by Jane Tulloch
She didn’t live a lonely life. She lived with her parents in a large house built in what were once the outskirts of town but which, due to the gradual accrual of ever more housing around the fringes, was now quite close to the city centre but in comparatively large grounds. The house, having been built in grander times, was large and rambling. Although, naturally, money was never discussed, Christine was aware of the gradual increase in small economies and the three of them now only occupied a few of the large rooms. Her mother worked long and hard in the old-fashioned kitchen to produce meals which were served, by now tepid, in the dining room far away at the front of the house. Her father laboured in the garden to maintain a semblance of order.
Christine’s sociable impulses led her to be a local Cub leader. She was much loved by the small boys and was forever associated by them with memories of her submerged in collapsing tents, trying to breathe life into smoking bonfires and their series of disastrous outings and events. The parents appreciated her efforts for their sons but the general view was that she was keen but unlucky.
At Murrays, Christine strived to keep a social programme going for all the staff. The high point of this programme was the annual Inter-Store Sports Day. This was held each year after half-day closing on a Saturday in June. The shops closed at 1pm and staff decamped to a local sports ground. There were many organisational aspects to consider: catering, the specific activities, the programme of these events, lists of competitors, prizes and all the other tasks large and small that such an occasion required. Mrs Pegram was happy to delegate these details to Christine and Miss Murray was happy to provide prizes and to fund the post-sports teas. The other shop involved was Smedley’s. This was another large department store about a mile from Murrays.
The Murrays staff felt superior to Smedley’s staff and vice versa. This was generally manageable but hostilities had flared at last year’s event and Christine was keen to omit the tug of war from this year’s programme after several enthusiasts from each side had had to be taken (in separate vehicles) to the accident and emergency department after an unpleasant fight had broken out among the protagonists on each side. Regrettably not all were men. One of the ladies from the Jewellery department had her spectacles broken and the pugnacious Susan from the Tea Room had a broken nose and was off work for two weeks. She claimed never to sound the same again after her particular altercation with her opposite number from Smedley’s Tea Room. Her mother planned to go to this rival tea room and complain long and loud about the noticeably poor quality of the offering there. Susan, knowing her mother, had confidence that this would do the trick and didn’t think other forms of revenge would be called for. Nevertheless, she would be on the lookout for her assailant this year. Male casualties were only to be expected they all thought.
The social programme organiser at Smedley’s was Mr Nolan from their Sportswear department. He was an Irishman of such diminutive proportions that, on being first introduced to his department, the junior had, without thinking, burst out, “He’s so dinky!” He’d been called Dinky Nolan ever since. Certainly he was small in stature, being barely over five feet tall, but was assuredly not small in personality. His twinkling, intensely blue eyes and ready smile disarmed the most difficult customer, and he could talk his way out of any potential difficulty with the management while still leaving them with a high opinion of his abilities in his chosen field. He was a very good advertisement for the Sportswear department as he excelled at any sport he tried his hand at. He wasn’t very modest about this either, often being heard to say, “Sure I’ve never met a ball I couldn’t hit or kick or a fence I couldn’t jump.” His striking Irish accent produced in a surprisingly deep voice caused unexpected frissons in the breasts of a number of middle-aged lady customers who should have known better. Dinky was often teased by the others about the numerous older ladies who professed a sudden need to purchase squash racquets or even skis and who insisted on being served by Dinky himself rather any of the other staff.
Organising the Inter-Store Sports Day required a huge amount of coordinating and Christine and Dinky were in almost daily telephone contact as the day of the event drew near. As time had gone on these telephone calls had grown longer and longer. Christine had greatly enjoyed hearing Dinky’s thoughts on potential meteorological predictions for the event and Dinky had secretly thrilled to hear Christine listing the catering arrangements. This would be Dinky’s first year at the sports day and he had not witnessed the tug-of-war debacle at last year’s event. However, he was the first to agree that there must be an alternative event this time. “How about,” he mused, “a three-legged race?”
“Great idea,” enthused Christine. “What about each partner to be from different stores? That way the staff would be mixed up and working with, rather than against, one another.”
“Jesus, aren’t you the one for the ideas, Christine?” he marvelled.
Christine winced slightly at his free and easy way with the Lord’s name but shivered at the timbre of his voice. In his turn he was trying to picture the creature in possession of the musical miracle that sounded each time she spoke.
They were both pleased with the idea. A three-legged race could be great fun. They agreed to phone each other again tomorrow to compare lists of competitors against events and ensure that everyone who wanted to could compete in the races of their choice. Needless to say this was quite unnecessary having been organised for weeks but each party was unwilling to give up the opportunity to talk to the other. Each spent the intervening hours dredging up tiny details to review in tomorrow’s call.
