Flawed Red Silk Ch. 01

Chapter 01: The New Secretary

Today is my first day as temporary secretary to Christopher Jones, the Managing Director of Silk Designs 4 U.

I signed up with the temp agency last week after Graham broke his hand in a car crash. I can’t be a magician’s assistant to a magician with a broken hand. When he can’t work, I can’t. Someday I hope that won’t be true. I want to be a magician myself but working with Graham is like a continuous master class. He is good and is constantly trying to vary and improve his act. Sometimes there are failures but they are few and he can usually cover them up with his patter or misdirection.

Enough daydreaming. I am here to work as the Managing Director’s secretary, not as an apprentice magician. I glance at my shorthand notebook and keep typing. It is boring stuff. There are confirmations of orders, reminders about invoices unpaid, letters enclosing sales material, most of which are covered by minor amendments to standard letters already filed in Word. Time goes surprisingly quickly and I will have a good pile to take in for his signature by eleven o’clock when I have to make the coffee just as he likes it.

After coffee the forewoman Serena will come for the daily briefing. She tells him what is happening on the factory floor. He tells her what orders are coming and asks about progress on rush jobs. I sit in and take notes to type up as a daily record. From the files I can tell the sort of discussion that will happen.

Jane, whose place I am filling, is on maternity leave. She has showed me everything. I knew not just the daily and weekly activities and the forms and records, but the unofficial records that Mr. Jones doesn’t know about. Every day as part of the briefing with Serena, he indicates which of the shop floor staff is to be called for an appraisal by him at three o’clock. Appraisal is what he calls it. Fucking is what he really does. He treats the staff as his personal harem.

Why do they let him? All the shop floor workers are Indian women. None can speak English. If they could speak English they might be able to find better work but their husbands are little better off than they are. Mr. Jones pays well and for most of them the pay is the only income for their family. For the rest, the pay is a significant part of the family’s income. They can’t afford to lose their jobs. Since there are over thirty shop floor workers their turn comes only once a month and they get a bonus payment for extra services. Jane knew this. So do I.

I finish typing the pile of standard letters that Mr. Jones has dictated. Most of them are reminders about deliveries, unpaid invoices that sort of thing. It hasn’t occupied my mind or much of my time. A few keystrokes and another one is done. Time for his coffee. I take it and the letters in. Jane told me that then and at three o’clock will be the quietest times of the day.

I pull out some of my props and start practising. I will try some card tricks so when Serena arrives I am just doing a complicated hand shift of two packs of cards. It is spectacular but not difficult but it seems to surprise Serena.

“Mary! How do you do that? Are you a witch?”

“No, Serena, just an apprentice conjuror. Let me show you.”

I get her to select a card, tell her which one she has chosen, pull an egg from behind an ear and then a stream of coloured scarves from her mouth. Serena is astonished. I can’t understand why. They are simple ticks that any junior conjuror can do but she doesn’t seem to have seen them before. I gather up my props. There is no time for explanations before we go in to see Mr. Jones.

“Good morning, Serena. I see you have met Mary. She will be here while Jane is on maternity leave.”

“Mr. Jones!” Serena blurted out. “Do you know she is a witch?”

“A witch?” He didn’t seem surprised. “That might be interesting. What can you do?”

“I don’t think I’m a witch but…” I pulled the egg from his mouth. The scarves came out from behind his ear and draped over his shoulder.

He sat there gawping. As audience reaction it was better than my performances usually got.

He pulled himself together and his hand stroked the scarves.

“Er… I am surprised but this isn’t good material. Our silks are much better. Could you do this with silk?”

“If I had some time to prepare, then yes I could.” I replied.

“A witch on the staff would be very useful to me,” he said.

I couldn’t see why so I kept quiet.

“Now, back to business.”

He and Serena discussed the usual issues that arose every day. He ended by announcing that Asmita was due for her appraisal today at three o’clock. Would Serena tell her, please? Serena glanced meaningfully at me. I nodded almost imperceptibly. I knew what was intended for Asmita and I was letting Serena know that I understood.

We left Mr. Jones’ office. In my room Serena blew out her cheeks.

“Asmita won’t like this but she will come, even if she is unwilling.”

“Why do you let him? I don’t mean you personally Serena, I mean all of the women. Why?”

“We, sorry, they have little choice. Most accept it as a minor price to pay for their jobs. He does pay well and apart from his little foible he is good to the workers.”

“Little foible!” I exploded. “It is rape. Just because they have little choice doesn’t make it any better. We should do something about it. I’m surprised you and Jane hadn’t done something before now.”

“We wanted to, Mary, but we spoke to the workers first. They actually like Mr. Jones. If he wants sex, they’ll give him sex. They are afraid to upset him but he is a considerate partner. The money the women get helps them to buy a few luxuries for themselves because their husbands don’t know.”

“I’m not surprised the husbands don’t know,” I interrupted, “if some of them did know I think Mr. Jones would be dead.”

“Perhaps. Then what? His money runs this business. HE runs this business. Without him there would be no business, no jobs and no money. His wife would sell up. Any new owner would reduce the wages to the norm around here that would mean a third less pay. That difference makes employment here very attractive. Mr. Jones’ appraisals are the only dark spot and all the women know about them before they start. Jane and I make sure they do.”

