I dedicate this book to my dear friends Ann Maclaren
and Sharon Mail in appreciation of all their great
kindness to me.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
By the Same Author
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am very grateful to everyone who helped me with the research for this book.
Tommy Freeland was once manager of Birrs of Partick and he gave me invaluable information on how a family department store was run. Margaret Burkhill spent twenty years working as a store detective and she told me fascinating stories of her work experiences. Tommy and Margaret spent many hours talking on to my tape recorder and I thank them for their generous help.
Many thanks also to Margaret Lumsden, who told me of her experiences working in Goldbergs and what excellent employers she thought they were.
Ian Sword runs The Granary in Glassford Street and was most helpful.
Then, for the scenes in the Scottish Parliament, I owe a debt of gratitude to Green Party’s Chris Ballance, who was most kind and helpful in showing me around. Diane Barr was also very generous in the help she gave me. My sincere thanks to them both.
I am grateful to Adam McNaughton for permission to reproduce the words of his creation, ‘The Jeely Piece Song’.
My sincere thanks to my grandson, Martin Baillie, who was extremely generous in the time he spent with me explaining some of the beliefs and views of the Scottish National Party.
My son, Kenneth Baillie Davis, as always, has been a great help and support, especially with the karate scenes in the book.
1
Wowee-ee, Horatio! There he was, in CSI: Miami, tall and slender, his jacket open, one hand hooked in his belt, the other peeling off his shades. He hadn’t a conventionally handsome face and she’d never liked men with ginger hair. But Horatio had charisma. His face was creased with caring and she needed caring right now. His eyes narrowed with intense tenderness. And she needed that too. He would lean slightly forward, his head a little to one side, accentuating his caring concentration. But, when necessary, he could suddenly pull out a gun and be determined and ruthless.
She needed that ruthlessness too. She could do without the gun. Though there were times, especially recently, that she felt like killing her son-in-law. Douglas Benson was trying to oust her from her beloved department store, Goodmans of Glassford Street, which had belonged to her late husband. They’d run it together for a lifetime, a happy lifetime. Now that he was gone and she was in her late fifties, Douglas wanted her to retire and give over the business to her daughter, Minna. Of course, that would mean handing it on a plate to him. Poor Minna adored Douglas and was completely under his thumb.
But not Abigail Goodman. Douglas Benson was finding that she was not a soft mark like her daughter. If she ever gave the business over to anyone, it would be to her son, John. At the moment, however, he didn’t want the place. John was a Member of the Scottish Parliament and a fervent Scottish Nationalist. He had a flat in the Royal Mile and only visited Glasgow very occasionally to see her. More often than not, she went through to Edinburgh to see him.
John couldn’t stand Douglas Benson, and was encouraging her to hang on in there and keep the family business going, and in the same so-called old-fashioned way.
‘That’s the special charm of it, Mum,’ he’d say. ‘It’s a Scottish family store where the staff are well looked after and they in turn look after the customers. That’s why it’s still doing so well. Customers nowadays seldom get such personal and caring attention. It typifies all that’s good and valuable in Scottish culture – something that Douglas Benson will never understand.’
No, Douglas Benson wanted to change everything inside and out. He wanted to gut the store and completely modernise it. That meant doing away with counters and cutting down on the staff, apparently. He wanted to deal more with England too, buy stores there and God knew where else. He was like a thorn in her side. Continually irritating her. Goodmans of Glassford Street had been running successfully since it first opened its doors way back before the Second World War. Her husband, Tom, had taken over from his father. She had worked in the haberdashery department then. She had come to Tom’s particular attention when she’d dressed the haberdashery window one day when one of the window dressers was off sick.
She had been enjoying doing something different and artistic with packets of insoles, safety pins and coat hangers. She hadn’t noticed that a little crowd of people had gathered outside to watch her unusual efforts. Tom had been arriving for work and had seen them. Afterwards, he’d summoned her to his office and asked her if she’d like to be a window dresser. She told him honestly that she’d never thought about it because she enjoyed working at the haberdashery counter. She was proud, for instance, that when serving reels of thread, she could immediately select an exact match for any coloured cloth a customer showed her.
Nevertheless, Tom had persuaded her to give the window dressing a try. There were the in-store displays too, and Joyce, the head window dresser, was getting on in years and could do with a bit more help.
She’d helped Joyce for a while and Tom often stopped to admire and comment on her work. Eventually he asked her out and within a year they’d been married.
After she’d had Minna and John, she couldn’t settle in the house. There was a very capable nanny to see to their every need. She had become just an entertainer for the children. She’d tell them stories and do puppet shows and make them laugh. Then when the nanny left and the children started nursery school, she decided to go back to work – part-time at first, and then, once the children were older and settled in regular school, she began working full-time. During the part-time period, she made sure she gained experience in all the departments, from the boys’ department and the hosiery department, to millinery. She’d even worked in the carpet department for a while.
