Goodmans of Glassford Street (21 page)

Among the many fascinating places in the area was the Trades House. Then there were the City Halls lining one side of the street called Candleriggs. Many celebrities had appeared in the City Halls, including Charles Dickens, Niccolo Paganini, Oscar Wilde and Harriet Beecher Stowe, who wrote
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
and who came to gain support in Glasgow for her campaign against slavery.

Abi had no doubt whatsoever that if she was going to move, it would have to be to the Merchant City area. It was just bringing herself to actually make the move. That was the problem. She wondered how Mr Webster was getting on with his move. He had no choice, of course. He and his family would not be able to afford living in an expensive hotel indefinitely.

She felt tempted to call at the hotel to see him, mention to him that she was thinking of moving herself, and even ask for his advice. There were various new developments in the area.

There was also the Italian Centre with designer shops and a restaurant surrounding an interior courtyard with flats looking down on to it. The restaurant had tables outside too, with canopies protecting them from sun or rain. The outside eating arrangements weren’t used much in the winter, though. But it was altogether an attractive centre. She understood that the flats were popular with business people who came to Glasgow on business trips, but eventually would have to move on to a base in another city. So there was usually a chance of buying a flat there. And of course, with entrances on Ingram Street, it was very convenient for Glassford Street and the Goodmans store.

Several times, she hovered around the Italian Centre, pretending to study what was in the shop windows. Once she actually went through into the courtyard and gazed up at all the flat windows. Another time, she had a cup of coffee in one of the restaurants. Then she returned to the store and her office, did some paperwork, and made a few business phone calls.

Later, at home, she switched on all the lights, shut all the curtains, and then switched on the television. It drowned out the sound of the wind, and the trees tapping monotonously on the windows.

She made a cup of tea and sat drinking it, and writing in her notebook.

Vote, vote, vote for Harry Lauder,

Vote, vote, vote for all his men.

Then we’ll buy a penny gum,

And we’ll shoot him up the bum,

And we’ll never see old Harry any more.

She looked at ‘The Jeely Piece Song’ again and penned the second verse.

On the first day Maw flung oot a daud o’ Hovis broon,

It cam skitin’ oot the windae an’ went up instead o’ doon.

Now every twenty-seven ’oors it comes back intae sight,

’Cause ma piece went intae orbit an’ became a satellite.

Then a repeat of the chorus:

Oh ye cannae fling pieces oot a twenty storey flat,

Seven hundred hungry weans’ll testify tae that.

If it’s butter, cheese or jeely, if the breid is plain or pan,

The odds against it reachin’ earth are ninety-nine tae wan.

‘The Jeely Piece Song’ always made her smile. She could remember the time in the old tenements when children would shout up to their mothers to throw them down something to eat because they were hungry. The mothers would spread a slice, or a couple of slices of bread with butter or margarine and jam, or jeely to use the Scottish word. Then they’d wrap the sandwich or ‘piece’ in newspaper and toss it from the kitchen window.

Abi could just imagine how this would be impossible in the high-rise or tower blocks of flats. Not everyone would remember life in the old tenements, though. The song was written in such broad Scots too, she doubted if many people would understand it.

John had said there could be a glossary at the back of the book giving a translation of any difficult Scots words. Or the translation could be in a margin at the right-hand side of each page.

She started another, smaller, notebook with the translation of some words.

She could still hear the trees thumping and scraping against the windows. Suddenly she could see herself, as if she was outside herself, looking down on herself and the scene inside the room. It was such a picture of pathetic isolation, she suddenly burst into tears.

The proposed book was nonsense. The television was blaring out football, something she was not in the slightest bit interested in. She moaned to herself. There was nothing to compel her attention and engage her feelings. Except her Horatio, who so compellingly, so sympathetically brought Tom back to her. She stumbled over to the television and soon he was there, just like Tom, tall and slim, tenderness, compassion, and understanding radiating from every muscle, every bone of his body.

‘Oh, Tom.’

She touched the television screen but it was cold and unresponsive. And she knew she could not go on like this and she would have to start the process of moving.

She decided to get started the first thing next morning. She would not ask Douglas Benson for help or advice. He would try to persuade her to buy a house that was miles away from the store. She could just hear him. ‘It would be so good for your health to live your remaining years by the seaside. Good bracing fresh air.’ Or ‘A little country cottage would be perfect for you. All that peace and quiet. It would do you the world of good.’

Do him the world of good, he’d mean. Yet she felt so unlike her normal energetic, capable, efficient self. She needed help and advice. Next day, instead of going across the square towards Ingram Street and Glassford Street, she forced her feet into the Millennium Hotel.

Mr Webster strode towards her, his handsome features showing both surprise and concern.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Webster,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to sack you or anything like that. Quite the reverse. I need your help and advice.’

‘Anything I can do, Mrs Goodman … I’m more than willing to do anything I possibly can to help you. But first of all, can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, Mr Webster.’

He led her by the arm across to one of the chairs and gently sat her down before going to give an order to the waiter at the serving counter. He had no sooner settled himself in a chair opposite Abi when the waiter appeared at the table with a tray that held a pot of tea, cups and saucers, and milk and sugar. He set everything out in front of them, poured the tea, and then left, carrying the empty tray.

Mr Webster said, ‘Now, Mrs Goodman, tell me how I can help you.’

‘Well …’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve been feeling somewhat unhappy and isolated in the house in Huntershill since my husband’s death. I’ve come to the conclusion that I should move to a more central location, and perhaps a smaller house. I thought perhaps a flat somewhere in the Merchant City.’

‘That sounds a sensible idea. Somewhere nearer to the store, are you thinking of?’

