The Victim in Victoria Station by Jeanne M. Dams

Author:Jeanne M. Dams [Jeanne M. Dams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2013-03-22T16:00:00+00:00

12

I met the rest of the sales staff the next day. Mr. Upton had them all in for a meeting in the morning, and Mrs. Forbes painstakingly introduced them as they trooped into the office.

It turned out to be a very interesting gathering. After they’d been closeted for a few minutes, I understood exactly what Mrs. Forbes had meant about tempers being high. Whatever they were talking about in Upton’s office, the sparks were flying so briskly that I could hear angry voices through two good, thick closed doors. When I had occasion to go into the office proper, I saw Mrs. Forbes knock on the door and ask them all to be a little more quiet, as Mr. Spragge was entertaining a potential customer.

The meeting lasted most of the morning. Try as I might, between answering phone calls and gingerly typing a couple of memos on my computer, I could hear nothing more than an angry rumble until the meeting broke up and the three salespeople erupted into the hall where I sat.

Mr. Dalal was sweating profusely through his thin suit. He looked as though his narrow, rather light brown shoes were pinching, and his voice rang out high and somewhat piercing.

“I will not take the blame! It is not my fault! I have worked extremely hard, and I cannot be held accountable if the company insists upon pricing the product so high that small countries—”

“Oh, stuff it, Chandra!” Mrs. Shore looked sullen. Her spike heels clicked on the black-and-white marble floor. “Nobody’s blaming you any more than anyone else. Our Brian’s got the wind up, that’s all. I don’t know why he expects us to be miracle workers. The bloody thing’s gone stale for some reason. Summer slump, probably. Business will pick up when this damned heat breaks. There’s no reason to panic and talk about reducing the price!”

“It is easy for you to talk,” whined Mr. Dalal. “You have a husband to support you. I am engaged to be married, and if I lose my job, my fiancée—” He raised his hands to the sky, showing well-worn shirt cuffs.

“Dalal, if you mention your fiancée once more, I may throw up. You are absolutely obsessed by that girl. Well, you’ll find out soon enough that marriage is not necessarily love’s young dream. Won’t he, my sweet?” Mr. Pierce shot his own impeccable cuffs and gave Mrs. Shore a look that has meant the same thing to men and women for as long as there have been men and women.

She pushed back her abundant auburn hair with a perfectly manicured hand and returned the look.

My, my! The sparks in the sales conference were not the only ones flying around the office, it seemed. As the three quarreled their way out the door, I reflected that I understood exactly what Mrs. Forbes had meant about Vicki Shore. She was, as a school principal of mine used to say, the kind of woman who gets herself talked about. And most of the talk, my catty mind added, is probably true.

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