When the Lights Come on Again (20 page)

‘It’s the British disease,’ he observed. ‘An inability to say cheerio and just go. You see it all the time.’

Liz beamed at him, and on a wild impulse stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. If it hadn’t been for his kindness none of this would have happened. His arm came round her for a second, his hand resting lightly on her back. It was dropped almost as quickly as it had been raised, and he took a step back, looking down at Liz with a quizzical air.

‘Unhand me, woman. What was that for?’

‘To say thank you,’ she said happily. ‘For what you’ve done for me.’

‘Any time, Liz. Any time at all.’ He moved towards the kerb where Morag was parked. ‘I hear you’re coming to the Paul Robeson concert with us.’

She nodded.

‘Did Mario ask you?’

‘Yes’ she answered, thinking that was a strange question. He must have known it was Mario who had asked her.

He looked over her head. She liked his height. It made her feel dainty, not a sensation often experienced by a girl of five foot six who lived in Clydebank and worked in Glasgow.

‘They’re still at it. How long
can
it take to say goodbye, I wonder?’

Before she could answer, he posed another question - one which made her immediately uncomfortable.

‘Liz, you are sure there’s nothing troubling you at Murray’s, aren’t you? I’d be more than happy to speak to my uncle, as I told you on Friday. Only if you want me to, of course.’

‘There’s nothing,’ she said quickly.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘sometimes it can help to face up to something - or someone - that’s bothering you. Simply show them you’re not prepared to put up with it any more. Not rudely, of course.’ He smiled. ‘Not in a way that might get you into more trouble. But firm and definite, all the same.’

Suddenly she realized what he was getting at. Having witnessed her ticking-off from Miss Gilchrist, he thought that was her problem - that his uncle’s secretary was bullying her.

‘It takes quite a bit of guts to do it, but I reckon that’s not a problem for a girl like you.’ His voice changed, became louder and less intimate. ‘Ah, Mother, here you are at last! Liz and I were thinking we might have time to read
War and Peace
while we were waiting for you.’

‘Impudent young pup!’ said Amelia Buchanan, flicking an elegant hand at her son. ‘The cheek I have to endure from him, Miss MacMillan. You’ve no idea.’

Adam had been wrong about the source of her troubles at Murray’s, but his words stayed with her for the rest of Sunday all the same. It had been an eventful weekend, allowing her to put what had happened on Friday afternoon to the back of her mind.

It all came rushing back as Liz got ready for bed on Sunday evening. Despite all the good things which had happened, she realized with a sinking heart that she still had to face Eric Mitchell the following morning - and a lot more mornings to come.

Could Adam possibly be right? Was it a matter of standing up to Eric Mitchell, telling him that she wasn’t prepared to put up with his behaviour any more? Lying in bed before she went to sleep, Liz thought of that horrible hand on her breast, at the way he’d forced her to feel his body. The remembered sensations made her shudder.

It had been bad enough before, when he had brushed his hand against her leg or put an unwelcome arm around her shoulders. Friday had been much, much worse. It had to stop.

Sixteen

In the cold light of Monday morning, Liz’s determination to square up to Eric Mitchell seemed an awful lot shakier. If she was going to do it, she’d have to get him on his own. That meant actively seeking him out, watching his movements as carefully as she’d ever done, only this time not because she was trying to avoid being alone with him. This time she would have to steel herself to do the opposite.

That was scary. Her going looking for him might make him think she wanted what he had done to her on Friday afternoon. But if she let it go again, he’d think he could keep on molesting her.

It took Liz two days to summon up the courage to confront him, and in the end it wasn’t for her own sake that she spoke, but for someone else’s: the new girl who was getting a start that week to be trained up as a junior shorthand-typist. She was a shy little thing, but bright with it. By lunchtime on her first day, Liz had learned that she lived in the Gorbals, the eldest child of a large family.

She confided to Liz that she and her parents were tickled pink that she had landed the job at Murray’s. Not only was her small wage going to make a big difference at home, everyone was delighted that she was in a job where she was going to have the chance to go on to better things.

Keeping a close eye on Eric Mitchell on Monday afternoon, Liz saw him go across to the young girl and lay a hand on her shoulder. He was doing the kindly bit, telling her how the outgoing mail should be dealt with. Liz could see that the new recruit was trying desperately not to shrink away from him.

Liz wondered if the female of the species was born knowing the difference between a genuinely friendly touch - like the way Adam Buchanan had put his arm around her on Sunday afternoon - and the other sort. If not, it was certainly a skill you learned early on in life.

Eric Mitchell’s pestering over the last two years had affected her own response even to a friendly touch, not to mention the kind which went - willingly - a bit beyond friendship. An image of Mario Rossi flitted across her mind’s eye.

Liz took a deep breath. She couldn’t let the new girl suffer as she had. Adam Buchanan thought she had guts. Maybe this was the time to prove it.

It was late on Wednesday afternoon before she managed to get Eric Mitchell on his own. Everyone else was out of the office on various duties and errands.

