depression and its causes to Ben Springer, who owned a shoe shop in town. When Fred finally paused to finish his drink, Charlie stepped forward.
‘Another, Mr Jones?’
The undertaker eyed Charlie suspiciously before replying. ‘I don’t mind if I do. Double brandy.’
Charlie ordered the brandy. He stuck to his beer; it had been a long time since he’d eaten, and he needed to keep a clear head. At least for the next half-hour.
‘I know you,’ Fred said as he picked up the glass the barman handed him. ‘You’re that foreign butcher who works the market.’
‘I am.’
‘Don’t know why we have to import foreigners to run the town’s businesses when there are so many local lads out of work,’ Ben Springer grumbled nastily, aggrieved that he hadn’t been included in the round of drinks.
‘I manage the stall for a Cardiff butcher,’ Charlie explained. ‘It’s not mine.’
‘And I suppose you think that makes it all right. But it’s still a job you’ve taken from those that need it.’
‘Is the brandy all right, Mr Jones?’ Charlie asked, turning his back on Ben Springer.
‘Fine.’ Fred drained his glass and motioned to the barman to refill it and pour Charlie another beer.
‘Could I have a word with you in private, Mr Jones?’ Charlie asked.
Fred led the way to a table in a secluded corner. New Inn prices were too steep for all but a handful of people in the town, and the bar wasn’t crowded, even on a Saturday night.
‘What are you after?’ Fred asked bluntly as soon as they were seated.
‘I’d like to know what rent you’re asking for your shop in Taff Street.’
‘I own a lot of shops in Taff Street. Which one you after?’
‘The one at the bottom of Penuel Lane that used to be a china shop.’
‘Good spot that, next to the entrance to the fruit market.’ Fred picked up his replenished brandy glass and sipped it. ‘You know an opportunity when you see it, young man. You after it for yourself?’
‘I’ll be employing others to run it.’
‘And what would you be selling. Meat?’
‘No. Fancy goods,’ Charlie replied vaguely.
‘You’d have to sell a lot of those to pay the rent I’m asking. That’s an expensive shop you’re looking at there. It’s even got a nice little flat above it. Did you know that?’
‘Yes. That’s one of the reasons I’d like it. But if the rent is too much for the profit margin I expect to be making, I’ll look elsewhere.’ Charlie finished his first pint and picked up the one Fred had bought him. ‘I counted thirty-five empty shops in town this morning.’
‘Not all of them have backyards, or living accommodation above.’
‘Not all of them have high rents either.’
Fred narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you prepared to pay?’
‘No more than a pound a week.’
‘That’s scandalous.’
‘Not for a five-year lease.’
‘You’re not lacking in confidence, I’ll say that for you.’
‘Two hundred and sixty pounds over five years, for a shop that was probably only worth three hundred and fifty pounds before the depression, looks a pretty good option to me.’
‘There’ll be no let-out clause in the lease,’ Fred warned. ‘I’ll have it sewn up tighter than my wife’s corsets.’
‘I won’t sign unless there’s an option to buy at the end of the five years. I understand that’s usual practice.’
‘Do you now.’ Fred fingered his chin thoughtfully as he drained his glass. ‘All right, I don’t see any problem with that. Option to buy at the going rate five years hence.’
‘At one hundred pounds.’
‘That’s daylight robbery!’
‘You’ll be getting three hundred and sixty pounds for a rundown shop that wouldn’t fetch a hundred and fifty if it was put on the open market now.’
‘I’m in no hurry to sell.’
Charlie finished his second glass and left his chair.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see the solicitor, Mr Spickett, Monday morning. He’s acting for the estate that owns the
‘Another, Mr Jones?’
The undertaker eyed Charlie suspiciously before replying. ‘I don’t mind if I do. Double brandy.’
Charlie ordered the brandy. He stuck to his beer; it had been a long time since he’d eaten, and he needed to keep a clear head. At least for the next half-hour.
‘I know you,’ Fred said as he picked up the glass the barman handed him. ‘You’re that foreign butcher who works the market.’
‘I am.’
‘Don’t know why we have to import foreigners to run the town’s businesses when there are so many local lads out of work,’ Ben Springer grumbled nastily, aggrieved that he hadn’t been included in the round of drinks.
‘I manage the stall for a Cardiff butcher,’ Charlie explained. ‘It’s not mine.’
‘And I suppose you think that makes it all right. But it’s still a job you’ve taken from those that need it.’
‘Is the brandy all right, Mr Jones?’ Charlie asked, turning his back on Ben Springer.
‘Fine.’ Fred drained his glass and motioned to the barman to refill it and pour Charlie another beer.
‘Could I have a word with you in private, Mr Jones?’ Charlie asked.
Fred led the way to a table in a secluded corner. New Inn prices were too steep for all but a handful of people in the town, and the bar wasn’t crowded, even on a Saturday night.
‘What are you after?’ Fred asked bluntly as soon as they were seated.
‘I’d like to know what rent you’re asking for your shop in Taff Street.’
‘I own a lot of shops in Taff Street. Which one you after?’
‘The one at the bottom of Penuel Lane that used to be a china shop.’
‘Good spot that, next to the entrance to the fruit market.’ Fred picked up his replenished brandy glass and sipped it. ‘You know an opportunity when you see it, young man. You after it for yourself?’
‘I’ll be employing others to run it.’
‘And what would you be selling. Meat?’
‘No. Fancy goods,’ Charlie replied vaguely.
‘You’d have to sell a lot of those to pay the rent I’m asking. That’s an expensive shop you’re looking at there. It’s even got a nice little flat above it. Did you know that?’
‘Yes. That’s one of the reasons I’d like it. But if the rent is too much for the profit margin I expect to be making, I’ll look elsewhere.’ Charlie finished his first pint and picked up the one Fred had bought him. ‘I counted thirty-five empty shops in town this morning.’
‘Not all of them have backyards, or living accommodation above.’
‘Not all of them have high rents either.’
Fred narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you prepared to pay?’
‘No more than a pound a week.’
‘That’s scandalous.’
‘Not for a five-year lease.’
‘You’re not lacking in confidence, I’ll say that for you.’
‘Two hundred and sixty pounds over five years, for a shop that was probably only worth three hundred and fifty pounds before the depression, looks a pretty good option to me.’
‘There’ll be no let-out clause in the lease,’ Fred warned. ‘I’ll have it sewn up tighter than my wife’s corsets.’
‘I won’t sign unless there’s an option to buy at the end of the five years. I understand that’s usual practice.’
‘Do you now.’ Fred fingered his chin thoughtfully as he drained his glass. ‘All right, I don’t see any problem with that. Option to buy at the going rate five years hence.’
‘At one hundred pounds.’
‘That’s daylight robbery!’
‘You’ll be getting three hundred and sixty pounds for a rundown shop that wouldn’t fetch a hundred and fifty if it was put on the open market now.’
‘I’m in no hurry to sell.’
Charlie finished his second glass and left his chair.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see the solicitor, Mr Spickett, Monday morning. He’s acting for the estate that owns the
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