Italian around the corner?’ he angled.
‘The canteen is fine by me,’ said Christie in such a way that brooked no discussion.
‘Oh . . . er . . . canteen it is then,’ he said and cocked his finger at her. ‘Right, best go and sort out the troops. Catch you later.’ He clicked his tongue and then strolled back down the office with a satisfied grin.
Christie’s eyes dropped back to her work, otherwise she would have seen four grimaces as each of her ladies imagined the prospect of lunch with Orange Malcolm.
At twelve, Christie clocked Malcolm settled at a canteen table with a generous serving of shepherd’s pie and salad. She picked up a plate of ravioli, sprinkled it with parmesan, and joined him. Gallantly he stood up while she took a seat.
‘Food’s not bad here,’ he said, unaware of a clot of tomato on his chin.
‘Yes, it’s very good,’ said Christie and speared a cushion of pasta.
‘Mr McAskill eats down here a lot. That’s a good sign.’
‘A very good sign,’ she agreed.
‘But then I suppose you know that already.’
Christie veered away from the subject that she suspected Malcolm wanted to bend towards. She was quite aware that people were intrigued by her relationship with James, but she had no intention of revealing her private life to strangers. This was a working lunch, not a chat between familiars.
‘So, you were saying you had some ideas,’ she deflected.
‘Oh, yes. Well, James McAskill, as you will know , is really into incentivizing. I thought you might like to show him this. I sourced some great promotional gifts before I gave up the department for Cheese,’ he said, as if he’d had a choice in the matter. He ferreted in his coat pocket and brought out a clear plastic isosceles triangle. Through the middle was the company logo and across the widest part were the words, ‘I spoke and White Rose Stores listened.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Christie turning it around. She was being kind. It was pretty awful and she couldn’t think of anyone who would be inspired to spend their free time trying to improve the business in the hope of getting one of these things in return.
‘It’s a paperweight,’ said Malcolm proudly. He loaded his mouth with potato. ‘Yes, I took it on myself to get the example made. It didn’t cost the company anything, of course.’
‘Very light for a paperweight,’ said Christie. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better in glass?’
‘Health and safety issue,’ said Malcolm. ‘Plus, glass would be way too expensive. These would be made in the Far East at a fraction of the price. Instil a sense of pride though, wouldn’t they – glass or plastic? And you could order in bulk to cut costs even further. It would do nicely for when they roll out the idea of taking suggestions for the other departments because it’s a general statement – not tied to Bakery in any way.’
Christie made a series of facial gestures that Malcolm took to mean that she was speechless with admiration. ‘Well, I’ll bear it in mind, certainly.’
‘I know Mr McAskill would love this idea and I don’t mind if you were to tell him where it came from,’ said Malcolm, with a wink. Christie knew James would view it from all angles and say: ‘What on earth is it?’ before slam-dunking it in his bin.
Malcolm bought two coffees after their meal was finished and more of his mediocre ideas had been imparted, including some very unusual shapes for loaves. Christie watched him holding up the queue at the till as he counted out and handed over a load of change, exact to the last penny.
‘How are you getting on with those women?’ said Malcolm, imbuing the last two words with all the joy of sniffing off-milk.
‘I like them very much.’
‘Funny bunch if you ask me,’ said Malcolm, coming in so close that Christie was overcome by the fumes from his awful aftershave again. ‘That Grace is a snobby piece, thinks she is above everyone. She’s fifty-five and I reckon
‘The canteen is fine by me,’ said Christie in such a way that brooked no discussion.
‘Oh . . . er . . . canteen it is then,’ he said and cocked his finger at her. ‘Right, best go and sort out the troops. Catch you later.’ He clicked his tongue and then strolled back down the office with a satisfied grin.
Christie’s eyes dropped back to her work, otherwise she would have seen four grimaces as each of her ladies imagined the prospect of lunch with Orange Malcolm.
At twelve, Christie clocked Malcolm settled at a canteen table with a generous serving of shepherd’s pie and salad. She picked up a plate of ravioli, sprinkled it with parmesan, and joined him. Gallantly he stood up while she took a seat.
‘Food’s not bad here,’ he said, unaware of a clot of tomato on his chin.
‘Yes, it’s very good,’ said Christie and speared a cushion of pasta.
‘Mr McAskill eats down here a lot. That’s a good sign.’
‘A very good sign,’ she agreed.
‘But then I suppose you know that already.’
Christie veered away from the subject that she suspected Malcolm wanted to bend towards. She was quite aware that people were intrigued by her relationship with James, but she had no intention of revealing her private life to strangers. This was a working lunch, not a chat between familiars.
‘So, you were saying you had some ideas,’ she deflected.
‘Oh, yes. Well, James McAskill, as you will know , is really into incentivizing. I thought you might like to show him this. I sourced some great promotional gifts before I gave up the department for Cheese,’ he said, as if he’d had a choice in the matter. He ferreted in his coat pocket and brought out a clear plastic isosceles triangle. Through the middle was the company logo and across the widest part were the words, ‘I spoke and White Rose Stores listened.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Christie turning it around. She was being kind. It was pretty awful and she couldn’t think of anyone who would be inspired to spend their free time trying to improve the business in the hope of getting one of these things in return.
‘It’s a paperweight,’ said Malcolm proudly. He loaded his mouth with potato. ‘Yes, I took it on myself to get the example made. It didn’t cost the company anything, of course.’
‘Very light for a paperweight,’ said Christie. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better in glass?’
‘Health and safety issue,’ said Malcolm. ‘Plus, glass would be way too expensive. These would be made in the Far East at a fraction of the price. Instil a sense of pride though, wouldn’t they – glass or plastic? And you could order in bulk to cut costs even further. It would do nicely for when they roll out the idea of taking suggestions for the other departments because it’s a general statement – not tied to Bakery in any way.’
Christie made a series of facial gestures that Malcolm took to mean that she was speechless with admiration. ‘Well, I’ll bear it in mind, certainly.’
‘I know Mr McAskill would love this idea and I don’t mind if you were to tell him where it came from,’ said Malcolm, with a wink. Christie knew James would view it from all angles and say: ‘What on earth is it?’ before slam-dunking it in his bin.
Malcolm bought two coffees after their meal was finished and more of his mediocre ideas had been imparted, including some very unusual shapes for loaves. Christie watched him holding up the queue at the till as he counted out and handed over a load of change, exact to the last penny.
‘How are you getting on with those women?’ said Malcolm, imbuing the last two words with all the joy of sniffing off-milk.
‘I like them very much.’
‘Funny bunch if you ask me,’ said Malcolm, coming in so close that Christie was overcome by the fumes from his awful aftershave again. ‘That Grace is a snobby piece, thinks she is above everyone. She’s fifty-five and I reckon
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