Annie's Promise (3 page)

‘Absolutely, Don. It’s the textile business we’ve always talked about, even when we were kids. Tom’s designs, my practical knowledge, Georgie’s management expertise …’

‘Cosy, just the three of you, again.’ His voice was hard.

‘You didn’t let me finish. You’re a businessman, doing well from your property development, we’ll need a financial director. You could fit it in with your other work.’ She was glad to be back in the present, glad to be talking of the future and she wanted to grab the others out of the past too.

She looked at them all, smiling, listening as Don grunted then pulled out a cigar. Betsy rose, walked to the window and opened it, then pulled the door right back. Don knew Bet hated the smell soaking into her patchwork cushions, her curtains, her rag-rugs so why did he do it?

Annie watched her brother, and wanted to rip the cigar from his mouth and stub it out in Maud’s mug. That really would be something for her to turn her nose up at.

‘Tell me more about it,’ Don said, blowing smoke across the table, leaning back, putting his finger in his waistcoat pocket.

‘We’ll operate it, as Tom and I have always said, in
Wassingham with facilities for those who are mothers. There’ll be a nursery, childbirth leave and so on. There will be a bonus twice a year, a sharing of the profits.’

‘That’s it then,’ Don said, his finger still hitched in his pocket, the smoke from his cigar spiralling up into the air.

He’ll blow a smoke ring in a minute Annie thought and then I’ll slap him and ruin all my good intentions.

‘What do you mean, that’s it?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice level as he blew a smoke ring and Tom caught her eye.

‘Crazy. It’s your old half-baked nonsense, isn’t it? It’s the “life must be fair” rubbish again,’ Don said, stabbing the air with his cigar. ‘It’s like Albert and I always said, the bottom line is profit – you need to drive your workers, not nursemaid them. What about your union work, Tom, are you coming out of the mine?’

Tom shook his head. ‘Not right away, we’ve got to get it up and running first. Gracie and Annie are getting the garments made up working from home, then Annie’s got some outlets set up to see which lines go best. Betsy’s helping with the sewing, just so long as her hands cope, isn’t that right, Mam?’

Betsy nodded. ‘I wasn’t much good to you in the early days pet, it was all so difficult with the shop and everything,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to be useful now.’

‘I’ve told you, you were wonderful to us, and yes, we couldn’t do without you but only for as long as it suits you.’ Annie turned back to Don. ‘Just listen. It’s founded on sound sense. Workers will respond to fair treatment. You see, Don, you don’t have to deal with workers in your line of business but because of Tom’s pit work, Georgie’s time with his men, and mine in the wards, we think we know how to treat people.’

‘Meaning I don’t.’ Don blew another smoke ring.

‘No, not meaning that at all, meaning that in property development you are not producing a product and so haven’t
had that kind of experience but you do have financial knowhow.’

‘Sounds like amateur night to me,’ Don said.

Annie saw Maud produce a nail file. Good God, how do you improve on perfection?

Georgie said, ‘Tell him how experienced you are, Annie.’

‘Yes, Annie,’ Gracie called. ‘Tell him about Mr Isaacs in Camberley and the shocked wives.’

Annie laughed as Maud looked up, her nails forgotten.

‘Relax, Maudie, no scandal.’

‘Better not be either,’ Georgie grinned.

Don was scowling, looking at his watch, the gold plate glinting in the sunlight streaming through the open window.

‘Sorry, Don, I’ll get on with it. Right, I worked for Mr Isaacs in his rag trade business while Georgie was at Staff College at Sandhurst. The other wives were shocked, not the thing at all, though I probably made the bras they bought.’

‘Bras,’ Maud was shocked.

‘Oh yes, Maud, they are made, they do not just arrive under gooseberry bushes.’ Annie fingered her cigarettes but knew better than to smoke in Betsy’s kitchen. She’d probably have her ear clipped. ‘I learned to calculate how many rolls of cloth would be needed, how to use rotary cutters and sewing machines, how to pack and invoice. I learned business management really. Then I set up my market stall.’

‘Market stall,’ Maud murmured faintly. ‘Not with an apron and things, not shouting out.’

‘Oh yes, d’you want to hear me.’ Annie stood up while Tom and Georgie began to laugh.

‘No, I do not.’ Maud was tapping her nail file on the table.

‘So, how did it go, did you sell much?’ Don asked,
stubbing his cigar out on one of the clean sideplates, ignoring the ashtray.

