The Tower Room, page 32
His eyes then turned automatically to the cottage next door. A light filtered along the side passage. He had seen it frequently since Kate’s death and guessed that Sarah filled in solitary hours there, working on something which, the old lady had once told him, was secret. (‘But you know me, Master Danny — can’t resist taking a peep ’cos I’m that proud of everything she does. And wait until ye see wot this is. Just wait!’)
Like a destructive interruption, Kate’s words were replaced by some of his wife’s. ‘Of course, the girl must move out now her grandmother’s dead. I’m taking on an additional gardener and that cottage will do for him.’
‘Sarah will live there for as long as she wishes. I want her to and as a Frenshaw employee she will be entitled to. You know perfectly well that she and Annabel will be working together in the tower room.’
‘Oh — Annabel.’ Cynthia had dismissed the name quickly. ‘Anyway, I’m sure the Willcox girl will move of her own accord. With money in her pocket she’s sure to start hankering for something better. Can you imagine any girl being content alone in a country cottage? She’ll be after some eligible young potter, you can bet on it.’
Daniel left the tower room, depressed by the prospect of Cynthia’s return. She valued her position as chatelaine of Dunmore Abbey too much to surrender it. She wouldn’t risk giving him grounds for divorce; she would return from visiting her father and their sterile life would continue. But life was opening up for Sarah and he must accept it. And he must not allow himself to think about that moment when they had been physically close. He reminded himself that she had been in a state of shock and desperately in need of comfort and help. He had no right to want more.
As for his wife’s sudden departure, it could be no more than a whim and her desire to see her father no more than an excuse to escape from the disruptive presence of her mother and the child she refused to accept. He thought ironically that Cynthia would be cold comfort for a man faced with imprisonment and bankruptcy.
On that thought he opened the drawing-room door and came face to face with Bruce, awaiting him.
Twenty-Five
‘You know why I’m here, of course,’ his brother said calmly. ‘Annabel will have told you by now and there’s no sense in denial. Cynthia’s run away because she’s a coward and a snob and can’t face the comedown of ceasing to be “lady of the manor”. She wouldn’t mind divorce as long as you were the guilty party and she could claim handsome alimony. Anyway, after Annabel burst in on us that day she knew the game was up. I saw her as she was driving off this morning and she hurled at me, “Don’t imagine your blessed Annabel won’t have told Daniel all about it,” and off she went, shouting that I was a bloody fool for not making sure the door was locked.’
After the surprise of hearing Annabel’s name and the implication attached to it, Daniel studied his brother. Bruce looked suave and self-confident, expensively tailored, unflappable. The suspicion that he was here to make a clean breast of things because he was guilt-ridden was difficult to accept.
‘Annabel?’ Daniel said quietly. ‘What about Annabel?’
‘She walked right in and caught us in the act. Don’t say she didn’t tell you! If she hadn’t dropped this … ’ Bruce indicated a bundle beside him, wrapped in torn tissue paper ‘ … we wouldn’t have heard her, but the breakage came like a crash at a damned inconvenient moment. Shock when you’re climaxing isn’t a pleasant experience — it destroyed more than her birthday gift.’ He spread out the tissue paper, exposing broken pieces of china. He picked up a small card. ‘Her greeting, bless her. We’ve exchanged birthday presents since we were kids — no more than a friendly habit, but I’ve liked it.’ He read the card aloud. “Many happies, for the sake of auld lang syne — your old playmate, Annabel.” Bruce sighed. ‘I’ve always taken it for granted that we’d marry eventually, but I suppose that’s off now, like everything else. Anyway, it’s plain that she and Le Fevre are serious about each other.’ He gave an uneasy laugh. ‘Am I talking too much?’
‘Not enough. Why are you here — to make a clean breast of things in an attempt to clear your conscience, or to get some kind of an oar in first?’
Bruce shrugged. ‘I’d no choice. Annabel burst in on us at the worst possible moment, so you have an infallible witness. We didn’t hear her come in, but she did and she saw us, so that was that. The game was up. All you needed was evidence of adultery, and Annabel could provide it. It seemed obvious that she’d go straight to you.’
