Goodmans of Glassford Street Read online

  John had been carried along by the Websters’ enthusiasm. ‘Right enough, Mum. It’s time you let go of the past. The Websters are right. The old house was too isolated for you on your own. And far too big. This new place will be the making of you. You’ll soon be back to normal again. This is your new start in life. It’ll do you the world of good. It’s such a cheery, interesting place compared with where you were before.’

  Where she had been before was with Tom. She tried to pass the time by looking out of the windows when she was in the flat. She couldn’t pass any time writing the book. John had taken it away with him, so eager was he to try it out with Scottish publishers. She hoped he would not be too disappointed when it was rejected, as she was sure it would be. She didn’t care.

  John had taken Tom’s office chair away from his office in the store. He desperately needed a chair like that for his desk in the flat on the Royal Mile, he said. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mum? It would be just perfect for my desk. You don’t seem to be able to buy chairs like that nowadays.’

  She could not deny John anything and on this occasion, what would be the excuse? But oh, it was the last straw. Not even in her office could she look across and remember Tom sitting in that chair any more. And all the time, more than ever now, she could feel Douglas Benson insidiously undermining her. The strength to fight him was seeping away. So this was what it was like to grow older? No energy, no capacity to meet challenges. At one time, she had enjoyed a challenge. Anything new and challenging in life had even felt like fun. She used to laugh. She never laughed now.

  Now, she just slumped back in one of the strange armchairs and tried to seek comfort in the familiarity of her CSI: Miami DVDs. Horatio was still the same. He was still tall and loose-limbed. He still stood with his jacket open and his thumbs hooked in his trouser belt. He still wore his shades. And, when he peeled them off, his eyes softened and narrowed with concentrated tenderness and understanding.

  Every morning Abi walked along to the store and tried to keep her usual routine. She had her managerial meetings. She noticed, and was glad to see, that Mr McKay was looking well. He had suffered terribly when his wife died and his suffering had been stamped on his face for all to see.

  She did her usual round of the departments and had a few words with some of the staff. Everything and everyone seemed to be ticking over normally. There were no problems or complaints. Of course, she paid all the staff well and there were plenty of good perks. She would have worked late but there was no excuse to do so. There was no putting off the time when she had to return to the flat.

  Once she went out to Huntershill for a secret look at the dear old place. To her shock and horror, it no longer looked like her old home at all. All the trees and bushes had completely disappeared. At the side of the house was a glittering glass conservatory and a large patio of garish coloured tiles. There was garden furniture of glass and metal. A glass table had a tall metal thing that looked like a silver lamp sticking up through the middle of it. The beautifully carved oak door at the front of the house had been replaced by a white painted door, over which hung a red and white striped awning.

  Her beautiful home had gone. She could never come back here any more, not even to look at the place. Once she got back to the flat, she wept brokenheartedly. She had to take a sleeping tablet to knock her out and banish the awful place from her mind’s eye.

  It still haunted her the next day. She could not get over it. Although she had left it, somehow she had always believed it would still be there, the same as ever. That day at the shop, Miss Eden had said, ‘Are you keeping all right, Mrs Goodman? You look rather pale.’

  ‘I didn’t have a very good sleep last night. I get like that sometimes. I have a bout of sleeplessness. I must take a sleeping tablet tonight.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. But thank you for your concern, Miss Eden.’

  Miss Eden had sharp eyes. She was an excellent detective. She missed nothing. Abi felt lucky in having her as an employee. It helped to know that, with such good employees, the store could keep running smoothly and successfully. Thinking of good employees made her remember Mr Webster. He’d been back down to South Castle-on-Sea and had experienced no more problems with the woman from The Floral. This was a great relief to both him and Mrs Webster, but apparently Mrs Webster occasionally went down with him for company. They seemed a very devoted and happy couple. She envied them.

  Then something surprised her. John phoned to say that the book had been accepted by the very first publisher he had offered it to. He didn’t just say the words in a normal manner, of course. Being John he was almost hysterical with joy and enthusiasm. He shouted so loudly, she had to hold the phone away from her ear.

  ‘Mum, your book’s going to be published. It’s been accepted by the very first publisher I gave it to. I told you, didn’t I? I told you.’

