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Sheila Walsh was a traditionalist and made no apology for it. She loved her work and found it stimulating and rewarding, but it was her marriage and her family that formed the bedrock of her life. Without Rob to go home to at night, to talk over the events of the day with, to fight with and love, her life would be very arid.
Although Charlotte was older than her own daughter, Sheila acknowledged that she was inclined to feel a motherly protectiveness towards her. She was constantly urging her to buy new clothes, to go out and enjoy herself. Charlotte was such an attractive-looking girl in reality, but she tended to put men off with her brisk put-down manner. And yet one only had to see Charlotte with the children of her friends to realise what kind of woman hid behind her rather formidable exterior.
Sheila had got to know Charlotte very well over the last six years, and now, seeing the faint flush that stained her skin and the way she shifted her gaze, as though not wanting Sheila to look too penetratingly at her, Sheila became extremely curious about Oliver Tennant.
She had more intelligence than to ask too many questions, though, simply listening while Charlotte told her almost hesitantly about the dinner party.
‘That Vanessa is an absolute bitch,’ Sheila denounced roundly when Charlotte discovered that she had told her far more than she had intended to about her own chagrin and embarrassment during the evening. ‘I can’t see why men are too stupid to see through that kind of woman.’
‘Sheila, do you get many male clients… well…making a pass at you?’
Sheila stared at her, not knowing what had motivated such a question. ‘Some,’ she acknowledged cautiously. ‘Why?’
Charlotte wondered what Sheila would say if she told her that, far from making passes at her, the majority of men she showed round their properties seemed more intimidated by her than aroused.
‘Oh…oh, it’s nothing,’ she fibbed, conscious of the uncomfortable colour suddenly staining her skin. Quickly changing the subject, she said more firmly, ‘There’s something I wanted to discuss with you this morning. Now might be a good time.’
Willingly Sheila agreed, listening intently while Charlotte outlined her thoughts on the possibility of their employing Sophy on a part-time basis.
‘I haven’t said anything to her as yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first. The burden of training her in the office routine would fall on you. I know at the moment we’re busy enough to merit taking on extra staff. With summer round the corner, this is our busiest time of the year, but…’
Her frown betrayed what she was thinking, and Sheila finished quietly for her. ‘With the new agency opening up, we’re bound to lose some business and we may not be able to keep her on.’
‘Mm… What do you think I should do?’
‘I think you should speak to her, tell her what you’ve told me. In her shoes, I’d jump at the chance to get myself back into the swing of working. She’d just started training at the bank before she got married and had the twins, hadn’t she? I’m not in favour of such young marriages…far too often girls get left on their own with young children to bring up and no proper financial or emotional support.’
‘She is very short of money. The house is hers, but she’s worried about how she’s going to afford to keep it. I don’t think she should sell. Not just now. It would mean going back to live with her parents.’
Sheila made a face. ‘Her mother is a first-rate housewife, but she’s more interested in keeping her home immaculate than she is in loving her grandchildren.’
‘So you wouldn’t object if I approached Sophy?’
Charlotte couldn’t really understand why Sheila laughed and then hugged her.
It had come as a shock to her at first, this physical affection that Sheila showed to her. The death of her own mother when she was so young, her austere upbringing by her father, had meant that her life had been devoid of affectionate hugs and kisses. Often she wished she could be more like Sheila, who seemed to have no inhibitions about showing her feelings, no worries about having her overtures of friendliness and warmth rejected. The first time Sheila had hugged her like this, she had frozen as still as a statue. Now, with the ease of over five years of friendship between them, she was able to return her almost motherly embrace and say laughingly, ‘I take it that means that you don’t.’
‘Look, why don’t you go and see her now?’ Sheila suggested. ‘It’s market day, and we’ll probably have a fairly quiet morning. I can hold the fort here.’
‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ Charlotte said ruefully. She was halfway towards the door before she remembered something else. She stopped and turned to Sheila, asking impulsively, ’Sheila, do you by any chance know of a good local decorator? Oh, and someone who can build kitchen units?’