Annie emptied the cigar in the bin, washed the plate and called back, ‘Oh yes, we used the money to buy a machine and supplied other stall holders, but it’s best to keep the middleman out really.’

‘What did you make?’

‘Knickers.’

‘How common,’ Maud said as Annie came back to the table. ‘I mean, Annie, you won’t be making those round here. Surely you could go into something, less, well less …’

‘Essential?’ Georgie asked, leaning forward, his hand on Annie’s thigh again, squeezing gently.

‘Or don’t you wear them?’ Tom leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.

Maud blushed, the nail file tapping even faster. ‘Don’t be absurd.’

Annie said quickly now, before the laughter got out of control and alienated these two completely, ‘We will make knickers Maud, because they are essential but also because I can make them out of offcuts. It’s much cheaper and while we’re trying to get a toe hold in the market we don’t want to invest too much capital in stock. We need to see which lines work well, then once we’ve realised our assets we can set up premises. Do it step by step.’

Don asked them about the forward planning of the business and Annie explained that to begin with they would produce only garments but as soon as possible they would go on to designing and printing their own fabrics, extending into home furnishings and wallpaper in due course.

‘We’ll need premises of at least two thousand square feet to begin with, and once we’re into the textile side we’ll need more space and must be near a sewage works.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Maud said.

‘Effluent,’ Annie explained. ‘You know the chemicals, the pongs.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Quite,’ Annie said.

‘All of this to take place in Wassingham?’ Don asked.

‘Oh yes, it must be for the women of this town. It must,’ Annie said, because it was a promise she had made to herself many years ago before she had left Wassingham. She reached across and grasped Don’s hand. It was thin and cold. ‘Join us, it would be the old gang again.’

Don looked at her. ‘No, it’s not my kind of business. It doesn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance. Just think about it all of you, it’s daft, the whole damn thing.’

Annie sat back and looked at him and wanted to pummel him, make him see that he was wrong, make him see that he was standing aside from the family, as he had always done.

‘We must go. Get your coat on Maud. We’ve cocktails at six and we’ll be late. We’ll pick up Teresa on the way.’

Georgie stood up. ‘Hang on, Don. We need to talk to you about the money Sarah Beeston left Annie. Have you converted the investments you’ve been handling for her? We thought you’d have the figures for us today. Even if you don’t want to be involved you should realise we need to get the show on the road.’ Georgie’s voice was loud, angry and Annie pulled him down beside her.

Don shrugged himself into his jacket as he answered. ‘I’ll see you about it tonight. I’ll drop round to the Gosforn house. No time now.’ He waved to them and followed Maud out into the yard, calling back, ‘About nine tonight then, Annie.’

Annie didn’t reply, just looked at the others. ‘I thought he was going to join us after he showed so much interest in the premises and our plans. I just don’t understand the man.’

‘You tried,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s just so difficult. You’ve done all you can, more than you should.’

Tom said, ‘He’s just different to us. He always was.’

Sarah stayed at Gracie’s that night and Annie made scrambled eggs on toast back at the Gosforn house, which she and Georgie ate with champagne, toasting one another, toasting their future and Wassingham Textiles. They handed a glass to Don when he arrived, then sat at the dining table beneath the plastic chandelier which Maud had left. Don drew out a cigar. What the hell Annie thought, it’s a celebration.

She reached behind her for an ashtray from the sideboard, placing it in front of her elder brother, and held her hands tightly together, hardly able to sit still.

‘Come on then Don, stop shuffling through those papers, I can’t stand this waiting.’ She looked from Don to Georgie and winked. ‘He’s enjoying his moment of glory. He’s dying to show off about how much he’s increased Sarah’s legacy.’ She felt the pressure of Georgie’s feet as they squeezed hers, the love in the look he gave her, the pleasure he too was feeling.

Don cleared his throat, tapping his cigar gently on the side of the ashtray, put it to his mouth again, blew a smoke ring and then picked up the top piece of paper. He looked at it again and replaced it.

He looked at her now. ‘I didn’t tell you this this afternoon because I was still hoping against hope that I could sort something out but I couldn’t. There’s no easy way of saying this.’ Don looked at Georgie, then back to Annie. ‘There is no money, Annie, none at all.’

Annie tried to laugh. She hadn’t known him to have a sense of humour before. Perhaps he was learning after today’s fiasco, but it wasn’t amusing.