  She shook her head at the phone. ‘What on earth would anybody want to make a book of all that nonsense for, John? And who on earth would want to spend good money on it and read it?’

  ‘The publishers know their business, Mum. They must know it will sell, otherwise they wouldn’t have taken it on. Now you must come through and speak to them. I’ll come with you to their office. It’s not far from my flat.’

  She felt a bit confused, partly because John was shouting so loudly. But a time was arranged for her to go and meet the publishers.

  ‘They’re going to bring it out very soon, Mum. It’s just in time for their summer list, apparently. And there will be a launch party and everything. It seems the firm was about to go bust but it was saved by that guy I told you about.’

  ‘Yes, you said he was eccentric and he must be, right enough,’ she said, ‘to fling his money about like that.’

  ‘Och, it happens all the time, Mum. Taking over different businesses, expanding them, and so on.’

  Oh yes, like what Douglas Benson wanted to do. There were too many Douglas Bensons in the world – in the business world at least.

  Abi felt harassed more than excited when she travelled to Edinburgh for the meeting with Mr Thomas, the publisher. It turned out to be pleasant and businesslike. John was still simmering with excitement but the elderly man behind the desk in the office was quietly spoken and, after they discussed and then signed the contract, he took them out to lunch.

  A launch party was arranged and at John’s suggestion, it was to take place in the courtyard of the Italian Centre.

  ‘There would be no room in the book department in the store,’ John explained to Mr Thomas. ‘With all the counters and shelves and show cases. But there’s such a beautiful big courtyard in the Italian Centre. We could have a great party there.’

  And so it was arranged. John enthusiastically offered to help. So did the Websters. Even Douglas Benson seemed pleased, as well as astonished. ‘Now there’s something new to concentrate on. There’s a whole new career for you. A writer, who would have thought of that?’

  ‘I did.’ John laughed. ‘I had quite a job persuading her but I managed it.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Benson said. Then to her, ‘Well, well, so now you’re a writer.’

  She didn’t bother replying. It was so ridiculous. The arrangements for the launch, however, kept everyone, including herself, very busy. Mr Thomas did not come to Glasgow to see what they were doing but his young woman assistant did, and reported back to him.

  John persuaded Abi not only to purchase a new outfit for the event and have her blonde hair cut and styled, but to have a special facial as well. And on the big day, he cried out, ‘You look wonderful, Mum!’

  John had always been the same. He allowed his enthusiasm to completely carry him away.

  Official invitations from the publisher had been sent out but members of the public could also join the party and hopefully buy a book. That, apparently, was the whole purpose of the event. Fortunately it turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day.

/>   Abi sat at a table in the bright sunlight with a pile of books at her elbow which she signed as people queued up in front of her. The girl from the publisher’s stood at the side of the table, ready to keep passing more books for her to sign.

  At one point, Abi said, ‘Is the publisher not coming?’

  ‘Not Mr Thomas. But see over there – that’s the guy who saved the company. I’ll introduce you when he comes over. He’s going to take you to dinner afterwards.’

  There he was, tall and loose-limbed. He stood with his jacket open, his thumbs hooked in his trouser belt. He peeled off his shades, and his eyes narrowed and glimmered and his mouth betrayed a quirky humour.

  She smiled. Suddenly, she felt the excitement of youth again and the mischief.

  She winked at him. Then she went on signing the books.

  Now her new life really had begun.

  Other B&W titles

  by Margaret Thomson Davis

  THE BREADMAKERS

  THE NEW BREADMAKERS

  THE CLYDESIDERS TRILOGY

  THE TOBACCO LORDS TRILOGY

  A DARKENING OF THE HEART

  THE DARK SIDE OF PLEASURE

  BURNING AMBITION

  THE GLASGOW BELLE

  LIGHT & DARK

  WRITE FROM THE HEART

  A DEADLY DECEPTION

  RED ALERT

  DOUBLE DANGER

  THE KELLYS OF KELVINGROVE

  COPYRIGHT

  First published 2007

  by Black & White Publishing Ltd

  29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL

  www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

  This electronic edition published in 2013

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 644 8 in EPub format

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 645 5 in Mobipocket format

  ISBN: 978 1 84502 202 0 in paperback format

  Copyright © Margaret Thomson Davis 2007

  The right of Margaret Thomson Davis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay