Liverpool Love Song

by Anne Baker

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

  Leo took in that the second-floor office, though small, was comfortable and private; it had a big window looking out on to a busy street. This would be his office if he were hired.

  ‘Tom will explain what the duties of our company accountant are,’ Bristow said, and left.

  Tom Cleary was pedantic and explained the accounting set-up at length. Leo concentrated hard on everything he was being told. He’d make notes on this when he got home. He might be glad of the information. Mr Cleary took him back to the boss’s office after that, where the generous salary and other benefits that could be his were set out for him.

  Walter Bristow’s eyes were watching him closely from the other side of his desk. Leo saw him push his shock of white hair back from his forehead and smile at him. ‘I think you’ll fit in here very well. I’d like you to take the job. What d’you say?’

  Leo felt his heart jolt; he hadn’t expected to be offered the job straight off. His head was whirling. He accepted with great enthusiasm, almost losing the clamp of control on his tongue, but it was probably a good idea to be keen at this stage.

  ‘Subject to medical examination and references being satisfactory, of course.’

  The word ‘references’ brought him down to earth and sent a cold shiver down his spine. But he’d thought this through and was fishing in his briefcase to find the paper on which he’d written the names and addresses. Bristow perused it and then buzzed for Miss Gibbs to come in.

  ‘Write the usual notes asking for a reference,’ he told the girl. ‘As you did for the cleaner we took on last week.’ Leo dictated the addresses to her.

  Bristow then turned to him. ‘Mr Clitheroe, we’d like you to start work as soon as possible. Do you have time to see our doctor today for a medical examination?’

  The appointment was made for him to visit the doctor straight away. ‘Come back afterwards and I’ll show you round our factory,’ Bristow added. ‘We close for lunch between one and two.’

  Leo was glad to get out into the fresh air. Despite the coffee he’d been given, his mouth was bone dry. He’d been on his guard for hours and felt drained, but now he could relax a little. For the moment there was no need for him to hang on to every word he heard; he had no worries about his health.

  He’d been directed to the doctor’s surgery, which was only a few hundred yards away, and was seen without having to wait. He felt tired when he came out, and headed straight to a café he’d noticed on the corner. It was busy and noisy, but perhaps that was just as well, because more than anything else, he felt in need of sleep. He ate a hot dinner and drank two more cups of coffee. It was the worry about his references that kept him awake.

  He was pleased and surprised that Bristow’s wanted him to start work as soon as possible. It seemed that Tom Cleary had a trip to New Zealand planned and was anxious to start handing over to his successor as soon as possible. That had speeded up the process, but it would all come to naught if there was a hiccup over Francis’s references.

  Leo tried to put his mind to what would happen next. Was there anything he could do about the references now? He made sure he was back in the office a few moments before two o’clock. The front door was closed and he had to ring the bell, but a clerk let him in. He found his way back to the secretaries’ office, where all four desks were deserted. He was about to search through Miss Gibbs’s out-tray, but he saw that Walter Bristow’s door was ajar and he was at his desk. He tapped, pushed it wide and went in.

  Leo didn’t know how he stayed alert and attentive that afternoon. He was introduced to the production manager, John Walsh, who took him round the dusty factory, clanging and pounding with machinery. Walsh carefully explained every operation they were carrying out. It was a busy place and Leo had a blinding headache when at four o’clock he finally escaped and went back to Mr Bristow’s office to finalise things.

  The secretaries’ office was deserted again and the door to Mr Bristow’s room was firmly shut. Leo flicked through the contents of Miss Gibbs’s out-tray. There were some dozen sealed and stamped envelopes ready to be posted. With shaking fingers he picked out the two with the addresses he’d given for referees and slid them into his briefcase. The rest he put back exactly as he’d found them.

  When he knocked on the boss’s door, he found Miss Gibbs was taking dictation. Mr Bristow stopped to shake Leo’s hand and tell him he was pleased to welcome him to the staff. It was agreed that he should start work on the first of next month, which was only three days off.

