Theo appeared in the doorway and slouched a hip against the architrave, two empty coffee cups dangling from a curled forefinger. The knitted hat was back on, his sheepskin hair wrestled into its woolly confines, and he had a look of nonchalance about him. ‘Keeping our resident pit bull from her work?’
‘No, no,’ Arthur protested, ‘I was telling her how much I admired you and Johnny, and how knowledgeable you both are.’
Theo smiled. ‘I know, old boy. I’m teasing.’
‘Let me take those cups for you, sir. I’ll rinse them out.’ The cups were removed from Theo’s fingers before Arthur had finished speaking and the old man disappeared kitchen-wards.
‘I wish he’d stop with the sir thing. It’s embarrassing,’ Theo said, still leaning at an I’ve Got Nothing Better To Do And All The Time In The World To Do It angle.
‘It’s a form of respect,’ Maisie said. ‘He’s from an age where hierarchy mattered more than it does today. It’s endearing. Whilst I’ve got you …’ She efficiently saved the piece she was working on and slid her chair back. ‘Can I take a photo of you for the website?’
Theo gave his wonky grin. ‘Snap away.’
‘What, now? With the hat?’ Maisie asked.
‘Yeah, sure, with the hat.’
‘Oh, okay, if it’s your thing.’
‘My thing? It keeps my head warm. Are trousers and jumpers your thing?’ There was a slow curl of the lip, as he continued to lean in a lackadaisical manner against the doorframe.
‘I meant, if you think more people will recognise you with it on. I want the friendly and informal nature of the company to come across on the website.’ She’d expected him to remove the hat, but now she thought about it, marketing Gildersleeve’s as a company of smartly dressed businessmen was missing the point. ‘It’s one of our strengths.’
‘You’re not going to plaster my mug shot all over social media though, are you? Johnny’s been banging on about our inadequate online presence for months but I’m rather more cautious when it comes to the power of the internet. It can make and it can break.’
‘Not if you don’t want me to. But don’t underestimate it as an advertising tool. And posts with people in always garner more likes than those without. We found that at the brewery.’
‘Ah, yes. Johnny told me you were a high-flying marketing assistant at Wickerman’s. Don’t know why you left a cushy number like that to come and work here? The promotion prospects aren’t great. And the canteen pretty much consists of that dodgy-looking biscuit tin in reception.’
‘It was a personal move.’ She shrugged. ‘Not every life decision has to be based on material or hierarchical gain.’
Both his eyebrows bobbed up to greet the hat. ‘Couldn’t agree more. Go on then. Snap away.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t want to um, freshen up?’
‘Nah. What you see is what you get. Crumpled shirt and all.’
She pulled the camera out from the low drawer in her tidy and ordered desk and put the flash on to compensate for the low light levels.
‘Macaroni cheese,’ he said. The button clicked a few times – she wanted to make sure she got a decent shot – and she let the camera drop. Their eyes held for a few moments until it became obvious neither had anything to say. Theo coughed as she bowed her head and began to scroll through the images.
‘Anyway, I came here for Arthur and he’s scuttled off. I need some help with shifting a dresser.’
‘Get one of the others to help,’ the accounts lady called from the front office. ‘They’re younger and stronger.’
Theo twisted his head back over his shoulder. ‘No, it’s Arthur I need. He’s the best in the business.’
On cue, Arthur shuffled back into reception and a wide grin spread across his wrinkled cheeks as he caught the end of the conversation. ‘Right you are, sir. I’ll be there straight away. I know we were mid-chat, Maisie, but I’m needed by the boss,’ Arthur apologised, and Maisie nodded a disappointed but understanding nod.
As they disappeared, Maisie uploaded the photo of Theo and her stomach flipped as she studied his twinkly green eyes and wide smile. She flapped the open neck of her blouse in an attempt to cool a sudden rush of heat from nowhere. Yep, she totally understood where the Wot a Lot! researcher was coming from …
Staff were required to stay until eight for Thursday night viewings, so there was no time to artistically express her pent-up emotions in the spare room when she finally arrived home that night. After her unintentional assault on Theo, the consequent shake-up of her contented little work bubble and the complicated feelings she couldn’t quite decipher for her new boss, she had a burning desire to splash a lot of flare red about and then smear some sharp lines of black through the whole lot.
The following day was sale day. Friday was always the best day at any job but at Gildersleeve’s it was more so. It saw the culmination of all the hard work throughout the week, and buzzing staff milling about the premises as items hit higher prices than expected and nail-biting bidding wars played out in the salerooms. Maisie was particularly excited about this week’s sale because Meredith’s teapot was one of the lots.
After offloading her embarrassing day on to Nigel, she wandered upstairs in search of a book that had occupied her thoughts since she’d stumbled on Meredith’s box of miscellaneous kitchenalia. When she was younger, it had lived under her pillow and only when she was certain Zoe was asleep, would she sneak her pink torch out from the bedside table drawer and take both book and torch deep under the covers. She knew the book so well she hadn’t looked at it much in recent years, but with thoughts of Meredith flooding her head, it was suddenly important for her to physically hold it again.
It was where she knew it would be, amongst the oversized volumes and nestled between a photography manual and a guide to logo design. Sometimes it was hard deciding whether to sort according to subject matter or size. Or – if she had her way and as impractical as it was – colour.
Flicking through the familiar pages, her hand tracing the images within, she realised the teapot and this book were so inextricably linked, that she simply must be the winning bidder on sale day. After all, it was her curiosity about the teapot that had led Meredith to give her the book in the first place.
‘Why does your pot only have a pattern on one side?’ Maisie asked Meredith, tipping her seven-year-old head to one side and drawing in her eyebrows as she’d seen her teacher do when she wanted the children to know they had her full attention.
Since Mummy and Daddy had decided to live apart (although Maisie was pretty sure Mummy had done most of the deciding) Maisie and her mum often popped in on Meredith in that delightful slice of the afternoon between walking back from school and the number fourteen bus dropping off her rowdy older siblings – when all peace and order was irrevocably shattered.
Maisie was the baby of the house. Her brother and
