And then, one Friday morning, when Linnet and Mr Cowan had been seeing each other regularly for six weeks or so, he came into her office and shut the door behind him with what Linnet thought was a definitely furtive air. She was alone since Rose was taking dictation from Mr Griseworth and had been gone almost half an hour already.
‘Miss Murphy – are you busy this weekend?’
‘Not ‘specially,’ Linnet said. She had been round to the Sullivans’ place the previous day and had learned from Roddy’s mother that his ship had docked in Southampton for repairs and would be there for a while, perhaps for as long as three weeks. But Roddy, it seemed, had decided he would be too busy to take time off to come home. He was probably still smarting from their quarrel, but even so Linnet thought he should have got in touch with her himself to tell her their usual meeting was off. He had sent a telegram, but had addressed it to the Sullivan family, obviously assuming that his mother would get in touch with Linnet and let her know. However, because Linnet was smouldering under a definite sense of grievance about what she thought of as ‘the octopus affair’, she took offence at his behaviour. But, truthfully, she was not looking forward to what she suspected would be yet another confrontation with Roddy, so probably he was wise to stay in Southampton. For all I know he may have a girl there, she told herself, and was surprised at the pang of sheer pain which arrowed through her at the thought. So one way and another, she jolly well hoped that Mr Cowan was going to ask her out this weekend. If Roddy chose to stay with his ship in a port hundreds of miles away rather than come home to Liverpool, then she would go out with Mr Cowan and it would serve Roddy blooming well right!
‘I wondered if – if we might go over to New Brighton for – for – for Saturday, Miss Murphy, and – and – and –’
‘For the afternoon?’ Linnet guessed. ‘For the whole afternoon, Mr Cowan?’
He was very pink and flustered, quite different from how he had been with her over the past few weeks; she could not help noticing that a fine film of perspiration dewed his forehead and that he kept pushing his glasses up with one finger with a nervous, almost irritable, gesture.
‘Well, yes, and – and – and –’
Linnet took a deep breath. ‘Is it Mollie, Mr Cowan? Shall you bring her, too? I’d like that.’
He muttered something; it sounded like ‘weekend’, but that didn’t seem to make sense, so Linnet smiled encouragingly once more.
‘Was it Nanny Peters, Mr Cowan? Did you want her to come, as well?’
He looked positively hunted. ‘No, no, I don’t think . . .’ he was beginning when the door opened behind him and Rose entered the room. Talking, of course.
‘Well, I dunno, there’s enough letters in me book to keep me busy . . .’ she broke off. ‘Oh, sorry, Mr Cowan, I didn’t realise you were in here.’
‘I’m just going, Miss Beasley,’ Mr Cowan said rather stiffly. ‘Miss Murphy, I’d be obliged if you’d come along to my office in five minutes. Bring your pad.’
‘He sounded cross,’ Rose observed, sitting at her desk and throwing her shorthand pad down beside her typewriter. ‘Did I come in at a bad moment, chuck? Was he asking you out again? My goodness, if folk knew about you and ’im they’d start puttin’ two an’ two together and makin’ five! Still, you gerron well, I know. Did you say he was asking you out this weekend? ’Cos your feller isn’t home after all, is he?’
‘Roddy isn’t my feller, he’s a friend, and yes, I think Mr Cowan was meaning to ask me out, only he kept stuttering and stammering; but he’ll probably tell me easier in his own office,’ Linnet said calmly, picking up her own pad and selecting a couple of well-sharpened pencils. ‘I’ll soon know, anyhow.’
She went straight to Mr Cowan’s room and sat down at the chair beside his desk. She put her pad on her lap, opened it, poised her pencil above it. Mr Cowan stared down at her pad but said nothing. After a moment’s silence Linnet said, ‘Dear Sir, in reply to your letter of the 9th instant . . .’
Mr Cowan looked up and tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt. ‘Sorry, Miss Murphy, it’s just that . . . I find it very difficult . . .’
‘Mr Cowan, do you bring butties – sandwiches – for your lunch?’ Linnet said, struck by an idea. ‘If so, why don’t you and I take our sandwiches somewhere quiet and talk then?’ It had occurred to her that her boss seemed to find it easier to talk away from the office. ‘We can’t go to the Nelson memorial but there’s other places . . .’
‘I don’t bring sandwiches,’ Mr Cowan said, and this time his smile was a real one. ‘But if you would join me in a quick snack, we might indeed discuss the matter which is on my mind whilst we eat.’
