by Jane Tulloch
Thursday
Rory in late and not very chatty. In fact, he was downright snappy when I put a hellish plastic bright pink rose on his special ultra-smart display shelves for a laugh.
He went home early. He’s coughing a bit, but he is a heavy smoker. His skin has funny purplish spots too. Hope it’s not infectious!! We all joined in a raffle for a chance of smashing a big crystal bowl. It had a small chip in it. That make of crystal is such good quality that the manager won’t let seconds be sold. It must be destroyed. Shirley won, but I got to chum her down to the stock room for the official smashing. She had to almost throw it into a large cardboard box. It virtually exploded into thousands of little pieces. Very satisfying. A shame for the person who had made it with such care though.
Friday
Bit of a shock today. Rory’s got pneumonia! He’s been coughing lots recently and has been tired. Poor man. Jeremy came in and told us. He looked so worried. Luckily it’s Friday so we’d just been paid. I actually put £1 into a collection for some flowers for him!! Shirley’s going to take it round to his house later. His mother must be up to high doh. Quite busy in the department again.
Saturday
Hot news. We’re going to get a till! No more sending shuttles down to the Tube Desk. We’ll all have to go on a course to learn how to work it and how to give change. I’ll be in trouble there I reckon as I’ll need to write it all down. Am not much good at mental arithmetic.
Monday
Spent the morning with Miss Piper. She actually let me dust her special precious Hammersley and Spode tea sets. They’re quite nice I suppose if you like that sort of thing. Lots of hand-painted flowers and gold. I was down on my knees doing this when an old lady came up and was looking at it longingly. For a laugh, I asked if she wanted to buy a tea set. Mind you, they’re very expensive. It was sad though as she said she’d love to but there was no one left to visit her for tea. I wished I hadn’t said it, in fact, I didn’t know what to say. Poor old thing.
Tuesday
More excitement! A fire alarm. We all had to file out down the stairs. We used to have them at school all the time. Caroline’s boyfriend would phone in for a laugh. Don’t know if this was a spoof one. We weren’t outside for long. Some of the male staff were caught out as they had gone to the pub across the road as they expected we’d be out for ages. Lots of managers parading about with clipboards. Rory would be sorry to have missed this.
Wednesday
Nice new boy has arrived. He’s to be Fat Barry’s assistant. I quite fancy him, but he’s a bit too tall and skinny for me. Nice personality though and he’s got a lovely accent. I think he’s too friendly to be a store detective. We told him that when he came to the juniors’ table in the canteen, but he just laughed and said, ‘Och away’. Maybe he’s part of an extremely cunning plot of Fat Barry’s to fool us into revealing the real culprits behind the thefts? No. I don’t think he’s cunning enough for that. Debbie from Royal Doulton is going all out to get him. She thinks he’ll be well paid and would be able to take her out and about to posh places and buy her nice things. I think that’s awful. What a besom! Luckily she’s fat.
Thursday
Was allowed to handle the sale of a huge (horrible) Italian china group ornament. I think it was because Miss Piper didn’t fancy trying to pack it. However, she helped me with the export paperwork, which was something. Jeremy came in to say that Rory was in hospital. I know pneumonia’s serious, but I thought they had drugs for everything now. We’ve all decided to go up to the Infirmary to visit him. Jeremy told us what ward to go to. It’s funny, when Dad asked what ward it was, he made a strange face at Mum. He’s a doctor so he’ll know what sort of ward it is. Maybe he doesn’t like the consultant there. He’s like that, as he’s known them all since they were students together hundreds of years ago.
Friday
Payday! There was another collection for Rory and we were allowed buyers’ discount (40 percent!!) to get something nice for him. Me and Shirley went to Menswear but couldn’t choose a tie or cufflinks as he’s so fussy himself, so we compromised and bought him some of that posh aftershave that he usually reeks of. We’re going up after the store closes on Saturday.
