‘You’ve got the job, Mrs Clifton,’ were her new boss’s first words.
Harry was left in the care of his grandmother whenever Maisie went to work. Although she was only paid nine pence an hour, she was allowed to keep half her tips, so that at the end of a good week she could take home as much as three pounds. There was also an unexpected bonus. Once the ‘open’ sign had been turned back to ‘closed’ at six o’clock in the evening, Miss Tilly would allow Maisie to take home any food that was left over. The word ‘stale’ was never allowed to cross a customer’s lips.
After six months, Miss Tilly was so pleased with Maisie’s progress that she put her in charge of her own station of eight tables, and after another six months, several regulars would insist that Maisie served them. Miss Tilly solved the problem by increasing Maisie’s allocation of tables to twelve, and raising her pay to a shilling an hour. With two pay packets coming in each week, Maisie was once again able to wear both her engagement ring and her wedding ring, and the silver-plated tea strainer was back in its place.
If Maisie was honest about it, Stan being released from prison for good behaviour after only eighteen months turned out to be a bit of a mixed blessing.
Harry, now aged three and a half, had to move back into his mother’s room, and Maisie tried not to think about just how peaceful it had been while Stan was away.
Maisie was surprised when Stan got his old job back at the docks as if nothing had happened. This only convinced her that he knew far more about Arthur’s disappearance than he let on, however much she pressed him. On one occasion when she became a little too persistent, he belted her one. Although, the following morning, Miss Tilly pretended not to notice the black eye, one or two of the customers did, so Maisie never raised the subject with her brother again. But whenever Harry asked him about his father, Stan stuck to the family line and said, ‘Your old man was killed in the war. I was standin’ by his side when the bullet hit him.’
Maisie spent as much of her spare time with Harry as she could. She assumed that once he was old enough to attend Merrywood Elementary School, her life would become a lot easier. But taking Harry to school in the morning meant the added expense of a tram ride to make sure she was not late for work. She would then take a break in the afternoon so she could pick him up from school. Once Maisie had given him his tea, she would leave him in the care of his grandma and return to work.
Harry had only been at school for a few days when Maisie noticed some cane marks on his backside while she was giving him his weekly bath.
‘Who did that?’ she demanded.
‘The headmaster.’
‘Why?’
‘Can’t tell you, Mum.’
When Maisie saw six new red stripes even before the previous ones had faded, she questioned Harry again, but still he didn’t let on. The third time the marks appeared, she put on her coat and set off for Merrywood Elementary with the intention of giving his teacher a piece of her mind.
Mr Holcombe wasn’t at all what Maisie had expected. To start with, he couldn’t have been much older than she was, and he stood up when she entered the room - not at all like the teachers she remembered from her days at Merrywood.
‘Why is my son being caned by the headmaster?’ she demanded, even before Mr Holcombe had a chance to offer her a seat.
‘Because he keeps playing truant, Mrs Clifton. He disappears soon after morning assembly, and gets back in time for football in the afternoon.’
‘So where is he spending the day?’
‘At the docks would be my guess,’ said Mr Holcombe. ‘Perhaps you might be able to tell me why.’
‘Because his uncle works there, and he’s always telling Harry that school is a waste of time because sooner or later he’ll end up joining him at Barrington’s.’
‘I hope not,’ said Mr Holcombe.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Maisie. ‘It was good enough for his father.’
‘That may well be, but it won’t be good enough for Harry.’
‘What do you mean?’ Maisie asked indignantly.
‘Harry is bright, Mrs Clifton. Very bright. If only I could persuade him to attend class more regularly, there’s no saying what he might achieve.’
Maisie suddenly wondered if she would ever find out which of the two men was Harry’s father.
‘Some clever children don’t discover how bright they are until after they’ve left school,’ continued Mr Holcombe, ‘and then spend the rest of their lives regretting the wasted years. I want to make sure Harry does not fall into that category.’
‘What would you like me to do?’ asked Maisie, finally sitting down.
‘Encourage him to stay at school, and not slope off to the docks every day. Tell him how proud you’d be if he did well in class, and not only on the football field - which, just in case you didn’t realize, Mrs Clifton, isn’t his forte.’
‘His forte?’
‘I do apologize. But even Harry must have worked out by now that he’s never going to make the school XI, let alone play for Bristol City.’
‘I’ll do anything I can to help,’ promised Maisie.
‘Thank you, Mrs Clifton,’ said Mr Holcombe as Maisie rose to leave. ‘If you felt able to encourage him, I’ve no doubt it will be far more effective in the long term than the headmaster’s cane.’
From that day, Maisie began to take a far greater interest in what Harry got up to at school. She enjoyed listening to his stories about Mr Holcombe and what he’d taught him that day, and as the stripes didn’t reappear, she assumed he must have stopped playing truant. And then one night just before going to bed, she checked on the sleeping child and found that the stripes were back, redder and deeper than before. She didn’t need to go and see Mr Holcombe, because he called in at the tea shop the following day.
‘He managed to come to my class for a whole month,’ said Mr Holcombe, ‘and then he disappeared again.’
‘But I don’t know what more I can do,’ said Maisie helplessly. ‘I’ve already stopped his pocket money, and told him not to expect another penny from me unless he stays at school. The truth is, his uncle Stan has far more influence over him than I do.’
‘More’s the pity,’ said Mr Holcombe. ‘But I may have found a solution to our problem, Mrs Clifton. However, it has no chance of succeeding without your full cooperation.’
Maisie assumed that although she was only twenty-six, she would never marry again. After all, widows with a child in tow were not much of a catch when there were so many single women available. The fact that she always wore her engagement and wedding rings probably cut down the number of propositions she received at the tea shop, although one or two still tried it on. She didn’t include dear old Mr Craddick, who just liked to hold her hand.
Mr Atkins was one of Miss Tilly’s regulars, and he liked to sit at one of the tables where Maisie was serving. He dropped in most mornings, always ordering a black coffee and a piece of fruit cake. To Maisie’s surprise, after he’d paid his bill one morning, he invited her to the cinema.
‘Greta Garbo in Flesh and the Devil,’ he said, trying to make it sound more tempting.
This wasn’t the first time one of the customers had asked Maisie out, but it was the first time someone young and good-looking had shown any interest.
In the past, her stock response had succeeded in putting off the most persistent of suitors. ‘How kind of you, Mr Atkins, but I like to spend any spare time I have with my son.’
‘Surely you could make an exception for just one evening?’ he said, not giving up quite as easily as the others.
Maisie glanced quickly at his left hand: no sign of a wedding ring, or, even more damning, a pale circle revealing that one had been removed.
She heard herself saying, ‘How kind of you, Mr Atkins,’ and agreed to meet him on Thursday evening, after she’d put Harry to bed.
‘Call me Eddie,’ he said, leaving a sixpenny tip.
Maisie was impressed when Eddie turned
up in a Flatnose Morris to drive her to the cinema. And to her surprise, all he got up to while they sat together in the back row was to watch the film. She wouldn’t have complained if he had put an arm around her shoulder. In fact, she was considering how far she would let him go on their first date.
After the curtain came down, the organ lit up and they all rose to sing the National Anthem.
‘Care for a drink?’ asked Eddie as they made their way out of the cinema.
‘I ought to be getting home before the trams pack up for the night.’
‘You don’t have to worry about the last tram, Maisie, when you’re with Eddie Atkins.’
‘All right then, just a quick one,’ she said as he guided her across the road to the Red Bull.
‘So what do you do, Eddie?’ Maisie asked as he placed a half pint of orange squash on the table in front of her.
‘I’m in the entertainment business,’ he said, without going into any detail. Instead, he switched the subject back to Maisie. ‘I don’t have to ask what you do.’
After a second orange juice, he looked at his watch and said, ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’d better get you home.’
On the way back to Still House Lane, Maisie chatted about Harry, and how she was hoping he would join the choir at Holy Nativity. Eddie seemed genuinely interested, and when he brought the car to a halt outside No. 27, she waited for him to kiss her. But he just jumped out, opened the car door for her and accompanied Maisie to her front door.
Maisie sat at the kitchen table and told her mother everything that had happened, or not happened, that night. All Grandma had to say was, ‘What’s his game?’
13
WHEN MAISIE SAW Mr Holcombe walk into Holy Nativity accompanied by a smartly dressed man, she assumed that Harry must be in trouble again. She was surprised, because there hadn’t been any red marks for over a year.
She braced herself as Mr Holcombe headed towards her, but the moment he saw Maisie he simply gave her a shy smile before he and his companion slipped into the third pew on the other side of the aisle.
From time to time, Maisie glanced across to look at them, but she didn’t recognize the other man, who was considerably older than Mr Holcombe. She wondered if he might be the headmaster of Merrywood Elementary.
When the choir rose to sing the first anthem, Miss Monday glanced in the direction of the two men, before nodding to the organist to show that she was ready.
Maisie felt that Harry excelled himself that morning, but she was surprised when a few minutes later he rose to sing a second solo, and even more surprised when he performed a third. Everyone knew that Miss Monday never did anything unless there was a reason, but it still wasn’t clear to Maisie what that reason might be.
After the Reverend Watts had blessed his flock at the end of the service, Maisie remained in her place and waited for Harry to appear, hoping he’d be able to tell her why he’d been asked to sing three solos. As she chatted anxiously to her mother, her eyes never left Mr Holcombe, who was introducing the older man to Miss Monday and the Reverend Watts.
A moment later, the Reverend Watts led the two men into the vestry. Miss Monday marched down the aisle towards Maisie, a resolute look on her face, which every parishioner knew meant she was on a mission. ‘Can I have a private word with you, Mrs Clifton?’ she asked.
She didn’t give Maisie a chance to reply, but simply turned and walked back down the aisle towards the vestry.
Eddie Atkins hadn’t shown his face in Tilly’s for over a month, but then one morning he reappeared and took his usual seat at one of Maisie’s tables. When she came over to serve him, he gave her a huge smile, as if he’d never been away.
‘Good morning, Mr Atkins,’ Maisie said as she opened her notepad. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘My usual,’ said Eddie.
‘It’s been so long, Mr Atkins,’ said Maisie. ‘You’ll have to remind me.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, Maisie,’ said Eddie, ‘but I had to go to America at rather short notice, and I only got back last night.’
She wanted to believe him. Maisie had already admitted to her mother that she was a little disappointed she hadn’t heard from Eddie after he’d taken her to the cinema. She’d enjoyed his company and felt the evening had gone rather well.
Another man had started visiting the tea shop regularly, and like Eddie he would only sit at one of Maisie’s tables. Although she couldn’t help noticing that he was showing considerable interest in her, she didn’t give him any encouragement, because not only was he middle-aged but he was also wearing a wedding ring. He had a detached air about him, like a solicitor who is studying a client, and whenever he spoke to her he sounded a little pompous. Maisie could hear her mother asking, ‘What’s his game?’ But perhaps she’d misunderstood his intentions, because he never once tried to strike up a conversation with her.
Even Maisie couldn’t resist a grin when, a week later, both of her suitors dropped in for a coffee on the same morning, and both asked if they could meet up with her later.
Eddie was first, and he got straight to the point. ‘Why don’t I pick you up after work this evening, Maisie? There’s something I’m rather keen to show you.’
Maisie wanted to tell him she already had a date, just to make him realize she wasn’t available whenever it suited him, but when she returned to his table a few minutes later with his bill, she found herself saying, ‘I’ll see you after work then, Eddie.’
She still had a smile on her face when the other customer said, ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, Mrs Clifton?’
