“You need have no fears on that score, as far as I am concerned,” Clive assured her eagerly, “You must know how much I care for Sally and…” he almost added ‘the estate’ as his mind dwelt lovingly on the money it would bring in, then quickly amended it to, “…all the responsibilities such a position would entail.”
At his words, Lady Frobisher Courtney unbent in her regal attitude to bestow a signal mark of blessing. “Dear Clive, you may kiss me. And now, if you’ll excuse me I, have to meet an old friend of the family, Ed-ward Newman, who is over here from the States to set up an English branch of his security business. He’s such a dear friend,” and one, she added grimly to herself, who will I hope help that useless son of mine get a job and wake his ideas up.
As he bent to do her bidding and kiss her on the cheek, Clive took the opportunity to spike William’s guns.
“I will do my best to make her happy, you can be sure of that.” He felt his way craftily, “I hate to be the one to spoil such a happy occasion, but you perhaps don’t know that Sally is being distracted in other directions at the moment…”
“Well, I know she’s taken up with this ridiculous idea of teaching, but I hope you will help to put a stop to that,” she retorted frostily.
“If that was the only problem…” he added, with just the right note of simulated anxiety.
“What else is there?” she barked, rising to the bait.
“Far be it for me to break any family confidences…” he began, taking a swift look to see her reaction. “…but I gather she’s taking more than just a friendly interest in a young man at the village store.”
“What?” The village store… you don’t mean…our village store?” Lady Courtney sat up with a jerk, giving the impression that someone had stuck a large hat pin in her amply padded rear. “Who is that, may I ask?”
Gratified at her response, Clive went on smoothly, “His name is William, I am told. I understand he’s been taken on by his uncle, Albert Bridge, the owner, while he’s looking for a job…unless the store folds up first, of course…”
His host started making mewing noises. “A…tradesman…”
“Yes,” Clive was enjoying himself, “according to reliable sources, the shop is on its last legs anyway - and you’ve heard the rumours going around about Albert?”
“No?” gasped his hostess faintly.
Clive leaned forward with relish, “Well, I hear there’s some kind of scandal about Albert Bridge and one of his helpers at the shop, someone called Mavis Foxey…It seems…”
“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more…” wailed Lady Courtney. “We must stop it before it gets any further. Oh the disgrace of it. Where’s my husband? No, Henry’s never here when I want him. I’ll deal with this myself. Take me to the shop immediately, d’you hear!”
Meanwhile, back at the shop, William’s mind was in a ferment on a different matter.
“What time do you call this?” Albert greeted him as he dived behind the counter and found his uncle coping with a queue of customers. “I thought you’d forgotten us.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled taking over, “got talking to Sally”, then remembering the gossip that Sally had passed on, he tried to warn his Uncle. “That reminds me, I must tell you …”
“Not now, later,” said Albert hurriedly, seeing the queue beginning to build up.
“Be a good lad and find some more bags will you, we seem to have run out.”
By the time William had hunted down a new supply, the queue was getting longer and there was no chance to have a last minute word about Mavis.
However much he tried to keep his thoughts concentrated on the waiting customers, the exciting possibility that Sally might find someone interested in his story and get it published made it very difficult for him to work out what he was supposed to be doing amid the growing confusion around him. People kept on bringing up their items of shopping and dumping them on the counter – anything from assorted bread rolls to giant cornets – and waiting patiently for him to enter them up on the till, but as each item was presented to him it was immediately transformed in his mind’s eye into a copy of his new book with his name in fiery letters across the front cover.
To complicate matters, some of the goods on display did not have a price tag on them for some reason, and William had to ask them to hang on for a minute while he dived off to ask. But oddly enough, the customers did not seem to be at all concerned about the cost, for some strange reason. Judging by the inquisitive expression in their eyes they were nerving themselves to ask about something else, but didn’t quite know how to put it – particularly as the subject in question was his Uncle Albert.
As William soon realised by the look on their faces, it was evident that word had already got around and there was only one topic of interest in the waiting queue.
People were nudging each other, and suddenly a shout went up as old Harry, one of the regulars, hobbled in leaning on his stick, wheezing as he tried to get the words out. “Hi, Bert, did yer manage…you know?” He was immediately shouldered aside by widow Wendy who shook her umbrella fiercely at Albert.
“Repent while there is still time, oh miserable sinner…”
“What the ‘eck’s she talking about?” whispered Albert, looking up blankly.
“I keep trying to tell you, Uncle…” broke in William, trying to get his attention.
“Never mind,” urged Albert, taking note of the sudden influx of numbers. “Just keep on serving – blimey, this is good for business.”
As each customer was served in turn, they ended up about to ask something, then unable to get the words out, muttered ‘thanks’ and shuffled off with their purchases, some giggling and others asking after Albert and giving knowing looks. It wasn’t until Ted the painter turned up that he put the question bluntly the others had been dying to ask.
“Two ounces of my usual baccy, son,” he began, and directly he was served he came out with it. “Well, did he or didn’t he?” he winked, as he rolled a cigarette, lit it and squinted through the haze.
“Pardon?” queried William, handing over the change distractedly.
“Old Albert,” Ted repeated. “Did he pull it off…with our Mavis?”
“No, it’s not Mavis who’s doing it, William corrected absently, his mind still on the book – “it’s Sally.” Seeing Ted’s mystified expression, he explained. “You know, Sally who teaches up at the school.”
“You’re kidding.” said Ted glancing sideways at Albert, admiration mingled with wonder, his estimation of his old friend as a lady’s man going up in leaps and bounds. “Well, I’m blessed, I never knew he had it in him.”
William followed his gaze and clapped his forehead. “Oh no, you misunderstand me. I was talking about my