by Rosie Clarke
‘Emma!’ One of the girls from the showroom came to fetch me. ‘Telephone – for you!’
My heart stopped then raced on wildly. It wasn’t very often that anyone telephoned me at work, and my mind was starting to invent worrying images. Had something happened to my son, to my mother … or Jon?
‘Who is it?’ I asked when I reached the office and saw the receiver lying by the side of the phone. The girl shrugged, and my heart jerked with fright as I put the receiver to my ear. ‘Yes … Emma Robinson here. Who is it please?’
‘It’s me, Emma …’ Relief flooded through me as I heard Jonathan’s voice. ‘Didn’t that girl tell you?’
‘No … just that I was wanted on the phone.’
‘No wonder you sounded breathless. It’s good news, Emma. I’m getting a two week leave. I’ll be home on Sunday. We can arrange the wedding at last …’
‘Oh, Jon,’ I said, a catch in my throat. ‘That’s wonderful … really good news. I’m so pleased.’
‘I can’t wait to see you, to be with you, my darling.’
‘Me too …’ I laughed with relief. ‘Have you told your mother yet? She will want to get started with all the arrangements.’
‘I’ll ring her now, but I wanted to tell you first, Emma.’
‘I’m so glad you did.’
‘Look, there’s someone waiting to use the phone. I’d better go. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘Yes. I’ll be watching for you. Take care, Jon.’
‘I love you …’
‘I love you, too …’
I was smiling as I left the office. Sol had been showing a regular customer the new stock when I answered the telephone call, but he came to me now, brows raised.
‘Good news, Emma?’
‘The best. Jon is coming home for a two week leave on Sunday. It means we can arrange the wedding at last.’
‘That is good news,’ Sol said, his thoughtful, grey eyes narrowing as he looked at me. ‘Got that dress cut yet?’
‘No, not quite,’ I replied. ‘You can come through and look in another five minutes.’
I went back to my task, determined that I was going to make this dress myself without anyone’s advice or help: it had to be good enough to go out on the rails with the others, or I would have failed the test. Only when Sol declared himself satisfied that I understood the basics of the trade, could I move on to the showroom, which was out front of the cramped workshop.
I had been surprised when I saw the workshop the morning I started to work for Solomon Gould. Somehow I had expected it to be larger because of all the racks of dresses in the showroom, but I now knew that as soon as something was finished a girl took it out to the front. Nothing was allowed to linger in this place!
The working conditions for the two cutters and three tailors had seemed cramped and airless in the beginning, but I had soon become used to it, and now, when I visited the main factory with Sol, I found it noisy and somehow impersonal.
Sol’s new factory – which he had set up just before the start of the war to manufacture uniforms for the Armed Forces – was outside of London.
‘Safe from the bombs,’ Sol had told me when we were discussing our joint venture. ‘The East End will catch it once they start. And the dock area. We don’t want all our money to go up in smoke. Some of the women grumbled about the move. They don’t like living in the country, and I can’t blame them, but once the Government started to evacuate the children … well, they saw the advantages.’
‘You mean like eggs?’ I’d asked with a smile. Fresh produce was becoming harder to find in London.
For the first few weeks after war was declared, I had wondered if it would be better to send my own son out of town for his own sake. My mother had offered to have James with her, but I was reluctant to be parted from him, and he was so happy at home with Margaret. When the expected bombs had failed to arrive, I was glad I hadn’t lost my nerve and sent James away.
It was some months now since I’d moved in with the Goulds. They had a Georgian terraced house in a pleasant garden square. Although narrow, the house was built on four separate floors. Sol had had the attics converted into a nursery and playroom for James.
‘Plenty of room for you and the boy, Emma,’ Sol had said to me over and over again. ‘There’s no need for you to move out when you and Jon marry. You know we love having you with us. And Margaret is so fond of James …’
It was a convenient arrangement. I could take the underground or a tram to the Portobello Road on the days when Sol didn’t drive me to the workshop. Despite being Sol’s partner in the new factory, I preferred to make my own way to work, and I had made it clear to Sol from the start that I wanted to be treated like any other worker during business hours.
Sol had been scrupulous about keeping to our agreement. He was teaching me the trade, and if I made a mistake I was put right very firmly – which was exactly the way I wanted it. However, on the days when Sol drove down to the new factory, he treated me and James as if we were his daughter and grandson.
He and Margaret would have loved children of their own, but unfortunately Margaret hadn’t been able to have a child. She was very close to being an invalid, though she refused to give into her illness and tried very hard to hide her suffering from us all. I had noticed it was getting more difficult for her to walk up and down stairs, but when I’d suggested she see her doctor, she had sworn me to secrecy. Sol must not know she was feeling worse. He had enough problems with the war restrictions and red tape.
Because of Margaret and Sol’s kindness, I wanted to be an asset to the business. I was in the fortunate position of not having to work unless I chose, because I had some money of my own. However, I wanted to work. I had asked Sol to teach me the trade, and I wanted to learn and understand it all properly.
My pattern was cut. I glanced towards the showroom door just as it opened and Sol came in. He was frowning as he approached the table where I was working, and I felt a shiver of apprehension trickle down my spine. If I hadn’t done my work properly, it would be as big a disappointment to Sol as it would to me.
