Goodmans of Glassford Street Read Free

the managers or a buyer, and he’d soon be back. Suddenly she experienced one of her little panic attacks. She felt unsafe without Tom. Sometimes she even wondered if Douglas Benson was right and she was going out of her mind. She had become forgetful at times. Names, for instance, were a problem. Often she couldn’t remember someone’s name, often someone she had known for years. There were times when she had just to say ‘Good morning’ to a staff member, instead of ‘Good morning, Miss Brown’ or whatever. Of course, there were a great many people on the staff. It was surely understandable not to be able to remember them all. But she used to remember them all. She had a horror now of forgetting the managers’ names or one of the buyers at the daily meetings they held in her office. Douglas and Minna were usually there too.
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she kept telling herself firmly. ‘Nothing at all.’

2
    After unlocking the big front doors, the next thing Norman McKay did at eight o’clock sharp each morning was switch off the burglar alarm. The lights were then turned on, and then he let the cleaners in. He had been at the shop from just before eight. It was always a strange atmosphere at that early hour – empty, quiet, ghost-like. He found it depressing, especially now that he was so worried about his wife. The cleaners trooped in, then disappeared upstairs to hang up their coats and collect their buckets and mops and other equipment. The lift clanged. Then there was silence again. He was left gazing bleakly at the vast expanse of counters and glass cabinets. He turned to peer into the blackness of Glassford Street. Soon he heard the sharp tattoo of the store detective’s high heels.
    ‘Good morning, Mr McKay.’
    He looked over his spectacles at her.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Eden.’
    Miss Eden was a woman in her forties – a neat, attractive brunette when she arrived, but she could change her appearance very quickly into a shabby woman in a padded coat, headscarf and flat-heeled shoes. She disguised herself as an elderly woman by wearing spectacles and a smooth white wig pinned back in a bun. Or as a housewife clutching a purse and shopping bag. Or someone in a denim skirt and coloured shades. She could be all four on the same day. And if it rained during the day, she put on a raincoat and went out for a few minutes to get the coat wet so that she could blend in more believably with the customers. It was arranged that she came in at different hours each day but always reported to Mr McKay in his office if her arrival was later in the day.
    There was a security guard in uniform as well. He mostly just stood at the door, or hovered somewhere nearby. Miss Eden went all over the place. She saved the store a lot of money. By Scots law, two people had to stop the suspected thief, and it had to be outside the shop, so the security guard always helped Miss Eden with that.
    The staff began to arrive and Mr McKay wished them all a polite good morning. Then he greeted Mrs Goodman, who was always early, a very conscientious woman. Long may she last, he thought. He didn’t trust Douglas Benson. Jobs would be at risk, he felt sure, if Mrs Goodman gave up and Benson took over. But Mrs Goodman looked fit and well, thank goodness. She was a shapely, pretty woman with blonde hair, obviously dyed to hide her grey, but why not? His wife still struggled to look her best despite her debilitating illness. The hairdresser came to the house now to ‘touch up my roots as well as give me a nice shampoo and set’, as she always said. Dear Jenny. Always being cheerful. If only he could do more to help her.
    Determinedly he swallowed over his distress, adjusted his spectacles, and concentrated on the next arrivals. After a time, Mr and Mrs Benson entered. He gave them the usual polite good morning. Benson nodded briefly and without interest. Mrs Benson gave a shy, nervous smile before lowering her eyes and hurrying