‘No – I don’t think they’re quite what I want, thank you.’
Amelie fumed. She wanted to point out that the woman wouldn’t find anything better anywhere in town, but she remembered her grandfather’s maxim: never browbeat a customer into buying something they really don’t want. You might make one sale, but you’ll lose their future custom.
‘I’ll swear she never meant to buy anything in the first place. She was just wasting our time,’ she said to Miss Higgs.
The supervisor was philosophical. ‘Very likely, Miss Packard. You get them all the time – tabbies, you know, women with time on their hands. She’ll most likely do that in a dozen different departments before she buys something.’
‘How very frustrating,’ Amelie said. ‘How do you stand it?’
‘All part of the job, Miss Packard. But she’ll be back, and perhaps next time she’ll bring a friend and they’ll both buy something. At least she knows we’re here now.’
It struck Amelie that she had never actually stayed in one department for a whole morning before. You got a very different view of the store from when you swanned around just looking at what was going on. The morning was a very long time when nothing much happened.
By eleven fifteen she was beginning to despair of anyone ever coming near them, when a mother and her grown-up daughter walked in.
‘Look – how charming!’ the daughter was saying.
Amelie warmed to her immediately.
She was thinking of taking up archery, the girl explained. Could Amelie advise as to what she would need? Amelie was in her element. This was just the sort of customer she wanted. The shopgirls ran about, producing leather gloves, bracer, belt and a jaunty Robin Hood hat with a clutch of pheasant’s feathers.
‘Oh, how wickedly charming!’ the girl remarked at this last item.
She tried them all on, and emerged from the changing room well pleased. Yes, she would have them all.
‘We have bows and arrows and quivers as well,’ Amelie said.
She demonstrated the virtues of the different bows, and the girl chose the most expensive one, plus a quiver full of arrows.
‘Of course, to look really the thing, you need a dress of Lincoln green,’ Amelie told her. ‘You can wear your ordinary clothes, of course, and many ladies do, but myself I think nothing looks so charming as the proper green.’
The girl dithered for a while, consulted her mother, and wondered what her friends might be wearing. Amelie sent Daisy to fetch a couple of bolts of fabric, which were unrolled with a flourish and bunched into artistic drapes.
‘It looks a picture against a tree-lined meadow,’ Amelie said. ‘Let me show you some fashion plates –’
They were won over. The chief dressmaker was sent for from Ladies’ Gowns, and the girl and her mother handed over to her for the first measurements and consultations on style. Amelie could have kissed them. This must be a portent of future success.
By now it was well into the fashionable time for ladies to go shopping. If the people Amelie had been working on were going to come, then they must start to appear soon.
People did begin to flow into the department. Many of them were mere lookers, like the cycling cape woman, but a fair number bought at least a small item. Three even vouchsafed the opinion that a department solely for ladies’ sportswear was a good idea. Amelie hoped fervently that they would tell their friends about it. As her grandfather often said, advertising was good, but word of mouth was better.
As ill luck would have it, Edward turned up again just when the department was empty of customers. Even more unfortunate, the rest of the ladies’ clothing departments were buzzing with women who seemed to be buying as if for a siege. It was nearly midday. Another hour, and everyone who was anyone would be changing for luncheon.
‘Never mind, Mel. It often takes a while for a department to establish itself,’ he said, patting her kindly on the shoulder. Amelie could have bitten him.
‘We have been really busy. We’ve sold heaps of stuff,’ she exaggerated.
‘Yes, of course you have,’ Edward said, glancing round at the shopgirls, who were once again needlessly tidying shelves and drawers.
For one awful moment, Amelie thought he was going to suggest that some of them might be better employed in another department.
‘We’re just having a little lull at the moment. We’ve been rushed off our feet up till now,’ she told him.
‘Of course you have,’ Edward repeated. ‘Now, I do hope you’re not doing too much, Mel. We all know how much effort you have put into setting up the department. It doesn’t mean that you have to be here all the time, you know. Miss Higgs and her girls will run it for you.’
