LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘That’s par for the course,’ Paula said with an affectionate laugh. ‘When did you get in from London?’

      ‘Last night. I drove up with Shane. And for the last time, I don’t mind telling you. He’s a maniac in a car. The tyres sizzled the roads. I thought we’d end up in a ditch. I’ll never know how I got here safe and sound. I was so shaken up, and white, when we arrived at the house, Mummy knew immediately what had happened. She’s forbidden me to drive with him again. She gave him quite a piece of her mind, and – ’

      ‘I’ll bet,’ Paula broke in, with another laugh. ‘Your mother thinks the sun shines out of Shane. He can’t do anything wrong in her eyes.’

      ‘Well, he’s in the doghouse at the moment, my dear. She really told him off, and so did Dad.’

      ‘Shane came to see me today, Miranda.’

      ‘Hey, that’s good news. Like you, I can’t understand why he’s so aloof with you these days, but then he’s a strange one, that big brother of mine. Too much of the Celt in him, perhaps. Anyway, what did he have to say?’

      ‘Nothing, Miranda, since I wasn’t here. I was out at a meeting.’

      ‘Too bad. Still, he’s coming to the christening. I know you had your doubts, but he told me he was definitely going to go. He even offered to drive me.’ Miranda groaned in mock horror at this idea. ‘I declined. I was going to go with Grandpops, but naturally he’s escorting Aunt Emma. So I’ll toddle over by myself. Listen, Paula, apart from wanting to say hello, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch? I’ve got to come over to the store to pick up a package for my mother. I could meet you in the Birdcage in half an hour. What do you think?’

      ‘That’s a nice suggestion, Merry. I’ll see you there at noon.’

      ‘It’s a date,’ Miranda said. ‘Bye.’

      ‘Bye.’ As she began clearing her desk of papers, Paula was suddenly glad Miranda had suggested lunch. Her friend was a delight to be with, and a very special girl, with her naturalness, her sweetness, her gaiety and effervescence. She had a joyous, carefree disposition, and laughter sprang readily to her lips, undoubtedly the reason why her nickname Mirry had soon turned into Merry when she was small.

      Paula smiled to herself, wondering what Miranda was wearing today, what surprise was in store for her. The twenty-three-year-old girl had a penchant for creating the most outlandish outfits – costumes really – but they were put together with imagination and style, and she certainly carried them off with élan. They would have looked perfectly ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow they were exactly right on Miranda O’Neill. Apart from suiting her tall, somewhat boyish figure, they were an adjunct to her fey and whimsical personality. Or so it seemed to Paula, who considered Merry to be an original, the one genuine free spirit she knew. Her grandmother was equally fond of Miranda, and said that Blackie’s granddaughter was the best tonic in the world for all of them, because she chased their blues away. ‘There’s not a bad bone in that girl’s body,’ Emma had remarked to Paula recently. ‘And now that she’s grown up she reminds me a lot of her grandmother. There’s a good deal of Laura Spencer in Merry – Laura’s true goodness for one thing. Also, there’s a wise head on those young shoulders, and I’m pleased you two have become such good friends. Every woman needs a close and trusted friend of the same sex. I should know. I never really had one after Laura died.’

      Remembering these words of Emma’s, Paula thought: But she always had Blackie, and she still has him; whereas I’ve lost Shane. Funny, though, that Miranda and I drew closer together once Shane had dropped out …

      There was a knock and Agnes poked her head around the door. ‘These proofs just came up from the advertising department. Can you give them your okay?’

      ‘Yes, come in, Agnes.’

      ‘They’re the advertisements for the spring fashion sales,’ Agnes explained, handing them to her.

      After studying the newspaper advertisements for a few seconds, Paula initialled the proofs, gave them back to her secretary and stood up. ‘I’m going out on to the floor for a while. Could you phone the Birdcage, Agnes, and tell them I’ll need my usual table, please. At noon.’

      ‘Right away,’ Agnes said as they went out together.

      When Emma Harte had first opened the café on the second floor of the Leeds store, she had called it the Elizabethan Gazebo, and had decorated it in the style of an English country garden. Such things as handpainted wallpaper depicting pastoral scenes, panels of white trellis, artificial topiary animals, and antique birdcages combined to create a most enchanting little setting.

      Over the years, as she refurbished the café, the name changed to match the theme, or vice versa. But always a garden or outdoor motif prevailed, often with an international flavour, as Emma had given rein to her imagination and fantasies with flair and not a little wit. After a trip to the Bosphorus, with Paul McGill, she had been inspired to create the effect of a courtyard in a Seraglio. Mosaic tiles, silver wallpaper painted with peacocks, potted palms and a splashing fountain were combined in the new design. She had called the café Turkish Delight, and had been delighted herself to witness its instantaneous popularity as a smart gathering place, not only for women shoppers but local businessmen who came in for lunch. Several years later, Emma decided a more homespun motif was in order. Highland Fling was the name she chose, and the setting took on the appearance of a Scottish castle yard, featuring rustic furniture and colourful tartans. Eventually this ambience gave way to one which suggested an Oriental teahouse and drew its inspiration from the elegant decorative elements of the Far East. The café was renamed the China Doll. Then came the Balalaika, redolent of nineteenth-century Russia; after that it was transformed into Riviera Terrace, and in 1960 Emma redid the café yet again. This time she used a sophisticated theme based on the skyline of New York City, lining the walls with giant-sized photographic murals of Manhattan. The decor suggested a big-city roof garden and she called it Skyscrapers. But by the late summer of 1968 Emma had grown tired of this decorative mood, and, as the café needed a complete overhaul at this time, she gave the project to Paula, asking her to create something different.

      Paula knew everything there was to know about all of the stores in the Harte chain, and she remembered the photographs she had seen of the original Elizabethan Gazebo. She went into the archives, dug out the original plans and sketches, and was instantly struck by the uniqueness and beauty of the antique birdcages. Since she was aware they were stored in packing cases in the basement, she had them brought up and unwrapped. And so the current theme and the latest name were born.

      Paula had the wooden and brass birdcages repainted or repolished and, after finding more to add to the collection, she featured them throughout the restaurant. They stood out beautifully against a background of lime-green wallpaper over-patterned with a sharp white trellis design; white wicker chairs and matching tables with glass tops reiterated the outdoor mood. Paula loved all growing things, was, in fact, a gifted gardener, and so her final, masterful touch was a lush assortment of small trees, flowering shrubs and plants. It was the many pots of hydrangeas and azaleas that gave the Birdcage its cachet, and this real garden within the heart of the store bloomed in all seasons under her personal supervision. Emma had recognized at once that it was an evocation of her own first design and as such a little tribute to her, and she was flattered.

      A few minutes after twelve, on this Friday morning, Paula hurried into the Birdcage and as always she was struck by the refreshing sight of the flowers and foliage, one which appeared to cheer everyone up. Moving between the tables, where morning shoppers were settling down to lunch, Paula saw that Miranda O’Neill had already arrived. Her burnished copper hair, cascading in a glorious mass of waves and curls around her heart-shaped face, seemed to catch and hold all the light, was like a shining beacon at the far side of the room. Miranda glanced up from the menu she was perusing, saw Paula, and waved.

      ‘Sorry I kept you waiting,’ Paula apologized when she reached the table. ‘I was delayed in the Designer Salon. We’ve been having the most awful trouble with the new lighting, and I wanted to

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