  Leo was glad to get out into the street. His head felt as though it was bursting. He was a nervous wreck but at the same time ecstatic with triumph. He’d achieved what he’d wanted, it was all fitting together nicely. He could write his own reference letters now.

  He went home and fell into bed. He’d need to go to work tonight to copy out Francis’s references. He had no suitable notepaper at home, and although he’d provided himself with a portable typewriter on one of the storecards, he’d never tried to use it. Also, he’d give the hotel his notice, saying that his mother was desperately ill, and that he’d have to go home to the Isle of Man to look after her.

  He hoped he’d also have time to make some notes about what had passed between him and Cleary on accounting procedures. He was so weary that night, he could hardly move himself to hand out the occasional room key or take a plate of sandwiches up to a room. Nevertheless, when Gary settled down for his nap, he went to the main office. There were several typewriters, each covered for the night with a plastic cover, and he sat down in front of one of them. He had to force the lock on the stationery cupboard to get some blank notepaper and a couple of envelopes before he could start.

  He’d never tried to type before and it was harder to produce a fault-free copy than he’d thought. He spoiled many sheets and had to return to the cupboard for more paper. He usually looked forward to the time when he was due to wake Gary, but tonight it came before he was ready. He had only one letter copied to his satisfaction, which meant he’d have to come to work again tomorrow night. He helped himself to more notepaper and took all the sheets he’d spoiled home to destroy.

  His head was clearer the following night because he’d slept all day, but it still took him an age to copy the vicar’s letter without making a mistake. Now he had everything ready to move into his new job, he could leave this one. The only good thing about it had been the lovely food he could help himself to. He’d had more than his fill of night work.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FOR THE FIRST FEW days at work, Leo felt a nervous wreck, because Tom Cleary was there beside him watching everything he did. It took him some time to see that Tom’s mind was on taking him step by step through the files, cash books and ledgers he kept. There were a vast number; storage for them took up a lot of space in his office.

  Cleary opened books and spread documents in front of him and his explanations came at a bewildering pace. Leo asked questions but not as many as he would have liked; he was afraid of revealing how little he knew. He blessed the time he’d worked as a bookkeeper. At least he knew what double-entry bookkeeping was, and some of the terms sounded vaguely familiar. Cleary was assuming he understood more than he did.

  Leo was seeing quite a lot of Mrs Parks, the accounts clerk. It put the wind up him to see her being handed figures to collate. It was something he’d have to do soon. Cleary assured him she was very efficient, but that did nothing to settle his nerves. She would be in a better position than anybody else to monitor what he was doing.

  He kept a notebook and wrote down what seemed to be important facts in front of Cleary, it didn’t matter that he looked over-careful. Though he mustn’t be seen to be recording facts that any accountant would regard as mundane.

  There was a little send-off in the office for Tom Cleary. The staff had collected to buy him a clock. Leo felt everybody was friendly and welcoming towards him; nobody seemed to have any susp
icions. Mr Bristow was hosting another celebration that evening for the senior staff, who were invited together with their ladies to a farewell dinner. Leo was relieved to find he was left out of that.

  In the first few days after Tom Cleary left, Mrs Parks pointed Leo towards the routine work that needed to be done. Leo felt he was floundering; he was more scared of her than he’d been of Cleary, because she’d be staying. It was a comfort to know he could get out of all this and disappear if he had to, and a further comfort to know how he could take payment for all the effort he was putting in.

  He was thankful that his office was private and nobody could see what he was doing once he had the door shut. He was spending a lot of time dithering, which might seem odd behaviour to other staff.

  The bills were flooding in and the method of paying them was clear enough. It gave him a job to get on with. Mrs Parks kept the wages book and drew up the figures for those who were paid weekly. Leo found that it was his job to check her figures and also pay the more senior staff their monthly salaries. He was amazed at how much everybody earned when he compared it with what he’d scraped by on in his lowly jobs.

