Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
‘We’d best not stay too long today,’ Philip said, ‘or we’ll be in for a soaking. Let’s walk back to the tram stop, eh?’ He looked hopefully at Margaret. ‘And you could come back home with us for a cup of tea?’
‘So where’ve you been?’ Aunt Hatt asked when Margaret slid into her place at the Sunday dinner table only just in time. Delicious smells of roasting beef had drifted from Mrs Flett’s kitchen as they sat next door and Philip asked if she might stay.
‘I’d best not,’ she said. ‘I think Auntie would be annoyed. She’s bought some pheasants specially today.’
Her aunt had not seen her go out that morning, but Annie was already at the table, having been back from church for quite some time.
‘Oh – just out for a walk,’ Margaret said, rearranging her cutlery.
Aunt Hatt put her hands on her hips. ‘Who with?’
‘Well – with Mr Tallis and Daisy.’
‘I see . . . No, Eb – let them stand a bit, don’t cut straight in . . . Mr Tallis. You seem to be seeing rather a lot of him.’
‘He’s a nice man, Auntie,’ Margaret said. She knew her aunt and uncle felt responsible for her and that they were concerned at what might happen, that Philip Tallis was so much older than her. But she also knew they were a bit funny about him because he was somehow different from them, which did not impress her.
‘Yes,’ Aunt Hatt said, busying herself with the roast potatoes. ‘Well – I suppose he is. But I’m not sure that means you need to spend so much time with him.’
Forty-Four
Forty-Four
The next week, the densest of all fogs descended, filling the streets and barely lifting even at midday. It seemed to muffle the sounds, almost as if the horses wore sacks over their hooves; it added an air of mystery to the distant cry of voices and pressed against the windows of Watts & Son as if waiting to be invited in. At night, the light from the street lamps took on a feeble, exhausted air and the daylight arrived as if filtered through an old dish clout. The lamps burned all day in the workshop and office as everyone strained their eyes over their tasks of page or peg.
Enclosed as they were in this murky world, unable to see out to any degree, everyone concentrated on what had to be done and crawled thankfully to bed once the day was over. And they were busy days.
Sid Cole and his assistant gem setters finished the work of arranging the daughters of Herr von Titz, and when they were brought into the office and everyone stood round admiring, they were the brightest thing that happened all week.
‘Well, I hope he’s pleased,’ Aunt Hatt said, arms folded as she looked down at them, smiling. ‘They are lovely, aren’t they, Eb?’