Threads of Silk (15 page)

Or was there something else behind his furtive movements? Much as he disliked Michael Turner, Alex couldn’t believe he’d cheat his own father. Still, it might pay to keep an eye on him in future.

Christmas had come and gone and the dark days of January made travelling to work a nightmare. But standing at the bus stop, blowing on her hands and stamping her feet to keep warm, Ellie laughed and joked with Jackie and the other mill girls, grateful for their friendship. She was grateful too that there were no longer offers of lifts in the mill manager’s car. Since their painful encounter some weeks ago, Michael had kept his distance.

Nothing more had been said about the firm’s losses since Alex had confronted Ellie with her scribbled calculations. For days she waited for the sparks to fly – as she was sure they would when Alex exposed Michael’s dishonesty. But nothing happened and as time passed she began to wonder whether Alex had taken it seriously. When she hesitantly raised the subject he had brusquely fobbed her off.

She still monitored the orders, incoming and outgoing, and as far as she could see the losses had stopped. Perhaps Alex had spoken to Michael, threatening him with dismissal if it happened again. She shivered, not entirely from the cold, as she realized that Michael had probably guessed he’d been rumbled and that she was the one responsible. Hadn’t she tried to discuss it with him – before she realized he was the culprit? She shivered again, pulling her scarf more closely about her neck as she prayed for the bus to arrive.

Ellie smiled as she stood up to clear the plates away, firmly pressing Norah back into her seat. ‘You stay there and entertain our guest,’ she said, grinning at Trevor over her friend’s head.

Since spending Christmas Day with them, Trevor had got into the habit of coming to the cottage for Sunday dinner and Norah wore herself out preparing roast lamb or pork with all the trimmings, finishing off with one of her delicious puddings.

Trevor licked his lips and his eyes gleamed in appreciation as Ellie set the light golden apple sponge down on the table, together with a jug of thick creamy custard. Yes, the way to a man’s heart – at least this man – was through his stomach, Ellie thought, recalling one of her mother’s sayings with a little pang.

By the time they’d finished eating, the short winter afternoon was already drawing to a close.

Trevor looked at his watch. ‘Time we were off, if we want to catch the first house,’ he said, helping Norah on with her coat. They were going to the pictures in Chelmsford to see
The Flame and the Arrow
. Norah, a great fan of Burt Lancaster, had missed it the first time round. The little cinema, known locally as the ‘fleapit’, always showed older films on Sundays.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?’ Norah asked for the third time.

‘Now why would I want to be cramped in the back of Trev’s van when I can sit here in front of a warm fire?’ Ellie laughed at the obvious relief on the older woman’s face. The couple might spend the best part of the week in each other’s company but Sunday afternoons and evenings were special. She went to the window and watched as Trevor solicitously helped Norah into the van, settling her comfortably before closing the door. It seemed that at last Trevor was ready to forget Gloria and begin to appreciate the treasure right under his nose.

Ellie fondly hoped that this outing would be the turning point in her friends’ relationship. When she’d finished tidying the kitchen, she was ready to get her equipment out and start work on her next project. Much as she enjoyed the company of Norah and Trevor, she now relished these precious hours of solitude when she could lose herself in her painting.

The scarves she had made and given as Christmas gifts to the mill girls had been so popular that she’d been inundated with requests for more. The girls wanted them as presents for their own friends and families. They had each given her their share of the offcuts and scraps from the mill to work on. But if she got any more orders, there wouldn’t be enough in the scrap bin at work. She would have to start buying material and charging for her services. As it was, she only accepted a token payment from her friends to help with the cost of the dyes.

After her first tentative experiments with watercolours, Ellie had made another trip to the library to read up about the different techniques for silk painting. The art shop only had ordinary fabric paints which weren’t suitable for silk. So to obtain the special dyes she needed, and the gutta – a wax resist to stop the colours running into each other – she had to make a special trip to Colchester. As well as Norah’s embroidery frame, which her friend had been delighted to lend her, she now had a number of square frames so that she could work on several designs at once.

She got out her materials and turned to the page in her sketchbook where she had drafted out her next project. She was making a square headscarf for Fred’s wife, whose birthday was due soon. The overseer had been stumped for a present until he asked Jackie where she’d got her scarf.

His approach to Ellie had been rather hesitant and he’d smiled shyly when she agreed. He was a reserved little man who did his work quietly and efficiently, always ready to help when something went wrong and never blaming the girls when their machines broke down or the warp snapped. He and Ellie had always been polite to each other. But she’d been a little worried that he might think she was usurping his authority when she came into the weaving shed to check the progress of a job, or to see how many books of silk were left before reordering. Now she realized he was just shy and she was delighted when he made his request.

