Well, this is your last day at the Modern, Mary. How do you feel about it?’ The accountant was sharpening a lead pencil.
Mary stopped sweeping and said, ‘I feel rotten.’
‘I feel a bit rotten about it myself,’ said the accountant, blowing the shavings from his desk.
‘George says not to mind,’ said Mary. He doesn’t care whether I am out of work or not. Talk about worry, though. George is sick. He’s in bed with the influenza. Mother went round yesterday morning with the eggs. She was there. She said, “It’s that daughter of yours upsetting George.” Mother said, “Excuse me.”
‘But she took no notice. She still doesn’t talk to George. But she was rather nice after. She brings him in lemon drinks. George said, she said to him, “It’s a wonder your girl friend hasn’t been round to see you” — sort of sarcastic like.’
She looked at the accountant and added, sadly, ‘You see, I’d go round but George wrote and told me not to.’
The accountant stroked his chin and looked at the picture of the Duke of Gloucester.
Mary leant on her broom and looked thoughtfully at the floor.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t put one over me by making bad over something about what I’ve said.’
‘You want to warn George that she is likely to do that,’ suggested the accountant.
‘George doesn’t like me running her down like that,’ said Mary plaintively. ‘He’s got to like her.’
She walked slowly round the office moving chairs. ‘I missed my train this morning to see if I could catch his father and hear how he was; but he had gone.’
‘Look, Mary,’ said the accountant. ‘You go down and see George. Take no notice of what any of them say. Have a long talk to him. And take my tip: beware of that stepmother of his. And marry George as soon as you can.’
‘You mean ,’ Mary looked straight at the accountant for a moment.
‘Yes,’ said the accountant, closing his ledger with a bang.
Miss Trueman entered. With her hand raised to remove her hat she said, ‘Wasn’t that a ghastly plane disaster? Four people killed. I can’t help thinking about it.’
‘Terrible,’ said the accountant. ‘It must have hit the water with terrific force.’
‘So close to land, too.’ She walked to her table and resting her hands upon it looked out of the window. ‘I wonder what they did when they were going down. They would catch hold of each other ‘
‘I was out with a boy once,’ interrupted Mary, ‘and I thought the car was going over and I grabbed him. It was terrible. It would be worse in a plane, though; but I did get a fright. Alf, was the boy’s name.’
The accountant with his head resting on his hand had been thinking.
‘They would scream and struggle and then there would only be ripples,’ he said.
‘Oo! You are awful!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Have you seen Clark Gable in Wife versus Secretary?’
The accountant moved purposefully, but suddenly thinking, it’s her last day, he relaxed in his chair again.
‘I was at the pictures last night,’ said Miss Trueman. ‘I saw a stupid Tarzan picture.’
‘Oo! I saw that the other night,’ said Mary. ‘He’s always fighting tigers and lions and things. But that’s nothing. He kills a rhinoceros sort of thing. He’s a fine build of a chap though, isn’t he? He’s too good looking for a man; like as if he were painted up. His face is kind of soft.’
‘He is a bit that way,’ remarked Miss Trueman. ‘The other picture was better. It was one of the old fashioned type.’
‘Was it from history?’ asked Mary.
‘No. Not exactly,’ replied Miss Trueman. ‘It showed negroes labouring on the wharves. It had a Virginian setting.’
She turned to the accountant. ‘Do you remember Paul who used to work here?’
‘Yes. I remember him.’
‘I heard last night that he has been working down on the wharves during the strike. He made a lot of money. They call them — er — what’s that they call them?’
‘Scabs,’ suggested Mary.
‘Volunteer workers, that’s it.’ Miss Trueman ignored the remark.
The phone rang.
‘Answer that, Mary,’ commanded the accountant. ‘If it is a creditor, tell him I’m out.’
‘Hullo,’ called Mary bending over the phone on the table. ‘Yes.’
She placed her hand over the mouthpiece and said to the accountant, ‘It’s about that order you put through last night.’
‘Tell them we are waiting on it.’
‘We’re waiting on those,’ called Mary into the phone … ‘Yes. If possible give us them as soon as possible. It will be early will it? Well, if we get some before lunch that’s what we want because we are waiting on them terribly. Good-o.’
She hung up. ‘They will be in before lunch.’ Her tone changed. ‘Gee! That girl on the phone was tough. She almost spits,’ said Mary with some resentment.
