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Cindy was on the telephone when Janey arrived at the shop on Monday morning. She’d called round at Charlie’s flat on her way to the shop to wish him luck for his afternoon casting, and that had delayed her. Some of the other young actors and models he knew had been there and so Janey had ended up agreeing to join them all on an anti-Vietnam War march on the American Embassy on Saturday afternoon.
‘I’m so glad you’re back. Something dreadful happened on Saturday,’ she told Cindy once her partner had finished her phone call. Mondays and Tuesdays were always slow so Janey didn’t have any girls working then, which meant that she and Cindy were on their own.
‘What happened? Did you lose the petty cash again?’ Cindy laughed.
Janey always found her partner awesomely efficient, and she was proud of her business skills, but sometimes, despite the fact that they were such good friends, when Janey was feeling particularly sensitive she felt that Cindy’s manner towards her could be just a little hurtful and dismissive, as though she were a child who Cindy tolerated with amused contempt but no respect. She may not be good with the practical side of running the business but she was a good designer. Their skills were different but surely equal.
‘No, the petty cash is fine, but we do seem to have lost some money,’ she told her, explaining what had happened with the supplier, and finishing worriedly, ‘I was expecting there to be plenty of money in the account. Sales have been good, I know that.’
The small pause before Cindy responded increased Janey’s anxiety, as did the faintly exasperated look her partner gave her before saying calmly, ‘Well, yes, they have, but there has been quite a lot going out, you know, wages and so forth, and the outlay for the new season’s clothes. The rent has gone up–I did tell you but you were going through a design crisis at the time and weren’t really listening. These things can mount up more than you think. I can show you the figures and go over them with you again, if you like?’ Cindy’s smile was kind and made Janey feel dim.
‘No. There’s no need for that.’ She could see that it was the answer Cindy had been expecting. ‘It’s just that I hate the thought of not paying our suppliers on time and having our cheques bounced.’
Cindy laughed. ‘You are silly. That’s the way business is conducted these days.’
‘But if we don’t pay on time we’ll end up with a bad credit record and no one will supply us.’
‘That’s even sillier. You’ll always be able to get fabric from your mother.’
For some reason Cindy’s comment hurt. Janey did buy silk from Denby Mill, it was true, but she was scrupulous about paying the market price for it and not asking for or accepting any favours from her stepmother.
‘I didn’t get the chance to tell you on Friday,’ Cindy was saying now, ‘but I think I’ve managed to set up a meeting with a buyer from Saks. She’s coming over in September and she wants to have a look at the new lines.’
‘But that’s before the new season show,’ Janey protested.
‘Well, that’s OK, isn’t it? Look, I thought we agreed that we want to make a success of this business?’ Cindy was struggling to be patient, Janey could tell.
‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed obediently.
‘I mean, I’ve put a hell of a lot into everything I’ve done here since we became partners and I’d hate to see a terrific opportunity I’ve really worked for slip away from us because of some super
stition you’ve got about people seeing your designs before you show them in public.’
Janey felt guilty and uncomfortable. She was superstitious about not letting anyone see her designs until she was ready to show them, and she knew that it aggravated Cindy, who found her hard to understand at times. Janey sighed. Clearly she had a lot to learn about business. Thank God she had Cindy.
Chapter Forty-Two
Emerald’s heels tapped angrily along the pavement. It was a week now since Max had walked out on her and he still hadn’t been in touch with her to apologise.
She just hoped that he had rung her whilst she’d been out. He was bound to have got over his bad temper by now, and naturally would want to make up with her. She thrilled at the thought of the way in which he would want to do this, and started to walk faster.
The daily Emerald had bribed into staying on whilst she was out was waiting with her coat on and her forehead creased in an anxious frown, complaining that her husband would be wanting his tea and that Emerald had said she would be back at three and that now it was half-past four.
‘Have there been any telephone calls?’ Emerald asked her, ignoring her complaints.
‘Oh, yes, there was one.’
Emerald relaxed, the easing of her tension followed by a surge of triumph. She had known Max would telephone all along. How could he resist her?
‘It was your mum, and Her Ladyship said as how she wanted to know if young Robbie had had all his inoculations.’
‘Are you sure that was the only call?’ Emerald demanded. ‘You didn’t go out, did you, after I told you that I wanted you to stay here?’
Mrs Wright drew herself up to her full height and told Emerald indignantly, ‘No I didn’t, and there was no more calls,’ before marching past Emerald with her head held high. Her mother didn’t know how fortunate she was to have loyal hardworking staff, Emerald thought crossly after she had closed the door behind her daily. Mrs Wright was her third daily in as many years, whilst her mother still had the same cleaner coming in to clean the Walton Street shop and the Cheyne Walk house that she had had for as long as Emerald could remember.
So Max hadn’t telephoned. Well, that meant nothing other than that he was in one of his moods. He was bound to be at Annabel’s tonight. After all, it was Jeannie de la Salles’ birthday and they’d both accepted her invitation to join the small group of close friends with whom she and her husband were having dinner. Emerald intended to make sure that when Max saw her he’d want her so much that he’d regret the way he’d behaved and come running. Now, what was she going to wear? It would have to be something very special…
Janey was trying to concentrate on the pattern she was cutting for one of her new designs, but she simply couldn’t. She hadn’t seen Charlie for days, and she was missing him. She’d tried to telephone and leave a message via the call box telephone shared by everyone who lived in the house where he rented his bedsit, but no one had replied.
