life at last.
‘Good trip?’
‘Good enough.’
‘Right! See you at the office. I’ll be late, I reckon … got a frantic call from Joe Nightingale … some planning difficulty or other, it’s a damned nuisance. Still, I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t get round.’
‘Dougie, wait!’ Now that his mind was made up, he needed to tell the world. ‘What time will you be back, do you think?’
‘Not sure. You know what it’s like. When Joe can’t have his own way, he tends to get het-up. Then you have to take him out and discuss the finer points over a pint. I don’t suppose I’ll get away much before what … three … four? Why?’
‘But you will be back at the office today, won’t you?’
‘Sure thing, but what’s the panic?’
‘No panic. There’s something I need to talk over with you, that’s all.’
‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. I’ll try and get away by two. How does that suit?’
‘Okay. See you then. Give my regards to Joe.’
‘Hmh!’ Dougie gave a laugh. ‘Knowing how difficult it can be to drag yourself away when he’s got a bee in his bonnet, I’ll probably have him in tow.’
‘Naw. You’ll deal with it. See you at two then!’
‘Can’t wait!’
A moment later, having seen that his cupboards were bare, Tom threw on his jacket and made his way out of the building. He quickly hailed a cab, though not in the same cavalier way as the young woman before him. ‘Can you take me to the best greasy spoon you know?’ he asked.
The cabbie acknowledged his request with a grin. ‘I know just the place,’ he said. ‘Sausages, mushrooms, and thick fried bread like you’ve never seen. Two slices o’ bread and marge, and a pot o’ tea to go with it.’ He winked in his mirror. ‘How does that sound, guv?’
Tom was impressed. ‘Sounds like the nearest thing to heaven to me,’ he said. Settling comfortably in his seat, he shut his eyes and ears to the traffic and let his stomach dictate.
Even now, early though it was, London was a bustling medley of trolleybuses, bicycles and motor cars. But the cabbie was as good as his word. ‘Baker’s Caff,’ he declared, drawing into the kerbside, ‘owned and run by my own dear mamma … name of Lola. Looks like the devil, cooks like an angel!’
At that minute a woman emerged. All smiles and white teeth, she was ample in every way; obviously of Italian origin, with her black eyes, and her dark hair tied in an elaborate knot at the top of her head. ‘Come in! Come in!’ she urged.
Opening her dimpled arms, she embraced him with surprising strength. ‘Nice to see you, handsome man. You wanna the breakfast?’ As she spoke she nodded, her smile growing so wide it almost enveloped her face.
The cabbie laughed. ‘Course he wants “the breakfast”! Why do you think I brought him, eh?’ Winking at Tom, he suggested mischievously, ‘Matter o’ fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit peckish myself.’
‘No, you can’t!’ She wagged an angry finger at him. ‘I don’t feed you no more today! You be a good boy … get away and bring me more customers.’
Laughing, he deposited Tom into her care and drove off.
Lola’s breakfast was as good as it got with rationing still in place: two huge sausages; a heaping of mushrooms; four crinkly cooked tomatoes; even a fried egg, and the whole plate swimming in juices and fats, which Tom eagerly mopped up with his chunks of fresh-baked bread. Afterwards there was a cup of scalding hot tea to wash it all down.
Lola scooped up his plate. ‘You want more?’
‘Good God, no!’ Tom struggled out of his chair. ‘That was more than enough to last me the whole day, thank you. I’ve never tasted a breakfast like it!’
‘So, you come back another time, yes?’ Lola’s round face was a picture of joy.
He nodded. ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Just try and keep me away!’
A few moments later, as he donned his wool coat and hat and left the café, he turned to wave; quietly amused when Lola blushed crimson.
His offices were only a short distance from the café. For a moment he debated whether to take the trolleybus or walk. He had been a minute at the bus stop when he decided against it. ‘On second thoughts, I’d best walk!’ He patted his stomach. ‘It’ll do me good.’
As usual the office was a hive of activity. ‘Nice to see you back.’ As he walked through the gauntlet of typists and clerks, he was greeted with genuine affection.
Turning into his own office, he was not surprised to see the vase of flowers on his window-sill; it was a kind of ritual on his return from a trip. ‘Welcome home.’ Invaluable assistant and secretary to two of the architects here, Lilian was of pleasant appearance with pretty dark eyes. As always for work, her long auburn curls were neatly pinned back in a bun. She had been a good friend to Tom, he reflected.
Coming into the office, she placed the tray on his desk. ‘Like the flowers, do you?’ That very morning she had taken ages choosing them.
‘They’re splendid, as always.’ He took another glance at the vase full of yellow carnations. ‘Thank you, Lilian, that was really thoughtful of you.’
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he smiled down at her. ‘What would I do without you, eh?’
He observed his office with its neat filing cabinets and long, polished desk, the sun pouring in through the window, and for one aching moment he wondered if he had made the right decision after all. ‘Everything in order as usual … but then I shouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
He and the young woman had worked together these past eight years, and never a cross word. ‘You do tend to keep me at it, though.’ He glanced at the desk, its entire surface bedecked with neat piles of papers and rolls of plans. ‘You’re not about to let the grass grow under my feet, are you, eh?’
She smiled confidently. ‘You’ll find all the schedules typed up for your current projects; your “urgent” messages, and a dozen appointments for this coming week.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Enough to keep you out of trouble, I’d say … Oh, and I’ve brought you a pot of tea to keep you going.’ She crossed the room but paused at the door. ‘Give me a call when you’re ready to start dictation. Is there anything you want before I get on?’
He shook his head. ‘Not right now, Lilian.’ He meant for her to be one of the first to know of his decision. ‘Look, I think it might be a good idea for us to talk –’ he glanced at the desk and groaned – ‘after I’ve waded through this little lot.’
She seemed pleasantly surprised. ‘Talk? What about?’
‘Not