‘But I like being here!’ Amelie said.
Edward ignored this. ‘I’m sure that when Grandfather took up your idea, he did not mean you to act as a glorified floorwalker, supervising everything that was going on for every minute of the day.’
‘But I’m not –’ Amelie began, then stopped, for out of the corner of her eye she saw movement in the archway.
She turned to look properly and saw two of her old schoolfriends with one of their mothers in tow. Smiling broadly, she went to greet them.
‘Here we are, Melly. So this is your shop? It’s simply sweet!’
‘Yes, awfully jolly. I do like the way you’ve done the entrance. So clever. Isn’t she clever, Mother?’
They had hardly got over their first transports before more young ladies arrived, ones whom Amelie had met in the course of the social round her mother had taken her on when she would much rather have been buying stock. When her mother was not listening, she had told all of them about her venture and invited them to the opening day. Now it looked as if they were taking up the suggestion. She stole a look at Edward as she went about greeting the new arrivals. Now he would see what a success her idea was.
Before long, the department began to resemble a party. The ladies stood around chatting to each other, Amelie circulated and the shopgirls ran about serving those who decided they might actually make a purchase. Once one or two had stock laid out for them to look at, then others became interested. Soon they were encouraging each other.
‘Will you look at this sweet boater –’
‘My dear, it’s just you. You must have it.’
‘Have you seen these clever tennis blouses? You play tennis, don’t you? They’re such a good idea.’
‘Didn’t I hear you saying the other day that you needed a motoring coat?’
And then, in the midst of the crush, there was her mother. Smiling serenely, she wove her way round the groups of women, speaking to everyone. Amelie could not understand it. Her mother had been utterly against her project from the start, so what was she doing here now? Then she came within Amelie’s earshot, and it became perfectly clear what she was doing.
‘So kind of you to come to Amelie’s little gathering. Yes, I’m as surprised as you. You never know what these girls are going to get up to next, do you? No, I know, in our day we did not have opinions of our own, did we? We took advice from our elders. But these modern girls are all so busy. Of course, dear Amelie has always been such an active girl, she likes to have her little hobbies. Oh no, she doesn’t run the department. Dear me no, you didn’t think I would let her work here? The idea! No, it’s a nice interest for her. Far preferable to joining those dreadful suffragettes, don’t you think?’
Winifred was indefatigable. As long as there were any of her social acquaintances in the department, she was there, talking to them, giving them to understand that her daughter was merely amusing herself playing at shops, that it was no more real Trade than setting up a charity bazaar. Only when the last ladies had trailed off to luncheon did she turn her attention to Amelie. Even then she did not speak to her directly. Instead she told one of the girls to fetch Miss Amberley’s hat.
‘But, Mother Amelie started.
‘But nothing. You are coming home with me this minute.’
> Edward appeared, a concerned smile on his face.
‘Yes, off you go, Amelie. It’s been a long morning for you. I’ll see to everything here, don’t you worry.’
Winifred rounded on him. ‘Things should never have been allowed to get this far. I should have been informed.’
‘If you remember, Mother, I did inform you. It was Grandfather who encouraged this foolishness.’
‘Foolishness!’ Amelie cried. ‘I –’
‘Quiet!’ her mother hissed, with such force that Amelie found herself obeying.
Winifred was addressing Edward. ‘Yes, your grandfather. I shall be speaking with him at the earliest opportunity.’
Amelie’s big day was crumbling around her. She found herself marched out to where the motor was waiting at one of the side entrances. Once inside, she tried to protest.
‘I hope you’re satisfied now, Mother. You’ve made me look a complete idiot in front of my staff.’
Try as she might, she could not quite keep the squeak of tears out of her voice. Furious, she brushed her sleeve across her eyes.
Winifred did not look at her. Her voice, by contrast, was icily controlled.