Ellie always tried to match the scarf to the person it was intended for and the stained-glass window design she’d chosen was based on Fred telling her that his wife regularly attended the village church. With practice she’d become more proficient in using the gutta to draw the lines between the blocks of colour and now she was confident that the finished design would live up to her imagination.

She’d already stretched the piece of silk on the frame and drawn the design. Now, she carefully painted raised lines in the white latex solution, following the pencilled design. While she waited for it to dry, she put on rubber gloves and started to mix the dyes – ruby red, purple, jade green and sapphire blue. She hoped the jewel-like colours wouldn’t be too bright for Fred’s wife – if she was as quiet and mousy as her husband she’d probably be too timid to wear it. Perhaps she should have asked Fred what colours his wife liked.

Ellie shrugged. If he seemed unsure she could always keep it for herself and make another one for his wife.

She switched on the wireless for company. But soon she was so absorbed in her work that she scarcely noticed the strains of the Palm Court Orchestra, shortly followed by the Adams Singers singing ‘something simple’. Usually she avoided the programmes which reminded her so painfully of evenings at home with Harry and her mother – times which had been happy as long as Bert was out of the way. Now, in her new-found contentment with her job and having found an outlet for her creativity, the old songs had lost their power to make her sad. Occasionally, it was true, a small lump would lodge somewhere in the middle of her chest. But it was swiftly dismissed as she tried to do what Gran had always advised: ‘Count yer blessings, girl’.

Ellie looked up in surprise as the door opened and Norah came in, her cheeks rosy with cold – or was it something else? Behind her, Trevor was unbuttoning his coat and laughing. How had the time passed so quickly? She had almost finished the scarf and all that remained was to let it dry before removing the rubbery solution to reveal crisp white lines between the colours. It wasn’t like a real church window, of course and Ellie wondered whether there might be a way to paint black lines to enhance the stained-glass effect. Or maybe she could do them in gold or silver. All sorts of ideas sprang into her mind. But for the moment this would have to do. She was sure it was one of the best she’d done so far.

She put her things away and put the kettle on. ‘You look as if you’ve enjoyed yourselves,’ she said. ‘Was it a good film?’

‘It was OK.’ Norah blushed and caught Trevor’s eye.

He grinned at Ellie. ‘To tell the truth, we didn’t see a lot of it.’

‘Trevor!’ Norah squealed, punching his arm. But she smiled up at him affectionately and Ellie smiled. Norah deserved a second chance after losing her first husband so tragically.

It wasn’t until she was in bed later that night that Ellie wondered what would happen to her if Norah and Trevor decided to get married. She didn’t know whether her friend owned the cottage or rented it. But if she moved into the café with Trevor it wouldn’t matter either way. Ellie herself would still be looking for somewhere to live.

A few days later Ellie had finished the scarf for Fred’s wife. Wrapping it in tissue paper, she put the parcel in her bag and left the house, having to run for the bus as she saw it turn into the lane and stop outside Little Howe church.

Although she was worried about the possibility of having to move out of the cottage, Norah looked so happy these days that Ellie couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject. Besides, there was plenty of time. Trevor was still married to Gloria and, as she knew, divorce could take a long time – years even. And she couldn’t imagine Norah moving in with Trevor unless she had a ring on her finger.

She got off the bus at Withies Green and crossed the mill yard to the weaving shed. She wanted to give Fred the scarf and see his reaction before she started work.

The overseer was helping one of the men to set up the warp on his machine and Ellie waited patiently until he looked up and saw her. She followed him into his little cubby-hole at the back of the shed, biting her lip as he opened the tissue-wrapped package. She had put so much work into this one and she desperately wanted him to like it.

As he held up the gaudy scrap of flimsy material she held her breath, relaxing in a smile as he grinned at her. ‘Just the job, Helen. The missus will love this.’

‘Really – are you sure it’s not too bright?’

‘She loves colourful things, does my Doris. Reckons she needs something to brighten up her life – and I’m not much use in that direction.’ He gave a mournful smile and Ellie smiled back, realizing that Fred was actually making a joke.

‘I’m glad you like it, Fred.’ Ellie turned, her hand on the door. ‘I must get across to the office. Mr Cameron will think I’m not coming to work today.’

‘Wait, I haven’t paid you yet,’ Fred said. ‘How much do I owe you?’

Ellie hesitated. She usually only charged her friends a few pence. But she’d put in an extra lot of work this time. ‘Would two shillings be all right?’

‘More than all right,’ Fred said, pressing a half-crown into her hand. ‘You ought to get a lot more than that.’

‘Well, I didn’t pay for the material – otherwise it would be more,’ Ellie said, with a laugh.