Saturday
Just an ordinary Saturday in the department. I tried out a few more accents on customers (American and Southern Irish) but don’t think I was very convincing. Miss Piper told me to watch it! We visited Rory in the afternoon. Oh, dear. What a horrible ward; but worst of all was to see how ill he was. He was so thin and weak he could hardly lift his head from the pillow. He had big purple blotches on his face and neck and just seemed so weary. He coughed and coughed. It was a bit disgusting really. I wished I hadn’t seen him transformed from his dapper wee self to this. We didn’t stay for long. There seemed no point. He didn’t have much to say apart from thanking everyone, and it seemed like he’d almost lost interest in the department. I tried to tell him about a big German woman who had been interested in his special porcelain, but he seemed to drift off. Jeremy arrived as we were leaving. He looked awful. Nice that he took such an interest. Maybe Rory’s mother had sent him?
Monday
Can’t believe it. We were just doing our usual Monday chores (well, I had my bucket out) when the buyer called us all into his office. It was a bit of a squash and nobody was left to keep an eye on the customers. We knew it must be serious. He told us that Rory had died yesterday. Actually put on a sort of fake voice and said, “our friend Rory has passed away”, trying to sound all holy. He looked pretty upset too, but not as sad as us. We had to get a chair for Miss Piper. She hadn’t exactly been best friends with him, but still. I was just stunned. Me and Shirley couldn’t help crying. I didn’t care what I looked like. Everyone was shaken up. I’ve never known anybody to die before. Only Bun (my guinea pig) but not a real actual person I knew. Can’t write any more.
Tuesday
Everyone very subdued today. Just not in the mood to chat much and almost enjoyed doing a deep dusting of the kitchen china. I moved every pile on to the floor to clean behind them (for a change.) I didn’t go to the canteen at break. Didn’t fancy chatting to the others.
Why do people have to die? I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.
Wednesday
Was called to Mrs Pegram’s office today. All the juniors are being moved around. I’m off to Fancy Goods and Notions. Wonder what that’ll be like? Rubbish probably. Oh well. That’s life!
Chapter 4
Bequest
“Good God,” gasped Mr Philipson, examining the letter from the well-known legal firm. In her office next door his secretary looked up in alarm. It was most unlike Mr Philipson to express any form of emotion, far less such extreme surprise. “Mrs Carr come here please, no don’t, just call in Miss Murray and Mr McElvey and Mr Soames as soon as possible.” He looked back at the letter, shaking his head
Seated at long table in the wood-lined boardroom, the management of Murrays of Edinburgh, Department Store of Distinction, looked at one another as the letter was passed among them.
“It’s quite extraordinary,” said Mr Soames, wrinkling his forehead. “£2,000,000 to be spent for the benefit of all the staff at Murrays. Who is this Miss McPherson? Or ‘was’, I should say. She appears to have died.”
“I’ve no idea,” said Mr Philipson “No idea at all. How can we find out? The lawyer wasn’t very forthcoming; I don’t think he knows any more than we do why she would have left her entire estate to us or them rather, the floor staff.”
With a gentle cough, Mrs Carr drew attention to herself. “I have an idea!” she stated.
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The discreet note on the staff notice board drew a small crowd at first tea break later that morning.
Attention all floor staff
Would any member of staff knowing of, or having had dealings with, a customer called Miss Barbara McPherson please report to Personnel as a matter of
urgency.
T Philipson
General Manager
“Oh, blimey, who’s short-changed some customer then?” laughed Jimmy from Packing and Dispatch. “Maybe she’s got an infectious disease from the tropics, and the management think we’ll all go down with it,” suggested Mr Timmins, the caretaker, who never tended to look on the bright side of life.
“I think I knew her,” ventured Shirley from the China department. “If it’s who I think it is, she’s really nice, old you know, but always cheerful. Doesn’t complain all the time like some of them. I wonder if it is her? Do you think I should pop up to Personnel and see what’s up?”
