It could only be that that person didn’t think at the time, then when realisation dawned Reuben was already gone, so it was too late to ask where he lived, or could the person come to the house with him?
That was the answer. She set the machine in motion. There had been no malice in the action, no hurtful intent; information had been given solely out of concern for public safety and in that had possibly safeguarded Reuben.
Who are you? The thought whispered in Miriam’s mind. Maybe one day I will know, one day I can say thank you.
He had gone back to the factory. Katrin glanced at the meal her father had scarcely touched. It was not the fault of her cooking, she had been taught cookery at school, lessons augmented by her mother with results appreciated and complimented upon by her father. And Violet had taught her much more than how to prepare a meal. Unwittingly she had taught patience, how to wait and watch for that right moment. Violet had not known she was guiding a young girl along that path, that her own evasive answering of questions put so long ago, her long-held silence concerning secrets held in a box, was paving that path.
Plate and cutlery washed and put away, Katrin glanced at the table. It had become a ritual with her mother, placing gas masks, torch, matches and candle together with flask and blankets on the table last thing before going to bed; ready, she would say, in case of an air raid. Now Katrin followed that same ritual, preparing for a dash from the house to the shelter in the garden. But she set out those things only to reassure her father, to have him believe she would go into the shelter in an emergency.
Her father and Isaac Eldon spent so much of the day together. Will o’ the wisp, Katrin’s thoughts flitted. They spent so many hours talking, testing and re-testing parts of new machinery, nursing it into position with all the care you would give a newly born child, barely leaving it long enough to take a meal in the factory canteen.
But that suited her. Snapping off the light she cast a quick look into the living room. Satisfied her father had positioned the mesh fireguard across the fire he had banked for the night, she walked upstairs. She did not mind being alone. No. She smiled at the reflection that jumped into the mirror as she flicked on the light. Being left to her own devices suited Katrin Hawley very well, especially so at Prodor.
Her father and Eldon were not the only ones devoting almost every minute to that new project; Arthur Whitman was there with them, there on the factory floor and not in his office.
‘That is most acceptable to you, is it not, Miss Hawley?’ Katrin laughed the reply. ‘Very, it is very acceptable.’
She had thought that Eldon would be reinstalled as manager on his return to Prodor, but that had not transpired. Nor, as yet, had Whitman done as he proposed and hired a man to act in that capacity. While he was so engrossed in seeing machinery installed, in getting that enterprise up and running to government specification, he was likely to leave more and more administration of affairs in the hands of his secretary.
‘Your capable hands, Miss Hawley, that is the way it must remain.’
Right now Arthur Whitman depended upon her only as his secretary, but that would be remedied. She would get the other half! After all, he had been a married man, had known the comfort of the marital bed, comfort he must be missing.
Crossing the room, Katrin picked up the carrier bag she had deposited on her bed when returning from Birmingham. She emptied its contents and touched a hand to the cloud of sapphire silk chiffon spilling onto the cover.
This was one more thing Violet had taught. Use what you have to your best advantage. This dress would help her do that. Holding it against her, Katrin turned again to the mirror. The sales woman had seemed reluctant to let it go, had said there would probably be nothing of its quality until the war was over . . . and the price, could madam . . .
She had not said more. Katrin’s sharp retort that cost was irrelevant cut the woman short. It had not been completely truthful. But that was of no consequence. Her glance sliding to the drawer of her dressing table Katrin laughed softly. ‘That would not have been a bother to you, would it, mother?’ she said. ‘Truth was never a strong contender against Violet Hawley getting what she desired.’
Nor would it be a hindrance in her daughter achieving the same. The delicate dress shimmered in the light of the bedside lamp as Katrin twirled, exulting in the swish of its softness about her legs.
The time would come; sooner or later Arthur Whitman would recognise he needed more than a secretary and when he did, Katrin would be on hand, wearing a dress which embraced the body, enfolded it like the arms of a lover.