At last the great day arrived. The weather was clement, being neither too hot nor too cold, and rain was not forecast. Christine spent a busy morning setting up the sports field with able assistance from others excused from duties in the store. As hosts, Murrays was responsible for those preparations. The workers set about transforming the sports field into a veritable arena with the race track itself well marked out and plenty of folding seats set out for spectators. Despite the intention to be a democratic event, a clear demarcation was discernible between the staff seating arrangements and those of the management. The management benches were set out in the shade of a large oak tree, which had the additional benefit of screening them from the rather poorly maintained public lavatories close by. The tea tent was erected, not without incident, and soon a sumptuous tea was laid out ready for hungry competitors. Officially, it was a strictly teetotal affair, but this was not expected to be adhered to by many. Hip flasks were surreptitiously filled prior to the event, gin and vodka secretly added to innocent-looking bottles of fruit juice and the bolder young men from Packing and Dispatch even brought along a keg of beer.
Promptly at 2pm, a bus arrived at the sports ground and the Smedley’s staff disembarked in dribs and drabs: some dressed for a hard afternoon of sport, others as obvious onlookers, out for entertainment. First out of the bus was a small officious figure carrying a clipboard and wearing very smart sports gear. Dinky’s eyes raked the area searching for Christine. Similarly, she had been watching the bus to see which of those emerging figures might be Dinky. Their eyes met simultaneously and she moved half trotting over towards the diminutive figure. In his turn, he moved decisively in her direction. When they met there was a pause, melting brown eyes met twinkling blue ones, it didn’t seem to matter that the melting brown ones were looking down (quite far down actually) into the twinkling blue ones.
“Christine,” he said as Christine herself breathed “Dinky.” There seemed to be a disturbance in the air around them. If emotions could be perceived by others in the form of sound, a huge click would have been heard: the sound of two people simultaneously falling in love with each other.
Looking over at them Miss Murray nudged Mrs Pegram sitting next to her. Her eyebrows raised and a humorous smile formed on her lips. “Aye, aye,” Mrs Pegram responded. They both smiled then turned their attention back to the programme of events, which had just started with the Office
Juniors 100-yard sprint.
Dinky and Christine remained together ostensibly watching the race.
He turned to her, “You will be my partner in the three-legged race, won’t you?” Dinky enquired urgently.
“Of course,” Christine responded faintly.
“Right then, let’s get some training in,” he replied firmly having recovered, but only slightly, from the thunderclap of attraction that had struck him. They set off behind the pavilion. Shortly after his firm tones rang out “One TWO, one TWO, one TWO,” followed by shrieks of laughter and long pauses before, “Yes, that’s it, yes, yes, yes!”
Meanwhile, Flash Harry Ferguson had badly let down the store by tripping up in the Men’s Under-40s Hurdles. The Smedley’s staff had jeered until, unexpectedly, Mr Smith, also from Menswear, restored the honour of the store by easily winning the Men’s Over-60s Slow Bicycle race. Those running a book on the outcome of events were seen tearing up their papers in disgust.
Miss Murray and Mrs Pegram had been intrigued by Barry from Security’s chosen style in the Management Sack Race: he had gone for the jumping approach over the apparently more effective one involving zipping along by fitting one’s feet into the corners of the sack. He puffed over to them after coming last complaining bitterly of having been given too small a sack. They commiserated with him kindly. He slumped down into a seat next to them and looked around for someone he could send for an ice cream for himself. In the background, Mr Philipson could be heard cheering on the children’s races, which he had instigated enthusiastically.
At last, after a hot tiring afternoon the final race was announced: the much anticipated mixed Three-Legged Race. Dinky and Christine arrived at the starting line alongside five other couples. There was much sniggering at the sight of the tiny man attached to the ankle of the lanky woman. He looked more like a small appendage than a credible competitor. The starting gun went off and so did Christine and Dinky, her long legs covering vast steps and carrying Dinky forward with each stride. In his turn, Dinky urged her forward his arms raised as he apparently lashed her on. They crossed the winning line far ahead of the field, many of whom had tripped up and collapsed into giggling heaps. Once again the on-course bookmakers despaired. The triumphant couple, now untied in the physical sense at least, went up to collect their prize: a voucher for tea for two in Smedley’s Tea Room.
The next April at a management meeting Mr Soames raised the question of the Inter-Store Sports Day. It had been declared a great success last year and the ghastly shadow of the tug-of-war debacle almost forgotten.
“What I want to know is who’s going to organise it?” he asked querulously fearing that one of his staff would have to do it.
“Why not that woman from Ladies Separates, you know that, em… tall one?” suggested Mr Philipson in an attempt at tact. “Miss, Miss, er…”
“Mrs Nolan?” supplied Mrs Pegram. “I’m afraid not this year.”
“What a pity, why not?” questioned Mr Philipson.
“She’s in foal,” responded Mrs Pegram. They all smiled.
Chapter 13
Furry Friends
The Model Gowns department housed the most exclusive and costly dresses in Edinburgh. It was a haven of luxury frequented only by the very wealthy or the very confident brave enough to cross its portals. This enclave of the rich also enclosed the slightly sinister department known as Fur. The fur section was kept cool to preserve such rare furs as arctic fox, wolf, mink, sable, lynx and ermine. It was the domain of Mr Laszlo, a rather exotic import himself and thought to be Hungarian. The truth about Mr Laszlo was more prosaic. In reality he was Hugh Lachlan from Fife but he had long perfected the persona of the mysterious Mr Laszlo and he was sticking to that with only occasional lapses.