‘She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Not Annabel. Not because she’d take the coward’s way out of anything unpleasant by avoiding involvement, but because our family friendship goes back a long way and she wouldn’t want to hurt me by exposing something she imagined I knew nothing about. Neither would I drag her as a witness into any squalid court case.’
‘I must say you don’t seem very concerned.’
‘I’m not. I’m relieved. Even grateful. For a long time I’ve craved release from a marriage that is no longer a marriage, and I now have no qualms about naming my brother as co-respondent since you’ve confessed without a pang of conscience. There’s a convenient way round the situation which should expedite the end without involving anyone else. It will be to our mutual advantage if you take part in it. In fact, I intend that you shall.’ There was an undercurrent beneath Daniel’s words which began to disturb Bruce. ‘You will agree to sign a written statement in the presence of lawyers, admitting your relationship with my wife and any other indisputable details legally required, then you can leave Dunmore and set yourself up elsewhere — in another job.’
‘But I’ve a share in the potbank!’
‘Which you are entitled to keep, but with no active participation. I’ll be glad to be rid of you. You’ve never pulled your weight and the new set-up can’t afford to carry dead wood.’
‘But that department I ran was so damn boring!’
‘Anything to do with pottery is boring to you, which is why there was no other niche for you to fill. Even so, coming from a long line of established potters, some knowledge of it must have rubbed off on you, and at least you know which products are good and which are not. All this is leading to a way of getting rid of you and, if you are sensible, helping you to restart elsewhere. I don’t entirely blame you for having an affair with my wife because, knowing her as I do, I’m aware that the seduction wouldn’t have been wholly on your part.’
Bruce shifted a little. His expression was wary, his eyes alert.
Daniel continued, ‘Frenshaws may seem to be taking risks at a time when other potbanks are cutting back, but I believe that the time to expand is when building contractors are in need of work and free to undertake it, so that’s one reason why I relaunched. And I’m not stopping there. I’m aiming for bigger production and wider markets, including lines we’ve never produced before — for a start, Jacques Le Fevre’s splendid creations and Annabel’s unique designs for spectacular wall plaques that can also be adapted for decoration on Le Fevre’s finest pieces. And now, Sarah Willcox’s ceramic sculptures.’
‘Sarah Willcox? Isn’t she the daughter of the fire stoker who was killed?’
‘She is. She is also the girl you slighted at a memorable New Year’s Eve party.’
‘Well, for heaven’s sake, she was involved in that awful scene! And she was only an apprentice.’
‘Even an apprentice shouldn’t be slighted. If you saw her now you wouldn’t dare. She’s a fine modeller and a promising sculptor and she’s starting with us tomorrow. Wait until you see her prize-winning group of children.’
‘A single group? That means only a one-off.’
‘On the contrary, it’s so skilfully crafted it can be cast successfully. It has tenderness and tremendous appeal. Displayed in any gallery or shop window it would stop people in their tracks. And that’s what I’m leading up to. We’re going to promote the work of our three fine artists. Le Fevre’s name is already known through arts-and-crafts magazines, also wireless broadcasts and lectures in galleries and schools. We’re going to broaden the horizons for all of them.’
‘That’s all very fine for them, and I dare say for you, but what about me? Apart from my rightful share in the family industry, which can’t be taken away from me, I need a salary too, but I gather you’re kicking me out.’
‘Call it that if you wish. You’ve tried my patience long enough. The present situation is the culmination. It isn’t from any sense of brotherly duty that I’m going to help you at a time when it would be tactful for you leave of your own accord. It’s a practical solution for many things and it’s been growing in my mind for some time. You can listen, and then make up your mind.’
Bruce listened.
‘Many of our rivals have run successful showrooms in London, selling high-quality but conventional domestic and ornamental chinaware, of which sales dropped badly after the post-war boom and its subsequent slump. Now the country’s in an even worse recession. Some firms are already quitting their quality showrooms, which means we should have a good choice. Display Le Fevre’s work and Annabel’s work and Sarah’s forthcoming work in moneyed areas — and they still exist despite the country’s wavering economy — then work like hell, and Dunmore Abbey Ceramics will be well launched. The name will have greater snob appeal than the Frenshaw potbank. I’ll look for a showroom in Bond Street or Knightsbridge or Regent Street. And that’s where you come in. You’re gregarious, you get on with people, though you’d have to learn to do the same with all types — you do that at racecourses, don’t you? — so you should get the new start you need.’
