Where Memories Are Made (4 page)

BOOK: Where Memories Are Made
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Jackie's heart gave a flutter. He was just the type to tickle her fancy. If she wasn't already involved in a serious relationship of two years' standing with Keith Watson, a twenty-four year old from her home town of Mablethorpe, then she would definitely have let the newcomer know that she liked what she was seeing.

As his eyes settled on Jackie he smiled, showing a set of even white teeth. ‘Miss Sims?'

‘I am. What can I do for you?'

‘I believe you're expecting me. I'm from the agency, come to temp for you.' He made his way over to stand before her desk. ‘I'm Alan Stanhope. I like to be called Al, though, it's more hip.' Her surprised expression had obviously registered with him. ‘You were expecting a woman? Well, I might be a man but I can produce office work as good as any woman can. I type sixty words a minute. The last PBX switchboard I operated had ten outside lines and thirty extensions, and unlike most temps I actually enjoy filing and make great tea and coffee.'

Oh, this man is going to be a Godsend! thought Jackie. From sheer curiosity there were many questions she would like to have asked Al about himself, but as he wasn't going to be working here for long, and technically was employed by the agency, it wasn't her place to delve into his personal life. She responded straight-faced, ‘You could be a dog with two tails for all I care as long as you can handle the work. Just do me a favour, though, and slow your typing down a bit … I can only manage forty-five words a minute and I don't want you showing me up.' Then, standing up and grinning as broadly as he was, she held out her hand to him and added, ‘Deal?'

Al inwardly sighed with relief. It had been a tricky time at home for him recently, with both parents dead set against his plans for the future. Al knew that if he was ever going to follow his dreams then he needed to gain his independence from his parents and considering how his parents had reacted to his plans he dreaded what his friends would say, so that meant them too. After walking out of their house and his job running the office of his father's engineering firm, he'd been using up what little savings he had on paying for cheap lodgings and food while going after any job he saw advertised. Without a reference, though, no one seemed willing to take him on. The agency had seemed very doubtful about his prospects, but had agreed to keep him under consideration. Down to his last couple of pounds, this morning he'd been sitting on his uncomfortable single bed, huddled inside thin blankets in the damp, cold rented room, not daring to put a shilling in the gas meter as he didn't know where his next was coming from. It seemed to him then that he had no option but to forget his plans and return cap in hand to his parents, begging them to take him back and promising to become the son they expected him to be.

He had almost jumped out of his skin when there was a thump on the door of his room. Without waiting for a response, his elderly landlady had barged in, obviously annoyed at being disturbed, telling him he was wanted on the telephone downstairs in the hall. Having been turned down for all the jobs he'd applied for so far, Al couldn't imagine who would be telephoning him. No one else knew where he was staying. When he'd heard the clipped tones of the owner of the employment agency, informing him that in this instance she was waiving her rule about sending someone without references after a good job, Al wasn't fooled. He knew she was in a tight spot and he was her last resort. He didn't care, though; he was at last being given the opportunity to earn some money, and provided the firm he was being sent to was pleased with his work, he'd receive a favourable report and then hopefully the agency would keep him in work and he'd be able to earn money at last to put towards his plan.

Al accepted Jackie's hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘Deal,' he said. Before she gave him a quick overview of his duties, out of courtesy she felt she ought to introduce him to Harold Rose. Though why Drina had put the likes of him in temporary charge was beyond Jackie's reasoning. Mr Rose was very abrupt with people and had as little to do with them as he could get away with. He never looked anyone in the eye while conversing with them, which was always on work-related matters, never personal ones, and he possessed no sense of humour. He would arrive for work at eight-fifteen prompt and leave on the dot of five-thirty. He liked his morning coffee and two Digestive biscuits at precisely eleven, and afternoon tea and two Rich Tea on the stroke of three. He only approached his staff when he needed them to do something for him, and at all other times would work away behind the closed door of his office. This morning, apart from when he'd installed himself in the boss's room, there'd been no sign of him.

Asking Al to come with her, Jackie went over to the boss's office and tapped on the door, politely waiting until she heard Mr Rose's summons before she led Al inside.