  He set up a new bank account in the name of Francis Clitheroe, into which he meant to pay his salary in due course, but in order to maintain a safe distance he opened another account in a different bank in the name of Alistair Jackson. It was his job to make out the cheques, and only those over two and a half thousand pounds had to be countersigned by Mr Bristow. The regular bills for supplies fell comfortably below this threshold.

  He studied the figures in the company’s bank accounts and realised he was working for a very profitable company. He made up his mind that he’d spend the first week or so finding his feet and earning Mr Bristow’s trust. He got out the collated figures for the previous year, found the exact week and knew he had to produce figures that were very similar.

  He went back to his digs every night, and with the other lodgers ate his high tea of meat and two veg, followed by a pudding. He then retired to his room to write up all sorts of details while they were still fresh in his mind. This notebook was one he wouldn’t take to the office. He had to be ultra-careful.

  At nine thirty a jug of cocoa and a plate of biscuits was put on the dining room table. After partaking of that, he went to bed early to ponder on what he could do to get the best return for all this effort.

  It was easy enough to take money out of the company accounts – part of his job was doing just that. Hiding the fact from old Bristow and Mrs Parks was the difficulty.

  He thought about making out a cheque for just under two and a half thousand pounds to Alistair Jackson at the beginning of the month, then moving it out of that account as soon as he could and making a run for it. But what he did next would be traceable through bank records, unless he drew it all out in cash. He’d already noticed in the small print of their literature that banks required prior notice if a client wanted to withdraw a large sum, and that would give them time to check back and find out it was fraud.

  Also, he’d been hoping for more money than that. He realised that what he’d set up was a long-term drip-drip way to take the money, not a grab-it-quick job. But he wouldn’t be staying any longer than necessary; it was too nerve-racking. His plan now was to hang on here for as long as possible, hopefully at least six months, and drain off as much as he could. He wanted to get enough out of this to buy himself a cottage somewhere quiet, and perhaps a car.

  Joan was very interested in Helen’s garden and came round to see it every few weeks. Chloe enjoyed her company and was pleased when Mum told her she’d be coming the next day. She spent the morning baking scones and a chocolate cake, and decided she’d put on afternoon tea in style, as she used to in Adam’s house. Mum had a silver tea service she displayed in a cabinet in the dining room but never used. Chloe took it out and got it ready.

  Auntie Joan had no children of her own, although she said she wished she’d been married soon enough to have them. She and Uncle Walter had married late in life; until then, she’d taught history at Blackburn House, a notable Liverpool grammar school for girls. Mum thought Joan had achieved more in her life than she had herself.

  Joan arrived with a picture book of fairy stories for Lucy and a cloth book for Zac. Chloe admired her discreet make-up and thought she looked really elegant.

  ‘I’m sure you must have found it hard to go to work and leave your two babies,’ she said to Chloe. ‘They’re very sweet.’

  Chloe pulled a rueful face. ‘I did find it hard to start with, but it was a temporary job and it’s over now. I managed fine; Aunt Goldie looked after the children.’

  ‘She’s looking much better. Seems more cheerful, too.’

  ‘She enjoys taking care of the kids. I think she wants to be needed, but doesn’t like to admit it.’

  ‘She’s good with them.’

  ‘Yes, I feel they’re safe with her. I loved going to work,’ Chloe said, ‘and to be honest, I need the money. I’m looking for another job, but there’s a general slowing down in the economy and I’ve not had much success so far.’

  That brought Auntie Joan’s blue eyes to meet hers. ‘Walter’s finally found an accountant, but now he’s looking for a replacement for his secretary. She’s getting married and going to live in Portsmouth. That’s your sort of work, isn’t it?’

  Chloe was ready to reach out for any job now. ‘It is my sort of work,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid Uncle Walter will think I don’t have enough experience to be his secretary. I can do shorthand and typing, but my jobs have been mostly working with figures. They always put me in the accounts department.’

