Billionaire Flawed 1(194)

Victoria's father had left some money for his funeral. She had hated him talking about it, but he'd told her they had to be practical. Now she was grateful to him. On her wages, it would have taken her whole lifetime to pay the undertaker.

How are you bearing up? Mr. Pickford asked. He'd told Mary to bring her to his office on the day after the funeral. Victoria was standing in the middle of the room as he walked around her.

I'm as well as can be expected Mr. Pickford, she answered politely.

It's a shame. I liked your father. He was a good worker, never missed a day until his illness started. He continued to circle her, gawking at her breasts. He was small, and he had a large pot belly, which he tried to hide behind a baggy waistcoat with a gold watch chain dangling across it. He also tried to cover up his considerable bald patch by dragging strands of hair ridiculous distances across his head. I want to help you. It can't be easy now you're alone, he spluttered, his jowls shaking. At the moment I have a full contingency of assistants, but as soon as one leaves, I would like you to take her place. I have it on good authority that there will be a vacancy very soon. What do you say?

Victoria had heard all about his assistants, and she knew perfectly well what their job entailed. Of course, they were well paid and didn't have to endure the dark and damp conditions, or the working hours that she did. But she was never going to be anybody's lady of the evening. No thank you, Mr. Pickford, I'm quite content where I am.

He didn't like her reply. He'd been eyeing her up for many months, and he wanted her badly. Well, that's very disappointing Victoria. I had hoped we could get to know each other better. Is that your final word on the matter? When she nodded, he took hold of her arm and hissed into her ear. That's not a very sensible decision, I'll give you a day to think about it. If you continue to refuse, we'll see if a drop in wages and an increase in hours will do anything to change your mind.

As usual, she walked home with Lizzi. When they reached the green, their usual parting place, Victoria turned to her. Lizzie, do you think you can come and help me. I should go through father's things, but it is terribly upsetting. Would you come and sit with me while I do so?

Of course. Lizzie took hold of her arm. When they got to the cottage, Jack was hanging on the metal fence that surrounded the tiny garden.

Were you waiting for me? Victoria asked.

Er..... he said, put off by Lizzie's presence. Yes I was, but I can see you have company. I'll come back another time.

He wants you, Lizzie said when he'd gone.

I know, awful isn't it? He looks like a pole.

Lizzie nodded in agreement as she watched him cross the far side of the green and disappear between the pub and the church. But he could offer you some security, and you wouldn't be alone anymore. His dad's foreman and Jack could be one day.

Lizzie Earnshaw. If you weren't my friend, I'd wallop you. How could you think that I'd have the slightest interest in Jack?

Lizzie was only trying to help. She still had her parents and couldn't bear to imagine what it would be like to lose them. Sorry. The two went inside, Lizzie suddenly aware of the finality of death.

 The cottage was just like all the others, tiny. The front door led to a short corridor, the sitting room to the right and the stairs straight ahead, to the side of the stairs, a kitchen. The two ladies took off their coats and bonnets and hung them on a hook in the corridor.

I'll light the fire in father's bedroom, it's a chilly evening, Victoria said. Upstairs there was a small landing with two bedrooms off it. When the fire was roaring, Victoria closed the door and took a deep breath.

I really don't want to do this, but I suppose I can't leave father's things here forever. Lizzie will you take the things from the chest of drawers and put them in these boxes. She pointed to some tatty cardboard boxes she had taken from goods inward at the mill. It's mostly socks and underwear, and the odd belt and pairs of braces. I'll start in the wardrobe. She remembered when she and her father had gone through the same process after the death of her mother. Her father hadn't been able to cope, and he'd gone downstairs and left Victoria to it.

Mr. Pickford has asked me to be one of his assistants, Victoria said, eager to divert her attention away from the job at hand.

No. Lizzie gasped. You know what that means don't you? My mother told me what his assistants do, and it had precious little to do with anything at the mill.

I refused him, but he told me I should think very carefully about it otherwise he would cut my wages and make me work longer hours. Victoria put one of her father's jackets to her nose, hoping to gain some comfort from it, but it only smelled of moth balls.

How terrible. I sometimes think life would be far easier if one were plain. Men would leave you alone then, Lizzie observed. She was pretty but not beautiful like Victoria. She was shorter, and her bosom was more obvious, as was the curve of her hips and bottom. Brown hair and blue eyes also set her apart from her friend. Mr. Pickford had considered Lizzie for a job as an assistant but her father was over six feet and revered in the village after he'd beaten three men in a fight. The men, drunk at the time, had insulted his wife outside the village shop.