Read Online One Blue Moon by Catrin Collier - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catrin Collier
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Palladium?’ she suggested artfully. ‘If there’s nothing going there, we could try the Park and the White Palace on the way back.’
‘I’d rather work in a shop,’ Diana protested, remembering Haydn’s complaint that his mother never saw his evening job in the Town Hall as a ‘proper job’.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Tina said cruelly.
‘I’m not a beggar.’
‘Not yet, but it can be arranged,’ Tina said, annoyed by Diana’s refusal to go to the Palladium.
Tina was wrong. Ginny Jones hadn’t been laid off in Springer’s. That was Ginny’s and the Springers’ story, concocted so neither party would lose face. Ginny had been fired by Beatrice Springer, the wife of the owner, Ben. Beatrice had visited the shop unexpectedly in the middle of the day and caught her husband looking up Ginny’s skirt, while Ginny was perched on a ladder lifting down a stock of miners’ boots that hadn’t shifted in months, and wasn’t likely to while the pits remained closed.
Ginny had been sent packing with a week’s wages in her pocket, but Mrs Springer’s indignation at the sight of Ginny ‘leading a respectable married man on’ hadn’t extended as far as volunteering to work in the shop herself. She had four children and an unmodernised house with a Victorian range and no indoor plumbing to look after, and only one ‘skivvy’ to help. Ben had been left to fend for himself in the shop all week. Not over-fond of hard work, he’d resented having to do all the humping of stock himself. With no minion to order around, he’d also had to climb the ladder and wait on the ladies of the crache, who were unbelievably finicky and thought nothing of surrounding themselves with twenty pairs of shoes only to buy the first pair he’d brought out, if any at all. So when Diana walked in with her damp clothes clinging to her well-developed figure, her cheeks and lips rosy from the cold and her brown eyes sparkling with raindrops, Ben saw her as something of a godsend. He looked, he stared, he coveted, licked his lips and uttered a silent, grateful prayer that his wife wasn’t around to vet Diana’s request for a job. Beatrice had turned down five girls in a row last Monday morning, and the news travelled. Enough to put off any other girl who’d thought of applying for the vacancy Ginny’s leaving had created.
‘So you’re looking for work?’ he said somewhat superfluously, nodding enthusiastically, more at the sight of Diana’s breasts outlined beneath the tight bodice of her outgrown coat than at the prospect of having someone to order around again.
‘I’ve good references,’ Diana said eagerly, her heart pounding with excitement. He was talking to her. He hadn’t sent her on her way. That had to mean something.
‘Well there’s no denying I need help,’ he mused. ‘But I’d have to see those references.’
‘I have them here.’ Diana opened her handbag and pulled out the envelope they’d given her when she’d handed in her notice. ‘They’re from the Royal Infirmary’ she said proudly, thrusting the papers into his hands. ‘In Cardiff.’
‘What were you doing there?’ he asked as he opened the envelope.
‘Working as a ward maid.’
‘And before that?’
‘I was in school.’
‘Then you’ve no experience of shop work?’
‘Not in an actual shop,’ Diana admitted reluctantly, ‘but I’m keen, and quick to learn. It says so in there.’ She indicated her references.
‘All ward maids do is scrubbing and cleaning. There’s some of that here, but not much,’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know if you’ll suit. I need someone who’s good with customers. Particularly the crache. The wrong girl will put them off. I’ve found that out to my cost before now, and whoever I take on will have to be quick on their feet, and ac-cur-ate’, he articulated the word slowly, mulling over each syllable, ‘with figures,’ he finished as he studied Diana’s legs.
‘I came top of
‘I’d rather work in a shop,’ Diana protested, remembering Haydn’s complaint that his mother never saw his evening job in the Town Hall as a ‘proper job’.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Tina said cruelly.
‘I’m not a beggar.’
‘Not yet, but it can be arranged,’ Tina said, annoyed by Diana’s refusal to go to the Palladium.
Tina was wrong. Ginny Jones hadn’t been laid off in Springer’s. That was Ginny’s and the Springers’ story, concocted so neither party would lose face. Ginny had been fired by Beatrice Springer, the wife of the owner, Ben. Beatrice had visited the shop unexpectedly in the middle of the day and caught her husband looking up Ginny’s skirt, while Ginny was perched on a ladder lifting down a stock of miners’ boots that hadn’t shifted in months, and wasn’t likely to while the pits remained closed.
Ginny had been sent packing with a week’s wages in her pocket, but Mrs Springer’s indignation at the sight of Ginny ‘leading a respectable married man on’ hadn’t extended as far as volunteering to work in the shop herself. She had four children and an unmodernised house with a Victorian range and no indoor plumbing to look after, and only one ‘skivvy’ to help. Ben had been left to fend for himself in the shop all week. Not over-fond of hard work, he’d resented having to do all the humping of stock himself. With no minion to order around, he’d also had to climb the ladder and wait on the ladies of the crache, who were unbelievably finicky and thought nothing of surrounding themselves with twenty pairs of shoes only to buy the first pair he’d brought out, if any at all. So when Diana walked in with her damp clothes clinging to her well-developed figure, her cheeks and lips rosy from the cold and her brown eyes sparkling with raindrops, Ben saw her as something of a godsend. He looked, he stared, he coveted, licked his lips and uttered a silent, grateful prayer that his wife wasn’t around to vet Diana’s request for a job. Beatrice had turned down five girls in a row last Monday morning, and the news travelled. Enough to put off any other girl who’d thought of applying for the vacancy Ginny’s leaving had created.
‘So you’re looking for work?’ he said somewhat superfluously, nodding enthusiastically, more at the sight of Diana’s breasts outlined beneath the tight bodice of her outgrown coat than at the prospect of having someone to order around again.
‘I’ve good references,’ Diana said eagerly, her heart pounding with excitement. He was talking to her. He hadn’t sent her on her way. That had to mean something.
‘Well there’s no denying I need help,’ he mused. ‘But I’d have to see those references.’
‘I have them here.’ Diana opened her handbag and pulled out the envelope they’d given her when she’d handed in her notice. ‘They’re from the Royal Infirmary’ she said proudly, thrusting the papers into his hands. ‘In Cardiff.’
‘What were you doing there?’ he asked as he opened the envelope.
‘Working as a ward maid.’
‘And before that?’
‘I was in school.’
‘Then you’ve no experience of shop work?’
‘Not in an actual shop,’ Diana admitted reluctantly, ‘but I’m keen, and quick to learn. It says so in there.’ She indicated her references.
‘All ward maids do is scrubbing and cleaning. There’s some of that here, but not much,’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know if you’ll suit. I need someone who’s good with customers. Particularly the crache. The wrong girl will put them off. I’ve found that out to my cost before now, and whoever I take on will have to be quick on their feet, and ac-cur-ate’, he articulated the word slowly, mulling over each syllable, ‘with figures,’ he finished as he studied Diana’s legs.
‘I came top of
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