‘You would have approved, mother,’ she murmured drawing the delicate fabric through her hands. ‘It was what you intended, wasn’t it? That your daughter marry money.’
Arthur Whitman was not the wealthiest of men but the factory he owned was already enlarging, the products it made becoming so vital to the country that there had been talk of expansion, of setting up more factories in other areas. More factories more profit. Katrin smiled. More wealth for his wife to share.
22
‘Oh God, I tell you me heart were in me mouth, I thought for certain mother were about to find out.’
‘You should’ve known better.’ Alice Butler’s mouse brown hair hung in wet strands about her neck. ‘You ought to ’ave known Kate would never give the game away.’
Dividing off a section of her friend’s damp hair then winding it onto a steel curling pin, Becky Turner answered, ‘You’re right o’ course, but you know how it is when anythin’ takes you by surprise, you just don’t think straight.’
Alice’s reply was faintly disparaging. ‘I hardly think seeing the wench out shoppin’ be a cause for not thinkin’ straight.’
‘Well it were for me!’ A touch of annoyance had Becky wind the next pin with a tug.
Wary of yet another scalp-snatching tug to her hair, Alice grabbed comb and curler, completing the task for herself while saying, ‘I don’t see why, ain’t Kate showed her can be relied on? You ask me, Kate Hawley be a real nice wench, her wouldn’t do nobody a bad turn; just look how her tried helpin’ me when I applied to join the Women’s Forces, couldn’t nobody ’ave done more and it goes wi’out saying wouldn’t anybody cover for you the way Kate has, tellin’ your mother you be spendin’ Saturday nights up at The Hollies when all the time you be off to Wolverhampton . . .’
‘Shhh!’ Becky interrupted fiercely her glance going to the doorway connecting kitchen to living room. ‘Don’t say anythin’ about that, my mother has ears a bat would envy whenever there be somethin’ her ain’t intended to hear.’
‘Like my mother.’ Alice shrugged the towel from her shoulders. ‘That one could hear a moth fart a hundred yards away, especially if the stink be somethin’ can be gossiped over for weeks.’
‘Such as marryin’ an American.’ Becky’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Lord, won’t that give Cross Street plenty to talk about?’
‘Not only Cross Street, but King Street, Queen Street and ’alf the other streets in Wednesbury, except there be one thing you’ve forgot.’
‘Forgot?’ Draping the towel about her own shoulders Becky cast a quizzical glance.
‘Oh it ain’t a big thing,’ Alice replied as the other girl took her place on the plain wooden kitchen chair. ‘It’s just you ’aven’t been asked yet.’
‘But I will be, I just know I will.’
‘Oh yes, just as surely as you know day will follow night!’
Becky’s eyes, alight with happiness a moment ago, dulled with Alice’s remark. It was true Earl had not proposed, but he would . . . he would! Hadn’t he said how much he loved her? Hadn’t he talked of her going to Miami? That was proof positive Earl intended asking her to marry him.
Alice combed the hair she’d had to wash with soap and rinsed it with vinegar to restore the shine.
‘Becky, don’t you think this has all happened a bit too quick?’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘Well, I do!’
Alice answered snap with snap. ‘You are talkin’ of marriage with a man you know next to nothin’ about.’
‘That’s not true, Earl has told me lots about himself.’
Winding a long strand of blonde hair onto a steel curling pin, Alice could almost feel the emotions riding her friend. Becky had been wound like a spring for several weeks and the cause had to be Earl Feldman. Working long hours, having to make do with little or nothing of everything was long familiar to most folk of Wednesbury, so only one thing could possibly account for these unusual mood swings and that had to be the American. Alice dipped the comb into the chipped cup kept for mixing a stolen spoonful of sugar and hot water for use as setting lotion and drew it through another strand of hair. Questions would not be exactly welcomed, but questions needed to be asked.
‘So,’ she took the plunge, ‘he’s told you lots about himself . . . like what family he has, whether he lives with them, what he does for a living?’
‘He doesn’t need to.’
