The Tangling of the Web by Millie Gray Page B

out of solid hewn stones.
    Sniffing and nodding, she opened the door thinking that long after she and her children would be no more, this substantial building would still be standing.
    If the outside of the building was a reminder of how hard the tradesmen had worked when Leith was a prosperous town in its own right then the inside carried on the illusion. The bar, which dominated the room, was constructed from oak, and in the firelight its polished lustre gleamed. Last week there had been a sawdust trough around the outside floor of the bar. This was where pipe-smoking men spat into – ‘Disgusting habit,’ Ginny had declared – and now a gleaming brass foot-rail had replaced it, and if you didn’t like it then Ginny thought you should take yourself up to the Standard Bar on the broad pavement where Myles Dolan still provided Red Biddy for fallen women and spittoons for drunken men.
    From the very small kitchen a young woman called, ‘We’re no open yet. Eleven o’clock is when our licence allows us to serve drink.’
    ‘I’m not wanting a drink – well, not of alcohol, though I could murder a cup of tea.’
    Immediately the woman, who was drying her hands on a tea towel, emerged from the cubbyhole. ‘You Sally?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Sally replied. ‘And you must be, Rita. My mother-in-law has told me all about you.’
    Rita scratched the side of her head, sought in her apron pocket and brought out a packet of Player’s cigarettes, from which she took one. Advancing to the fire, she selected a wax taper, which she then placed in the flames before using it to light her cigarette. Blowing out the flickering flame of the taper, she turned slowly back towards Sally.
    Both women were now eyeing each other up. Sally accepted that it must be humiliating for Rita to have to accept that Ginny was going to groom herself to run this pub and bring it up to the standard she wished.
    However, Sally was totally wrong in thinking that Rita was crushed by her arrival. On the contrary, Rita had found it difficult not to cheer when diminutive Sally walked in. Never in her life had she seen someone quite so unsuitable to be a barmaid in Leith. The poor soul, as Rita saw Sally, was not only on the short side to square up to a drunken man but she also appeared too ladylike to hauckle any belligerent hag towards the door. Rita had to stifle a sly snigger when she pictured short-statured Sally dealing with the Four Marys’ self-appointed madam – none other than big, bellicose Nancy Greenfield. Rita vowed there and then that the meeting between those two women was something she just couldn’t miss. After all, it would end in what Rita wished to see: Sally falling flat on her face. On the other hand, glancing at Sally’s ample bosom Rita was forced to acknowledge that with her having been endowed with a bust that would be the envy of Marilyn Monroe, if ever she did fall over she would bounce straight back up.
    Deciding that it would be best to try and break the ice with Rita, Sally sweetly smiled before suggesting, ‘How about you and I have a cup of tea, then you can take me down to the cellar and show me how to change a barrel?’
    ‘Tea’s no a problem,’ replied Rita, cocking her head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Just get yourself in there and do a mask. However, before I could take you down into the cellar you’ll need to take your shoes off. Sure, heels that height …’ Both Sally and Rita simultaneously gazed down at Sally’s essential stature builders. Rita then slowly continued, ‘… will end up with you breaking your neck …’ Especially if I give you a good shove, she thought. ‘… when you career down the rickety steps.’
    Without replying, Sally walked behind the bar, where she reluctantly fished in her bag and brought out a pair of flat-soled plimsoles. Once she had exchanged her footwear, she was disconcerted by Rita’s cackle. ‘What’s so funny?’ Sally asked.
    ‘Just that with the bar being so