‘They are not your staff, Amelie, they are your grandfather’s staff. And as for what I have done, I have saved you from social disgrace. I suppose I cannot hope for you to be grateful right at this very moment, but believe me, in time you will be. As for this shop nonsense, I trust that you have now got it out of your system.’
9
ISOBEL TIDIED AWAY a pile of motoring caps, veils, goggles and gloves. Another fruitless half-hour. Once again, it was brought home to her that she was not very good at her job. She glanced at Miss Higgs, hoping that she had not noticed. A vain hope, of course, since Miss Higgs knew everything that was going on in the department. She was just completing a sale, but even so, she was sure to be aware of Isobel’s lack of success. Daisy would not have let that last customer go without at least selling her a pair of gloves, if not a whole motoring outfit. She could hear her now, extolling the virtues of a gymslip of a particularly ugly shade of brown.
‘It’s really the only thing to wear for proper exercise, madam. I know some ladies do wear long skirts for cricket, but for someone like you what’s a serious player – yes, it’s ever so respectable and ladylike, madam. You don’t have to wear it knee-length like what schoolgirls do, you can have it right down to your calves – would you like to try it on? I’ll find you a pretty blouse to go underneath, so’s you get the effect – how about this one? The changing rooms are over here, madam. Do you need any help?’
That one would not get away empty-handed, either, Isobel decided. Daisy was by far the best saleswoman in the team, Miss Higgs excepted. Isobel hated pressing people who seemed not to want what the department had to offer. It went against all her early training, the rules of polite behaviour drummed into her by her mother. But Daisy had no such problems. If a lady did not like one thing, Daisy was quick to offer an alternative. Not only that, but she was so enthusiastic about the stock. Her genuine delight in the quality, colour, shape or sheer brand-newness of even the most utilitarian pair of cycling knickers communicated itself to her customers. Once Daisy was in full flow, she was irresistible.
Dear Daisy. What would Isobel have done without her these last few weeks? A girl whom her dear mama would probably not have considered employing as a tweeny had become her closest friend and support. Isobel was fascinated and horrified by the glimpses Daisy gave of her home life, of shared beds and second-hand clothes and weeks of cold and hunger. No wonder that the hostel that Isobel found Spartan seemed like a palace to Daisy. It had taken her a month to get over the wonder of the flush lavatories. With Daisy’s help, Isobel found her present life bearable. She was permanently tired, often bored, frequently frustrated by the pettiness of the customers and Miss Higgs, but the rules and routines of the store and the hostel gave a point and a pattern to her life, giving her security. As long as she did not look forwards or backwards, she was all right. Or would have been, if it were not for those two dreadful young men.
They had been at the front door of number twenty-four Trent Street this morning. They tried to give the impression that they had just happened to be passing, but Isobel suspected they had been hanging about waiting for Daisy and herself to come out.
‘’Morning, girls! Well, here’s a nice surprise. Going our way?’ Arthur Griggs had cried.
‘Oo, hark at him! Going our way, indeed. As if he don’t know,’ Daisy responded, echoing Isobel’s thoughts. Except that Daisy made it sound teasing.
The weeks of solid food had worked a change in Daisy. Her face had lost its pinched look and started to acquire a fashionable roundness. Now, flushed and excited, she looked almost pretty. Arthur Griggs gave one of the cheery grins that Isobel found so grating.
‘Mind if we walk along of you, then?’
Daisy stuck her nose in the air with mock disdain. ‘Don’t see as we can stop you.’
While this exchange was going on, Isobel was studiously ignoring Johnny Miller. This ought to have been signal enough that she did not wish to speak with him. After all, it was up to the lady to show that she wished to acknowledge an acquaintance. But Johnny Miller was not a gentleman. He took a step closer to her.
‘Good morning, Miss Brand. Keeping well, are you?’
Of the two, he was the better. He was not so brash, and he took off his hat when he spoke to her. But still Isobel did not like being forced into conversation with him.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. She edged away from him, and nearer to Daisy.