Harold Rose was sitting behind Drina's desk, the accounts ledgers open before him. He was forty years old, slightly built and of medium height, with an ordinary face obscured by horn-rimmed spectacles. He wore his thinning mousy-brown hair cut in a short back and sides.

Jackie announced, ‘I've brought Alan Stanhope in to meet you, Mr Rose. He's from the temping agency and will help me in the office.'

Harold flashed a quick look at Al then dropped his eyes back to the ledger he was working on. ‘Er … pleased to meet you, Mr Stanhope. Thank you, Miss Sims.' Harold Rose never addressed anyone by their Christian name, only their formal title.

It was apparent the interview was over.

Back in the general office, the boss's door firmly closed again, Jackie said diplomatically, ‘Mr Rose is a man of few words. He's the same with everyone, so don't take offence. Right, there's plenty to do here so I hope you're prepared to be busy. First things first, though. While you settle yourself in, I'll make you a cup of tea. Or would you prefer coffee?'

He eyed her in astonishment. ‘But surely I should be seeing to chores like that, Miss Sims?'

‘Apart from showing respect to the likes of Mr Rose, we don't stand on ceremony in the general office, Al. And there's nothing I would ask you to do that I wouldn't do myself. Now, is it tea or coffee?'

Al knew he was going to enjoy his time working at Jolly's.

CHAPTER FOUR

A
t four-thirty the following Saturday afternoon, Jackie and Al were standing at the window in the general office, both supping on a much-needed mug of tea, looking down at the scene below. They had a bird's-eye view of the camp's high wrought-iron entrance gates with letters welded into them spelling out ‘Jolly's Holiday Camp'. Directly beneath the office was a huge forecourt with a twenty-foot-high fountain complete with four mermaids and dolphins spouting water. The camp's row of single-storey shops lined one side of the courtyard. Today the whole area was teeming with holidaymakers, coming and going in the late-spring sunshine.

Every Saturday morning the administration staff always joined the four receptionists in dealing with the hordes of campers checking out and in. Coaches to ferry those departing home or to the railway station started to arrive at about seven-thirty, and it was non-stop from then on for the staff until they had checked in the last arrival around four in the afternoon. The latest changeover had just proved as hectic and problematic as always, and now the staff involved were glad it was over, for another week at least.

As Al supped on his tea he was thinking that he would have felt he had died and gone to heaven had his parents brought him to a place like this for a holiday when he was young, instead of to a rented cottage in an isolated location in the Welsh countryside where his only playmates had been cows and sheep. His parents still spent their annual fortnight's holiday in that cottage, but thankfully a few years ago, he had reached the age where he had the right to choose whether he accompanied them or not.

As she sipped her tea, Jackie wasn't looking at the new intake of campers below but at the steadily growing queue outside the camp surgery. Everyone there seemed to be in a degree of discomfort as they waited their turn to see the duty nurse, Sister April Stephens.

Al noticed Jackie's expression and asked her, ‘Anything wrong?'

‘I hope not,' she mused. ‘But something isn't right, judging from that queue of people waiting to see Nurse.'

Al looked over at them. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. Most of them are clutching their stomachs. Oh, dear, a kiddy has just been sick … and now that man too.'

Jackie thrust her half-empty mug of tea at him, saying, ‘Hold the fort. I'm going to find out what's going on.'

Easing her way politely through the crowd of at least thirty men, women and children, all looking tense and pale, she entered the surgery. Sister April Stephens, a very pretty blonde thirty-five year old, was busy in the treatment room, looking extremely concerned as she informed an obviously sick young woman with a crying four year old in her arms, and her equally ill husband who was holding another miserable young child, what to do to ease their suffering.

After they'd left, before April asked the next patient to come in, Jackie enquired, ‘What's going on, Sister? In all the time I've worked for Jolly's, I've never seen such a queue at your door before.'

April sighed. ‘And I hope we won't ever do so again, especially given the cause, Jackie. I dread to think what damage this could do the good name of Jolly's.'

‘Why, what do you mean?' asked a worried Jackie.

