Emma (28 page)

‘I knew you would find this if you looked hard enough, Emma. You maybe hate me for what I’ve done to you – but I thought it was best. You needed someone to protect you, look after you, but perhaps I picked the wrong man. I’m sorry. You’ve been a good daughter. There’s enough here to start you off in a new life. Use your head, Emma. If there’s any of me in you, you won’t let life get you down.’

I felt my throat close with emotion. He had done what he thought was right. My whole family had tried to protect me, but it had all gone sadly wrong.

‘Oh, Father. Why didn’t you let me decide for myself?’

‘They must be worth a lot of money.’ Mother looked at the coins as I spread them on the parlour table for her to see. She clasped my hand, excitement in her eyes. ‘I knew there must be something. I’m glad he left them to you.’

‘To us,’ I said. ‘They’re as much yours as mine, Mum.’

‘No, Emma, I don’t need them. I’m going to marry Bert. Besides, I don’t want them. I don’t want anything of Harold’s. I married him for money and that was wrong. When I leave this place, that will be the end of it as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Are you sure, Mum? I would much rather share the money with you.’

‘You’d best put them in the bank, love – until you decide what to do with them.’

‘I thought I might take them to London,’ I said. ‘Have them valued – perhaps sell them.’

‘Well, if that’s what you want,’ she said, ‘but be careful, Emma. If your father said they were worth a bit, they will be. Don’t let those dealers cheat you.’

‘No, I shan’t,’ I said and smiled at her. ‘I’ve been wanting to go to London for a while. Madge asked me to pick out some stock for her shop, but I knew Richard wouldn’t let me go, but now … I can do anything I want now, can’t I?’

‘Yes, I suppose you can.’ She looked at me uncertainly. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, I can go on my own,’ I said. ‘Will you stay here – or go to live with Mr Fitch?’

‘I’ll ask him to stay here,’ she said. ‘I shan’t move in with him until you’re settled, love.’ She hesitated, then, ‘What about the shop?’

‘Ben can look after it for a couple of days.’

‘I meant … afterwards?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It belongs to Richard, Mum. I’ll have to ask Mr Smythe what I should do.’

‘It’s yours by right,’ she said. ‘Harold wouldn’t have wanted him to have it if he’d known.’

‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘We’ll have to see, Mum. But whatever he says, I’m not going to stay here much longer.’

For the first day or so after Richard’s nocturnal visit, we lived in apprehension of another unwelcome surprise, but it didn’t happen. People came into the shop to sympathise and praise Gran – no one had a good word for Richard.

Feeling was growing in the town. Sheila told me she’d heard several threats made against him.

‘Some of the young lads are keeping an eye out for him,’ she said. ‘If they do what they’re promising, there won’t be much left for the police to pick up.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ I said. ‘I want him to be caught and punished, Sheila, as much, perhaps more than anyone. But this isn’t right. It’s like a lynch mob out of a cowboy picture.’

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ she said, laughing. ‘Most of them are all talk and no do.’ I smiled and she went out, but her visit had left me feeling cold all over and I had a premonition that something terrible was going to happen.

The next day was Gran’s funeral. The church was packed to capacity and a crowd had gathered outside to show their feelings. I heard several whispers of shame, and some of the women reached out to touch me as I passed, trying to give comfort.

I wept throughout the ceremony, partly because the church was throbbing with love. Gran
had
been loved, even by strangers who hardly knew her and simply looked forward to seeing her as they passed by her cottage each day in their train.

After the service, a feeling of peace came over me. Gran had been near her time. I felt she was beside me, her kindness and love wrapping about me as her arms had done in life. And I knew she was at peace. It was as if she was talking to me, telling me not to grieve for her, telling me to go on with my life. And that was just what I intended to do. I wasn’t going to let the thought of Richard hiding, waiting in the shadows, deter me from doing what I wanted. And first of all, I was going to take a little trip to London.

I came out of the coin dealer’s shop feeling disgusted. It was the third I’d visited that morning, and not one of them had treated me decently. Only one had offered a price, and that was hardly more than face value. The other two had asked me what I wanted, refusing to give me a valuation for the coin I’d shown them.

