But Bridget was already out of earshot.
He brushed himself down. ‘That’s my girl,’ he chuckled. ‘You might think I’m after your money, but nothing could be further from the truth.’
Walking the few steps to the large, sleek Humber, he climbed in and watched as Bridget’s car skidded and danced all the way down the road. ‘You’re a bit older, with a few more wrinkles and greying hair,’ he nodded approvingly, ‘but you’re still the same lively little devil you always were.’
Slipping into gear he manoeuvred the vehicle onto the road. ‘You’re a right handful,’ he laughed. ‘That’s what I like most about you. And that’s why I mean to have you before we’re both too old to enjoy what’s left.’
Driving like one demented through the streets of Liverpool, Bridget had pedestrians leaping out of the way. ‘Don’t you swear at me!’ she had snapped at an angry young couple who had the misfortune to step out in front of her, and now she didn’t see the old dear who ran back to the pavement in fear for her life. ‘Sorry, love, but ye should have the good sense to look where you’re going!’ Bridget tutted as the old woman waved her stick at her. ‘Hmh! From the way she scooted up onto the pavement, she doesn’t need that stick at all.’
As she slowed down a little, Bridget grinned to herself. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting she only carries it about to whack folks on the head,’ she said aloud, and was still laughing as she pulled up outside an imposing office. Situated on a wide quiet street just a brisk walk from the city centre, it boasted her name above the entrance:
The Bridget Business Agency
Climbing out of her car, Bridget stood for a moment as she always did, filled with pride and a sense of accomplishment to see what she had achieved.
The Bridget Business Agency. Even now, after so many years, she could hardly believe that this imposing building was really hers, paid for lock, stock and barrel. ‘You’ve done well, Bridget my girl,’ she told herself. It was a far cry from that little house in Viaduct Street, with its poky rooms and second-hand furniture.
At one time, these offices had been two shops; one a man’s tailor’s and the other an ironmonger’s; the upper floors provided spacious living accommodation.
Having outgrown her previous offices, and wanting to stay fairly central, Bridget bought the two shops and gutted them. She redesigned the building and filled it with the most expensive furniture, creating the air of discretion and professionalism that her clients preferred.
She had eight attractive young women working for her, and nowadays, the business was of a more respectable and lucrative nature. Most of the work was done over the telephone and through appointments, with the majority of clients being genuine businessmen needing escorts; though of course there was always the occasional gentleman who wanted a little more than that. After thoroughly vetting them, Bridget did occasionally turn a blind eye.
But that was the exception rather than the rule for she had built up an admirable reputation in Liverpool and protected her standing like a tiger protecting her cubs.
Making her way upstairs, Bridget burst into reception in her usual robust manner. ‘Top o’ the morning, Amy, me darling.’ She strode across the room. ‘You’re looking pretty, I must say. Off out, are you?’
Middle-aged and still single, Amy had taken the place of Tillie Salter as Bridget’s right-hand helper. With her baby-face and sad eyes that made a body want to hug her, she never over-dressed or went out of her way to show herself off; in fact, quite the contrary.
At home, she would wear anything and everything as long as it felt comfortable. But while at work she was always smart and trim, with her hair tied back and her white shirt stiff and starched. But not this Saturday morning, for she had her hair washed and loose, and curled up at the ends, and she wore a soft blue blouse with a little daisy brooch on the lapel.
‘Will ye look at you!’ Bridget loved to tease her. ‘Don’t deny it – you’ve got a date, so ye have.’
‘No, I haven’t!’
‘Why else would ye be done up all pretty, with yer eyes shining and a smile on yer little face?’
Amy blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘You’re imagining things, like you always do. I’m not going on a date.’
‘Hey now!’ Bridget wagged a finger. ‘You might be in charge when I’m not here, but I’m the boss and I’m allowed to think and say what I like. So don’t you forget it, young madam!’
In charge of the offices, Amy had been with her for a good while now. She was an excellent organiser and had a flair for figures – which had never been Bridget’s strong point.
Amy explained, ‘I thought I might go to the pictures this afternoon, that’s all. It’s a Norman Wisdom film.’
Bridget glanced at the clock. ‘In that case, you’d best make tracks or you’ll miss the matinée,’ she told her. ‘I should never have asked you to come in on a Saturday. It was unfair of me, so it was.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Amy assured her. ‘I didn’t know myself about the film until I got out of bed this morning. When the postman told me that he was going to see it, I just thought it would make a nice treat for me too.’
Bridget chuckled. ‘So, it was the postman put the sparkle in yer eye, was it?’
‘No, it was not.’
‘Ah, don’t gimme that now. I’ve seen your postie and he’s a fine body of a man, so he is.’ She made a smiley face. ‘It’s him that’s taking you to the pictures, is it?’
Pretending to tidy some papers, Amy looked away. ‘He’s not taking me,’ she protested, ‘though it’s likely we could bump into each other …’
When Bridget opened her mouth to speak, Amy cautioned her, ‘Don’t leap to conclusions, because there’s nothing going on, and that’s an end to it.’
‘Sure, I wasn’t about to say anything at all.’
‘Yes, you were. I saw it in your face.’
‘Well, all right, yes, I was about to speak. But it was nothing to do with the postman.’ She couldn’t resist another little jibe. ‘If you fancy a torrid affair on the quiet with him, who am I to judge?’
Ignoring her teasing, Amy asked, ‘So, what were you about to tell me just now?’
Feigning indignation, Bridget pouted, ‘Ah, sure, I’ve changed me mind. I’m not telling you now.’
Amy laughed. ‘You’re itching to tell me. So, come on. What is it?’ Leaning over the desk, she folded her arms. ‘I’m not doing any more work until you tell me.’
‘So! Refusing to work now, is it?’ Bridget was enjoying the little exchange. ‘I hope ye realise, I could sack you for that.’
‘But you won’t.’
Bridget’s smile grew wider. ‘I got a letter this morning.’
‘Oh? An old boyfriend, was it?’ Amy knew how to turn tables.