Once she was full-time, she was helping Tom to run the whole store. She was his partner in every sense of the word. She still missed him. She missed his companionship, missed the business talks and plans they had. Not for expanding, or purchasing other stores. They had several departments in Goodmans on four floors. The basement was used by the workmen and joiners and so on, and for storage. Goodmans sold everything from needles to double beds, but they were always planning to improve the premises and the stock and the conditions for the staff. Like Marks & Spencer’s, their philosophy had been that their staff was their greatest asset. Like Marks & Spencer’s too, they provided every facility and help for the staff. An excellent canteen, a hairdresser and a chiropodist.
She, often Tom as well, regularly visited the staff facilities – the canteen, the cloa
kroom, even the lavatories, all of which were on the fourth floor. As bosses, they had a private lavatory outside their office, but if they found on inspection that the staff facilities were not up to their standards, they immediately ordered improvements.
Douglas Benson wanted to do away with all that. But she was not going to let him. Now he was trying to make out that she was senile, losing the place, incapable. She was not going to let him get away with that either. There were times now, though, that she needed the comfort and reassurance that Tom used to give her. She saw in Horatio’s eyes what she used to see in Tom’s. Oh, how she missed him. For sex too. He had been a sexually active man right to the end. Horatio awakened these feelings in her every time she saw him on CSI: Miami. What would Douglas Benson think of that, eh? He’d be more convinced than ever that she’d gone ga-ga – completely lost the plot.
One of these days, she might write to David Caruso, who acted the part of Horatio so well, and tell him how important he was in her life, how she never missed one of his performances. So far, she’d never even confessed this to John. Nor had she told him about how Douglas was trying to make out that she was becoming more than just old and forgetful. She was losing her mind. He didn’t come right out and accuse her of going mad, of course, but that was what he was hinting at. She didn’t want to cause more bad feeling than there already was in the family. John would be furious if he knew.
Not long ago, he’d had to be held back from physically attacking Douglas when Douglas had sneered that the Scottish National Party wasn’t a political party at all, and Scotland wasn’t even entitled to be called a country. It was all ‘up in the air’ – nothing but mountains and a strip of land. And if they ever reviewed a Scottish fleet, it would only amount to a couple of rowing boats.
Talk about her wanting to kill Douglas? John would have killed him if he hadn’t been held back until he calmed down. As he said, it might have been different if Douglas had been English, or of any other nationality, but for a Scotsman to be so disloyal to his own country was absolutely despicable.
Douglas just flung John an impatient look before swaggering away. He wasn’t tall like John. He was stockily built and muscular, thanks to his regular workouts in the gym.
‘Scotland’s constantly being put down,’ John said. ‘Scotland can’t make it alone, Scotland’s too poor, too stupid, etcetera. The danger is that people will begin to believe it’s true. Whereas we could be like other small European countries – full of confidence and with a belief in what we can achieve ourselves. That’s something that independence would give Scotland.’
Confidence and enthusiasm brimmed from every bone of John’s tall body and from every hair on his tousled head. She was very proud of him. She didn’t go along with everything he said, of course – about the architecture of the Scottish Parliament, for instance. When John’s lean face lit up with enthusiasm and his eyes widened and his voice became breathless with eagerness, she never had the heart to tell him she thought the Scottish Parliament looked a monstrosity, especially from the outside. She preferred more traditional architecture. If the Parliament had been situated up on the hill on its own, it would have looked far better, more striking. John admitted that what he would have preferred, and in fact fought for, was putting it up on Calton Hill, but he and the Scottish National Party had been defeated. Building the Parliament crushed in beside beautiful old buildings on the Royal Mile had been a mistake, they both agreed.
She usually smiled and nodded and went along with everything John said. She remembered what an enthusiastic and excitable child he’d been. Nowadays she worried in case other MSPs might be nasty to him and speak to him as Douglas often did. But to give John his due, although he was provocative and often stirred up lively debates, he never lost his temper in Parliament. At least, not in any debates she’d heard, and she’d sat in the gallery of the debating chamber and listened to quite a few.
Douglas and Minna’s latest ploy was to keep asking her if she’d babysit her grandchildren, Emily and three-year-old twins, Ann and Garry. Not only babysit in the evening but during the day – especially during the day when she was busy attending to business mail or inspecting new stock. They couldn’t get their nanny to put in all the hours necessary, they said. She was sure they were lying and they purposely engineered it so that they could say that the children needed her. They knew she would find it difficult to refuse the children anything.
The children loved her and enjoyed having her look after them, just as she enjoyed being with them. But she believed the nanny was purposely given time off so that she would have to leave what she was doing in the shop and go to the luxury penthouse in George Square.
It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy these visits. She did. She sang and recited all the often daft things she remembered her father singing and reciting to her. As often as not, she had the children giggling or squealing with laughter, or trying to copy her and enthusiastically singing with her.