“Yeah,” encouraged her friend, Audrey. “You never know.”
Outside Personnel, a small, somewhat self-conscious, group began to assemble on the row of upright chairs. They ignored the pile of elderly magazines on the low table in front of them and tried not to strain too obviously to hear what was being said behind the half-glass door to the office of Mrs Pegram, the head of Personnel.
Inside Mrs Renfrew from Ladies Separates sniffed into her handkerchief. “She was always so kind to me and always showed an interest in my Davy. I don’t even know how she knew about him. I must have told her at some point, but she’s been coming in every week for so long that I can’t even remember when.”
Mrs Pegram knew about Mrs Renfrew’s Davy as she sometimes had to take emergency days off when he had a bad bout of seizures in the night. Her pay had to be docked, of course, but it was a great pity and such a worry for Mrs Renfrew. She thanked Mrs Renfrew and saw her to the door.
The next person in was Miss Collins. She was just a young thing, a relatively new start in the Perfumery and Cosmetics department. She had already been working as a Saturday girl for some years until she had left school and come to Murrays full-time. She was slightly nervous but had come determined to defend Miss McPherson from whatever the management thought she had done. Miss McPherson was no shoplifter! She told Mrs Pegram this and was relieved to be told that Miss McPherson was in no trouble at all. Her troubles were over in fact. Miss Collins frowned, and her eyes filled with tears.
Mrs Pegram had worked in Personnel for a long time. There was more to this. She gave the girl a long look. “Miss Collins,” she enquired searchingly, “is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“I, no, honestly, och, is this confidential?” she stammered. On seeing Mrs Pegram’s silent nod of assent she continued, “Well, I was just young. I didn’t ken any better” – she retrieved her lapse – “know any better,” she added carefully. There was a silence, then in a rush, “Miss McPherson saw me, she saw me one day, I was desperate, I didn’t mean to… ”
It transpired that Miss McPherson had observed Miss Collins furtively sliding a bottle of expensive perfume into her handbag behind the counter. All she had done was hold her hand out for the little bottle and say quietly, “Do you really think you should be doing that?” A long look had been exchanged. They had both looked round suddenly at the buyer, as the head of department was known, coming round the counter towards them. Quickly Miss McPherson had said loudly, “That will be lovely. Can you gift wrap it for me?” and took hold of the perfume, as if it had been her handing it to Miss Collins instead of the other way around. Once the buyer had moved out of earshot, Miss McPherson explained to her that the theft would never have gone unnoticed as there was regular stocktaking in that department. She would have been discovered and sacked at once.
A shocked Miss Collins, seeing the genuine kindness and concern in the old lady’s face, unburdened herself. She was the only one working in her family. Her father had left home, and her mother just sat about the house all day in an apparent daze, not eating or sleeping properly. The perfume had been the girl’s attempt to cheer her mother up. Miss McPherson had recognised what Miss Collins had not: that her mother probably had a depressive illness and had encouraged her to get the doctor involved. She had recommended her own Dr Tulloch as having a particularly kind and sensible approach. After that she had visited the Perfumery and Cosmetics department almost every week to see how things were going at home. It seemed that no one was more pleased than Miss McPherson to hear that her mother was now much better and had even taken a part-time job in Murrays’ staff canteen.
Mrs Pegram nodded, and accepting the girl’s repeated assurances that she would never ever steal from Murrays, dismissed her back to her department.
Next in was Miss Manson. A middle-aged lady from Haberdashery, she was somewhat overweight with an unfortunate complexion. She was beginning to perspire heavily, although the room was not warm.
“This Miss McPherson,” she began in a peremptory manner, “is she the one who comes round every week? We always used to think she must be some sort of store detective.”
“No, she wasn’t a store detective,” Mrs Pegram informed her.
“Wasn’t?” queried Miss Manson. “Don’t say something’s happened to her,” her assurance beginning to falter.
