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  “Not much of a mystery to me,” snorted Mr Soames to his wife’s concern. He took a large bite of the heavy pastry of the steak pie as cover, while he thought it over. Eventually he ventured, “Well, actually there just might be an opening at Murrays, but I can’t promise anything, I’ll need to discuss it with the others.”

  Mrs Soames smiled. “More pie, dear?” and, ignoring his fervent head shaking, she cut him another large slice.

  “Thanks, dear,” he replied meekly and, sighing, ploughed on with his meal.

  It would be easy to say that Rory (Mr Campbell) exploded into the Luggage department but in fact it would be more accurate to say that he bounced into it. A small man with glasses and receding hair, he was dressed in a suit that had seen better days (and a slimmer form) and rather cheap shoes. (Mrs Goodwin the eagle-eyed first sales noticed this at once – it was one of her special ways of judging people. She had many ways of doing this, none of which led to any discernible warming of her regard for staff or customers alike).

  He clapped his hands. “To me everyone, to me,” he called out cheerily. This had an electrifying effect on the staff. To everyone’s certain knowledge, no voice had ever been raised in this department.

  The staff warily gathered around him. “Right then, boys and girls,” he started. His eyes flicked over the small assembly. “Well, you know what I mean,” he continued. “I’m Rory Campbell, the new buyer for Luggage, and I’m telling you now – things are going to change around here!”

  Mr Prentice suppressed a small burp. Liquid breakfasts were beginning to feature in his diet. The others exchanged glances. What now? they thought collectively. Judgemental Muriel Goodwin narrowed her eyes. She had seen them come and seen them go. As retirement approached rapidly, she didn’t want to be shaken up from her current comfortable lethargy. Annie squeaked silently to herself, wondering what was coming.

  Mr Campbell changed tack sharply. “OK, men. This is what we’re going to do.”

  The staff looked even more uncomfortable. What was going on with this guy?

  “This is a military operation. We need to rescue Luggage from the scrap heap. Look at the place. I came in on Sunday with Uncle, er, Mr Soames to look over the department and was pretty appalled, I can tell you.”

  Mrs Goodwin bridled. Even in Luggage, no one liked hearing their stock decried. It might have been dull and uninspiring, but that was what they were familiar with and what they expected.

  “Now what is the first thing to identify in battle?” he asked and looked around expectantly. His glance was met by a series of puzzled shrugs. “Come on. Don’t you know the first thing about military strategy?” He was slightly surprised to hear himself say that. His most recent unpleasant encounter was when this had been said to him directly about his own lack of skills. Nevertheless he persisted. “Number one – know your enemy. Who is our enemy here? Does anyone know? Anyone? Anyone at all?”

  Feeling sorry for him, Annie moved virtually imperceptibly forward. “Erm… is it the shoplifters?”

  Hearing a bat-like sound, Rory turned towards her “Well, that’s a start anyway. What’s your name, corporal?”

  Corporal? she thought. “Annie, Miss Smail,” she told him.

  “Well, Annie, I’m putting you in charge of communication,” was the response.

  “What?” said Mr Prentice, despite himself.

  “Well, she was the only one who spoke up,” reasoned Rory.

  “Even though she was wrong?” cut in Miss Cunningham. “Everyone knows it’s the management that is our real enemy.”

  The others sniggered unattractively.

  “Look, darlings,” said Rory, abruptly changing persona. “We don’t have time for this just now. Let’s synchronise watches and reconvene after closing. Let’s say 17.36, shall we?”

  He eyed the approach of two hesitant customers working out how to get through the department unmolested by staff eager to make sales. As if there was any danger of that; they were, after all, in the luggage department known to the canteen crowd as ‘Sluggage’.

  Rory bounced forward “Ladies, ladies, how can we help you today? Can I interest you in this fine suitcase in the latest nut brown shade and so heavy too, such a sign of quality. Off to Las Vegas, are you?” he continued conversationally to the obvious discomfort of the respectably rain-coated Edinburgh matrons. They scuttled off. Rory turned. “Well, you can’t win them all, can you?” He brushed his hands together and set off for the tiny back office under the stairs.

  The others looked at one another in startled silence.

  “What was that?” burst out Mrs Goodwin, her winged glasses glinting.

  “God only knows who put him in charge,” said Miss Cunningham. She thought for a moment. “Well, yes, we do. ‘Uncle Mr Soames’ of course! One thing’s for certain,” she continued, “I’m not staying on after work to discuss this so-called military operation.” She sniffed at the sheer outrage of this expectation.

  The staff moved off to various tasks. Annie to check there was enough wrapping paper and string in the packing area, Mrs Goodwin to check over paperwork, Mr Prentice to whatever mysterious errand he needed to make to the underground delivery area and Miss Cunningham to take up her familiar position near the entrance to the department to pose and check herself in the floor-length mirror as well as keep an eye out for any approaching potential customers or the more worrying prospect – management. No one felt moved to dust the suitcases, holdalls, brief-cases and other items of grubby stock, placed unimaginatively around the walls. Four light bulbs were noted to be out by the passing handyman. He walked on. No one from Luggage would be likely to notice or complain.

  Five thirty-six found the staff team, slightly to its surprise, loosely gathered around a sticky table in the basement bar across the road from Murrays. It was generally a place for solitary men to hunch over short glasses and Mr Prentice got a nod from the barman. Miss Cunningham leaned slightly away from the others. Trying to appear not to be with them, Annie thought glumly. She hero-worshipped Miss Cunningham, as she was so glamorous, and indeed she used to be, but time had marched on and lavish applications of Max Factor’s best somewhat inadequately compensated for its ensuing ravages. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb’ is an unkind phrase and not one that Annie would have used, but nevertheless the concept hovered over Miss Cunningham, generally unspoken (except by the irreverent packing and dispatch crew).

  Mr Campbell reviewed his unlikely troops. “Thank you so much for coming, darlings,” he started. “We really have to plan this campaign, and we need all the help we can get.”

  He began to outline his plan for the future of Sluggage. Soon heads began to lift, suggestions were made and taken up with alacrity, people began to talk at once and interrupt one another. Such enthusiasm had never been seen among any staff group at Murrays. Time passed rapidly, and Mr Prentice was sent to the bar several times to replenish supplies of lemonade and crisps. He was appointed quartermaster, Annie remained as corporal in charge of communications, Miss Cunningham was lookout and Mrs Goodwin was to man HQ (the sales desk). They were all allocated tasks, which they contemplated with excitement.

  As they left that evening, their heads buzzing with excitement, Mr Prentice muttered to no one in particular “Blimey, you don’t know whether he’s Tinkerbell or Napoleon from one minute to the next, but one thing’s for sure – it’s going to be interesting with him in charge.”

  Mr Campbell overhearing this, twitched slightly, but shrugged, he supposed it was accurate enough and anyway, he was pleased with the way things had gone. Operation Limelight, as he referred to it, had started – Luggage was on the way up. The employees were heading for the big time, he decided, a window display of their own and maybe even a move out of the basement. He bounced off downhill to make notes far into the night.

  “Nighty night,” he called out over his shoulder to his departing colleagues.

  During the next week, things began to happen in Sluggage. Annie, as the unlikely
communications officer, was despatched to the travel agents in William Street to gather travel brochures and, if possible, posters. These were to be handed to Mr Campbell’s new friend, Mr Dick, in Display and Advertising. He certainly knows how to make friends, she happily thought to herself. Mr Prentice, the quartermaster, went off to Garden Furnishing, Household Goods and Linen departments. Miss Cunningham went to Ladies separates for her errand and Mrs Goodwin held the fort in the department. Literally, she sometimes felt. The campaign was under way.

  For his part, Rory managed to wrest a small increase in the department’s budget from Uncle Mr Soames and disappeared off into his tiny office with sales brochures for prestigious luggage companies.

