“You expect me to work for you? Treat it as a real job?”
“If we undertake this new line, I’ll need more than one assistant and the business won’t stand an increased wages bill. You could do it, Joan. At least until the business catches up on itself. You’d be good at helping people to choose colours and styles. Will you?”
“It’s going to be the Weston Women who are going to pull Grandfather out of his present difficulties, isn’t it?”
Risking a slap, Viv kissed her and said, “Yes, with you and me at the helm.” Dramatically, he shouted, “Viv Lewis and the Weston Women, for ever!”
* * *
Gladys was sitting staring disconsolately at her various lists. One was of hair appointments and dress fittings, another was notes for the caterers. The third, of people she had hoped would be guests had more crossings off than names.
When Victoria entered and told her that a Mr Jenkins wished to see her, she perked up, straightened her hair and dabbed some powder on her nose then sat back expecting to see Old Mr Jenkins with an apology for the ill manners of his grandson. But it was Edward Jenkins who came in limping badly, and offered his hand.
“Mrs Weston, please forgive me for not recognising you yesterday. I was extremely rude and I’m sorry,” he said. “When I told Grandfather what had happened he insisted that rather than write, I should call to make my apology.”
Flattered and cheered, Gladys rang the bell for Victoria and said, “I understand, Edward. I should be used to it, after all.”
“You dropped this,” Edward said, handing her the envelope containing the invitations.”
“Oh, I hadn’t missed them. Er—” she hesitated, then once Victoria had been dispatched to bring coffee, she added, “Perhaps you and your sister would like to come?”
“Thank you. Is it a Christmas Party? Or a birthday?”
Warmed by the man’s pleasant manner, she said with a chuckle, “More in the way of a defiance party. I want to show people that we aren’t hiding away in shame, but facing the criticism head on.”
“Congratulations. Nil desperandum.”
“Er—?”
“Roughly translated as ‘Don’t let the buggers grind you down’,” he whispered and Gladys laughed delightedly.
She was enjoying her unexpected visitor, and loudly criticising Islwyn for his part in their situation, when Victoria announced more visitors and Megan and Terrence entered, followed to her dismay, by Islwyn.
Introductions followed and this time Gladys did not miss the obvious dislike between Edward and his cousin, Terrence. Gladys was embarrassed at the presence of Islwyn, specially after the way she had been discussing him with Edward. To cover her unease she was rude to him, ignoring any remark he made, or disagreeing when he added a word and generally making it clear to Edward and Terrence that she had not forgiven him for his treachery.
Islwyn was furious having heard something of what had been said. He sat down near the table on which Gladys’s lists were spread and, seeing the list with the name and phone number of the caterers, he memorised it. Later, he rang them to inform them the party was cancelled and that their services would not be required.
The visit from Edward Jenkins cheered Gladys enormously and she began to make plans for her granddaughter Joan to meet him. He was handsome enough and certainly well connected. A bit old perhaps but, she thought with a smile, sufficiently unconventional and outspoken to appeal to her wayward Joan. She wondered if his sister Margaret would suit her grandson? It really was time Jack settled down and produced a child.
In Goldings Street, Jack was helping Victoria to hang some curtains and thinking the same thing.
Chapter Nine
Gwennie Woodlas’s gown shop had its regular clientele and although it was usually busy, on occasions Gwennie would decide she needed a break and would close the shop and head by taxi to the Rose Tree Café near the lake.
When Gladys and her granddaughters arrived to choose dresses for the party, they had telephoned first to be sure they wouldn’t have a wasted journey, but when they tried the door it was locked. Giving a very ladylike snort of irritation, Gladys herded them to an hotel and ordered afternoon tea.
“Really, I don’t know why we patronise the woman,” Gladys complained as their teas were poured. “We could just as easily go into Cardiff and find what we want in one of the finer stores.”
Joan and Megan glanced at each other. They knew why. It was so everyone of any importance – and that meant most of Gwennie’s clients – would know they had been shopping and had bought expensive dresses.
When they left the hotel and made their way back to the gown shop, Gwennie was serving one of Gladys’s ex-friends. Gladys amused herself by make caustic comments on the unsuitability of the garments the woman selected to try on.
When the customer had gone, Gwennie locked the door and told them she was ‘theirs’ until they were satisfied. At fifty-eight, Gwennie Woodlas was a very wealthy widow. Her husband had given her the money to start a small shop and once she had flattered her way into the confidence of the wealthy women of the town, she hadn’t looked back. She did have a secret that she did not disclose: she was related to the Griffithses.
“Was it a little number in black for you, Gladys dear?” Gwennie asked.
“Good heavens, Gwennie, dear, it’s for a party not a wake!”
Gwennie pulled out three dresses, each one more expensive than the last and hurriedly pulled the price label and size off each one.
“Size thirty-six bust that one is. Get into that with ease you will,” she said, screwing up the label which clearly stated size thirty-eight.
The session went on, each of the Weston women being flattered and scolded and admired until Gladys had chosen a blue velvet and the girls in their usual way had decided on something more suitable for a summer fete than a winter dance. A diamanté hair ornament on Gladys was echoed with feathered hair ornaments on the twins chosen from the bridesmaids selection.