Hugh was an unusual man. He had been a puzzle to his mother and an embarrassment to his father and four brothers. Unwilling to take up the manual labour employment pursued by his father and brothers, he was not quite well enough educated for an office job. His only enjoyment was not found in the football that consumed the rest of his family but in the church amateur dramatic society. Here he found release in assuming other personalities. He had a facility with accents and enjoyed dressing in different clothes from the strictly utilitarian ones that he usually wore. He enjoyed the company of the older ladies and very young people that constituted the drama club and found the minister to be insightful and understanding. It was unfortunate that most people thought that he was gay: he was not. He told himself that he had just not met the right person nor was he likely to in his current life situation. Thus he was an odd product of his time spent in a half world of amateur dramatics and the harsh men’s world of Fife.
It was the minister who suggested to Hugh that he think of a move away and showed him an advertisement in the newspaper for male shop assistants at an exclusive store across the Firth from Fife. He pondered at length and plucked up courage to apply. He thought he’d be unlikely to be successful if he applied as Hugh Lachlan from Cardenden, as he reckoned they’d be looking for someone more suave and smoother. On thinking about this he remembered his favourite and most successful role: that of Ugo Laszlo, a vaguely European character with some slight eccentricities of dress. Why not? he thought. Why not try to carry off my finest role?
Mrs Pegram was a little surprised to meet him at his interview but was very taken with him. She felt that he could add a touch of ‘je ne sais quoi’ and immediately pencilled him in for a job in the Fur department. The current staff member from there was retiring and she felt that someone like ‘Mr Laszlo’ would be an excellent replacement. In his turn Mr Laszlo was thrilled that his impersonation had worked, but slightly appalled that he’d have to reprise the role permanently. However, he was pleased to have finally found a job that suited him. He moved to a small flat in the city and, to his mother’s sorrow, rarely contacted his family after that.
To Mr Laszlo’s surprise he found that he fitted in at work in a way that he had never dreamed possible. He could chat a little with the other staff in Model Gowns in his halting English and found that he was a very persuasive and successful salesman. Customers appreciated being served by the courteous ‘Hungarian’. He revelled in his new-found skills. Much of this was due to his rapidly developing devotion to his stock. He really loved his furs and could tell customers exactly where each pelt had come from and which designer and fabricator had created the luxurious items. These ranged from the most astronomically expensive, full-length sable coats to mink jackets, fox fur stoles, wolf-skin throws to the smallest fur tippets or fur-lined muffs. They were displayed to their advantage in Model Gowns each day but every night they were all painstakingly transported to a chilled storeroom to maintain the furs at their peak of perfection. Mr Laszlo never minded this task, although the furs were very heavy and this transport was time consuming after a day of standing looking alert and interested in every potential customer.
Customers were, in fact, relatively rare but, due to the very high value of any sale, the Fur department more than held its head up at the monthly sales figures meeting. The continuing presence of a Fur department was not debated as it was felt by Mr McElvey, in particular, to be an indicator of the exclusive nature of Murrays. He reasoned: “No other store has a fur department and where else would the wives of successful businessmen be bought their trophy fur coats from? It’s quite right that we can provide Paris model gowns and luxury goods such as furs.” No one demurred. The sales figures tended to speak for themselves.
Not all customers were the wives of wealthy businessmen. Sometimes women themselves bought furs. One had always promised herself a full-length mink coat with the proceeds of her late husband’s will. “He was a stingy bugger when he was alive,” she told Mr Laszlo. “So he can damn well buy me one now. I’ve earned it.”
Mr Laszlo nodded reassuringly: “Of course, madam. Now can I just show you this unusual blue mink?” The recent widow stepped forward expectantly, a purchase very much on her mind.
“I’ll take it,” she announced to the gratification of the two men watching her. Her husband moved towards the sales desk reaching for his cheque book. There goes the new golf clubs, he thought to himself, but still… He smiled back at his new wife. She’s worth it.
So life went on for Mr Laszlo. He was widely assumed to be gay by the Murrays staff but this was quite acceptable in the store and was hardly unusual. Sometimes he wondered himself about why he had never been attracted to anyone in particular but comforted himself by thinking about his deep devotion to his furs: the feel of them, the glorious sheen, the scent of them soothed him and he visibly relaxed when stroking them. No, he wasn’t lonely or unhappy but that was about to change.
The Millinery department was located on the gallery immediately outside Model Gowns. The sales assistant there was Mrs Dora Warren. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. Everyone agreed about that, though some more grudgingly than others. Tall and slim, she was plainly well educated and widely travelled: she could be called upon to interpret should any French, Italian or German customers struggle to be understood in other departments. The wonder was that she was working as a shop assistant, even in a shop such as Murrays, at all. There was a view that she had some sort of unsatisfactory husband. However, no one could be exactly sure of the way in which he fell short. She didn’t chat confidingly to others but maintained a pleasant but dignified distance from her colleagues. She had arrived at Murrays quite suddenly and despite no previous experience of retail she was employed at once by Mrs Pegram who knew a good thing when she saw one.
