For a moment there was silence, but to my surprise it was not followed by laughter. Hester was the first to speak. “I’ve only got my Post Office Savings Book,” she said, “but I can ask Mum if she minds that I use it.”
“I’ve a small pension,” said Miss Peters hesitantly, “although I was hoping not to touch it until 1961.”
“I put my savings into War Bonds,” said Mrs. Shaw, “and anyway, it’s a nice idea, Emmy, but unless one of us is secretly the Duke of Westminster, we’d never have enough.” She looked at Mr. Brand.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Shaw,” he said, “I am very definitely not him.”
“Thank you, ladies, all very much,” said Guy, “but I think what Emmy meant was that we would look to borrow money. No one would be giving up their personal savings.”
“It’s a pipe dream,” I admitted. “I said it without thinking. Sorry, everyone.”
“I don’t know if it is,” said Mrs. Mahoney. “Every publisher has to start somewhere. Look at Alfred Harmsworth. Started out with Comic Cuts and ended up as a viscount.”
“That’d show Mrs. Porter,” said Mrs. Shaw. “And Mrs. Pye.”
“All modesty aside, between the lot of us, what we don’t know about magazines you can write on the back of a stamp,” said Mrs. Mahoney.
As the others joined in saying there was no modesty needed, and that of course Mrs. Mahoney was entirely right, I sat for a moment and noticed how the mood had changed. Utter desolation had turned to something grittier. No one seemed to want to take the news lying down.
Perhaps it was just a pipe dream, and this was just the sort of If You Won The Pools What Would You Buy? conversation that you might have in an air-raid shelter to while away some time. But if Hester was willing to give up her Post Office savings before even being asked and Miss Peters was considering putting up the money that she had saved for her old age, then it did make you feel that if there was some way that it could become even the most remote possibility, the people surrounding me would do everything in their power to try to make it work.
“It’s certainly a novel idea,” said Mr. Newton, “but Mrs. Shaw made a jolly good point. This is the sort of thing that rich people do. Rothschilds or Rockefellers. Not normal people like us. I sometimes read The Financial Times on the bus,” he added in case anyone thought he was showing off.
Once again, silence fell, and we all looked to Guy.
“Before anything else, we need to be absolutely sure that Mrs. Porter definitely means it,” he said. “I will try to speak with her tomorrow. I’ll also try to get an appointment with the new Lord Overton. He may be able to shed light on the situation, or even…”—and here Guy looked anything but convinced—“offer some support. We must all hope that Mrs. Porter isn’t going to sell. But if she is,” he finished, “then we have a very large challenge indeed.”
The next morning, Mrs. Porter confirmed that Woman’s Friend was officially for sale.
Mr. Elliot slid into the office with a memorandum stating that we were to continue to work on the magazine as usual, and not to change or drop any of Mrs. Porter’s inspirational ideas. If anyone had any questions, they were to ask him.
As soon as he slid back out again, we all agreed we would not. Guy was our Editor, and as far as we were concerned, he was in charge.
Following Mr. Elliot, Mrs. Pye came in, later than usual, which a cynic might have said was so that she could make an entrance. Dressed in what I knew was her best suit, she staged an homage to Mrs. Porter by trying out a new very false laugh and attempting to call Mr. Elliot “darling,” which was an embarrassment for them both. Untroubled, she then made a rare visit to the journalists’ room, where we were all mucking in to help sort out the post.
“Bonjour,” she trilled. “Why so sad?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Pye,” I said. “Thank you for your concern. Are we sad, Mrs. Shaw? I didn’t think we were.”
“I’m not,” said Mrs. Shaw jauntily, “but that’s because I don’t have to answer all these complaints. Here you are, Mrs. Pye, today’s post for you.”
She plonked a significant pile of fashion and beauty correspondence into Mrs. Pye’s arms.
“Mnnfff,” said Mrs. Pye, who turned on her heels and left the room, saying loudly, “It’s no wonder Mrs. Porter has had enough.”
The rest of us looked at each other, and as Mrs. Shaw opened her mouth to reply, I put a finger to my lips.
“It’s all right,” I said once Madame was safely out of earshot. “Don’t forget, we’re the ones who are going to come up with a plan.”
“I bloody hope so,” said Mrs. Shaw.
I bloody did too.
A few days later, it was fair to say that we had. Or at least we’d made something of a start. It was Tuesday evening and Guy was coming to Bunty’s after work in order to share what information he had found so far over a fish and chips dinner.
I had of course told Bunts and Thel about the idea to buy Woman’s Friend. Now, as I was already at home having spent the afternoon in Chelsea interviewing one of Mrs. Porter’s brides, Bunty and I were sitting in deck chairs in the garden, chatting and trying to work out if we could hear any noise from the shed. The chickens had been in hiding for over a week now, and as it was turning into a decent summer, keeping Thelma indoors and away from them was proving a challenge.