  Meanwhile, cleaners had been rounded up to dust and clean the existing stock, wash down the walls (revealing a slightly lighter shade of beige) and give the carpets a good sweep. Light bulbs were replaced and, all in all, the place looked much brighter. However, that was only a start. The old stock was reviewed and only the newer Samsonite and Antler cases retained. The heavy old-fashioned leather ones were consigned to the underground store to await the annual sale. New deliveries were made and Annie admired the new lightweight Samsonite traveller and Antler zero cases. The beautiful Louis Vuitton matched sets made her sigh with their sheer elegance and gasp at their prices.

  Rory set to work with the items retrieved by Mr Pringle and Miss Cunningham. He set up a deck chair and a table with a jug and glasses on it. A plaster model, retrieved after closing time from Model Gowns, was dressed in a swimsuit and placed in a reclining position on the deck chair. Mr Dick had done a fine job, and the travel posters and brochures were returned beautifully mounted and were displayed around the model as well as dispersed throughout the department.

  “Almost perfect, men,” Rory drawled thoughtfully to the assembled staff. “Just one or two things left.”

  He looked meaningfully at Annie and Miss Cunningham: one underdone and the other overdone. Two sides of the same depressing coin, he had thought. “Now ladies, as you know, Hair and Beauty is looking for models for its juniors to practise on. Would you two be willing to help them out?”

  The two ladies had known no such thing.

  “Would it cost us?” asked Miss Cunningham, suspiciously.

  “Oh, no,” he waved airily with one hand, the other being behind his back with fingers crossed. “It’s just to help them out. You could go now if you want. We’re almost finished here.”

  With no time to think about it, the two set off for the Fifth floor lair of the Hairdressers and Beauticians. Rory reminded himself to thank Miss Clark in Hair and Beauty: another new friend, even though he’d need to pay for the makeovers himself.

  The next day the two paraded themselves self-consciously to the others.

  “What an improvement,” Mr Prentice blurted out, clumsily.

  He wasn’t wrong, thought Rory. Annie, with her shiny hair and lightly made-up face, looked a new person. Miss Cunningham looked 20 years younger with her new shorter hairstyle and much more subtle make-up.

  Mrs Goodwin returned from Ladies separates with new blouses for the ladies, and they retired to put them on. Mr Pringle was given a matching tie. When they reconvened, their overall impression reflected the appearance of the flight crew illustrated in some of the airline posters. They were amazed.

  “Just look at us,” marvelled Annie, really quite loudly.

  “One more thing, darlings,” said Rory tantalisingly as he disappeared into his office. As they waited, they were stunned to suddenly hear the cries of seagulls echoing around the department.

  “Like it?” asked Rory as he re-emerged.

  “It’s fantastic,” said Mrs Goodwin, forgetting herself. “Really puts you in mind of the seaside.”

  “That’s the idea,” said Rory. “Seaside equals holidays, equals new clothes, and something to carry them in equals us,” he said triumphantly. “We’re not going to play them all the time, though, we’ll intersperse them with music to put people in a cheerful mood – an all-around attack on the senses. What do you think?”

  Mrs Pegram, the personnel manager, reviewed the new juniors, ranged over the benches in front of her. The usual assortment, she thought: the sophisticated ones at the back, yawning to indicate their apparent indifference, although she knew that these attitudes masked the awkwardness of adolescence. “Now then,” she began “You’ve finished your induction course and it’s time to join your first departments. We have allocated you to specific ones but, first, do any of you have any particular preferences?” From the back row three hands shot up. Wanting Model Gowns or Bridal, Mrs Pegram supposed wearily, these girls usually do. “Yes,” she asked the first one, “Which department?”

  “Travel and luggage, please?” the tall, young woman said hopefully.

  “Och!” said her neighbour “I wanted that one!”

  Other irritated sighs and indications of disappointment were uttered from the group.

  Goodness! thought Mrs Pegram. Who’d ever believe it? She supposed that the new location for Travel and Luggage (as it was now called), along with the permanent window display, had really raised its profile. With all these juniors keen to join the department, it was almost a pity that Mrs Goodwin had put off her retirement. Mr Campbell had done a very good job there. She wondered where he might be best deployed next. The battle for business must continue.