Bruce looked almost humbled. ‘You’re being very generous,’ he said.
‘I’m not. I mentioned working like hell and that’s what you’ll have to do. If you don’t, you’ll be squandering your personal investment. Don’t imagine Frenshaws will finance this scheme totally. Your participation will rely on a personal share in it. We’re both free to cash any part of our Frenshaw holdings at any time. I’ve sunk a lot of mine into the present expansion. This is the time for you to do the same and invest in the London end. The beneficial side will be a salary based on a fair share of profits so it will be up to you to boost sales, and stocks of Frenshaw goods will be supplied free of trade charges since it’s a family venture. The reverse side is that you’ll have to compete with others whom we will also supply — Harrods, Liberty, Harvey Nichols, Waring & Gillow and other carefully selected stores. The choice is yours. Think it over.’
To escape to London. To be one’s own boss. To be at the heart of things, not a cog in a wheel and buried in the country. To have no time in which to be bored. To have a challenge. A fight. A goal. Bruce welcomed it, and said so.
‘Then we’ll set the wheels in motion at once. And when Cynthia returns from visiting her father she’ll find you gone.’
Bruce stared. ‘Visiting her father? She can’t be. Didn’t you know? It was on the wireless news tonight — he’s jumped bail and is believed to have fled the country. A porter at a private air club adjoining that small airport at Croydon recognised his picture today and said he’d seen a gentleman rather like him a couple of days ago, boarding one of those inexpensive cross-channel flights for businessmen run from the private set-up. That was after enquiries had drawn nothing but blanks at main airports. Alfred Collard will be well into France by now — and anywhere beyond, most likely. A man who can get forged documents can lay his hands on forged passports easily enough. No, Daniel, your erring wife is probably erring elsewhere. She had a pile of bags. She’s run away, I tell you.’
*
The summons to the Master Potter’s office took Joe Boswell by surprise. It came the moment he clocked in. With his usual cocksureness he smirked in the direction of the man who, he still believed, had ousted him. There could be only one reason for this summons — promotion. He was going to be reinstated and how would the blasted Lefever feel about that? Be damned to all those fancy jobs the man was turning out — the Master Potter was at last realising that nothing could compare with the good, old-fashioned pots his former chief thrower had produced.
He was convinced that this summons meant a climbdown by the boss. He relished the thought, also that he deserved it because day after day, week after week, year after year the great Joe Boswell had produced the good conventional stuff people were accustomed to. So now he sneered in Le Fevre’s direction. Now we’ll see who’s the better man for the job, now we’ll see justice done, said his bloodshot eyes, but the Frenchie didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on another big job, another fancy sort of piece which nutty members of today’s buying public seemed to like but would soon grow tired of. Whoever would want those gigantic things in their gardens? Only millionaires, to stand on terraces or like sentinels beside flights of entrance steps, and millionaires were becoming fewer these days. Even some of the pottery lords in this heartland of the industry were cutting down on production costs and Frenshaws would have to do the same. Surely to God the Master Potter must be realising this, after all his splashing out on new headquarters equalled only by the greats, like Wedgwood?
Mentally licking his lips, because he knew what was coming and couldn’t wait to hear it, Joe Boswell cast one last satisfied glance in Jacques Le Fevre’s direction, then went to meet the Master Potter.
The new office was more impressive than the one at the old place, but the Master Potter’s desk was still the one handed down from generation to generation of Frenshaws — carved mahogany, immense, leather-topped, multi-drawered, produced by some skilled craftsman from the past. With all this lavish spending, thought Boswell, you’d’ve thought Daniel Frenshaw would’ve bought one o’ them modern desks, all shiny chrome, typical of the twenties and now the thirties. People were mad about that sorta thing nowadays, showing off their money, posh-like.
