Free Highland Fling by Katie Fforde Page B

have a shed full of wool when it says here that only a few bales a week are being used?’
    Miss McIntyre clenched her teeth. ‘It was a management decision taken at the time for which I was in no way responsible.’
    ‘I’m not holding you responsible! I only want to know why!’ Then, feeling she’d been a little too outspoken she sighed, and started again. ‘I’m not Sir John Harvey-Jones; I can only report back what I find, but I would like to report something good about this company, even if it makes no difference, even if it’s just to stop me having to say that this is a tin-pot little mill that makes cheap jumpers for the tourist trade and can’t sell them at a profit! And that didn’t come out right. I’m sorry.’
    The two women faced each other, both on the defensive. Jenny wished fervently that she’d just said, ‘Thank you for the coffee.’ There was enough hostility in the world without her antagonising Philip’s ‘right-hand woman’ even further.
    Miss McIntyre pursed her lips, as if she was contemplating making some concession, but was not quite ready to back down. ‘I’m sorry if I appear uncooperative,’ she began. ‘It’s just that there’s no other employment hereabouts. A lot of people depend onthis mill, and have done for a long time. It employs at least one parent of almost all the children in the school. If the mill closes, people will move away and the school will close. Even those who have jobs in tourism or agriculture will move if they can. The whole community will die.’
    ‘I know,’ said Jenny, touched how talking about her beloved mill made this buttoned-up woman suddenly passionate. She was not the only one who cared about their workplace. The flower-filled troughs and hanging baskets were evidence of that. ‘And I promise you,’ she went on, ‘if there’s anything I can do to prevent the mill closing, I will do it.’
    The second the words had left her mouth she wondered how she’d let them escape when she had no way of following them up. She must have been mad! Henry would say it was because she was impulsive, sentimental and foolishly optimistic. It was a shame you couldn’t unsay words in the way you could ‘unsend’ emails. Already a little colour had crept into Miss McIntyre’s cheeks. She didn’t exactly smile but she did relax her hold on her lips a little.
    ‘The wool is there because a manager we had years and years ago was once held up by a dock strike. Couldn’t get wool for weeks. Since then, it’s been company policy to maintain large supplies.’
    ‘I see.’ Jenny didn’t comment on the folly of tying up thousands of pounds in stock that probably wouldn’t realise its value in finished products.
    ‘So,’ went on Miss McIntyre, ‘what can you possibly do?’
    Jenny bit her lip and shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Possibly nothing. But I don’t have to report backimmediately. I can take my time, look at all the options, and then try and make a case for keeping Dalmain’s open. I will need a little help, though. I know nothing about textiles, I only understand figures, and it’s not rocket science to see that if you pay too much for your raw materials and then turn out a low-cost final product, with the help of expensive machinery, you’re not going to be financially viable.’
    Miss McIntyre regarded Jenny. ‘I’ve worked for this company all my life, my father before that, and it has not always produced “a low-cost final product”.’ Her disdain dripped from the words. ‘There was a time when Dalmain’s had a name for quality!’
    Jenny said nothing for a few moments. Her brain was in a whirl – thoughts about wool, machinery, the beauty of the surroundings, bumping randomly into each other, making no sense. She wasn’t worried, it happened sometimes. Eventually, the thoughts would settle down into something that might be quite logical. She once tried to explain this process to Henry but he had only laughed.
    ‘When