Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

‘Miss Tilly would never try to deceive anyone.’

‘You’ll also have to check that there isn’t a rent review due in the near future,’ Patrick said, ignoring her protestations, ‘and double-check that her accountant hasn’t come up with penalty clauses the moment you start making a profit.’

‘Miss Tilly wouldn’t do something like that,’ said Maisie.

‘You’re so trusting, Maisie. What you have to remember is, this won’t be in the hands of Miss Tilly, but a lawyer who feels he’s got to earn his fee, and an accountant looking for a payday in case you don’t retain him.’

‘You’ve clearly never met Miss Tilly.’

‘Your faith in the old lady is touching, Maisie, but my job is to protect people like you, and a hundred and twelve pounds ten shillings profit a year wouldn’t be enough for you to live on, remembering you’ll be expected to make regular repayments to your investor.’

‘Miss Tilly assured me that the profit didn’t include her salary.’

‘That might well be the case, but you don’t know what that salary is. You’ll need at least another two hundred and fifty pounds a year if you’re to survive, otherwise not only will you be out of pocket, but Harry will be out of the grammar school.’

‘I can’t wait for you to meet Miss Tilly.’

‘And what about tips? At the Royal you get 50 per cent of all the tips, which comes to at least another two hundred pounds a year, which at the moment isn’t taxed, although I’ve no doubt some future government will catch on to that.’

‘Perhaps I should tell Miss Tilly that it’s too great a risk. After all, as you keep reminding me, I have a guaranteed income at the Royal, with no risks attached.’

‘True, but if Miss Tilly is half as good as you say she is, this could be an opportunity that might not arise again.’

‘Make your mind up, Patrick,’ said Maisie, trying not to sound exasperated.

‘I will, the moment I’ve seen the books.’

‘You will, the moment you meet Miss Tilly,’ Maisie said, ‘because then you’ll understand the real meaning of goodwill.’

‘I can’t wait to meet this paragon of virtue.’

‘Does that mean you’ll represent me?’

‘Yes,’ he said, stubbing out his cigarette.

‘And how much will you be charging this penniless widow, Mr Casey?’

‘Turn the light out.’

‘Are you sure this is a risk worth taking,’ asked Mr Frampton, ‘when you have so much to lose?’

‘My financial adviser thinks so,’ replied Maisie. ‘He’s assured me that not only do all the figures add up, but once I’ve paid off the loan, I should be showing a profit within five years.’

‘But those are the years Harry will be at Bristol Grammar.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Mr Frampton, but Mr Casey has secured a substantial salary for me as part of the bargain, and after I’ve split the tips with my staff, I should be earning roughly the same amount I’m currently taking home. More important, in five years’ time I’ll own a real asset, and from then on, all the profits will be mine,’ she said, trying to recall Patrick’s exact words.

‘It’s clear to me that you’ve made up your mind,’ said Mr Frampton. ‘But let me warn you, Maisie, there’s a great deal of difference between being an employee, when you know you’ll be taking home a wage packet every week, and being an employer, when it will be your responsibility to put your money into several wage packets every Friday night. Frankly, Maisie, you are the best at what you do, but are you really sure you want to switch from being a player to joining the management?’

‘Mr Casey will be there to advise me.’

‘Casey’s a capable fellow, I’ll give you that, but he also has to look after more important clients right across the country. It will be you who has to run the business from day to day. If anything were to go wrong, he won’t always be around to hold your hand.’

‘But I may not be given an opportunity like this again in my lifetime.’ Another of Patrick’s pronouncements.

‘So be it, Maisie,’ said Frampton. ‘And don’t be in any doubt how much we’ll all miss you at the Royal. The only reason you’re not irreplaceable is because you trained your deputy so well.’

‘Susan won’t let you down, Mr Frampton.’

‘I’m sure she won’t. But she’ll never be Maisie Clifton. Let me be the first to wish you every success in your new venture, and if things don’t work out as planned, there will always be a job for you here at the Royal.’

Mr Frampton rose from behind his desk and shook hands with Maisie, just as he’d done six years before.

A MONTH LATER, Maisie signed six documents in the presence of Mr Prendergast, the manager of the National Provincial Bank on Corn Street. But not until Patrick had taken her through each page, line by line, now happy to admit how wrong he’d been to doubt Miss Tilly. If everyone behaved as honourably as she did, he told her, he’d be out of a job.

Maisie handed Miss Tilly a cheque for £500 on March 19th, 1934, receiving a huge hug and a tea shop in return. A week later, Miss Tilly and Miss Monday left for Cornwall.

When Maisie opened her doors for business the following day, she retained the name ‘Tilly’s’. Patrick had advised her never to underestimate the goodwill of Tilly’s name above the door (‘founded in 1898’) and that she should not even think of changing it until Miss Tilly was of blessed memory and perhaps not even then. ‘Regulars don’t like change, especially sudden ones, so don’t rush them into anything.’

Maisie did, however, spot a few changes that could be made without offending any of the regulars. She felt a new set of tablecloths wouldn’t go amiss, and the chairs and even the tables were beginning to look, well, quaint. And hadn’t Miss Tilly noticed the carpet was wearing a bit thin?

‘Pace yourself,’ Patrick warned her on one of his monthly visits. ‘Remember that it’s far easier to spend money than to earn it, and don’t be surprised if a few of the old biddies disappear and you don’t make quite as much as you’d anticipated in the first few months.’

Patrick turned out to be right. The number of covers dropped in the first month, and then again in the second, proving just how popular Miss Tilly had been. Had they fallen again in the third, Patrick would have been advising Maisie about cash flow and overdraft limits, but it bottomed – another of Patrick’s expressions – and even began to climb the following month, though not sharply.

At the end of her first year, Maisie had broken even, but she hadn’t made enough to pay back any of the bank’s loan.

‘Don’t fret, my dear,’ Miss Tilly told her on one of her rare visits to Bristol. ‘It was years before I made a profit.’ Maisie didn’t have years.

The second year began well, with some of her regulars from the Palm Court returning to their old stamping ground. Eddie Atkins had put on so much weight, and his cigars were so much larger, that Maisie could only assume the entertainment business was thriving. Mr Craddick appeared at eleven o’clock every morning, dressed in a raincoat, umbrella in hand, whatever the weather. Mr Holcombe dropped in from time to time, always wanting updates on how Harry was getting on, and she never allowed him to pay the bill. Patrick’s first stop whenever he returned to Bristol was always Tilly’s.

During her second year, Maisie had to replace one supplier who didn’t seem to know the difference between fresh and stale, and one waitress who wasn’t convinced that the customer was always right. Several young women applied for the job, as it was becoming more acceptable for women to go to work. Maisie settled on a young lady called Karen, who had a mop of curly fair hair, big blue eyes and what the fashion magazines were describing as an hourglass figure. Maisie had a feeling that Karen might attract some new customers who were a little younger than most of her regulars.