‘Come on, Don, get on with it,’ she said, prodding his arm.

He looked at her again, and then at Georgie before looking back at her. ‘Don’t be stupid, Annie. This is hard enough for me as it is. I’m not joking. I have to tell you that there is no money. I invested it but the stocks have crashed. You have nothing, nothing at all. I’m so sorry.’

Annie felt first the cold shock of his words, and then a searing panic.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Annie’s lids were heavy as she watched Georgie put one, two, three, four, sugars in his tea.

‘Too many my love,’ she said.

‘Ichi, ni, san, yong,’ he replied, stirring, stirring again and again.

Her hand tightened on her cup. Yes, all right, she’d dreamed of the camps, of roll call, of the terror, the camp hospital, but for heaven’s sake their future had gone, in a few short words, it had gone and it was her own fault. She felt despair rise in her as it had done again and again throughout the night, but there was no time for it, she must keep telling herself that.

‘I know I dreamt, it does me good. It’s not serious, Georgie.’

‘I’d call it a nightmare not a dream and when I hear my wife scream and chant in her sleep I call it serious.’ He wouldn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her because she had been hurt in Singapore and he hadn’t been able to stop it, she had been hurt again in India and he had allowed that to happen. She had been hurt last night, they had all been hurt and he could murder that bloody brother of hers.

Annie sipped her tea. She didn’t want it, how could she want it after Don had told them his news? She sipped again, then looked at Georgie, how could so much have changed in such a short time?

‘I could have smashed his face in, Annie, sitting there
with his cigar, apologising, simpering. God, he almost bloody wept.’

‘We all nearly wept didn’t we, and it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. I signed the form he sent me, didn’t I?’ The cup slipped and fell, chipping the saucer, spilling tea. She ignored it. ‘It was me. He was trying to please me by investing in a local firm, putting all my eggs in one basket because I’d prattled on about supporting the community. He knew it was what I’d want.’

The tea was dripping on to the floor, she watched it, heard it, counting one two three, ichi, ni, san – no, not that, there was no time for that. She turned from it. ‘It was me. He wanted to be sure it was what I meant, which is why he sent me the letter explaining it all, and the form to sign. He knew there was a risk, he told us this last night, for God’s sake. I read it, signed it, sent it back and was so damn busy sewing knickers I didn’t think about it, and now I can’t even remember doing it.’

She picked up the spoon and saucer, cutting her hand. Georgie came towards her and she pushed him aside, grabbing the cloth from the sink, wiping the table, throwing the saucer into the bin. ‘I’m just so damn stupid, so stupid – I mean, just look at this mess. We’re having a crisis so I spill the tea.’ Her voice was rising, tears were near and she stopped.

‘He shouldn’t have done it. He should have had more sense. Tom Mallet for God’s sake. He’s one of his black market friends. I’m sure it sounded good, rebuilding the bomb sites, but he should have known he’d scarper and his mates with him.’ Georgie wrung the dishcloth tighter and tighter. ‘He should have known.’

Annie sat down. What was the point of talking about it any more, they’d gone round and round it last night and at midnight and at two, and at four in the morning until at last they’d slept, if you could call it sleep. She leaned back in the chair, stretching her neck, her eyes throbbing. No, there was no point in talking about it any more, it was gone, finished,
or their original plans were but she was damned if she’d let it all go, not after all the years of waiting, and in the long hours of the night she’d thought, planned, made decisions.

‘Georgie, I want you to listen to me carefully, hear me out.’ Her mouth was still, her hand hurting, she wrapped her handkerchief round it.

‘Whatever way you look at it I agreed, sanctioned the investment. I was stupid, clumsy, careless.’

‘Don’t say that. You’re not careless. So you muffed a paper, what’s that? It doesn’t do any good to keep on blaming yourself.’

‘Then stop blaming Don,’ she flared at him.

Georgie leaned back now against the window, his jaw set, his eyes cold, then he looked away from her out into the garden where the house martins were swooping and Annie wanted to take back the anger, take back last night, the form, Tom Mallet, but all she could say was, ‘I’m sorry, but you see I’m not a leader, I get muddled, confused, I allow myself to shout and scream, I allow myself to make mistakes.’ Georgie started to speak but she shook her head. ‘Please let me finish. I decided last night that I want you to run the business. You’re trained for it. You can organise, you’re methodical. You weren’t born to fiddle about in Gosforn doing any piddling little job, you were trained as an officer, you know how to manage.’