‘Yes. That would be ideal.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you all I can. There is a new, very modern conversion I could show you. Then there’s the Italian Centre and the flats in the square. To mention just a few locations.’

‘I like the situation of the Italian Centre. Have you seen inside any of the flats there?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have. There’s a luxury one going at the moment. The entry date is a bit further on but if you’re not wanting to move immediately … The flat is a bit out of my league in my present circumstances. I’m looking at flats in the High Street at the moment. There are older properties that need a bit of work but that’s reflected in the asking price, which suits me better.’

‘I’d like to view the one in the Italian Centre.’

‘I’ll arrange that for you right away, and I’ll go with you.’

‘Thank you, Mr Webster.’

‘It’s the least I can do after you were so kind and helpful to me.’

‘I don’t want to involve my family.’

‘I quite understand. I’ll see to all the arrangements. You won’t need to worry about anything. I’ll come out to Huntershill and see what needs to be done there. Perhaps you won’t have room for all your furniture if you get the flat in the Italian Centre. That would mean you’d have to choose what you’re going to keep, and so on. Or there’s the option of starting afresh and buying all new furniture and furnishings for the flat. But one step at a time. We must see about getting you the flat first. It’s a popular place and flats there are usually snapped up immediately.’

He dug a mobile phone from an inside pocket.

‘I’ll get on to it right now.’

Abi felt a flutter of panic.

‘I would have asked John,’ Abi said, ‘but he is inundated with work and there’s been all the upset and worry about the murder as well.’

They had been to see the flat and Mr Webster had contacted his solicitor and instructed him to put in an offer on her behalf. She had not wanted to use the Goodman family solicitor in case Douglas Benson got to know about it.

The offer was accepted.

‘Have they found anybody for the murder yet?’ Mr Webster asked eventually. ‘I believe there’s a reward been offered.’

‘Not as far as I know.’

Her mind was not really on the conversation. Everything was happening too quickly. All right, she had been thinking about moving, swithering about it for what seemed ages. But suddenly it was actually happening and she didn’t feel ready. Not really. Not in her mind. How could she give up Tom’s house? The house his father had built and that had always been part of the family’s history and background. She kept fingering the engagement ring Tom had given her. It had a huge cluster of diamonds in a setting which needed mending. It had become sharp and jaggy. But she couldn’t even bear to take it off and give it to a jeweller to fix.

Mr Webster didn’t understand. He was so enthusiastic, so obviously eager to repay her for what she’d done for him. She had done nothing really, except perhaps save him from Douglas Benson. She knew, and he knew, that Douglas Benson would have sacked him.

But he didn’t understand that while it was one thing accepting the fact that moving from Huntershill was the sensible thing to do in her circumstances, it was quite another making it a reality, making it actually happen. And so quickly.

She felt confused. Why on earth had she spoken to Mr Webster? She’d seen the day when she never had any doubts about anything. She knew what she wanted and went after it, made snap decisions, never asked anyone’s advice or opinion. Never cared. Had a hundred per cent confidence in herself.

She felt frightened at getting old. She felt she was becoming a completely different person. If anyone had told her ten years ago that she would become like this, she would not have believed them. ‘No way,’ she would have scoffed. ‘Not me.’

Of course, the shock of Tom dying and the terrible feeling of loss had contributed to how she was now. To be without Tom had changed her life. It was impossible to be the same without him. Then Douglas Benson’s hardening attitude towards her and his determination to ruin everything that Tom and his father before him had built up had obviously had an effect on her.

Benson would be furious at her moving so near to the store. It would have made him happy if she had retired and moved to the Bahamas or Australia, anywhere as far from the store as possible. He wanted rid of her.

‘You’ll know such a difference,’ Mr Webster was saying. ‘I know Huntershill and the house you’re in just now. I’ve passed up that way a couple of times in the car on my way to do a bit of business in Bishopbriggs. The house can’t have any outlook, surrounded by all those high bushes and trees. You’ll find it so much cheerier and more interesting looking out the windows of the flat.’

It was all perfectly true and sensible. Yet she still couldn’t believe it was going to happen. The person who was selling the flat had been offered a job abroad, apparently. He was starting in a month or two. It was as if everything was conspiring against her. Or was it for her? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure of anything any more. Except that she was frightened.

Christmas had come and gone and she hardly remembered what she had done. Douglas Benson and Minna had taken the children to London to spend Christmas with Douglas’s brother. She hadn’t told John this so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about not spending it with her. He had been invited to various parties in his constituency. She knew he would have cancelled everything to be with her. He had asked her if she’d be spending Christmas with the children and she’d said yes because at the time she had taken it for granted that she would be.

John had added, ‘Now, are you sure, Mum, because I don’t want you to be on your own? I’ll cancel everything and come through to be with you in Huntershill. Or you can come to Edinburgh – whichever you prefer. Just let me know.’

The news was sprung on her – almost at the last moment – that Benson and his family were not having her at Christmas but were going away to London. She didn’t feel then that it would be fair to John to spoil his Christmas and so she didn’t tell him about the last-minute change of plans.

As a result, she had the worst Christmas of her life. It had been an absolute agony of grief and loneliness. She didn’t know what she would have done without her dear, kind Horatio for company. She supposed, in a way, that the awful Christmas, the desperation she’d suffered, had been what forced her to make her final decision.

‘Now, when do you want me to come out to Huntershill?’ Mr Webster was saying now. She was back in the hotel for yet another meeting. They could meet in private there without arousing any curiosity, any suspicion from Douglas Benson, or anyone else in the store. She needed to get everything done and dusted (to use Mr Webster’s words) to avoid any difficulties being put in her way, or any distress being caused to her by Benson. She was really very grateful to Mr Webster. She had always known that he was an excellent and conscientious employee. Now she was finding him a good, kind friend.