Gwennie gathered up forty pounds in crisp white fivers and handed them the change, sighing with contentment. She had shifted the blue velvet she thought would never go, and convinced Gladys she’d had a bargain. As for the twins, really they were just pig-headed, and easy to persuade to buy the blue and yellow dresses left over from summer by telling them they were model previews for the spring collection.
She sorted through and decided on the ones she might offer to Sian and Sally when they came. It might be worth going to the warehouse again. They sometimes chose to dress in identical clothes and if she found a pair in their favourite blue to match their mother she could give them some false psychic drivel about a united front in adversity and ‘seeing’ the colour was right. Sally usually fell for that although Sian was more sceptical.
Covering the railful of long dresses in the white wraps, she closed the shop and sat in the small back room to decide where she would eat. Perhaps the Ship Hotel, or that new French style restaurant on the main road. She sighed contentedly. Really, life was remarkably good compared with her expectations as a young woman. But no doubt she had earned it.
* * *
Rhiannon emptied the last few sweets from a jar of mixed boiled, and put the empty jar aside. Now the contents had been sold, in two ounce and four ounce portions, it meant another four shillings and twopence profit. The business was improving week by week.
Her decision to fill the small shop with as many varieties as she could fit on the shelves had paid off. Although it meant keeping a very close watch on the stock and more than the usual number of orders each month. Space was precious and without the support of her suppliers she wouldn’t have succeeded.
More and more people used Temptations for their weekly treats and the Christmas sales were unbelievably good. She had made a success of the shop after years of the limitations of rationing and she knew Nia was pleased with her. If only Barry were more demonstrative and showed her how proud he was of her, life would have been sweeter than the swee
ts she sold.
She looked up at a customer and smiled politely. It was that newcomer, Terry Jenkins again. He was looking at the larger boxes of chocolates and she stepped forward to help him.
“For a young lady?” she asked. “Or for a mother or aunt perhaps?”
“A young lady. So tell me, Rhiannon, which of these boxes would you like to be given?”
“You know my name,” she said curiously.
“Oh, I haven’t been back long but I’ve sussed out the prettiest ladies in Pendragon Island,” he smiled. “You’re the sister of Viv Lewis and a close friend of Basil Griffiths’s wife Eleri. Right?”
“You have done your homework.”
He choose a two-pound box with a picture of kittens on the cover and winked as he gave her the money. “This should soften her up, don’t you think?”
As he left, Rhiannon’s smile slipped. He was charming, and handsome in a rather obvious way but she sensed in him an undercurrent of something akin to irritation and knew that she wouldn’t like to be the one receiving the chocolates. Barry was hardly the most attentive of men, but at least she trusted him and felt safe with him. She didn’t think she’d feel the same with Terry Jenkins.
Perhaps that was what Viv felt too. He made no secret of his dislike for Terry and he hated the idea of Megan seeing him. She shrugged impatiently. Viv was an idiot worrying, but he had always felt protective towards those silly Weston Girls.
She adjusted the display of Christmas cards which she had stocked for the first time this year. An addition to the selection of birthday cards, they had moved surprisingly well.
Christmas was fast approaching but before that there was the party which everyone except Gladys Weston referred to as the Westons’ Christmas Party. She had decided not to phone Jimmy and tell him she would go with Barry. Jimmy’s car would be better than getting her taffeta dress crunched up in Barry’s van. And he was sure to expect her to sit in the back amid the tripods!
* * *
Gladys crossed off ‘Buy Party Dresses’ from her list and turned to the next item. With less than a fortnight to go, she was at the stage of checking every arrangement in the hope of avoiding last minute disasters. Picking up the phone she rang to check a few things with the caterers. That was her first shock of the day. The caterers were very sorry but they had obviously made a mistake and they were already fully booked for that day.
Arguing and pleading had no effect. Nor did talking to the manager.
“I’m very sorry, madam. But you did cancel after making the booking and now it’s too late. This is a busy time for us, you know.”
“Cancelled? But I haven’t spoken to you since I first arranged the date and venue.” She began to feel angry. “Really, you should listen when people speak to you! I am Mrs Arfon Weston. I have arranged for you to cater for my party on December eighteenth.”
“And I’m sorry, Madam, but you cancelled over a week ago!” The phone was replaced and Gladys gasped as if it had hit her.
Someone must have made a mistake. Or deliberately tried to ruin her party. Hurt and angered by that possibility she thumbed through the telephone book desperately trying to find a firm to deal with the buffet. Everywhere was fully booked. There was only Montague Court left to try and she could hardly expect two of her guests to change into caterers. Besides, the food at Montague Court was too expensive and she had firmly booked the hall anyway. In a panic she rang to confirm that arrangement was safe.
Her second shock of the day was when she asked Terrence Jenkins to call and see her. When she put it to him in what she thought was a subtle way that it was time to declare his intentions, he broke down and looked close to tears.
“Mrs Weston, I an strongly attracted to your granddaughter. I think she’s beautiful and charming and—”
“And—?”
