by Jane Tulloch
“We do our best,” replied Louise with dignity. “Now perhaps we could clean up your wrist for you?”
He grudgingly agreed to have his wrist dabbed with a clean cloth fetched from the kitchen and Margaret found a bottle of TCP which they applied generously, to the man’s wincing discomfort.
“We’ve met before I think?” enquired Margaret in a voice Louise instantly recognised as dangerous.
“I don’t think so,” came the reply.
“Were you not on the boat the other week? I’m sure we saw you in the bar.” Louise glared pointedly as Margaret continued. “I do hope you found it comfortable in that window seat.”
He nodded, “Oh yeah, the two old dears from the bar. I probably did you a favour keeping you off the gin. Am I right or am I right?” He looked at them enquiringly. He seemed to have recovered from his injury and was on the point of laughter. There was a stunned silence. No one had ever said anything like that to either of them.
Louise recovered first, albeit stiffly. “What can we get you? Was it groceries or something else perhaps? We have a small selection of postcards if you’re interested.”
He looked around the shop and then, to their acute discomfiture, burst out laughing. “Jeez, I’ve not seen anything like this since I was a kid in Arkansas. It’s sooooo old fashioned and the stock is just awful. Thanks ladies but no thanks. Time for you to give this up. Face it girls you’re obviously not cut out for retail in this century.”
He made to leave, but turned at the door, “Just a minute though, think I’ll take a snap. Must preserve this museum for posterity.” Quickly, he took out his camera and, with a bright flash, captured the shabby little shop and its startled staff in a washed-out image that he’d pass around his friends for a glimpse of old time ‘Scaaaatland’. He left. The ladies were pleased to watch his rapid retreat along the path with the dog in hot pursuit.
There was a short silence. “That dog’s good for something at last,” Margaret pronounced, but Louise ruefully pointed out that it could have meant trouble for Mrs McNeil if he decided to sue. However, all was well, if not necessarily prosperous.
Mrs McNeil arrived back at the end of the week with Dolina, the new baby and an assortment of younger McNeils. It was clear their rooms would be required, but by this time the ladies felt they had been on Shepsay for weeks if not months. Their days had lapsed into a relaxed routine: manning the shop, reading, serving the occasional customer and cashing up the meagre takings while meticulously recording it in the ledger they found under the counter. Mrs McNeil was thrilled that they had somehow doubled takings and thanked them from the bottom of her heart for looking after the shop. The whole family waved the ladies off on their way back to the harbour.
They discussed their stint behind a counter in the car. “If that’s doubling takings, it’s surely not worth her while keeping the shop open at all?” queried Margaret with her usual eye to the bottom line.
“Maybe not. Maybe it’s a way of life more than anything else?” suggested Louise. Margaret nodded, “Yes. That’ll be it. I bet her parents had that shop before her.”
“Like you, you mean?” They both laughed.
Returning to work the next week, Louise’s mind raced over what she should be doing. Her holiday had not allowed her the time she’d expected to ponder the dilemma of Iain’s pronouncements. Meanwhile, Margaret mentally drew up an agenda for that day’s management meeting. There was a lot to catch up on.
“And so,” Mr McElvey droned on in the conclusion of a forty-minute lecture on what they had missed, “We have had a relatively good fortnight, although sales in the Food Hall were down.”
“Thank you, Mr McElvey” Margaret nodded graciously. “Sounds like you all did very well. Now, to return to the matter we were discussing at our last meeting, have you any thoughts about recruiting new people at management level? As I said before, we’re none of us getting any younger. We need some new blood. And some new ideas to help us keep up with the times.”
After some discussion it was decided to advertise nationally and to wait and see what the response was before taking any firm decisions. Louise set off back to her office to draw up a job description. Margaret wanted to check it over when it was done to see if it captured exactly the sort of person they were looking for. Mr McElvey, naturally, wanted to think through the cost implications.
The next month the management team met to examine the applications for the new junior management jobs. There were some from staff at other local department stores. Several of these were earmarked to be invited for interviews. Louise was particularly pleased to find some internal applications including ‘Flash’ Harry Ferguson, Samantha Cooper and, surprisingly, Anjali Joshi. It was decided that each of these deserved to be taken seriously and appointments were made for their interviews. Margaret flicked through the remainder of the application forms, discarding each for different reasons, too old, too young, too frivolous and so on. She paused at one.
“Hold on, looks like a promising one here,” she informed the others, “Lots of experience already, knows the market, accountancy qualifications, trained in New York. He sounds terrific, we’ll need to see him.”
The others nodded enthusiastically, although Mr McElvey muttered suspiciously about some people being too good to be true.
By 4pm the following Thursday the two ladies had interviewed seven prospective new junior managers. Over a cup of tea in the boardroom they debated whether it would look bad if they favoured the internal candidates, but Harry, Samantha and Anjali had all been very impressive and had each talked with enthusiasm of different aspects of the job. Together, they had the potential to be a very effective team in a few years’ time. Just what they were looking for.