It was obviously going to be harder to sell Father’s collection than I’d imagined. But for the moment that would have to wait. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was time for me to meet Mr Gould at his showrooms in the Portobello Road.

I had telephoned him from my hotel on the evening of my arrival in London, making an appointment for today at noon. It had been my intention to have Father’s coins valued before that, perhaps to sell them. Now I would have to take them with me, and they were heavy. The weight of my shopping bag was making my arm ache.

I hailed a cab to take me to Mr Gould’s showrooms. My appointment was with him personally, though I hadn’t told him we had met before, just that I would like to see what he had in stock that might be suitable for Mrs Henty’s shop.

‘I’m sure we can find something,’ he’d promised. ‘I shall look forward to meeting you, Mrs Gillows.’

Getting out of the cab some fifteen minutes later, I stood outside the showroom and stared at the window. It had blinds behind the three dummies, which were all that were being shown, and looked rather dingy from the outside. However, the clothes displayed – two dresses and a smart costume – were good quality and very stylish. I thought of Sheila and the other girls I’d come to know while working in Father’s shop. Any one of them would go wild for clothes like these. But I supposed they would be far too expensive for us to sell.

Across the street, a man was pushing a rail of coats along the pavement, another was taking a pile of shirts into a tiny showroom. It was a busy road, with vans, bikes, cars and a red bus adding to the confusion. I paused for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. It was exciting, like a living, throbbing pulse. So different from the quiet streets at home, which only seemed to come alive like this on market days.

I pushed open the door of Gould’s and went in, setting the bell on the jangle. A woman turned to look at me over the top of her glasses, which perched precariously on the end of her nose.

‘Yes, can I help you?’

‘I’ve come to see Mr Gould.’

I could see him standing at the back of the large room, in what looked as if it must be his office.

‘Have you an appointment? Mr Gould is a busy man.’

‘I am Mrs Gillows. I spoke to him yesterday evening.’

She looked disbelieving but went off to inquire. He glanced in my direction; then she returned to tell me I was to go to the office. As I approached, Mr Gould came out to greet me and we shook hands.

‘Mrs Gillows. You wanted to see some stock for your shop I believe?’

‘It’s Mrs Henty’s shop – but I am her partner in the business.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘What were you looking for in particular?’

‘I’m not sure. I liked the dresses in the window. How much are they?’

‘They would cost you thirty-five shillings – which means they would retail at about three pounds and ten shillings.’

I was surprised. I had thought they would be more expensive. He chuckled as he saw my face. It was a nice sound, pleasant and comforting.

‘You’ve come direct to the manufacturer, Mrs Gillows. It was a shrewd move on your part. This way you cut out the middle man, which means you can either charge a bigger mark up or sell more cheaply than your competitors.’

‘That sounds like good business to me.’ I smiled at him. ‘Mrs Henty says I can spend fifty pounds with you this time.’

‘That’s a good start,’ he said, wrinkling his brow as his eyes went over me. ‘I can’t help feeling we’ve met before – but I can’t think where.’

I blushed. ‘We have met before, very briefly. Your wife had been shopping and …’

‘You saved her from a nasty fall,’ he said, striking his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Well, bless my soul! This is a turn up for the books. I’ve often thought of you, wished I’d asked for your name. I wanted to thank you properly.’

‘There was no need. I did very little.’

‘You were kind and thoughtful. Not many would have noticed Margaret was ill.’

‘Really, it was nothing.’

‘It meant a lot to me.’ He smiled. ‘Let me show you the rails, Mrs Gillows. Forget the prices on the tickets. I’m sure we can do better for you.’

I laughed, caught up in the excitement of my adventure.

‘This is my first go at buying for the shop. I shall need some help.’

‘Don’t buy everything in your own size,’ he joked. ‘Not everyone is as slim as you are, Mrs Gillows. You need to think about your regular customers.’ He pulled a pretty blue dress out to show me. It had a gored skirt and three-quarter length sleeves, but the neck was unusually shaped with a little roll collar. ‘This is for an older customer, someone like your mother, perhaps?’

‘Yes, it would suit her,’ I replied. ‘She could wear it with a white hat for a wedding.’

‘And this would look nice on someone of your own age …’

He went through all the rails with me, patiently pointing out the latest fashions, but advising me to stick with the tried and tested lines.

