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  ‘How much would that cost?’ Elvira’s voice was harsh.

  ‘We’d have to agree a price with her. Between you, you could surely rake together what is needed. You could try anyway. More than likely she won’t have the slightest idea what the shares are worth. It could be a good investment for you. Yes, it makes economic sense to buy her share.’

  Marcus had a moment of panic. No amount of raking would find his share of the money needed to buy Millie out, and Elvira looked as though she was about to have a fit. He said, ‘We could make things generally difficult for Millie so she’ll want to get out. Without Uncle Peter she’ll back down if we put on a united front. She won’t know much about business, not coming from where she did.’

  His father said slowly, ‘I’ve never really got to know Millie and what I’ve seen of her I don’t like. She’s a very good-looking woman but an obvious gold digger and a bit of a floozy. To produce a baby in the way she did makes her disreputable. I don’t know what Peter was thinking of, he should have had more sense than to accept her bastard and marry a girl like that. Still, Marcus, you should be able to handle her. By all accounts you controlled the other ranks in your regiment, largely called up from the same back streets of Liverpool Millie came from. At least you’ll be able to start work straight away.’

  Now the funeral was over, Millie thought she ought to be getting on with her life, but she felt at sixes and sevens and hardly knew what she was doing.

  On Thursday evening, Valerie rang up to ask how she was. ‘I ought to go back to work.’ She really needed to check that all was well in the lab. It was her responsibility to make sure there was enough perfume on hand to keep the factory working. ‘And Sylvie would be better off at work. Unless I make an effort to occupy her, she spends her time in tears in her bedroom.’

  ‘You’ve both had a terrible shock. Try and rest . . .’

  ‘But the house needs cleaning and I feel such a mess. I’m just drifting, spending too much time staring into space, thinking of Pete.’

  ‘Millie, I’ll come round in the morning to help you clean up. Helen will look after the twins for me and we’ll fix something up for the weekend to keep you and Sylvie occupied. Monday is plenty soon enough for you to go back to work.’

  Millie was very grateful. Valerie came and pressed Sylvie into helping her clean and polish. When Millie mentioned that her hair needed washing, Valerie had her upstairs to the bathroom and her head in a bowl of warm water five minutes later. Valerie knew how to set hair and did a good job for her. In the afternoon, she sent her and Sylvie off to collect the boys from school with instructions to take them straight to Helen’s house. She had invited them all to have supper there.

  It was the same over the weekend, and Millie was grateful that she and her children were kept occupied by Pete’s older daughters. She got up early on Monday morning to take the boys back to school and get herself and Sylvie down to the works by nine o’clock. It was a dark, wet morning and there was little traffic about because petrol was very scarce. Pete had been given a rationed allowance in order to run the business but they had to use it sparingly. It was rumoured that a modest ration for pleasure purposes might soon be restored.

  She drove down to the factory and office of William C. Maynard and Sons. The building was upriver from the Pier Head in the heart of the industrial area near the docks. Good views could be had up and down the Mersey from the front windows, though some had been covered with grimy mesh to prevent break-ins.

  They’d had the building extended in 1934 when business was seen to be picking up after the depression of the twenties and early thirties. Their own building had suffered some bomb damage which Pete had had repaired under the government emergency scheme, which covered the minimum to keep it safe, but nothing had been done since. It looked shabby and down-at-heel, but then so did most of the buildings in Liverpool. Paint had been unobtainable during the war. Millie made up her mind to do something about it as soon as she could.

  As they entered the building the strong scent of many perfumes immediately enveloped them, and they could hear the machine stamping out tablets of soap as they climbed the stairs to the offices on the upper floor. Millie paused outside the door to the typing pool. ‘Come and collect me when you’re ready to go to lunch,’ she said to Sylvie. They often went to Parker’s Refreshment Rooms in the dinner hour as it saved the rations for other meals.

  Sylvie didn’t look well but she was dry-eyed and seemed more composed than she had for days. Millie dropped a kiss on her cheek before walking along the corridor to the rather grandly named Perfume Laboratory, which was at the back of the building overlooking desolate ruins, buildings that had been bombed in the blitz and were still waiting for redevelopment. Pete had bought for the company a cleared bomb site next to the building to provide added space to load and unload goods and materials, and also to use as a car park.

  Millie ran the lab with the help of Denis who had joined the firm three and a half years ago at the age of sixteen to learn the trade as an apprentice. He was proving very competent and she was able to leave a lot of the routine work to him now.

  Arthur Knowles had fired her own interest and taught her most of what she knew. Denis’s mother was Arthur Knowles’s daughter and as Arthur had run the lab for years and been very friendly with Pete, they’d both taken a keen interest in Denis. Millie was grateful for the help Arthur had given her and wanted to hand on her knowledge to his grandson. Not that Denis resembled Arthur. He had a round, youthful face, inquiring brown eyes and dark curly hair that fell all over his forehead.

  Millie opened the door and caught the powerful waft of fragrance, a potpourri of the many scents she blended. It was a large room set up as a basic laboratory where dyes could be mixed and perfumes blended. Almost all the wall space was covered with shelving holding bottles and jars of every size filled with essences and essential oils, all carefully labelled and dated.

