remember the fallen in the war and what had been between them. According to Seb’s letter Don had sent a couple of other photographs; one of which was of Clara’s father’s grave in Flanders. Tilly was deeply touched by his thoughtful action and felt a fierce longing to see him and say how sorry she was to have missed him. She looked at the other photograph and saw that it was of her and Don with Seb and Alice’s children in the garden in Chester. Don had taken it with some kind of delayed action attachment. He had hold of her hand and they were both laughing. When she thought of his damaged foot, she wondered how he had managed to move so fast to include himself in the picture. She remembered how he would have overbalanced if she had not grabbed hold of his hand. She turned over the photograph and saw that he had written Oh, happy day!
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