Read Online Rumours and Red Roses by Patricia Fawcett - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Fawcett
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wasn’t the sort of thing they would want the paying customers to see.
Laundry!
‘It’s our family business,’ Simon said proudly. ‘I don’t know why my grandfather called it Bell’s instead of Blundell’s but that’s what he did. He must have thought it had a better ring to it.’
She listened, fascinated not so much by what he was saying but the way he was saying it. She smiled to herself, wondering what Marina would make of this. It would take very little to persuade her into bed this evening and here he was talking about laundry. For one moment she was tempted to say to hell with it and make a move herself, make it plain, but she resisted.
How he could be quite as enthusiastic about something as mundane as laundry passed her by but she did eventually grasp that it was a cracking business to be in, not one that was likely to go down the pan, not one of those here-today gone-tomorrow things. Hotels and guest houses, for instance, got through mountains of sheets and towels every week despite those coy little notices asking guests to think about the environment and very few of them did their own laundry. It might not be glamorous but clean sheets and fresh towels were an essential in life. Didn’t she agree?
‘I suppose so,’ Becky said, never having thought much about it. She and her mum dumped their sheets into the washer once a week and then argued about whose turn it was to iron them. They had to be ironed, her mum said, even though nearly everybody Becky knew just folded them and hand-smoothed them. Not the same at all, Shelley insisted, surprisingly pernickety about some things.
‘My grandfather started the business from nothing,’ Simon continued the tale. ‘It was a true-life rags-to-riches story and we’re very proud of him. We should be because we owe everything to him. We might be doing very nicely now, thank you, but we can trace back to very ordinary roots. He lived in a two-up two-down, one of those back-to-back terraces with a lavatory out the back. One fire to warm the whole house and it was freezing in winter upstairs. The story goes he used to sleep fully clothed.’ He caught her look and laughed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to get the violins going. But it was a hard life.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’re from humble beginnings too, Simon Blundell?’ she asked teasingly, able to do this now that she knew him better, loving it that he was trying to put her at her ease.
‘Yes. We, my family, owe everything to him. I suppose he was whatyou would call an entrepreneur these days. It all started with a few washing machines in the days when people did not have one of their own.’
‘That’s hard to believe,’ she said.
‘I know. Whatever I do, however much I build up the business, and I’ve got a lot of ideas to carry it forward, Rebecca, I won’t be able to compare myself with him because I’ve had it easy. I’ve had the best education money can buy, a job waiting for me when I left university. It’s all been handed to me on a plate. I’ve been damned lucky whichever way you look at it.’
‘That’s not your fault,’ she assured him. ‘All you can do is make sure you don’t lose it for your grandfather’s sake. Then he would turn in his grave, wouldn’t he?’
He looked at her, a long hard look, and then nodded. ‘My father heads the operation now but he’ll be retiring before long and I’ve got big plans. I’m going to take the business forward. When you inherit a business like I will one day then you have no option but to do that. Each generation has to put its stamp on it. We’ve branched into making work-wear, that was my idea, clothes for the workplace, staff clothing for hotels, chefs, kitchen staff, front of house, and we do a complete laundering service for them as well as the usual stuff.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Sorry. Once I get started on it, I can’t stop. I can see I’m boring you.’
‘No, no, you’re not,’ she said quickly. ‘Or at
Laundry!
‘It’s our family business,’ Simon said proudly. ‘I don’t know why my grandfather called it Bell’s instead of Blundell’s but that’s what he did. He must have thought it had a better ring to it.’
She listened, fascinated not so much by what he was saying but the way he was saying it. She smiled to herself, wondering what Marina would make of this. It would take very little to persuade her into bed this evening and here he was talking about laundry. For one moment she was tempted to say to hell with it and make a move herself, make it plain, but she resisted.
How he could be quite as enthusiastic about something as mundane as laundry passed her by but she did eventually grasp that it was a cracking business to be in, not one that was likely to go down the pan, not one of those here-today gone-tomorrow things. Hotels and guest houses, for instance, got through mountains of sheets and towels every week despite those coy little notices asking guests to think about the environment and very few of them did their own laundry. It might not be glamorous but clean sheets and fresh towels were an essential in life. Didn’t she agree?
‘I suppose so,’ Becky said, never having thought much about it. She and her mum dumped their sheets into the washer once a week and then argued about whose turn it was to iron them. They had to be ironed, her mum said, even though nearly everybody Becky knew just folded them and hand-smoothed them. Not the same at all, Shelley insisted, surprisingly pernickety about some things.
‘My grandfather started the business from nothing,’ Simon continued the tale. ‘It was a true-life rags-to-riches story and we’re very proud of him. We should be because we owe everything to him. We might be doing very nicely now, thank you, but we can trace back to very ordinary roots. He lived in a two-up two-down, one of those back-to-back terraces with a lavatory out the back. One fire to warm the whole house and it was freezing in winter upstairs. The story goes he used to sleep fully clothed.’ He caught her look and laughed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to get the violins going. But it was a hard life.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’re from humble beginnings too, Simon Blundell?’ she asked teasingly, able to do this now that she knew him better, loving it that he was trying to put her at her ease.
‘Yes. We, my family, owe everything to him. I suppose he was whatyou would call an entrepreneur these days. It all started with a few washing machines in the days when people did not have one of their own.’
‘That’s hard to believe,’ she said.
‘I know. Whatever I do, however much I build up the business, and I’ve got a lot of ideas to carry it forward, Rebecca, I won’t be able to compare myself with him because I’ve had it easy. I’ve had the best education money can buy, a job waiting for me when I left university. It’s all been handed to me on a plate. I’ve been damned lucky whichever way you look at it.’
‘That’s not your fault,’ she assured him. ‘All you can do is make sure you don’t lose it for your grandfather’s sake. Then he would turn in his grave, wouldn’t he?’
He looked at her, a long hard look, and then nodded. ‘My father heads the operation now but he’ll be retiring before long and I’ve got big plans. I’m going to take the business forward. When you inherit a business like I will one day then you have no option but to do that. Each generation has to put its stamp on it. We’ve branched into making work-wear, that was my idea, clothes for the workplace, staff clothing for hotels, chefs, kitchen staff, front of house, and we do a complete laundering service for them as well as the usual stuff.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Sorry. Once I get started on it, I can’t stop. I can see I’m boring you.’
‘No, no, you’re not,’ she said quickly. ‘Or at
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