‘Nothing too outrageous for a country town.’

I made my selection, sometimes choosing a dress that was a little more expensive, a little smarter than the average. By the time we had finished there were thirty dresses and five costumes hanging on ‘my’ rail.

‘I should like to have them all,’ I said. ‘But I may have gone over my budget.’

‘Come into the office. We’ll see what we can do.’ I had left my shopping bag on a chair and he picked it up to hand it to me. ‘That’s heavy – got the Crown Jewels in there, have you?’

‘Almost,’ I said and laughed. ‘My father left me some coins. I’ve been trying to sell them, but no one will give me a valuation – at least, not a sensible one.’

‘I’m a bit of a collector myself. Would you like me to take a look at them for you?’

I didn’t hesitate. ‘Would you mind? I’d like to sell them but I don’t know how, or what they’re worth.’

I opened my bag and laid the coins on his desk. ‘I’ve been offered just over face value on this one, but I thought it might be worth more?’

He looked at the coin, nodded and drew a pad forward, making a mark on it. Then he began to open the envelopes one by one, looking carefully at each coin before returning it to its envelope. He wrote on his pad each time. The minutes ticked by and I felt awkward; I hadn’t expected him to be so thorough. This was taking a lot of his time, which must be valuable.

After he had examined all the coins, he sat frowning over his notes for so long that I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

‘Are they any good?’

He glanced up, still frowning. ‘Your father was a very shrewd man, Mrs Gillows. This is a remarkable collection. I should say at a guess that you have two or perhaps three thousand pounds worth of coins here. I’m not sure of the exact value until I check them out properly, but I could do that. I could get a price for you. A genuine price that would reflect their value.’

I felt a thrill of excitement. I hadn’t dreamed the coins would be worth so much.

‘Would you do that? Is it too much to ask you to trouble yourself for my sake?’

‘It isn’t a trouble at all, I like coins. I shall enjoy researching these properly.’ He smiled, then looked at me inquiringly. ‘If you wish me to undertake the sale on your behalf, I shall give you a receipt for them, and I shall advise you of the best price before I sell.’

‘I don’t need a receipt. I trust you.’

He smiled but shook his head. ‘Now I
am
disappointed in you, Mrs Gillows. You’ve been showing a flair for business, but the first rule of success is never to trust anyone completely. You need a receipt. I might die. You might be knocked down by a bus before you have the chance to tell anyone what you’ve done. Then what would your husband say?’

I glanced down at my lap, twisting my gloves in my hand. ‘My husband has … left me.’

‘Left a lovely girl like you? The man’s a scoundrel or a fool.’ His eyes twinkled at me. ‘I’ll put these away in the safe, then we’ll ask my assistant to make out your invoice and, if you’re agreeable, we’ll have lunch together. To thank you for your kindness to my wife a long time ago and also because I should like to know a little more about you, Mrs Gillows.’

‘My first name is Emma,’ I said, responding to his humour and charm. ‘Yes, I would like to have lunch with you, but I must see this invoice first. Mrs Henty told me not to spend more than fifty pounds.’

‘Spoken like a true professional,’ he said and chuckled. ‘Business first, then pleasure. Let’s get on with it then.’

Solomon Gould took me to the Savoy Hotel for lunch. At first I was a little overawed by my surroundings, but the friendliness of my host and the waiters, whom he seemed to know by name, soon put me at ease. Solomon, or Sol, as he preferred to be called, chose all manner of delicious things from the varied menu: fresh salmon, asparagus, tiny minted new potatoes, then a strawberry mousse with thick cream followed by coffee and handmade chocolates. He also bought me champagne.

Afterwards, I sighed with pleasure. ‘I’ve never eaten anything like this before, and this is my first taste of champagne.’

‘I thought we should celebrate the beginning of our business association,’ he said, a gleam in his dark eyes. ‘It is the start of a new era for you, Emma, and now I want you to tell me everything. All the bits you’ve left out.’

There was something about this man that made me want to tell him my story. He was like the father I would have loved to have had: solid, dependable, caring and generous. As I recounted my story, I could see the play of emotions across his face, and when I finished speaking, he laid his hand on mine for a moment.