Margaret was pleased about Anjali’s application. Remembering the fracas and her eventual employment at Murrays, she was very glad the girl was doing so well and felt settled enough to apply to the management training scheme. Her faith in Anjali had evidently paid off. She hoped her parents were pleased with how it had all turned out.
There was only one applicant left to interview. He was due at 4.15pm. There was a knock at the door, Mrs Carr stuck her head in to say that their last interviewee had arrived. “Thank you. Show him in please,” called out Louise.
They sat back expectantly, smiling warmly to put the newcomer at his ease. The smiles disappeared rapidly, however, as the new entrant sat down and confidently scanned their faces over the boardroom table.
He half stood up again and reached a hand forward, “Hi, I’m Gary Halverson, glad to meet you and you’ll be?” he enquired of Margaret who had stood up.
There was a pause, and then, “I’ll be wondering if your wrist has healed up yet? That’s who I’ll be.”
Louise frowned warningly at her and intervened smoothly, “Good afternoon Mr Halverson. Allow me to introduce my colleague Miss Murray, owner of this establishment. I believe we’ve met before. I’m Mrs Pegram, head of Personnel.”
A puzzled expression played over his face. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m sure I would remember two such gracious ladies,” he murmured emolliently, bowing slightly towards them, confident of his effect on middle-aged ladies.
“You weren’t quite so polite last time we met.” Miss Murray said baldly, unwilling to waste much time on the brash American. “You called us ‘old dears,’ then ‘girls,’ I think? Mrs Pegram, can you refresh my memory on that?” She turned to her friend, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“Yes I’m afraid so Mr Halverson. Perhaps you remember your recent Hebridean holiday? We met in the little shop at Farbost on Shepsay. Not impressed by it we gathered.”
“Not cut out for retail I think you said? Indeed? Well, Mr Halverson you’ll no doubt be surprised to find that, somehow, we’ve been running all this for many years.” She waved her arm to indicate the whole building.
He had the grace to look abashed and seemed temporarily lost for words. Then, “Gee I don’t k
now what to say. I can’t believe this is happening. I can only apologise. I guess I wasn’t at my politest. I was in shock after that monster dog attacked me.”
The ladies raised their eyebrows, monster dog indeed!
Margaret continued, “We never know when we’ll come across a customer and can never risk being so rude to anyone. This is a prestigious store with customers all over Scotland and beyond.
“If you are inclined to such outbursts, then you cannot be seriously considered for employment by a business that sets such store on customer service and staff attitude.”
He blustered, but was interrupted by Margaret as she continued, “I see from your application form that you have considerable experience in retail in New York. I worked there too in Bergdorf Goodman. You may have heard of it?” His eyes widened. She continued, “Yes, I too have considerable retail experience and in this experience I discovered that politeness to all was an absolute requisite for all staff at all times.”
“Yes, yes of course,” he gabbled. “It was a one-off event and I promise it will never happen again.”
Remembering the incidents on the boat, Margaret dismissed his feeble protestations. Turning to Louise, she enquired, “Do we have any back room jobs vacant at present? Away from customers?”
Louise shook her head, ruefully aware that Margaret had probably gone a bit too far. She turned her attention to the young man and said with finality, “It would seem that you are not compatible with any of the jobs in Murrays at present. It may be that you try for a job at Smedleys or some other place. But not here.” She stood up and indicated that the interview was at an end. He walked out silently and they sat back as he slammed the door bad temperedly, going on to bang the heavy corridor door behind him as he left.
Margaret looked at Louise. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say. If we hadn’t met him before the chances are we would have employed him.”
“A lucky escape then. Just like our holiday it would seem!”
Chapter 11
International Rescue
A chill wind was blowing metaphorically through the management meeting. Grim faced, Miss Murray passed round the letter she had received that morning. Personally addressed to her at her home, it was from Archie Smedley, proprietor of the great rival department store, Smedleys. Mr McElvey read it aloud to the others. It made for sad reading. Archie Smedley informed Miss Murray that, officially, Smedleys was for sale. They were forced into this due to disappearing revenue. Put plainly, they could no longer afford to trade. An offer had been received from a large chain, but Archie wondered if a merger or takeover by Murrays would be possible. Certainly, it would be preferable for him personally. He didn’t want to “cast his long-term staff to the winds”, as he put it.
The management team exchanged glances. Smedleys had been their trading competitor for as long as anyone could remember. The shop and its ethos was broadly similar to Murrays but, naturally, it was not nearly as good. They were all very sorry to hear of its demise. The implications for Murrays were stark. Would they be forced to go the same way? They were all aware that Smedleys had been running various cut-price sales for some time and that their window displays seemed to be moving further and further downmarket. Mr McElvey had previously voiced his suspicions, but he had been ignored as the voice of doom that he usually was.
There was silence for a while, then Miss Murray, who had been able to consider the letter and its suggestion for longer, spoke, “Well, what do you think? Could we buy them out? Would that be a good thing to do? Would it be financially possible?”
Mr McElvey shook his head vehemently. “We’re in no position to do that I’m afraid. I keep a keen eye on the books as you all know.” He looked at them all. They were nodding. He continued heavily, “In the trading year to date figures don’t make for good reading I’m afraid. In fact, we’re down in all departments.”