“Well, I don’t think she cares for me. Not in the same way. We get on well, we laugh at the same things, share opinions on most subjects, but she holds back from loving me. I think she’s waiting for your approval. She thinks a lot of you, Mrs Weston, it’s much more than a grandmother-granddaughter relationship. She’d never do anything you wouldn’t like. Perhaps I’d better get out of her life before I make a fool of myself.”
At once Gladys was filled with sympathy and promised to talk to Megan, try to discover what it was that was preventing her from accepting this personable and well connected young man.
Before he left, she asked, “What are your plans for the future, Terrence? You haven’t found employment yet?”
“No, I’ve been so wrapped up in your lovely Megan I can’t think straight. I’ve decided to continue with what I do best though, and look for a position in a jewellers. There are some excellent showrooms in Cardiff.”
Gladys smiled approval. A jewellery showroom sounded so much better than a shop. She was smiling contentedly when Victoria came to remove the tea tray but the smile dropped away as she remembered the problem of finding caterers.
* * *
Victoria was not averse to eavesdropping so Jack knew about his grandmother’s difficulty with caterers before Gladys had told anyone. At The Railwayman’s that evening he mentioned it to Viv, who in turn told his mother. Dora at once decided she would offer to help.
“It can’t be difficult,” she said to Eleri the morning after Gladys’s devastating blow. “You and I could make a hundred pasties easy. They’d be mostly potato mind, with oxo and a bit of onion for flavour. And plates of sandwiches shouldn’t be difficult to fill. Cakes will be a problem, mind. We’ll have to buy them from a cake shop because of rationing, but we could make a few sponges if Gladys will hand over some of the butter she denies getting from the local farm. I bet them Griffithses of yours would find us something illegal. What d’you say, Eleri, give it a try? Dab hand I am at pastry.”
They discussed it for a while and Eleri was pleased at the prospect of earning some extra money before Christmas. Then Dora went home and phoned Gladys, who asked them to call and see her on the following day.
“No tomatoes,” Gladys said firmly before they had opened their mouths. “And definitely no beetroot, they are death to party frocks and everyone will be in their best.”
They assured her there would be no tomatoes and not a beetroot in sight.
“It won’t look – er – shoddy, will it?” she asked, when they had decided what they could supply; “You not having done anything like this before, I mean.”
“I don’t put anything but the best in front of my family! Eleri will tell you that. We both have the highest standards.”
Eleri hurriedly agreed, afraid that Dora’s quick temper would lose them the chance of earning some extra money.
So Gladys rather doubtfully put her faith in another of the Lewises. “Who,” she complained to Arfon later, “seem determined to force their way into our lives one way and another. Where will it end?”
“If you’re thinking of Viv marrying Joan, forget it,” Arfon said. “Even Viv knows just how far he can go with me.”
“Oh, no, I’m not worried about Joan, I have plans for her.” Gladys smiled as she thought of the mannerly and unmarried Edward.
* * *
Joan and Viv were in a huddle, measuring out how much of the present shop area they could allot to carpets. Joan was crawling on the floor with a measuring tape in her mouth and a long length of 2" x 2" wood in her hand. “This is crazy,” she muttered. “How can we imagine what it would look like with a length of wood and a few chalk marks?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Viv said. “And keep that bit of wood straight or I can’t get a proper line.”
They struggled on for a while, then Viv reached down to haul Joan to her feet. She resisted and instead she lay on the floor and he knelt beside her. The shop lights were on but they were hidden from sight by the partitions erected to represent rooms. “Tired?” Viv asked solicitously.
“D’you think Grandfather really will allow this expansion, Viv?”
“You do, do you?” she looked up at him provocatively. “Always?”
He pinned her arms at her side and lowered his head until their lips were less than an inch apart. “Sometimes I bully, sometimes I plead, and then there are times when I just wait,” he said. Her eyes looked huge and he wanted to let go and submit to the temptation they offered, but he didn’t. “Come on, love, let’s get you home before your mam and dad send out a search party.”
“They don’t worry about us all that much,” Joan said as she shrugged on her coat. “Too busy looking after the lodgers.”
“Then they should. Lovely you are, Joan Weston. Lovely, desirable and terribly, terribly tempting and they shouldn’t let you out of their sight.”
“I’m safe enough with you,” she said. “They should look after Megan, though.”
“She’s with the handsome and well-connected Terry I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“And they think he’d be some catch, him being a Jenkins?”
“Background but no money! I can’t bear the man.”
“I always knew you were the clever one,” Viv said. “Smarmy sod is what he is.”
“Megan thinks he’s wonderful but – I know this sounds stupid but I think she’s a little afraid of him.”
“Want me to have a word?”
She shook her head before fixing a scarf around her hair. “I’ll try and get Megan to talk to me. That’s part of the worry. We’ve always talked to each other, there’s never been any secrets, but since Terry’s been on the scene she clams up.”
* * *
Later that evening, Megan was leaving the house in Glebe Lane with Terry. The house was empty apart from Joan, and she was dressing ready to meet Viv at her grandparents to discuss further the plans for the extended showroom. Megan and Terry intended going to the pictures but at the end of the road he pulled her to face him. “Megan love, d’you really want to go to the pictures?”
The Weston Girls Page 15