‘. . . stand here bandying words with you. We got to get to work,’ Daisy was saying.
To Isobel’s relief, Daisy grabbed her arm and started walking up the street. The pavement was crowded with Packards employees, all going the same way, all in a hurry, all shouting out greetings to each other as they met. More flooded out of each door as they went along. But the crowd did not save them from Arthur and Johnny. They stayed doggedly close, dodging round trees and people in order to keep up the lop-sided conversation.
‘How’s it going in Ladies’ Sportswear, then? Enjoying it?’ Johnny asked. He addressed the question to Isobel, but Daisy answered.
‘Oh, it’s lovely. We’re doing ever so well. Miss Packard, she’s ever so pleased with us. When she comes in, that is. Her mum, she don’t want her in the shop, but Miss Packard comes anyway. Right card, she is.’
‘Chip off of the old block, she is, then. Old Mr Packard, he’s all right, and all. If he’s pleased, he comes and tells you himself,’ Johnny said.
‘Knows most of the names, he does. Amazing, it is, when you think how many people work at the store,’ Arthur said. ‘I was putting some stuff out the other day when he come round and he looks straight at me and he says, “Untidy shelf, there, Griggs. See to it.” You could of knocked me down with a feather, you could. I jumped to it good and proper, I can tell you.’
‘Has Mr Packard spoken to you?’ Johnny asked Isobel.
‘No, never,’ she said.
Old Mr Packard seemed a pleasant man, from what she had seen of him, and very fond of his granddaughter. Mr Edward Packard was a different matter. She had disliked him on sight, feeling obscurely threatened by him.
‘I’ll bet he’s noticed you, though. Pretty girl like you.’
Isobel flushed and looked away. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to ignore him, and to thank God that it was not very far to the store. Daisy had been unaccountably cool with her when they arrived.
Now, Isobel looked to where Daisy’s customer was emerging from the changing rooms, a little red about the cheeks, but looking pleased.
‘Yes, it looks very nice. Very workmanlike,’ she was saying. ‘I’ll have the blouse as well.’
‘Certainly, madam. And how about a nice new boater to complete the outfit? We have a number of ladies’ models –’
Just as Isobel predicted, the sale
s mounted. By the time the customer left, there was a generous pile of goods lying on the counter ready to be packed and delivered. Daisy earned a nod of approval from Miss Higgs and a summons to serve the next customer. Isobel was directed to wrap and label the last one’s purchases. Isobel did as she was bid. At least she knew she could make a good job of that.
The pair of them were sent off to early dinner. Daisy was not her usual chatty self. In fact, Isobel got the distinct impression that she was cross with her about something. She could not for the life of her think what. There was none of the coveted seats by the barrier available, to Isobel’s relief, so Daisy plumped down in the first they came to and began eating in sulky silence. Isobel tried to make allowances. Perhaps she was tired. Perhaps it was her monthlies. Whatever it was, she couldn’t have it out with her here, in public. It would have to wait until the end of the day. In the meantime, one of the other girls on the table started a conversation, which Daisy joined in with alacrity. Isobel poked at her food. The monotony of the menu and the stodginess of the cooking depressed her. She ate a few mouthfuls, but did not feel hungry. Unlike Daisy, she had lost weight since she came to Packards.
‘. . . she sent me down the stockroom, and I skipped off round by Turnery and there he was,’ the other girl’s story went on and on, every detail of conversation retold. Isobel glanced at Daisy. She was not looking happy. By the time they were ploughing their way through the pudding, Daisy had obviously had enough.
‘So what happened?’ she asked, interrupting the flow.
‘Well – he asked me if me and my pal’d like to go walking with him and his mate on Sunday!’ The other girl gave a self-satisfied smile and patted her hair, then affected an air of patronising kindness.
‘Yours asked you out yet, has he?’
‘Lots of times,’ Daisy said.
Isobel wondered what on earth she was talking about.
‘What’s the matter, don’t you fancy him?’
Packards Page 9