‘Doesn’t need to!’ Alice stopped winding. ‘Lord, Becky, listen to yourself.’
Snatching her hair free of Alice’s fingers, Becky twisted about on the chair, her blue eyes ablaze.
‘It’s you needs to listen,’ she spat, ‘you don’t know Earl like I do!’
‘No, I don’t.’ Alice answered flatly. ‘But I know you and I’m tellin’ you not to set store by a man you’ve known such a short while. Becky . . . meetin’ a fella once a week, spendin’ all of a couple of hours together, gives no time to get to know him, I mean really know him.’
‘I know enough!’
Alice looked at the girl. How much was enough?
‘Earl’s family,’ she asked, dividing off another strand of hair, ‘do they know enough, has he been as honest with his parents as you’ve been with yours?’
Towel bunched to her mouth, eyelids pressed hard down, Becky squeezed back the tears. Almost all of what Alice said was true, Earl had told her virtually nothing. But he’d said he’d be proud to take her to the States.
The words echoed in her mind.
‘. . . I’d sure be proud . . .’
What more needed saying?
‘Excuse me.’ Katrin looked coldly at the man who had stepped up to her.
‘For what? You ’aven’t done anythin’ . . . yet.’
The slight pause jangled Katrin’s nerves, but she knew she must not let that show; to think her afraid of him would be to his advantage.
‘I’ve been wantin’ to talk wi’ you for some time.’
‘Really.’ Mouth tight, head held high Katrin’s glance was pure disdain.
‘Yes,’ The man stepped closer. ‘I been watchin’ you, y’ be a smart lookin’ wench . . .’
‘Look,’ Katrin’s nerves flared, bringing a hot reply to her tongue, ‘whatever it is you want to speak with me about, please say it and go.’
‘Ooh I like that.’ Small, wide-apart eyes glinted, ‘Got a bit o’ go in you, that can be very nice, make the finish to an evenin’ more interestin’; an’ that be what I want to talk about, an evenin’ out on the town, you an’ me, shall we say tomorrow?’
She could hit him with her gas mask box, but unfortunately that would have no lasting effect. She could cry out, call some passer-by, but that would draw attention. Discarding both ideas Katrin answered freezingly. ‘Let us rather say never.’
Katrin saw the hands curl and stretch, the rat-like eyes gleam, a smile like a snarl settle on thin lips, the reply squeezing past them. ‘You tellin’ me no?’
It had been said with the semblance of humour but Katrin heard the threat. Derision her only weapon, she deliberately hesitated, allowing a small frown to settle between her brows before answering coolly.
‘Forgive me for expecting you to understand; let me put it a little more simply. I do not wish to spend an evening with you, in fact I do not wish to spend one more moment talking to you.’
‘Oh you don’t!’ He spat savagely. ‘P’raps you’d rather spend a few hours along o’ the cop shop talkin’ to a copper.’
The police? Katrin’s affected frown became genuine, but this time it was not fear of the man but rather of what he knew. Something not propitious for her, that showed in the flicker of sly cunning in his eyes. Was it to do with Freda Evans? Had he somehow discovered who had informed against her? No, she dismissed the thought, for the police that was a closed case, and in any event passing information of that sort was not an offence. But attempting to incriminate! Katrin’s heart kicked in her chest. Could he have found out about her part in the Isaac Eldon affair?
‘I see that’s took some of the starch outta your drawers.’
Insidiously soft, the low laugh seemed to stroke its spite against her skin.
‘Now, p’raps you’ll be a bit more pleasant.’
She had to fight back, give her brain time to think.
‘I really see no reason why . . .’
‘Then forgive my not expectin’ you to understand!’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Let me put it a little more simply, either you be pleasant, and I mean that in more ways than talkin’ nice, or I tells the coppers about a couple of extra ration books in a house along of Hollies Drive.’
‘Extra ration books?’ Katrin strove to keep relief from her voice.
‘Don’t come the old soldier with me! Remember who it be you’re talking to, you know very well what ration books.’