“I’m afraid Miss McPherson seems to have died,” said Mrs Pegram in a low voice. She had already begun to form a most favourable impression of Miss McPherson. Even so, she was startled when Miss Manson burst quite suddenly into noisy tears.
“Oh no,” she howled. “Oh no. Not Miss McPherson.” She hiccupped and snuffled unattractively as she fumbled for a handkerchief. “She was the only person who ever listened to me. She showed an interest, you know. I was beginning to feel just invisible until she began to visit. She brought in holiday brochures and told me how to start a wee savings account so I could go away in the summer holidays instead of just staying at home on my own. She was the only person interested in my holiday photos that first time when I went to Morecambe. I’ve just got this year’s pictures developed. I was so looking forward to showing them to her. I’ve brought them in every day just in case she came in.” She continued to cry, her large shoulders heaving convulsively. Mrs Pegram looked around her in confusion. She picked up her telephone and, glancing down at the list of department numbers, dialled quickly “Hello, it’s Mrs Pegram from Personnel here. Miss Manson has become unwell and won’t be back down today.”
And so it continued. Mrs Pegram heard story after story of Miss McPherson’s kindness often from the mostly unlikely of sources. Good Heavens, even Mrs Smith from Accounts, a notoriously short-tempered person and feared by even the most senior staff, had a tale to tell of being the recipient of her undercover kindness. (A particular type of shoe had been delivered for her. Miss McPherson understood the constant nagging ache that could result from bunions.)
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“So,” Mr Philipson began to address the management team seated round the board-room table. “It seems that this Miss McPherson had been in the habit of visiting all the departments on a regular basis and befriending the staff. According to Mrs Pegram, she’s been a one-woman staff support system to young and old, but nobody knew she was involved with so many of them. Meddling old thing. Most odd. Mind you everyone was very fond of her, of course. There’s a huge list gone up in the canteen of those wanting to attend her memorial service.”
“But we still don’t know why,” Mr McElvey interjected irritably. “It’s all very well, visiting the shop and chatting to everybody, but why leave her entire estate to them?”
“Surely her family will object?” queried Miss Murray of the assembled group.
“Actually, no, they won’t,” came a quiet voice from the end of the long table. Mrs Pegram had continued her investigations. “There is no family. Miss McPherson was what used to be called an ‘unclaimed treasure’ – her Archie didn’t come back from the First War. Like so many ladies she was left with no husband, no hope of children or grandchildren. She could only live vicariously through other people’s.” There was a silence. It was hardly a rare story in Edinburgh, but sad nevertheless.
“We must do something sensible with the money then,” Mr Soames sprang into acti
on. “What shall we do?”
“I think we’ll have to ask the staff,” suggested Mrs Pegram smoothly, having already worked out a plan.
News of the stupendous bequest soon filtered down to the staff. Excited members began to plan what they would do with their individual share. Objections were raised by long-term staff that new people shouldn’t receive the same as them. The new people argued right back that Miss McPherson would have helped them too if she had had the chance to meet them. Everyone in the shop began to feel hard done by and that they too would have benefited from Miss McPherson’s undercover kindness. The atmosphere in the whole store changed imperceptibly as battle lines were drawn.
At the forefront was pugnacious Mrs Goodwin from Luggage. “Well, it’s clear to me that Miss McPherson only helped the lady members of staff.”
This was countered by elderly Mr Smith of Menswear. “That’s not strictly true, you know. She gave young Harry a right dressing down one day for being cheeky to me, then a week later I found she’d paid my golf club membership fees. I’d told her that golf was my only escape and enjoyment,” he lapsed into embarrassed silence.
“Miserable old cow,” muttered ‘Flash’ Harry Ferguson, who had been pretty embarrassed himself by the stern talking to he had received from the old lady.
“Don’t you dare,” growled Miss Collins, who wouldn’t hear a word against her. “You needn’t think I’m going out with you if you keep on like that.”
