Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense by Laura Elliot Read Free Book Online Page B

left for London, armed with her portfolio of photographs and a letter of introduction to a modelling agency from Della Wallace.
    The sales manager’s secretary duly became pregnant on her honeymoon and Beth moved smoothly into her place. Andy O’Toole, the sales manager, filled the office with cigar smoke and refused to allow windows to be opened because he suffered from draughts. She discovered a bottle of vodka in the filing cabinet and understood why his wife rang in so often with excuses about his ill health. His bullying became a ritual part of every day. She quickly realised that no matter how hard she worked she would never please him.
    ‘What a diligent young lady you are,’ said Mrs Wallace, coming upon her one night when everyone had gone home. ‘It’s the third time this week you’ve stayed on. Don’t you have time to do those invoices during the day?’
    ‘I didn’t get them until late,’ replied Beth. ‘And Mr O’Toole wants them on his desk first thing in the morning.’
    ‘Does your boyfriend mind you working such long hours?’
    ‘I don’t have a boyfriend so there’s no problem.’
    ‘At your age I would see that as quite a problem.’
    Beth was surprised at the personal direction the conversation had taken, especially when Mrs Wallace smiled, a rare occurrence that softened the tough lines around her mouth. Not knowing how to reply, she stayed silent, knowing that her employer understood this need to work compulsively, even if she pretended otherwise.

    T he Wallace money came from spinning – three generations of tweeds and worsteds making the family fortunes. But Mrs Wallace’s childhood had been far removed from the graciousness of Havenstone. Connie, her childhood friend and neighbour, liked to remember those humble beginnings: one room on the top floor of a tenement; a dismal block of flats in the centre of the city where the walls wept in winter and rats froze to death in the outside toilets.
    ‘Such hard times, Beth,’ she would sigh, remembering, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. ‘But Della always vowed that one day she would wear pearls and live in a mansion higher than the highest tenement.’
    Mrs Wallace was fourteen when she set up her first factory, making overalls for a local businessman in a cramped back room of the same tenement block. Her second factory, a ramshackle building that was always damp- and rat-infested, burned mysteriously to the ground. Beth asked if Mrs Wallace had organised the fire to collect the insurance money. This question made Connie shake her head so vehemently that Beth knew it was true. By the time they moved to a custom-built factory in Oldport, Della Wallace had her pearls, many strings of them, and Connie was still by her side, still supervising.
    Bradley Wallace was sixty years old when he married the young Della. She was in debt to his textile company and wrote it off by signing her name on their marriage certificate. He gave her security and she gave him a son whom she never had time to love. Connie shook her head sadly.
    ‘She could have married many times before Bradley waved his chequebook in her direction but a man was only of use to Della if he could balance her books or run an efficient production line. Poor Peter – he has everything and nothing.’
    One evening, shortly after their late-night chat, Beth’s employer brought her to the stockroom where rolls of fabric were stacked on shelves. Mrs Wallace unrolled a thick bale of tweed that had been delivered that afternoon and asked her opinion.
    ‘There’s nothing different about it.’ Beth rubbed her hand over the rough texture, imagining the heathery flecked coats being assembled piece by piece along the production line and, finally, draped on the shoulders of mannequins in department stores. ‘It’ll make up into the same coat style we’ve been manufacturing since I started working here.’
    ‘What’s wrong with that, may I ask?’ her employer demanded. ‘It’s