  ‘Well, Walter has an accounts department too. Why don’t you write him an official application for a job? I’m sure he’ll be glad to fit you in if he can. I’ll tell him about you tonight. It can’t do any harm, can it?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Chloe said. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would.’

  Auntie Joan praised Chloe’s cake. ‘And the elegant way you serve afternoon tea. Your mother does it very nicely too, but I don’t get the best china and the silver with her.’

  Helen laughed. ‘You know you get the everyday cups and saucers.’

  Joan lay back in her garden chair. ‘I love your summerhouse, it’s perfect on a day like today.’

  ‘We use it even in cool weather,’ Marigold told her. ‘It stops the children making a mess in the house.’

  Rex joined them, and he and Auntie Joan discussed Britain’s ongoing financial problems arising from the low amount of exports and the huge bill for goods being imported. ‘Walter is very concerned,’ she told him. ‘The country can’t pay its way.’

  Afterwards, they all took Joan on a tour of the garden. Rex dug up a root of heather she’d admired for her own garden, and gave her some of the bedding plants he’d grown from seed to put in her patio pots.

  Chloe felt very much more hopeful as she waved Auntie Joan off.

  ‘Walter can promote one of his more experienced girls to be his secretary,’ Marigold said as they watched Joan’s car go down the road, ‘and find you something within your capabilities, a slot in the typing pool or something like that.’

  Chloe sat down immediately and wrote the letter to Uncle Walter that Joan had suggested. A few days later, she received his reply on official company notepaper, inviting her to come along to see him in his office to talk about her application.

  Chloe felt nervous as she went up the steps into the entrance hall at Bristow’s. It was silent and deserted. She saw a notice on the desk inviting visitors to ring for attention, but just then a young girl with red hair came scurrying through with a pile of files in her arms, so she asked her the way to Mr Bristow’s office.

  ‘I’ll take you up in a moment,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Angela Smith, the office junior. I just want to drop these files into the sales department first.’

  Within moments Chloe was being escorted through corridors to a large office containing four desks with secre
taries seated behind typewriters. Only the clatter of typewriter keys disturbed the silence.

  ‘This is Mr Bristow’s secretary,’ her guide waved towards one of the desks, ‘Maureen Gibbs,’ then she went to sit down in her own place.

  Miss Gibbs was a little older and more sophisticated. Chloe was impressed when she said, ‘Are you Miss Redwood? Mr Bristow’s expecting you,’ and buzzed through to tell him she was here. It seemed his office opened off this one. He came to the door.

  ‘Do come in, Chloe.’ He stepped forward to meet her. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘That would be very nice.’ His secretary was asked to arrange it, and Chloe relaxed. ‘It’s good of you to see me like this,’ she said.

  He closed the door and went back to his chair behind a large partner’s desk. Chloe had called him Uncle Walter since she was a child and had seen him regularly at family get-togethers, though she saw more of Auntie Joan while he was at work. His silvery hair was still thick and heavy and his gaze kindly.

  ‘So you want a job?’ he said. ‘I think we’ll be able to fit you in somewhere.’ His office was large and light, with two large windows. ‘Have a seat. How are your two babies?’ She found herself telling him that Aunt Goldie was happy to look after them while she came to work.

  ‘Helen tells me that your children have been Marigold’s salvation,’ he said. ‘They’ve helped her get over her bereavement, settled her down.’

  ‘Yes, she’s better. It’s as though she needs something to keep her busy, and the kids love her.’

  ‘Well then, I shall find something to keep you busy too. We have four secretaries here as well as Mrs Parks, the accounts clerk. Miss Gibbs looks after me and Miss Tomlin, Lydia that is, works for the accountant. The sales manager and the buyer share Miss McDonald, and Angela Smith works for the production manager. She also floats and fills in where she’s needed. Well, all the girls do, they’re very good like that.’