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‘I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ Janey told her.
‘That’s fine by me,’ Cindy responded. ‘Let’s just forget it.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Janey was forced to tell her. ‘I’m sorry, Cindy, but I want to end the partnership.’
‘Because Charlie fucked me? Did you really think that someone like Charlie wouldn’t fuck anyone else just because he was going out with you?’
Janey’s heart was thudding in heavy sledgehammer blows. ‘It’s a matter of trust, Cindy. If I can’t trust you then I can’t work with you, and I think we both know anyway that it would be impossible for us to continue as partners now.’ It was the truth, and Janey was relieved to have managed to vocalise what she thought.
‘I know we put a clause in our contract that said we had to give one another two months’ notice if we decided to end the partnership. I’ll speak to my solicitor and arrange for him to send you an official letter. In the meantime, whilst we work out the two months we have to stay in business together, I’d be grateful if we only discuss business matters and not personal ones.’ Janey held her breath. She hated rows.
But to her relief Cindy merely shrugged and said laconically, ‘Suit yourself.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘I can find my own way back to my shop, you know,’ Janey teased John.
He was up in London on business–something he had been doing frequently just recently–and had taken her out for lunch–something else he was doing frequently, and not just for lunch but to dinner as well. He was coming up to London at least twice a week and staying all weekend most weekends. She had got so used to his company now that she missed him dreadfully when he went back to Macclesfield.
He was being a wonderful friend to her, a real shoulder to lean on, during these recent difficult weeks whilst she and Cindy worked through the notice period.
‘I know you can, but it’s a gentleman’s responsibility to ensure that a lady returns home or, in your case, to her shop, safely.’
John might sound serious but he was smiling at her, and Janey couldn’t help but smile back.
She was feeling astonishingly happy these days, given what had happened, and hadn’t missed Charlie one little bit. That was all down to John, Janey knew. He was relaxing to be with, and so very kind, spoiling her, treating her with an old-fashioned courtesy that was incredibly sweet.
Today she’d had a rather self-indulgent lunch hour, Janey admitted, with them making plans to take a boat trip to Richmond on Sunday if the weather stayed warm. John had come round to the shop to meet her at just gone twelve, and now it was gone half-past two. She was smiling as she walked into the shop after she had said goodbye to him.
Fiona, the most senior of her salesgirls, was waiting for her.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ she announced.
Janey agreed absently. John wasn’t returning to Cheshire until late on Sunday and he had insisted on picking her up later so that they could have a drink together, a drink that would lead to them sharing dinner, Janey suspected.
‘Cindy never paid us our wages yesterday, and she hasn’t been in at all today,’ Fiona complained.
Janey’s heart sank. She was naturally finding it difficult to work with Cindy at the moment, and wished that they’d agreed on a month’s mutual notice, not two. For the last week Cindy had been working from her flat, and Janey had been relieved by her absence. There were only another three weeks to go now before the partnership was finally ended.
‘I’m sorry,’ Janey said to Fiona. There’d obviously been a mistake of some kind. After all, Cindy wouldn’t deliberately not pay the shop assistants. ‘I’ll go to the bank now and draw out some money for the wages.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go now before they close, and you’ll have to find out how much everyone is owed.’
Fifteen minutes later, Janey was sitting in a chair in her bank manager’s office, and trying desperately not to act like a baby and burst into tears as she listened to the manager explaining to her that she could not draw any money out of the shop’s account because there was no money in it.
There had been a mistake. But it wasn’t Cindy who had made it. It was her.
‘But there must be some,’ she protested. And not just some but surely rather a lot, because only ten days ago, at Cindy’s urging, she had transferred a huge amount of money from her own personal account into the business in order that they would be able to pay for the manufacture of the new season’s orders. Cindy had told her that she’d been able to negotiate an extra discount from their supplier if they paid early.
As she told Mr Beard all this he looked increasingly grave. A clerk was sent for, and an instruction given. Mr Beard’s secretary produced a cup of tea, half of which Janey spilled into the saucer of her delicate china cup in her anxiety, as she waited for Mr Beard to study the papers and the cheques he had had brought to him.
‘Well…’ he said, steepling his fingertips together, his elbows on his desk, his stance the reason, she guessed absently, for the shiny patches on his suit. ‘I think we have an explanation. It seems that your partner has drawn cheques made out to herself on the account.’
‘Not…not for all the money, surely?’ Janey protested, still unable to comprehend what was happening.
‘I’m afraid so,’ the bank manager confirmed.
‘But…but she can’t do that.’
‘I’m afraid that legally she could,’ Mr Beard told her, ‘since there is nothing in the bank account mandate to prevent her from doing so or to limit the amount of money she was allowed to draw.’