  There were huge copper containers holding the concentrates she produced, and big stands held more jars, bell jars and aluminium drums, making avenues up and down the room so it was impossible to see across it. There were two sinks and benches at which she could work. She had her desk in the furthest corner, while Denis had taken over what had been her workstation when she’d started – a small table with a bookcase and chair in a corner near the door.

  As she closed it behind her Millie heard an exasperated voice say, ‘Well, come on, I want to know what this is for.’

  She pulled up short when she saw James’s younger son leaning over her equipment. A nervous looking Denis stood at attention beside him. ‘Hello, Marcus,’ she said coldly. ‘What are you doing here? Has something gone wrong?’

  Denis looked relieved to see her. ‘Morning, Mrs Maynard,’ he said and scurried out of sight to the other end of the room.

  She could see that Marcus was ill at ease. ‘We didn’t expect you to come in, Millie. How are you?’

  She gulped. ‘As well as can be expected. I thought I’d left enough essentials to keep the factory working, but of course I expected to be back on Wednesday.’ She could think of no other reason why he should be here. ‘Is the factory running out of perfume?’

  ‘No,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Father thought you might not want to work here any more. He asked me to familiarise myself with what needed to be done.’

  ‘Heavens! The last thing I want is to stop working. From now on, I shall need something to fill my day.’

  Marcus looked embarrassed. He was Pete’s younger nephew, and was some two years older than Millie. He was balding a little now but that was only visible from the back. He had a rather lordly attitude and Pete had said he was inclined to throw his weight about. His father spoke proudly of him, though he’d spent most of the war years behind a desk in Catterick.

  Millie asked slowly, ‘Are you saying that you’re coming to work in the firm?’ Sh
e didn’t like the idea.

  ‘Father wants me to.’ His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. ‘Now Uncle Peter has . . . gone, everything will have to be reorganised, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ Millie felt she should have been consulted; after all, they must realise she’d inherit Pete’s share and she’d worked here for years. ‘Is he in today? Your father?’

  ‘Yes,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’d better go along and see him,’ she said, ‘to tell him you won’t be needed to do my job. I’ll continue to take care of the dyes and perfumes.’ She could hear him blustering as he followed her along the corridor but she took no notice.

  Some years ago, Pete had given up the largest office in the building to James because he complained of difficulty in getting up another flight of stairs to his smaller one. A large mahogany table took up some of the space as it was also used as their boardroom. Its several windows provided good views of the Mersey.

  She rapped sharply on the door and went in, closely followed by Marcus. James lowered the newspaper he’d been reading and pushed himself back from his grand mahogany desk. He was three years younger than Pete but had developed heart trouble in his forties and had suffered two small strokes. He’d had considerable ill health since and was absent from work a good deal of the time.

  It had been Pete’s opinion that he’d slowed down to the point of doing next to nothing and should have retired years ago. But James needed to believe he was still capable of doing a day’s work so Pete had taken over all responsibility for running the business while encouraging his brother to think he was still playing an important part.

  ‘Emily!’ He was struggling to pull his bulk from the chair and come to greet her. He had a florid complexion and very little hair left, his pink scalp was shiny and he was seriously overweight. ‘There was absolutely no need for you to come in, my dear. How are you?’

  ‘A bit shocked, James, to find Marcus in the lab trying to familiarise himself with my job so he can take it over.’

  James looked taken aback. ‘Oh my dear, that was not the intention, not at all. You mustn’t think like that. We were afraid you’d be needing help now.’

  ‘Not with a job I’ve been doing for years.’ She stood resolute before him. ‘He was trying to pick Denis’s brains on lab work but I’d prefer him to deal with me.’

  ‘He didn’t want to bother you at this difficult time. Come and sit down.’ James pulled out a chair in front of his desk and urged her to it. ‘How are the children? They must be very upset.’

  ‘They are but—’

  ‘Peter’s death affects all of us. It also affects the business. I meant to have a word with Pete, but events have overtaken me there. To be honest, I’m thinking of retiring. There doesn’t seem much point in carrying on now Marcus has been demobbed.’

  She stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Now the war’s over I need to find another career,’ Marcus told her.

  Millie turned back to his father. ‘Are you telling me Marcus is going to take over from you?’

  ‘Millie, it’s been on my mind since poor Peter . . . well, since he died,’ James took off his heavy spectacles and mopped at his eyes, ‘that you might like to sell his share of the business to another member of the family.’

  Millie was astounded. ‘Why?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well, we thought you might prefer to move on now Peter’s gone.’

  ‘Sell to Marcus, you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes, Marcus and Nigel.’ James was struggling. ‘They need to earn a living and the business won’t support us all, not like it used to. They work well together and both want to find a new direction in life.’

  ‘But they know nothing about the business,’ Millie protested. ‘We need somebody who does.’ Most of their senior managers had been working for them since before the war. Pete had believed them to be totally reliable but they were all close to retirement age now, and there wasn’t one who would want to run the company. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to bring in an experienced professional manager from a similar trade?’