Emily, who was four, had learned quite a few songs and recitations and could proudly repeat them to her mother and father. Like the one that Tom used to sing:
I’ve got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence
To last me all my life.
I’ve got tuppence to spend,
And tuppence to lend,
And tuppence to send home to my wife.
Minna and Douglas became all smarmy and praised not only Emily but her too, and they told her how she should spend more time with the children.
Even the ones involving drink and drunks that the children belted out were effusively praised.
No friends have I to receive me,
No pretty little wife to deceive me,
I’m as happy as a king, believe me,
As I go rolling home.
Rolling home blind drunk,
Rolling home blind drunk,
By the light of the silvery moooo-ooon.
Happy is the day,
When an airman gets his pay,
Rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling home, blind drunk!
It was good to see the children so happy and having such fun. It was tempting to be with them all the time, every day. But she was not going to let Douglas Benson take Goodmans from her and ruin everything she and Tom had built up.
She refused the last request to go and look after the children in the morning. ‘I’m working and I can’t take time off during the day any more than you or Minna can. In fact, if the children really need someone, it should be their mother who goes.’
‘Minna is needed in the store,’ Douglas insisted.
Ignoring him, Abi said calmly to Minna, ‘Take the morning off if you need to, dear.’
Douglas’s eyes acquired a steely glimmer and, for the first time, Abi knew for certain that he hated her. She felt a stab of fear but immediately quelled it. She was sorry for Minna. She loved her daughter but could have shaken her at times when the poor girl stood looking so miserable and anxious, not wanting to upset her mother but totally incapable of saying a word to Douglas on her mother’s behalf. She looked so plain too, with her hair pinned back in a small bun and wearing no make-up.
John once said, ‘Minna looks older than you, Mum.’
Certainly, Abi had always tried to look smart. She wore make-up and visited the hairdresser’s every week. A little grey was beginning to show and she had it regularly tinted away.
At the last minute, the nanny could work the necessary hours after all, which confirmed Abi’s suspicions. She went into the shop at the usual time, feeling slightly sad at first at missing another opportunity of seeing the children. The manager, Mr McKay, had already opened the doors. He always came in early to let the cleaners in and then the rest of the staff. All the staff came in by a special door so that they could be checked. Mr McKay was a keen man with a marvellous memory. He knew by name every employee, male or female, from the cleaners to the store detective. In Goodmans, everyone was called Miss or Mr or Mrs, and whatever their second name was – never by the
ir first name.
Abi savoured the sights and sounds and smells of the place as she moved between the counters. The boys’ department, the glassware, the jewellery, the shoes, ladies’ underwear, the hosiery, the haberdashery. There was the dry sensation of dust in the wake of the cleaners and a mixture of floor disinfectant and counter polish. The perfumery department enfolded her in delicious aromas of Chanel and Armani. The jewellery department sparkled and twinkled as the staff there arranged their stock in glass cases and fixtures.
Abi said good morning to everyone as she passed, including the cleaner who was washing the stairs.
‘Watch your feet, Mrs Goodman.’ The woman moved aside to let Abi pass. ‘It’s still wet. Safer to hang on to the banister.’
‘Yes, I will, Mrs Andrews. Thank you.’
She always climbed the stairs instead of taking the lift. Good exercise, she told herself. It was so important to keep fit and well.
Upstairs, there was the children’s department. Upstairs again were curtains – there were long solid counters in front of fixtures holding the stock and large tables with stock on them. There were sloping counters with a ledge at the bottom that held rolls of material.
Abi made for the other part of the stairway and climbed up yet again to the third floor, breathing in the musty smell of the carpet department when she reached it. On the third floor was a huge toy department. It had become quite famous. All children, but especially Emily and the twins, absolutely loved the place. There was an exceptionally good buyer in charge there, a Mr Webster, who would trawl to the other side of the globe if necessary, to find and buy the latest and most intriguing new toy.
Up again to the fourth floor where the offices, canteen and other facilities were situated. Her office, which she had shared with Tom, was of huge proportions, with tall windows looking out on to Glassford Street. Tom’s desk was still there at the other side of the room from hers. She liked to look over from her desk and see it, and imagine that Tom had just gone out to inspect one of the departments, or speak to the managers or a buyer, and he’d soon be back. Suddenly she experienced one of her little panic attacks. She felt unsafe without Tom. Sometimes she even wondered if Douglas Benson was right and she was going out of her mind. She had become forgetful at times. Names, for instance, were a problem. Often she couldn’t remember someone’s name, often someone she had known for years. There were times when she had just to say ‘Good morning’ to a staff member, instead of ‘Good morning, Miss Brown’ or whatever. Of course, there were a great many people on the staff. It was surely understandable not to be able to remember them all. But she used to remember them all. She had a horror now of forgetting the managers’ names or one of the buyers at the daily meetings they held in her office. Douglas and Minna were usually there too.
Goodmans of Glassford Street Page 1