‘Heil Hitler,’ said the accountant, facetiously.
She commenced sweeping vigorously. She stopped suddenly and turning to the accountant asked, ‘Who’s Hitler?’
‘Chancellor of Germany.’
‘No. Not that. Is he for the country or against it?’
‘Against it, of course,’ replied the accountant.
‘Dad thinks Hitler is awful,’ said Mary. ‘I heard him say to mother last night, he said, “Hitler is awful.” Dad’s got no time for him. Neither have I.’
‘We’re buggered,’ said Clynes savagely. ‘I’m not a fool. Do you think I haven’t seen it coming? They can’t hide it from me any longer. Why is Fulsham never in? Because he doesn’t want to meet the creditors hanging round the door after a cheque,’
‘Bert reckons he goes out to the races with Miss Claws,’ said Correll, one hand on his hip, the other resting on the bench.
‘Yes. He is trying to pull out of it with a big win. And he’ll only get us further in the soup.’
Clynes stepped nearer to Correll and, waving his hand, raised his voice above the clamour of the machines.
‘Well, they’re not going to pull me down with them. I’ll get another job, and blast them. Why don’t they confide in us. Because they think we’re bloody fools, that’s why. Well, they’re mistaken. I’ll get another job. They can shove this one.’
He stood glaring at the floor, lips tightly closed, breathing deeply through his nostrils which contracted and expanded with each breath.
‘The whole factory will know about it today,’ said Correll, looking round the cleaning room, ‘After you told Bert, he told everybody.’
‘And they ought to know,’ said Clynes sullenly.
‘They’ll know,’ said Correll, pondering on the most dramatic way of conveying the news to Mrs Bourke.
Clynes was beating on walls within his mind. Power! Power! To make people come to him for things. Yes, Sir … No, Sir … To disdain. To humiliate. To ignore. Like Fulsham, to whom people crawled … And Fulsham was out at the races.
And the foremen looking at him as he passed. Obeying him with reluctance and resentment. And Fulsham out at the races—and his car—and his money—and women …
He had always been faithful to his wife, though envying Fulsham his courage in drinking from every well.
The monotony of his days made bearable by his ambition. And now the crash and all the women he could have had and now would never, never have. And a factory of his own … A factory of his own …
‘We’ve been too honest in this firm,’ he said savagely. ‘You’ve got to be tough in business … Tread over those in your way …’
He spoke with bitter relish as if he were even then tramping down those who disregarded him, who did not seek his advice, who did not take him into account.
‘There is no sentiment in business,’ he went on rapidly. ‘If your brother is working for you and you can get a better man, sack him. You don’t want to study anyone. If you can put one over anyone, do it. I don’t mean, to be dishonest; but work it so that you never give a point.’
He straightened himself defiantly. ‘They’re not leaving me behind. I’ll be on the map again. You get a lot of experience from a thing like this,’ he ended vindictively.
‘Our shares,’ said Correll. ‘They’re preference shares. We’ll get paid back for them, won’t we?’
‘No fear, we won’t. When this company goes, our shares go with them.’
Correll was disturbed. ‘Er —r—r—. But they’re protected … I mean they’re preference. Our houses, see. They’re security.’
‘Preference or no preference; house or no house; bang goes the lot.’ Clynes found pleasure in emphasising to Correll the finality of the disaster.
‘If only the Douglasites were in power,’ commented Correll bitterly.
He pushed his fingers through his thick hair. ‘Isn’t there some law …? I mean — we’ve always thought they were so safe. — E — r — r—. That money must mean something.’
Clynes laughed harshly. ‘It means a hell of a lot to all of us, but that won’t help any.’
He watched one of the cleaning-room girls stacking boxes.
He left Correll and walked over to her. She increased the speed of her working. He watched her for a moment with a foolish, self-conscious smile upon his face.
The girl watched him warily from beneath her brows.
He essayed familiarity with an awkward effort to appear skilful and at ease.
‘You look as if you had been out with the boy last night.’
The girl was anxious to impress. She glanced at him with an expression of guileful suggestion. ‘Too right I was,’ she lied.
When Clynes had left her she said to the girl working at the next bench, ‘What’s happened to old Pain-in-the-guts today? He’s never come at that before.’