  Across the road in the basement bar, Mr Prentice raised a glass to his lips. “My very last one,” he said to himself. Now after 30 years, he was First Sales – he had to rise to the challenge. He silently toasted Tinkerbell Napoleon.

  Chapter 3

  New Girl

  Dear Miss Glover,

  Further to your interview last week, I have pleasure in offering you the post of junior sales assistant at Murrays. The actual department to which you will be deployed will be decided on commencement of your employment.

  Hours of work will be 9am-5.30pm, Monday to Friday, and 9am-1.00pm on Saturday.

  Salary will commence at £17 per week, payable in arrears, and will be reviewed annually.

  Please report to the doorman at the staff entrance at 8.50am on Monday, 2nd August. He will direct you to the appropriate cloakroom and issue a locker key. After that report to the Personnel Department where you will be informed of your initial department.

  I do hope that you will enjoy your employment at Murrays.

  You will be expected to provide best attention to our customers at all times.

  Yours sincerely, for Murrays

  Department Store of Distinction

  p.p. Mrs Pegram

  Monday

  Well, that was some day. Mum cooking me a breakfast? Never happened before. She said it was because I was going to be doing a real job. Dad gave me a lift today on his way to the surgery. Another one-off. Must say it all felt pretty unreal to me. I never thought I would be working at Murrays somehow and the Crystal department? Me? The so-called ‘First Sales’ is Mrs Anderson. She’s not a lot of fun. She has glasses with big wings going off on each side of her face, which looks sort of ratty. She seems to be permanently discontented. Oh well. I’m quite tired now. Not allowed to sit down. Must get better shoes! Debbie (new best friend?) in Royal Doulton, the department next door, said that ones with platforms are more comfortable. Not sure how/why but will think about it when I’m paid next week.

  Off to sleep now.

  Tuesday

  Dusting and polishing all day. The shelves are glass too so need to be sparkling clean at all times. The bright lights seem to attract dust. Am envious of the other depts. who don’t have to do so much dusting. I actually spoke to a customer today, only briefly, before being batted aside by Mrs A. They didn’t buy anything either. Ha ha. Not the attitude. Must be more respectful.

  Wednesday

  Am on first break. That means coffee break at 9.30, lunch at 11.30 and afternoon break at 2.30. That makes for a very long afternoon. It’s OK for Mrs A apparently to sit for ages
over her break but I have to rush back. Still it means I get to sit with the other juniors in the canteen. What a laugh some of them are. I gather that Mrs A is so bad-tempered because she has terrible piles. (What are piles? Everyone seems to know what they are except me). The last junior left after a bust-up with her so Mrs A has to seem pleasant to me in front of the Buyer. That’s something for me to bear in mind. Hmm.

  Thursday

  Big day for me today. La A decided that I should be taught to pack and wrap crystal. It’s quite an art and I seem to have spent the whole day ‘in the back’ tying and retying knots on six strand parcel boxes. My fingers are sore from the nasty rough string. Mind you, that’s a skill worth having. Not everybody can do it. It’s satisfying seeing customers walking off carrying their nattily wrapped boxes of crystal with string carrying handles. VG. Wish the Guide Leader could see me now.

  Friday

  Quite busy today. I’m becoming more familiar with the various crystal designs and types and sizes of glass. They are SO expensive though. I can’t understand how people can bear to part with that kind of money. Mrs A said I shouldn’t make so much of the price when talking to customers. I should go on about the quality. What quality? This stuff is full of specks and bubbles. I don’t think it’s half as nice as the other crystal concession. No names, no pack drill as they say (who are ‘they’ exactly?). They have a much better location and have natural light. Our wee section is under a gallery, so it’s like a dark cavern. Suppose that’s why we have so many lights. ‘Our section’ – I must be being sucked into it all. Suddenly I feel quite loyal to our wee bit and our stock. If only it wasn’t (a) so expensive and (b) such poor quality! If only the other stuff wasn’t so (a) sparkly, (b) much better quality and (c) much more nicely designed!