Miss Murray looked alarmed. “Ian, you should have said…”
“No, no it’s not that bad, we’re not actually trading at,” he paused, sighed, and said the words he most hated and feared, “a loss.”
Miss Murray sat back relieved. “So we just can’t buy them out? Okay. I’ll tell him that. I’ll write today.” She changed her mind. “In fact, I’ll take him out for lunch to tell him and maybe find out a bit more about the situation.” They all agreed that would be a good approach. Mr McElvey offered to join her to ‘talk turkey’ as he called it. On balance, it was thought to be potentially useful if he did. The two began to discuss dates, times and venues for the event. As soon as possible seemed best.
At the next meeting, the team looked expectantly at Miss Murray and Mr McElvey, although they had all already been updated on the outcome of the lunch. No one had been able to wait and they were already aware that Smedleys as they knew it was gone. Now the task at hand for the Murrays management was to prevent such a future for their own ‘department store of distinction.’
Mr Philipson didn’t usually enter into the cut and thrust of typical arguments that tended to go on in meetings. He was a cheerful, outgoing person with a happy, busy family life. Unlike the others, work was just that to him: work. Nevertheless, he cared a great deal about Murrays and had been as appalled as everyone else about Smedleys. He was a cultural all-rounder who, despite being keen on sport, also enjoyed attending choral concerts, art exhibitions, plays and literary events with his extended family. He spoke up now.
“I’ve been thinking. There’s a market we completely ignore and I think we could do well if we try to develop our offering to it.”
“Really?” Mr McElvey was very interested.
“Go on,” said Miss Murray.
“Well, it’s just this. Edinburgh hosts the largest international arts festival in the world. It goes on around us every August and September and it seems to me that we just pretend it isn’t happening.”
“Well, it is very inconvenient,” put in Mr Soames. “Tourists wander so slowly along, they just don’t care that some of us actually have to get to work. They fill the buses and delay the drivers. Half the staff are late every day because of it.”
Mrs Pegram had to agree.
“Well, rather than complain about it why don’t we try to capitalise on it? Why don’t we have a festival right here? In the store.” The others looked at him blankly. He went on. “I’ve really been thinking about this. How about specialist food in the Food Hall, a puppet show in the Toy Department, fashion shows and so on? There’s lots we could do. Lots of link-ups. How about offering space to the art college for art exhibitions?”
Miss Murray was very interested. “Oh yes,” she said thoughtfully, “The walls of the Furniture Department are pretty bare; we could offer space there…” She was really keen now. “How about a fashion exhibition, you know Murrays’ ladies through the ages sort of thing?”
“Yes of course. Brilliant. We’ll need to get the staff involved of course. We could ask each department for suggestions.” Mrs Pegram was on board too now. Everyone was nodding vehemently except Mr McElvey.
“It’s a great risk of course.”
“Is it? I don’t see how. It won’t cost us much except possibly in advertising.” Miss Murray was puzzled.
“We risk alienating our core customers: the Edinburgh ladies. They already avoid coming into town during the festival.”
“Good point. Maybe there’s some sort of inducement we could offer though?” They all had a think.
“How about…” said Barry, who had been very quiet up till now as he considered the security implications of encouraging foreigners into the store, “…scones?”
“Scones?”
“Yes, we could offer free scones, or rather, a free scone to any account customer who brings in a guest? The guest doesn’t have to be a foreigner, just a visitor. We could call it Murrays’ welcome policy or something similar?”
“That could be difficult to police,” said Mr McElvey, for whom offering free things was anathema. “But I see your point.”
>
Barry was warming to his theme. “Then after the festival was over we could have a welcome back policy for the account holders who stayed away over the festival anyway.”
“Well there’s certainly a lot to think about,” summed up Miss Murray, smiling at Mr Philipson in particular. “Excellent ideas all round. Let’s progress this. We have a bit of time to organise it all. Louise, can you organise a memo to all departments outlining the plan and asking for their individual suggestions? Encourage them to be imaginative. You never know what good ideas people might have.” Mrs Pegram nodded and said she’d get on it at once.
Mrs Pegram was as good as her word and a memo was circulated to each department asking them to think about how they might put on some sort of display or how they could reflect the international flavour of the season. This seemed to have the desired effect and the various departments were soon buzzing with ideas and suggestions. The buyers were asked to collate these and present them to Personnel for review and discussion by the management.
Looking at the large pile of notes that accrued from the departments it was obvious there was considerable enthusiasm for the project. Mrs Pegram shook her head in silent mirth at some of the wilder ideas: a circus in the Grand Hall, belly dancing in Ladies Lingerie or a hog roast in the Tea Room were unlikely to be taken up by the management. Their interest was noted and appreciated though. However, there were some useful ideas. The suggestion of daily puppet shows in the Toy Department, an art exhibition in the Furniture Department and play reading in the Bookshop were all considered doable.
Mrs Pegram and Miss Murray went round the various departments to discuss the suggestions. They waited politely in Hosiery while Mrs Garland and Susan served the short queue of customers. After all the ladies had left, each carrying small discreet parcels, Mrs Pegram began.