‘Miss Scott, come into the office at once.’ The voice behind her made her jump. ‘And Fred, you’re wanted in the dyeing shed.’ It was Alex.

‘Sorry, Mr Cameron. I didn’t realize it was so late,’ Ellie stammered, wondering what was wrong. It wasn’t like him to be so abrupt.

She followed him across the yard, stumbling another apology for being late.

‘Never mind that,’ he snapped.

He held the door open for her and she swallowed nervously as she saw Michael Turner lounging in the chair behind her desk, smiling sardonically.

Alex gestured to her chair at the other side of the desk. She sat down, hands clasped in her lap. As her employer began to speak she realized why Michael was looking so relaxed – and Alex so grim.

‘I understand you’ve been making silk scarves and selling them to the mill employees,’ Alex said. He reached across the desk and picked up a scrap of material. It was a scarf she’d made for one of the girls in the dyeing shed.

Ellie glanced at Michael but he was gazing at the floor with seeming disinterest. ‘Yes – but I’ve been doing it in my own time – not when I should be working,’ she said.

‘Was that one of your creations I saw in Fred’s office?’ Ellie thought she detected a sneer at the word ‘creations’, but she could have been wrong. By now she was twisting her fingers nervously together.

She nodded wordlessly.

‘Didn’t I just hear you telling Fred that you hadn’t paid for the material. What did you mean exactly?’

‘I use waste material – offcuts that are left over when the material comes off the loom.’

‘I see.’ Alex sat on the edge of the desk, swinging his leg and tapping his chin as if deep in thought.

He stood up abruptly. ‘Can you tell me how many of these scarves you’ve made?’ he asked, going to the window and looking out at the yard.

Ellie half-closed her eyes, trying to calculate. It was hard to remember – she’d been making one or two a week since well before Christmas. ‘About two dozen – maybe more. I can’t remember.’ She felt a little spurt of anger. Why was he questioning her? ‘May I ask why you want to know?’ She was pleased that she managed to keep her voice steady.

‘All in good time.’ Alex remained at the window.

Ellie was really apprehensive now. She glanced again at Michael and caught a glimpse of his calculating smile, before his gaze slid away and he contemplated his shoes again. She caught her breath as the realization dawned on her. Alex had tackled Michael about the missing fabric and he was trying to blame her. She gasped in protest, but Alex waved her to silence.

He stepped away from the window and faced her. ‘It has come to my notice that bolts of woven silk are going astray. Turner seems to think you might be’ – he paused as if looking for the right word – ‘appropriating the fabric for your own use. And it certainly seems as if you’ve got quite a little cottage industry going here.’ He dangled the scarf in front of her.

Ellie’s chin jutted and her eyes flashed dangerously. How dare he? She clenched her fists at her sides and took a deep breath. Losing her temper wouldn’t help. ‘I told you – I’ve only used the stuff I’m allowed to take. I haven’t stolen anything.’ Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. She glared furiously at Michael, who was now imperturbably examining his fingernails.

‘It must have taken rather a lot of offcuts to make such a quantity of scarves,’ Alex said.

‘Yes, but I only took what I was allowed. The other girls said it was all right….’ Ellie was floundering now. Surely Alex didn’t really suspect her.

‘So now you’re trying to blame your workmates,’ Michael’s voice interrupted smoothly.

Alex silenced him with a raised hand. ‘I said I would handle this, Turner. Perhaps it would be better if you waited outside.’ He turned back to Ellie and she was sure he missed the malicious look Michael directed at him.

Michael rose slowly from the chair where he’d been lounging and sauntered towards the door. He stopped, leaning on the doorframe. ‘She’s not going to confess you know, Cameron. But the evidence is there.’ He gestured towards the scarf, which still dangled from Alex’s hand. ‘I can tell you, there wouldn’t have been all this time-wasting talk in my father’s day. The slightest suspicion of theft would be enough to send them packing with no references.’

‘This is my business now, Turner – and I’ll handle things in my own way. I could blame you – since you’re the manager. It seems that you have allowed blatant thievery to go unchecked in my absence.’

Michael closed the door without answering. With a sigh, Alex threw himself into the chair that the other man had just vacated. As he ran the scarf through his fingers, Ellie dared to peep at him beneath her lowered lashes. His brow was furrowed, as if he was trying to frame the words of dismissal, she thought. He believed she was a thief – and she couldn’t blame him really. She had taken more than her fair share of the offcuts, although her colleagues had agreed to her having them. And she was making money – albeit only a small sum – from selling her scarves. It looked bad for her, she had to admit. But surely Alex couldn’t believe she’d stolen a whole bale of silk – let alone a dozen. And she knew from her own investigations that at least that many were unaccounted for.