‘Oh, those books.’ Katrin’s smile was cracked ice. ‘If you are referring to the illegal ones sold to my mother then I must disillusion you, they were burned long ago, and as for her own, that was handed back to the Food Office. You may enquire there for yourself, you will find their records verify what I have told you. In fact, if you really desire my company I will go with you to that office, they will be most interested to learn who supplied the illegal ration books and so, I am sure, will the police.’
He would not risk that. The hand that flung her away smoothed sand-coloured hair already slick with Brilliantine, the eyes sparking malice. Jim Slater was not fool enough to venture the business of black marketeering. He didn’t want that and the questionable reason of his not being conscripted into the Armed Forces undergoing a thorough investigation.
‘Bloody smart-arsed bitch!’
He had gone.
Katrin turned toward home.
But was that the last she would see of Jim Slater?
‘It’s gone better than expected. Thanks to your “baby” the production of shell has increased significantly, the Ministry extends its appreciation as I am sure one day the nation will.’
‘It is these should be thanked.’ Arthur Whitman answered a stockily built middle-aged man who stood watching women machinists riveting base plates to large shell cases. ‘God knows the men here work hard enough, but without the women we could not produce anywhere near what the Ministry asks.’
‘Which brings me to a further reason for our visit here today.’
You guessed right! Arthur Whitman smiled grimly to himself as he followed the stocky man and his dark-suited retinue out of the noise-filled machine shop. This ‘thank you’ came with a ‘but’ at the end of it.
‘As I said . . .’
In Whitman’s office, the stocky Ministry official glanced at the young woman carrying a tea tray, his sentence hanging in the air until she left the room.
‘As I said,’ he repeated, taking a cup and adding sugar and milk, ‘production has increased thanks to the process designed by you, but if we wish to win this war then that output has to be further added to.’
‘Sir.’ Arthur Whitman’s manner cooled visibly. ‘You and your colleagues have seen the way people are working here, the sheer physical effort that work involves, effort continued with day and night shifts, a twenty-four hour cycle done willingly on the part of women and of men. What they are achieving is already more than can be asked, yet you ask for a miracle.’
‘Yes.’ The near-bald head nodded sombrely. ‘We are asking for a miracle, and b
elieve me when I say it is only a miracle, a miracle performed by people like those working in your factory can save this country.’
‘But they can only do so much!’
‘The Ministry recognises that and of course offers technical assistance wherever it can.’
Technical assistance! Arthur Whitman’s thoughts were scathing. That meant dotting the ‘Is’ and crossing the ‘Ts’ on other people’s brain child!
‘The man who proposed Finished Cavity Forgings, does he work here still?’ The matter of fact tone did not disguise the keen observation of the man doing the asking, nor did it fool Arthur Whitman. These men would have made every possible investigation before coming to Wednesbury, they would know the names of every man and woman engaged at Prodor.
‘Isaac Eldon.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, he is here and so is the man who worked on the project alongside him.’
‘Jacob Hawley, an employee of Titan Engineering of Darlaston.’ Sharp eyes watched over the rim of a teacup.
So they did know! Then perhaps they should know the offer of assistance for what it was really worth.
Looking deliberately at the face of each of the men, his voice calmer than his emotions, Arthur Whitman returned levelly, ‘Both are here. Isaac Eldon, the man who construed the whole idea, and Jacob Hawley, who helped design and construct the machinery necessary for the production of Finished Cavity Forgings, between them seeing the whole thing up and running without the assistance of any government department, technical or otherwise. Would you care to speak with them? Who knows, they may be able to accomplish the miracle you spoke of.’
His smile still bland, he watched the flinch of eyes, the uncomfortable shuffle of cups on saucers. The dart had hit the board, and with no insignificant result!
‘If that will not be an impediment.’
Arthur Whitman raised a patronising eyebrow before depressing a button on the intercom. ‘Not at all, we are well used to interruption, and equally well used to dealing with it.’
‘It be a lot to ask.’
A Step Too Far Page 17