He took his time looking at what I’d done, checking the run of the cloth and whether I’d made the best use I could of the length I’d chosen to cut, then he looked at me. He was trying very hard not to grin, and I knew he was pleased.
‘Not bad,’ he murmured. ‘Not bad for an apprentice …’
‘Oh, Sol!’ I cried impatiently. ‘Is it good enough? Will you put it on the rails with the others?’
‘We’ll see when you’ve finished it,’ he said, nodding at me. ‘I was thinking of taking a run up to the factory tomorrow, Emma. If you want to come with me, you’d best get on. I haven’t got time to stand about all day if you have.’
If he hadn’t been satisfied with the cut he would have said as much. He was just teasing me as he so often did these days. Sol was only in his early forties, twenty years or so older than me, but I loved him as dearly as if he were my father. He had shown me more love than my own father ever had, and I was so grateful.
‘Of course I want to come,’ I said. ‘Go and serve some customers, Sol, and let me get on with my work.’
Our factory was in Chatteris, a small market town in Cambridgeshire. Sol had chosen to set up there, because I’d mentioned the availability of suitable premises – or that was his excuse. I suspected a part of it was because it was close to my home.
I had lived in March for most of my life. March itself was a railway town with one of the largest marshalling yards in Europe, and Sol thought it might be vulnerable to attack from the air because of all the trains. Chatteris was tucked away in the heart of the fenland, and he had hoped to avoid some of the risk when the bombing finally started … but the Air Ministry had opened an airfield at a village just down the road, so the factory was now between two likely targets.
Not that we had seen any sign of the air raids starting yet. After all the talk and preparation it almost seemed as if it was
a phoney war, but Sol told me not to become too complacent.
‘Hitler has been busy elsewhere,’ he warned, ‘but he hasn’t forgotten us, Emma. It’s going to be bad when it starts. When it does, you ought to think of going somewhere safer.’
I hadn’t argued with Sol, but I had no intention of leaving London. Coming here in the first place had been a big step for me, but I had never regretted it despite sometimes missing my mother. She still worried about me and wrote often, giving me all the local news and asking me when Jon and I were going to get married.
We had planned to marry sooner than this, but Jon’s training as an Airforce navigator had been intensive, and though he’d had one or two short spells of leave, he hadn’t been able to fit in the wedding. At least, not the kind of wedding Mrs Reece wanted.
It was of course the second time for me. My first unhappy marriage was behind me now, and the grief of losing my beloved Gran was becoming easier to bear – except when I remembered how she had died, and then sometimes I woke from a bad dream with tears on my cheeks.
My husband – Richard Gillows – had murdered Gran. Of that there was not the slightest shadow of a doubt, though his other wicked deeds could not be proved. He had met a violent and sudden death by running in front of a fast train, and I believed that act had been quite deliberate. Richard had known it was only a matter of time before he was caught and tried for Mother Jacob’s murder.
After his death and my decision to live in London, I had decided to use my maiden name. I preferred to be called Emma Robinson rather than Mrs Gillows, and not just because my husband’s name had been in all the papers at the time when the police were hunting for him.
James was not my husband’s child. He was the son of a man called Paul Greenslade. Paul was Jon’s cousin, and we had first met through him. Jon had helped me after I became pregnant and had no one else to turn to. Although my son had been registered as my husband’s child at birth, I had since had his name changed to Reece by a legal deed. Jon had arranged that for me so that James would not grow up to believe himself the son of a murderer.
Neither Jon or I saw anything of Paul these days, and I believed he might have gone back to America where he had been working for some years. I never thought of him. Paul and all that his brief presence in my life had meant belonged to the past – as did my first marriage.
The events leading up to the murder of Gran and Richard’s death were something I did not wish to remember. I had a new life ahead of me now, and I was determined not to let the shadows of the past spoil my new found happiness.
Sometimes it surprised me when I found myself singing and realized that I was truly happy for perhaps the first time in my life. As a young girl, I had suffered from my father’s strictness and this was my first taste of freedom. And I was looking forward to becoming Jon’s wife … once the wedding reception was over.
Mrs Reece wanted to invite so many people. I had tried to tell her all we needed was a quiet ceremony and a small reception for family and friends afterwards, but she had been so upset that I had somehow found myself agreeing to her hiring a hall and giving us the kind of wedding she thought we deserved.
‘Jonathan is my only son, Emma,’ she’d said, looking at me anxiously. ‘You won’t deny me the pleasure of giving you a special day – a day you will always remember?’
It would have been ungracious of me to refuse her, especially as Pops was nodding at me from behind her back. Jonathan’s grandfather was a dear man, and it would have been beyond me to have refused his request when he asked so little.
I decided to telephone Mrs Reece that evening. We could discuss anything she wanted to know over the phone, and I would see her with Jonathan at the weekend.
‘You look very nice this morning, my dear,’ Margaret said to me when I came downstairs carrying James the next day. She kissed the child, then me. ‘Have a lovely time – and give my love to your mother, Emma. Tell her that she and her husband must come and stay with us for your wedding. I wouldn’t dream of them going to a hotel.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ I said, gazing at her anxiously. She was still an attractive woman despite her illness, but she looked very tired and I was worried about her. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with us? You could stop with my mother while we visit the factory?’