As before, the floor was covered with hard-glazed Frenshaw tiles ornamented with traditional designs, and very impressive they were, Boswell had to admit. And all the old mahogany cupboards were there, and shelves of files with the same bindings which had lasted for years, and more shelves to accommodate others of recent years, and fine glass-fronted cabinets displaying a much bigger range of Frenshaw products. And the room was twice as big, with a recessed area in which that old black crow still sat scratching at his ledgers. Why couldn’t the bugger have had an office to himself, getting him out of the way?
Boswell’s storehouse of resentments still included those moments when the Master Potter had insulted him in front of that beak-nosed old bird, downgrading and humiliating him when he had done nothing to deserve it.
Well, he thought with relish, now the moment’s come. He’ll be eating his words and that damned Frenchie, for all his cock-a-hoop ideas, will be back under my thumb, and the bookkeeper with his high celluloid collar will stop looking at me over his spectacles in that nasty way of his, and the finest thrower in the potteries will be top dog again. And there’ll be drinks all round at the old pub where the potters used to gather in the good old days at canalside.
‘The Master Potter has not yet arrived,’ the crow announced without so much as a ‘good morning’. ‘That so? Seems he’s forgot my appointment.’
‘The Master Potter never forgets an appointment and is rarely late. You are early.’
Boswell shrugged. ‘I can wait,’ he said, and sank his gross body into a deep leather armchair. It was new — not chrome, but damned comfortable. He saw the bookkeeper’s disapproving glance, and enjoyed it. He also enjoyed it when the Master Potter walked in and saw him seated there. The man’s face was expressionless, but Boswell sensed, rather than saw, his disapproval. What did the man expect — that he should wait to be invited to take a seat? Bugger that, thought Boswell. The pressure of a hip flask boosted his confidence. He carried it regularly now, despite Mabel’s perpetual protests. Stupid bitch. He wished that convalescent place had kept her for ever — but no matter, the smallholding was now his and he could kick her out if he chose.
The Master Potter gave him no greeting.
‘I see you’ve made yourself at home, Boswell. You’ll be glad of that comfortable seat when you’ve heard what I have to say.’ Turning to the creaky old bookkeeper, he said, with the courtesy of one gentleman to another, ‘Would you care to take a break, Treadgold? I know you enjoy the canteen’s coffee, as I do. Take your time, though I’ll have finished with Boswell shortly.’
Good, thought Joe. That means he don’t want the man to hear him climb down to me.
When they were alone Daniel Frenshaw said, ‘I can see from your face that you think you know why I’ve sent for you. Let me tell you, you are wrong. I have sent for you to sack you, as I have wanted to do for years.’
Shock was like a hammer on Boswell’s brain. He felt the blood rush to his head and his face drain of colour (or as much as its permanent florid hue would allow). He swallowed, he stared, he mouthed incoherently; he felt the walls recede and come rushing back. He groped for his flask with fingers that wouldn’t function.
‘Mr Treadgold will give you the normal wages in lieu of notice before you go. Don’t come back to this office for them. He will deliver them to you in the throwers’ shed, by which time you will have cleared your workspace and packed any personal belongings. You are also entitled to know the reason for your dismissal. Insolence and aggression toward fellow workers are only part of it. There is also insobriety and unreliability and, very recently, physical familiarity with a minor which could be classed as sexual. I am also aware, and have been since it happened, of your violent rape of your stepdaughter when she was a young apprentice. You want to speak? Don’t try. You will hear me out and then leave this potbank and never set foot in it again.’
‘That blasted Sarah! Couldn’t keep ’er mouth shut, eh?’
‘On the contrary, she has never been aware that I know of it, and you’d get nowhere if you went around trying to spread the story and denying it now. Everyone would believe you were making it up because normally something so vile would have been heard of at the time. Her grandmother and I protected her from that. But your fondling of a twelve-year-old girl yesterday was witnessed by fellow-workers and dealt with promptly by the chief thrower, so there’ll be no chance of denial when I report the incident to the union to show them the undesirable type of man you are and name it as just one of my reasons for dismissing you.’