Maisie wondered how he knew her name.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to speak to the manageress, Mr … ?’
‘Frampton,’ he replied. ‘No, thank you, it’s you I was hoping to speak to. Might I suggest we meet at the Royal Hotel during your afternoon break? It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes of your time.’
‘Talk about buses never turning up when you need one,’ Maisie said to Miss Tilly, ‘and then two arrive at once.’ Miss Tilly told Maisie she thought she recognized Mr Frampton, but couldn’t place him.
When Maisie presented Mr Frampton with his bill, she emphasized that she could only spare fifteen minutes because she had to be on time to pick up her son from school at four o’clock. He nodded as if that was something else he was aware of.
Was it really in Harry’s best interests to apply for a scholarship to St Bede’s?
Maisie wasn’t sure who to discuss the problem with. Stan was bound to be against the idea, and wasn’t likely to consider the other side of the argument. Miss Tilly was too close a friend of Miss Monday’s to give a dispassionate view, and the Reverend Watts had already advised her to seek the Lord’s guidance, which hadn’t proved particularly reliable in the past. Mr Frobisher had seemed such a nice man, but he’d made it clear that only she could make the final decision. Mr Holcombe hadn’t left her in any doubt how he felt.
Maisie didn’t give Mr Frampton another thought until she’d finished serving her last customer. She then exchanged a pinafore for her old coat.
Miss Tilly watched through the window as Maisie set off in the direction of the Royal Hotel. She felt a little anxious, but wasn’t sure why.
Although Maisie had never been in the Royal before, she knew it had the reputation of being one of the best-run hotels in the West Country, and the chance to see it from the inside was one of the reasons she’d agreed to see Mr Frampton.
She stood on the opposite pavement and watched as customers pushed their way through the revolving doors. She’d never seen anything quite like them, and only when she felt confident she’d got the hang of how they worked did she cross the road and step inside. She pushed a little too hard and found herself propelled into the foyer more quickly than she’d anticipated.
Maisie looked around and spotted Mr Frampton sitting alone in a quiet alcove in the corner of the foyer. She walked across to join him. He imm
ediately rose from his place, shook hands with her, and waited until she had taken the seat opposite him.
‘Can I order you a coffee, Mrs Clifton?’ he asked, and before she could reply he added, ‘I should warn you, it’s not in the same class as Tilly’s.’
‘No, thank you, Mr Frampton,’ said Maisie, whose only interest was to find out why he wanted to see her.
Mr Frampton took his time lighting a cigarette, then inhaled deeply. ‘Mrs Clifton,’ he began as he placed the cigarette on the ashtray, ‘you cannot have failed to notice that I have recently become a regular customer at Tilly’s.’ Maisie nodded. ‘I have to confess that my only reason for visiting the cafe was you.’ Maisie had her well-prepared ‘amorous suitor’ line ready for just as soon as he stopped talking. ‘In all the years I’ve been in the hotel trade,’ he continued, ‘I’ve never seen anyone do their job more efficiently than you. I only wish that every waitress in this hotel was of your calibre.’
‘I’ve been well trained,’ said Maisie.
‘So have the other four waitresses in that tea shop, but none of them has your flair.’
‘I’m flattered, Mr Frampton. But why are you telling—’
‘I am the general manager of this hotel,’ he said, ‘and I’d like you to take charge of our coffee room, which is known as the Palm Court. As you can see - ‘ he waved a hand expansively - ‘we have about a hundred covers, but less than a third of the places are regularly occupied. That’s not exactly a worthwhile return on the company’s investment. No doubt that would change if you were to take over. I believe I can make it worth your while.’
Maisie didn’t interrupt him.
‘I can’t see why your hours should differ greatly from those of your current employment. I’d be willing to pay you five pounds a week, and all the tips earned by the waitresses in the Palm Court would be split fifty-fifty with you. If you were able to build up the clientele, that could prove very remunerative. And then I—’
Only Time Will Tell (2011) Page 10