Getting up from her desk took an enormous effort of will, as did crossing the room towards him. He glanced up as she approached, and Liz could see that he was surprised. First point to her. She stood in front of his desk and spoke without preamble.

‘What happened on Friday afternoon - there won’t be any repeat of it. And you’ll leave the new lassie alone as well. She’s not to be bothered.’

He pushed his chair away from the desk, tilting it so that only the two back legs were on the floor. ‘Really, Lizzie? Might I ask how you propose to stop me?’

How she hated him! He sprawled back in his chair, his cold eyes roaming over her body, lingering quite deliberately on the swell of her breasts.

‘I’ll speak to Mr Murray.’

I mustn’t sound angry, she thought resisting the impulse to fold her arms protectively over her chest. She had to appear cool and relaxed, even a little amused.

‘After all,’ she said, trying to emulate Adam’s elegant drawl, his sister did have tea with my parents last weekend.’

That surprised him. She could see it in his horrible pasty face. Liz pressed her advantage.

‘And I’ve got friendly with his nephew too. We’re on first-name terms now. You heard him on Friday - we keep bumping into each other all over the place.’

‘He giving you one, is he?’

She managed not to shudder in distaste.
Don’t react to it, that’s what he wants you to do. Keep cool and keep the heid.

‘I rather think that he and the Honourable Miss Maclntyre are walking out together. Not that it’s anyone’s business but their own.’

Eric Mitchell tilted his head back. ‘Ah, but you know what toffs are like, Lizzie. They’ve got the morals of alley cats.’

‘You’re one to talk.’

He slammed forward on the chair, startling her. As the two front legs hit the floor he got up and came to stand in front of her. Right in front of her.

‘Perhaps he fancies the both of you,’ he said softly. His face was only inches from her own. ‘At the same time, even. Pretty perverted, the upper classes. Or maybe he wants to watch the two of you together first.’

Innocent as she was, it took a minute or two for the penny to drop on that one. When it did, she took an involuntary step back from him.

‘You’re disgusting!’

He smiled his horrible smile. ‘I’ve got some very interesting literature at home I could let you see. More in the way of photographs, actually. Hidden from the little woman, naturally. My wife doesn’t like that sort of thing, but you might, Lizzie. I’d be more than happy to show them to you.’

His cold, hateful eyes reminded her of a dead fish on a marble slab. ‘I certainly wouldn’t blame young Mr Buchanan if he couldn’t control himself around you. Any man might have the same problem.’ His eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘Little prick-tease,’ he murmured.

That was it
, that was it.

‘Your mind’s really in the gutter, isn’t it?’

Trembling with fury, she took another step back, putting some space between them. To hell with not getting angry with him.

‘I won’t listen to any more of this. I’m not prepared for you to speak to me in that way. Ever again. Or the new lassie either.’

‘Going to run to Mr Murray, are you? Or his relatives that you’re so palsy-walsy with all of a sudden? That’s very clever, little Lizzie, ingratiating yourself with the boss and his family. Going to become a part-time nurse, I hear. Should be right up your street. Angels of mercy? Tarts, more like.’

If it hadn’t been so pathetic it would have been laughable. He had no idea - no idea about anything.

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘If you try anything else either with me or with the new girl, I’ll go to Mr Murray. Without asking Miss Gilchrist first. And if that fails, I’ve got a friend who has three extremely large brothers. All good men in a fight, I understand.’

That was pure invention, the idea popping into her head from nowhere. She wouldn’t dream of inciting someone to commit violence. Fear of possible fisticuffs had, after all, been the reason why she hadn’t told her own brother about Eric Mitchell long before now.

‘You accommodating all three of them too?’

He was still sneering, but she had rattled him. She could see it in his face. She felt a sudden odd little spurt of energy. She wasn’t sure if Adam was right about her having guts, but she did know she was experiencing a new-found confidence, a sense that she could do anything she set her mind to. She was going to become a VAD, and she was going to stop Eric Mitchell in his tracks. Right now.

It was the threat of physical violence which had tipped the scales in her favour. In which case she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

‘How long do you think you’d last here if I let it be known how you’ve molested me over the past two years? Or if you came in to work with a black eye after having been in a brawl? How would you explain that away? Especially as I daresay I could arrange for that sort of thing to happen quite frequently.’

Bloody hell, where had that come from? She sounded like some sort of gangster’s moll out of an American cops and robbers film. Lizzie MacMillan, tough-talking broad. Just as long as he didn’t notice how nervous she still was, even at this stage in the game.

It was a wee touch melodramatic.
Interfere with me again and I’ll summon my henchmen.
Oh, come on. Could he really be that stupid? She looked into his eyes and realized that he could. It was hard not to let the elation show on her face.

The door of the inner office opened. Miss Gilchrist peered at them both. ‘Is there a problem?’

Liz turned towards her, her head high, graceful as a queen.

‘No, Miss Gilchrist, there’s not a problem. Mr Mitchell and I have just succeeded in resolving one. Haven’t we, Mr Mitchell?’

‘So not only have I sorted Eric Mitchell out - he really backed down when I threatened him with your lot - I’m also going to get to become a VAD. Isn’t it wonderful?’