  ‘I don’t believe that will be necessary. Both my sons are adaptable and quick to learn.’

  ‘But Marcus has spent years in the army and Nigel in the Colonial Service in India. They can’t run the company without an understanding of—’

  ‘These are hard times, Millie,’ Marcus came to his father’s aid, ‘and there’s no point in hiding the fact that we’re disappointed with the way the business is performing. It isn’t making the profit we’d hoped for. The war drove it almost out of existence, but it should be pulling up now. It needs more vigorous management, a different approach, a tougher hand with the staff.’

  Millie was horrified. ‘It’s doing well, Pete was a good manager.’

  James was waving his plump hands about and his large nose was developing a purplish tinge. ‘We need to watch our expenses, increase our sales, cut out the dead wood . . .’

  Millie’s mouth had gone dry. ‘You count me as dead wood?’

  ‘No, Emily, not you. Not you at all. You mustn’t take everything we say personally.’

  Marcus asked, ‘Didn’t Peter tell you we were worried about the business?’

  ‘No, quite the opposite. I thought—’

  ‘Peter was worried too.’ James was trying to support his son.

  ‘No,’ she was shocked, ‘no, he wasn’t.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he wanted to talk about it when he was home with his family. We’re all upset about it. It’s depressing to see the family firm go down like this.’

  ‘James, what are you talking about?’ Millie was aghast. ‘I can’t understand where you get that idea. You must know the war almost brought the company to a standstill because all our young staff were away fighting and soap was rationed. It still is because the politicians have decided scarce fats are needed for food.

  ‘We could sell every tablet of soap we make but although we’re able to get more of what we need, the lack of essential ingredients is still holding us up. All the same, both turnover and profit were up in last year’s accounts.’ Pete had said they were continuing to climb slowly. ‘He was delighted and thought the company was getting back on its feet.’

  They were looking at each other somewhat disconcerted. James said, ‘Oh, I think you’re mistaken, my dear.’

  Millie could feel a wall of anger building up inside her. For years, James had been leaving almost every decision to Pete. It offended her that they were running down what he’d achieved. She took a deep breath, she needed to keep her temper now.

  ‘What you say isn’t true,’ she said, looking Marcus in the eye. ‘Pete has already pulled the firm out of the doldrums. He’s turned it round. Of course it still has a long way to climb before it’s making the profit it once did, but it is making a profit and everything is on course for that to continue. Pete worked very hard . . .’

  James put up his hands to stop her. ‘We know how hard Peter worked. Please don’t think we don’t appreciate all he did, but with new blood in the company, Marcus feels he can pull it together and make it achieve more.’

  Marcus added for good measure, ‘There’s been no growth for years and very little profit.’

  Millie was so furious she could hardly get the words out. ‘I’m telling you there has. Have you looked at last year’s accounts?’ She turned to his bookcase in which the latest figures had always had a slot. Today the folder wasn’t there. ‘If you look at them, you’ll see that both profit and growth have increased. I think he worked marvels.’

  ‘The point is,’ Marcus said at his most lordly, ‘do you wish to sell Uncle Peter’s share so that you, too, can make a fresh start and get on with your life?’

  Millie could feel tears prickling her eyes but she was determined not to let them fall. ‘I haven’t had time to think mu
ch about the business since the accident, but I’ll give it some thought now. I’ll need to work and managing the perfume laboratory is all I know. Without Pete’s salary, I’ll need to maximise my income to support the children.’

  James said disparagingly, ‘Peter always had expensive tastes. You may have to live more economically in the future. Selling your share would give you a little money for your new life. You think about it, my dear, and let us know what you decide.’

  Millie got up from the chair so quickly that it rocked. She made it back to her desk before her tears began to fall.

  She felt sick with worry. It had never occurred to her that Marcus would want to buy her out of the business. That had come as a shock, especially as she’d never needed her job more. She’d thought she was good at it but perhaps . . . She leapt out of her chair and strode to the window to stare down into the shabby dockland street. Oh goodness! She must not let them get her down.

  Pete had always shielded her from arguments with his brother, she wasn’t used to it and it had infuriated her to hear him say they were worried about the way he’d been running the company. Marcus had been dogmatic about last year’s results being bad, but she was almost sure he was wrong. She felt confused and could no longer trust her memory. It was many months since the accounts had been drawn up and she and Pete had talked about them. She didn’t have a copy of them here in her office, though there’d be one in Pete’s desk.

  She needed to see for herself exactly what the figures were but the office Pete had used was up another flight of stairs in a turret at the end of the building, and she was afraid Marcus had already taken it over.

  Chapter Nine

  Millie decided to run along the corridor to see their accountant Andrew Worthington. He’d been working for them for only four months, since their previous accountant had retired. He’d been recommended to them by a relative and Pete had been pleased at the way he’d settled in. He’d thought him efficient and had told her they’d made a good choice. When she went in she was glad to see he was working on the new comptometer that they’d had to apply for a government permit to buy. He jerked to his feet when he saw her.