‘The drive would be too much for me,’ Margaret admitted with a sigh. ‘I am going to have a nice lazy day here alone. Perhaps sit in the garden if the sun comes out later … or read a book …’
‘As long as you rest,’ I replied, kissing her again. ‘We shall be back by supper.’
I glanced at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a smart grey dress and a coat with a black fur collar, black shoes and a matching leather bag. My long brown hair was swept up and back from my face in a rolled style that I’d copied from one of Bette Davis’s films, and I was wearing a hat with a cheeky feather at the front. I had never thought of myself as being pretty, but I did have a certain style these days – very different from the Emma who had worked in her father’s shop!
‘Are you ready, Emma?’
Sol was getting impatient. He was always slightly on edge when we visited the factory. It wasn’t easy complying with all the new rules and regulations the Government kept throwing at us, though being an official supplier to the Armed Forces did have its compensations.
I went out to the car. Sol had the door open for me. He held James while I settled myself in the front seat, then placed the child in my arms.
‘I swear he gets heavier every day,’ he said. ‘What do you feed him on, Emma, lead puddings?’
I laughed and shook my head at him. My son was thriving, and Sol was as proud of him as if he had been his own flesh and blood.
‘I telephoned Mum,’ I said. ‘She says she has some eggs for us, and a few extra goodies she managed to buy somewhere or other.’
‘Your mother will get herself locked up for trading on the black market one of these days.’
‘Sol! It isn’t the black market. It’s just that in the country people grow their own food, and Mum happens to know someone who makes farm butter and has just slaughtered a pig they kept in the back yard.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sol agreed, amused by my mother’s excuses. ‘I’ll drop you off with your mother, Emma, and go to the factory alone. It’s all rather boring stuff these days, nothing for you to worry about. You’ll be much happier enjoying a chat with Greta.’
‘If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’
‘I’m going to check on quality, and look at the stock control,’ Sol said. ‘It would be a waste of your time to come with me. No, you treat it as a little holiday, and visit all your friends.’
‘You spoil me, Sol,’ I said, and smiled at him. ‘But I would like a little time to visit my friends.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘You’ll want to talk, with the wedding coming up.’
‘Oh, you do look lovely, Emma!’ Sheila exclaimed as I went into the shop. ‘Really smart. And your son is just gorgeous!’
‘Thank you.’ I glanced round the shelves. So far the rationing of sugar hadn’t affected Sheila’s sweet stock, though I supposed she had bought in as much as she could before the shortages started to bite. ‘How are you managing?’
‘Not too bad so far,’ she replied and pulled a face. ‘Some things are slow coming in, but others don’t seem to have suffered yet. Our suppliers say we shall get our share same as everyone else – but once the Government makes us have coupons for sweets I shall go potty.’
‘Is it getting too much for you, working here?’ Sheila was in the middle stages of her pregnancy. ‘If you wanted to give the shop up, I would understand.’
‘You don’t want it back, do you?’
She looked so anxious that I laughed and shook my head. ‘No, of course not. I was just concerned for you, and Eric, of course. I wouldn’t want you to feel tied just because you’ve signed a lease.’
‘
What would you do if we packed up?’
‘I’m not sure. Things are going to be difficult for a while. I might just leave it empty and try to sell after the war is over … whenever that is.’
Sheila looked thoughtful. ‘Would you sell to us, Emma? If we could raise enough money to buy?’
‘Are you sure you want it?’
‘Eric was talking about selling other things – maybe groceries or alcohol, if we could get a licence. Make it an off licence … He thought about packing in his job and running the shop himself.’
‘Won’t he be called up?’
‘He’s got a weak chest.’ Sheila frowned. ‘Eric failed his medical last month. It threw him a bit I can tell you. That’s why he’s thinking of expanding the shop …’
‘I’m sorry he isn’t well. I didn’t know, Sheila.’
‘Nor did we. He gets a bit chesty in the winter, but …’ She shrugged but I could see she was concerned. ‘He would be better off working indoors.’
‘You can do what you want with the shop,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to buy it. Apply for the licence. If I can help in any way, just telephone me.’
Sheila’s face lit up. ‘You’re a real friend, Emma.’
‘Let me know how things go,’ I said. ‘I’m going to see Madge Henty now.’
Sheila nodded. ‘I buy all my things there now. No one else in town has such pretty dresses. I hope the Government isn’t going to stop us buying clothes next?’
‘Sol is sure it will come. He has a lot of contacts, Sheila, and he knows things – so if you want something new buy it now while you can.’
I left the shop as a customer entered. At first it had seemed a little strange to see Sheila standing behind the counter of Father’s old shop. He would have hated it, of course: he had never approved of her, but the property belonged to me now, and I had always liked Sheila. She paid her rent regularly, and that was all that counted as far as I was concerned. Besides, she was married and perfectly respectable. Whatever people had said of her once, they had to admire her these days. She worked hard, and it was quite something for her and her husband to own and run their own business.