“I’m sure she knows,” I said to Bunty. “The children bring them into the garden as soon as she goes out anywhere. She must have noticed bits of fluff and what have you.”
“You can definitely hear them,” said Bunty, concentrating, with her head tilted to one side.
“I’ll ask Roy if he can look after them until Thel’s birthday,” I said. “I don’t think I can cope with the pressure of hiding them for another whole month.”
I was joking, but Bunty picked up on an edge in my voice. “How are you?” she said. “Really? All this awful business with Mrs. Porter must be so hard.”
I sighed, a very long sigh. “It’s horrible,” I admitted. “When Guy told the contributors, he said Mrs. Fieldwick was awfully choked up about losing her gardening column and Mrs. Croft blamed herself for the entire thing. He told them both that if we can save Woman’s Friend they are to be the very first people to be put on the staff.”
“He’s a good man, that Guy,” said Bunty. “How’s it going on that front?”
“We’ll hear tonight,” I said. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment suggestion, but it’s taken on a life of its own. It was lovely to see everyone cheer up, but I can’t imagine how we’d make it work.”
“Guy will know,” said Bunty. “He always does.”
“I’m not sure,” I answered, watching a ladybird as it marched confidently up my finger and then took off into the air. “No one simply ups and buys a company. We couldn’t just walk into a bank and ask for a loan. They’d laugh at us. Anyway, the banks aren’t allowed to lend money unless it’s part of the war effort.”
“You’re entirely part of the war effort,” protested Bunty. “How many letters have you shown me from the Ministry thanking Woman’s Friend for its support? Not to mention the fact you’re helping keep Britain’s women going. Can’t Guy pull some strings at the Ministry for a reference?”
I wasn’t convinced. “ ‘Dear Mr. Bank Manager: Please can you give Guy thousands of pounds, as we know him and he wants to buy a whole magazine? Lots of love, The Ministry,’ ” I said, pulling a face.
“Now you’re just being glib,” said Bunts, nudging me in the arm with her elbow.
“Sorry,” I said. “Maybe he’ll have news when he gets in. But getting anyone to back us is a terrifically long shot. We’ve no background in company ownership. Why would they trust us? Anyway, everyone’s money is tied up in war bonds.”
Now I wasn’t being glib at all. It was the truth. To my surprise, Bunty began to laugh.
“What is it?” I said, smiling. “Banking isn’t funny, Miss Tavistock. It’s very serious and also incredibly dull.”
Bunts laughed even more. “Oh, Em,” she gulped, “did you ever think we’d end up sitting in a garden listening for smuggled chickens and saying things like company ownership?” She looked up to the sky and stretched her arms into the air. “What’s going on?” she yelled. Then she raised her voice even more. “THIS WAR’S SENDING EVERYONE BONKERS.”
I stretched my arms up as well. “I KNOW,” I shouted. “I WISH IT WOULD END BEFORE I GO MAD.”
Bunty grinned, bringing her arms down and wrapping them around her knees. “Too late,” she said cheerily.
I smiled at my friend and thought how lovely she looked and so very well. Her face was brown as a berry, as she and Harold had been on a day trip to Worthing at the weekend. They couldn’t go on the beach, of course, because of the mines, but they’d had a lovely time walking along the promenade and then eating their packed lunches and looking past the barbed-wire fences out to the sea.
“I sound about eighty,” she’d said when she told me.
“No, Bunts,” I replied. “You sound happy.”
“Harold’s coming over tonight, isn’t he?” I asked now. “It’s good of him to offer moral support.”
“He’s quite good on all sorts of things,” said Bunty, failing completely not to sound proud. “He might have some ideas.”
“We could do with that,” I said. “Although it’s rather a trek just for chips.”
“He says he doesn’t mind,” said Bunts, “although I feel a little bad.” She paused. “Do you want to know a secret? Mrs. Harewood’s annoying lodger is moving out. She’s asked him to leave.”
“That’s good news,” I said. “Buzz said he was quite odd.”
“Yes,” said Bunty keenly.
“Is that it?” I prompted. “Is that the secret?”
Bunty shook her head and leaned forward. “Mrs. Harewood has asked Harold if he’d like to have the room,” she said. “As a lodger.”
This was Enormous News. I couldn’t believe Bunty hadn’t told me the minute I got home.
“No?!” I said. “Do you think he will?”
Bunty nodded frantically. “Yes.”
“Oh, Bunts,” I said. “I’m chuffed to bits. But why’s it a secret?” I asked.
“I suppose it’s not really,” said Bunty, sounding slightly self-conscious. “I just didn’t want to make a big thing about it.”
“Oh, love,” I said, “it’s smashing news.”
Bunty nodded again. “I know,” she said. “I feel a bit giddy about it all.”
I leaned back and looked up at the sky. “Everybody’s going bonkers.” I laughed.
And then, although the point needed little further proof, Bunty and I both threw our arms into the air, and just as if we were still children together with hardly a care in the world, we let out the most enormous of cheers.