‘Oh, but I didn’t mean . . . I’ve got butties,’ Linnet said, wishing she had not made the suggestion. Now he would think her a gold-digger, a girl out for the main chance! ‘It doesn’t matter . . .’
‘It does matter,’ Mr Cowan said firmly. ‘We’ll save your sandwiches for the seagulls, shall we? That is, if you’ll really come to New Brighton with me tomorrow. And we’ll have our talk over lunch; nothing elaborate, just a nice chop and a roast potato or two – Sainsbury’s Café do a businessmen’s special which is quite good.’
‘I’m not a businessman,’ Linnet said feebly. How she wished she had kept her silly mouth shut, now look what she had got herself into! ‘People will think it very odd if I go to Sainsbury’s, sir, that’s where all the managerial staff go. Us girls don’t go out much at lunchtime, but if we did we’d never go to Sainsbury’s.’
‘True,’ Mr Cowan said thoughtfully. ‘How about Anderson’s Snackerie, on Exchange Street, up by the National Provincial? The men go to Anderson’s Luncheon Bar because they can get a beer there, but the Snackerie is more for women, I imagine!’
‘I’ve heard of it because Miss Harper and Miss Elphinstone and some of the other supervisory staff go there, so you might find yourself the only feller,’ Linnet said with a twinkle. ‘Still, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind either!’
‘Oh . . . yes, I see what you mean.’ Mr Cowan’s hunted look was back. ‘Well, we’ll get a taxi, go further afield. Yes, that’s the idea, a taxi.’
‘I am
not
getting into a taxi with you whilst everyone in the office giggles and gawps,’ Linnet said firmly. ‘There’s no point in causing talk, sir. When you’ve been kind enough to ask me out before it’s always been at weekends, and because we work Saturday mornings and by the time we leave nearly all the staff have gone, no one knows. But if you want us to have lunch together then we’ll just have to be careful. You wouldn’t want to be gossiped about, Mr Cowan, I know that much! Oh, I know! We’ll sneak out separately and catch the same tram, that way no one will suspect anything.’
This time he really did laugh, the laugh which made his face almost attractive Linnet thought appreciatively, smiling herself. ‘Miss Murphy, are you ashamed of me? Look, you walk down to the corner of Dale Street and I’ll pick you up in a taxi. Will that suit your sense of propriety?’
‘That’s a
good
idea,’ Linnet said, much relieved. ‘Where will we go for our lunch, though?’
‘There’s a place on North John Street – Cottle’s, it’s called. It’s a fair way from here, so we’re unlikely to bump into anyone from the Eagle and General. Will that suit you?’
‘That sounds just right,’ Linnet said thankfully. ‘And now, sir, to your letters!’
They had a pleasant lunch in the half-empty restaurant and Mr Cowan at last unburdened himself of the worry which, Linnet realised, had caused him to ask her out for the first time so many weeks ago.
‘I don’t think Mollie’s happy, yet I can’t tell why not,’ he said. ‘She scarcely ever cries now, though she cried a lot as a baby. But she doesn’t laugh much, or run about, or do the things I see other small children doing, either. I’ve mentioned the matter to Nanny Peters and she’s much more experienced than I, but she simply dismisses my fears, says the child is a good, quiet child and I should be grateful. To tell the truth, Miss Murphy, it has crossed my mind that a child whose mother dies within days of her birth might be affected mentally by the loss. I was – I was distraught at the time and paid very little attention to the baby, and who can say what such neglect can do to a child’s mind? I did have a word with our family practitioner, an elderly man who’s known me all my life, but he said I was worrying unduly and that little Mollie, so far as he can tell, is a perfectly normal child. But I noticed, three or four weeks ago, that she winces away if I make a sudden movement, which seems very odd. However, I told Nanny Peters that the habit worried me and soon after that she stopped, but . . .’
‘Who stopped? Nanny Peters or the child?’
‘Why, Mollie, of course. She stopped wincing when I moved towards her. She scarcely moves when I’m with her, now. I’m sure I’m doing something wrong, but I don’t know precisely what and Nanny just says everything’s as it should be and not to worry. And I can scarcely ask Mollie herself if I frighten her!’
‘The trouble is, Mollie’s too young to explain how she feels,’ Linnet said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you could ask her, but I don’t think she’d be able at her age to explain how she felt. And frankly, Mr Cowan, Mollie worries me, and for exactly the same reason. She’s good and quiet, but much too good and quiet, if you understand me. And if you mentioned the wincing to Nanny Peters and Mollie promptly stopped wincing, don’t you think that it may be your nanny who is at fault?’
‘Because she stopped the child doing something which upset me? Surely, Miss Murphy, that shows she’s taking my feelings into account?’