‘It seems we've an epidemic of food poisoning on our hands.'

The significance of this instantly struck Jackie. ‘Food poisoning? Oh, my God, this is dreadful! But Chef Brown keeps his kitchen immaculate …'

‘Clean enough to eat off the floor,' April agreed. ‘Judging by the symptoms it's my opinion that the cause is from eating poultry or dairy food contaminated at source. Thank goodness it seems to be a mild outbreak. No one I've yet seen is seriously ill, just in a lot of discomfort. Twenty-four hours on water and bed rest should see the back of it. I've had about fifteen cases so far and all those were on the first dinner sitting at twelve. I've not had anyone yet who was on the second sitting at one,' she frowned. ‘Strange that. Anyway, that's management's look out. Mine is to convince the folks stricken with this bug that they're not dying. Tomorrow they should feel as right as rain and be able to enjoy the rest of their holiday. On the handover at six, I'll inform Sister Pendle of the situation so that she's prepared when she comes on duty later. Hopefully everyone who's been struck down with this will be on the mend by then, so she'll have a quiet night.'

As nothing like it had ever happened before while she'd been working for Jolly's, Jackie hadn't a clue how to go about finding the cause of the outbreak. This was a job for Harold Rose, considering the severity of the situation and the possibility of repercussions.

Back upstairs in the office, after quickly updating Al on what was going on, Jackie went to inform Harold Rose.

All the time she was explaining things, he seemed to be looking over her shoulder at the door behind her. When Jackie had finished talking, he slid his glasses higher on his nose, ran his hand nervously over his thinning hair, then finally responded. ‘Oh, er … well, I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle, Miss Sims. Now I … er … really need to concentrate on these accounts.'

Jackie gazed at him incredulously. She couldn't believe he was expecting her to deal with this serious situation on her own, deeming the accounts to be more important. Drina Jolly and Rhonnie would have dropped everything and joined forces at once to deal with this potentially very serious situation. If this was Harold Rose's idea of being in charge then Jackie was glad it was only going to be for a short time.

It was glaringly obvious to her that the outbreak must have originated in the restaurant. She needed to inform Chef Brown at once and ask him to try and uncover the source as he was the one who oversaw all the food that was prepared and consumed on the premises. It was a prospect she didn't relish. Sixty-year-old Chef Brown was ex-army. After his twenty-five years of service there he'd left the Catering Corps and been with Jolly's ever since. He was a huge bear of a man, nearly as wide as he was tall which was just under six foot. He was good-natured and tolerant; unlike the stereotypical chef he did not swear and shout at his army of forty staff, ruling them with a rod of iron, but treated them all with respect. He was, however, fiercely proud of the way he ran his kitchen and didn't take kindly to criticism in any form. Jackie knew he wasn't going to enjoy being accused of poisoning forty-two campers.

After asking Al to hold the fort, she set off to do battle.

She was down in reception heading for the kitchen block when one of the receptionists, Anita Williams – or Ginger as she was affectionately called due to her curly mop of carrot-red hair – called out to her. Ginger was the girl who had first introduced Rhonnie to the camp, and the two girls had stayed friends ever since – not that Ginger had been able to help her either since she'd been widowed.

Jackie called back to her, ‘Sorry, Ginger, but I've something really important to deal with. I'll get back to you.'

She was stopped in her tracks by a brusque voice shouting over, ‘And we don't need to guess what that important matter is!'

Jackie turned back and saw that the voice had come from a middle-aged woman, well-padded arms folded under her ample bosom, who was looking back at her combatively.

Wagging a fat finger at Jackie, the woman went on, ‘This camp came highly recommended, and me and me friends and neighbours saved all year so we could come. Some went without to keep up the weekly payments so as not to disappoint their kids. We were all expecting a good time, not to find ourselves at death's door.'

The woman had every right to be angry but despite appreciating that, Ginger, who wasn't best known for her tact and diplomacy, was having difficulty keeping her tone pleasant and polite. Regardless she did manage to say evenly, ‘Jackie, this is Mrs Evans. She wants to know what we're doing about the situation?'

BOOK: Where Memories Are Made
3.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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