‘It could also show she can frighten Mollie into obedience,’ Linnet said cautiously. ‘I can’t think how you stop someone from wincing back, which is an instinctive movement, other than by a threat so terrible that even a child of Mollie’s age remembers it. You didn’t ask Miss Peters how she worked the miracle?’
‘No. To tell you the truth, Miss Murphy, Miss Peters starts talking about psychology and some strange American doctor who’s an authority on small children, and she even said, once, that it’s right and proper for a child to be in awe of its male parent . . . I feel very helpless, I really do. Upon my word of honour, Miss Murphy, I would never harm a hair of my daughter’s head, but from her attitude anyone could be forgiven for believing that I thrash her twice daily.’
‘And it hadn’t occurred to you that the only person she sees enough of to be genuinely frightened by her is Nanny Peters?’ Linnet asked incredulously. ‘Mr Cowan, who else could scare Mollie?’
Mr Cowan shrugged helplessly. ‘Who am I to say? Dr Davies recommended Miss Peters personally, which makes it difficult, because when I have a worry about Mollie and take it to him he simply says that Nurse Peters will see to it and that I may trust her absolutely. Only just lately, I felt I must get someone else’s opinion, preferably a woman’s, who could put me right if it was my attitude which was at fault.’
‘Well, you aren’t very loving towards her, but it isn’t possible for you to show her affection when it only frightens her more,’ Linnet said gently, pushing her plate away. ‘That was a delicious meal, sir, much nicer than sandwiches. But once you’ve sorted out Mollie’s problem you will have to learn to cuddle her, Mr Cowan. Children need to be cuddled. My mam was a great one to cuddle, and she couldn’t be called a particularly good mother, I don’t think.’
‘If I even hold her hand she pulls back,’ Mr Cowan said miserably. ‘If I pick her up she goes stiff . . . it’s quite frightening. She’s not speaking as she ought, either, or not when I’m around, though Nanny says she chatters away happily when I’m out at work or when I’m downstairs, having my dinner.’
‘Did Mollie never run to you?’ Linnet asked, remembering her own childhood and how she would run to her mother the moment little Evie returned to their rooms from a show or a shopping trip. ‘Just run to you, with her arms out?’
Mr Cowan shook his head once more. ‘No, never. Right from the time she could toddle – and she walked before she was a year old – she was very quiet. Never ran or shouted, never made demands. To tell you the truth, Miss Murphy, of late I’ve wondered whether her mind was affected at birth because I understand my – my late wife had a difficult time. Yet if Mollie had been damaged, in short if she was simple, she would not, surely, respond to instruction the way she does?’
Linnet, who had wondered the same thing when she had first met Mollie, shook her head decisively. ‘She’s as bright as any kid I’ve met,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to worry on that score. But . . . if I may be frank?’
Mr Cowan looked hunted, but nodded his head with the air of one determined, if necessary, to go to the stake in a good cause. ‘Yes, Miss Murphy. If it’s something I’ve done I’d rather know.’
‘I think it’s possible that, all unknowing, you’ve employed a nanny who is rather too strict, rather too keen to have a perfect charge,’ Linnet said, weighing her words as carefully as she could whilst, at the same time, getting her message across. ‘I think that if you sent Miss Peters away for a week or two and took charge of the child yourself, you’d see a marked improvement quite quickly.’
Mr Cowan looked shocked. ‘Take care of her myself? But I couldn’t possibly do that, Miss Murphy. I’m a man!’
‘Yes, that is a disadvantage,’ Linnet said, quick to see his point of view, for men, naturally, had nothing to do with small children save to beget them, and though she knew very little about that side of things she did realise that begetting was one of man’s pleasures whereas upbringing was very much a woman’s job. ‘Well, how about bringing in a friend or relative to take care of Mollie for a week or two? You might even employ someone else, just for a couple of weeks,’ she added, highly daring, for she longed to say
sack her and watch Mollie improve,
but realised such a suggestion would not, at this stage, be politic. Mr Cowan was still not sure that his ‘perfect nanny’ was in any way to blame for his daughter’s behaviour.
‘But I don’t have any female relatives or close friends,’ Mr Cowan pointed out, having given the matter some thought. ‘And suppose I did employ someone else and they proved equally unsatisfactory? No, no, I don’t mean that,’ he added hastily, clearly seeing the trap into which he was about to fall. ‘I mean I might choose wrongly and be forced to ask Miss Peters to return. And that really could be hard on Mollie; I don’t think Miss Peters is the type of young lady to forgive such a slight.’