“So they know they will have to have sex with the boss before they join?”

“Yes. We rebel in other ways. He doesn’t want the women to learn English. Whenever he’s around I speak to them in their own language and dialect. The rest of the time we all speak English. Gradually they learn English and we also have classes after work that Mr. Jones doesn’t know about. We have been doing it for years. Jane will still help with them. The women have the ability to speak English to shopkeepers. Many of them can now negotiate with the Council and Council Officials’ English is difficult.”

“So I could speak to any of them and they would understand me?”

“Yes. Which reminds me. One of the things you must do is warn us when Mr. Jones might visit the factory floor.”

“I know. Jane told me. The button is under the desk and I press it with my knee or if I’m standing up I press the end of the bookcase. How did you arrange that?”

“One of my relatives is an electrician. He worked on the rewiring of the factory a few years ago. Jane and I asked him for some modifications. For example Mr. Jones can cut off the intercom from his office but you can listen to whatever happens without him knowing. Do you know how?”

“Yes. Jane explained a lot to me.”

“Good. Jane always listens when he has his appraisals just in case there is any trouble. There hasn’t been… Well, it depends what you mean by trouble. One of the women who have now left decided to be masterful. She left him tied to his desk after her appraisal. Jane “accidentally” went in to bring him some papers and released him before he was too embarrassed.”

“Didn’t Jane embarrass him just by finding him tied up?”

“Not really. He knew that Jane knew about his appraisals. He was more annoyed with himself. He had enjoyed the experience. Most of his appraisals had been and still are colourless events. A simple fuck that lasts a few minutes and that is it.”

“I see. What about me? Am I expected to participate?”

“Jane didn’t. She knew too much about him and was in contact with his wife. You – you are a witch. He will be afraid to upset you.”

“What is this about me being a witch? I’m not.”

“I think you are. So does he. If you show the workers some of the things you did with the egg and scarves they’ll think so too. Don’t knock it. It can be useful to have people afraid of you as long as you don’t make them too afraid.”

“So I might be immune from Mr. Jones’ attentions if I’m a witch?”

“Yes. He is as superstitious as the rest of us. A witch is a wise woman who should be propitiated. You will be safe as a witch.”

I can take a hint. If I would be safe as a witch, a witch I will be.

“You are joining the rest of us for lunch, aren’t you? Mr. Jones goes to his club from one to two. We break from one to one thirty and then have the English lessons he doesn’t know about. If you showed some of your magic you will have the workers attention and respect. Will you?”

“Yes. Jane suggested that I might find the women difficult because I can’t speak their language. Why should they be difficult? Do they resent me?”

Serena was diplomatic.

“You get paid more than they do. You have skills they don’t have. They have skills you don’t share. They could be awkward and uncooperative if they wanted to be.”

“OK. They shall have a magic demonstration. I can’t do much. I didn’t bring everything I need but I have probably got enough.”

I had. My demonstration of magic had them enthralled. I finished with a show of juggling. I persuaded Serena to try. After a few minutes she was juggling with three soft balls and catching and returning a ball from me as well. There was no applause, just an awed silence. That was frightening. As I left many of the women bowed to me as if I was royalty.

When Serena and I were alone I asked:

“Why no applause? Didn’t they like it?”

“They have never seen anything like it except for a few pathetic village jugglers who are always men. You did something that only men do, but much better. Then you showed that I could learn from you. That makes you a teacher of rare skills. If we were Japanese we would consider you to be a Zen master. Your reputation and status is enormous.”

“But…”

“But you only did the simple things? I know. They know. If that was the simple things, what else can you do? If you are not careful they may consider you to be a goddess – or a demon.”

“A demon?”

“Not all demons are evil. Some are just playful. All are dangerous and to be avoided if possible. If not they have to be sacrificed to. Much more of your magic and you will frighten them silly. They may be learning English and living in England but they are still simple village girls at heart. You are beyond their understanding. Mr. Jones is not. He behaves just like a big landlord would.”

“But he thinks I’m a witch.”

“Yes. He isn’t much different. He sees things on television but he doesn’t understand them. Experiencing you do things face to face is different. He can turn his television off and he can refuse to believe it. He can’t refuse to believe something that happened to him personally.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to be a witch,” I said reluctantly.

“I think you are. The women think you are, if you are not a goddess or a demon. Mr. Jones thinks you are. You will be a witch to us, even if you don’t believe it yourself. Please, just be a benevolent witch.”

“I will,” I said, thinking of the real reason why I was working for Mr. Jones. The reason that only one other person knew, not Serena, not Mr. Jones. Even my occasionally available boyfriend didn’t know. Would being a witch help? I think it will, so I witch I would be.

Tonight I would do some research. I know a real witch, the kind that does spells and incantations. She is a friend. She might disapprove of me pretending to be what I’m not, but if I tell her why I’m sure she’ll help me maintain the role. Who knows? Perhaps I actually might have some magical powers? If belief is important then I already have believers.

The rest of the day passed as expected. Asmita came for her appraisal. She looked irritated as she went in to Mr. Jones’ office and relieved when she left. I offered her a drink but she refused.

“Please, no. I want to wash myself clean before anything else.”

“I understand. There is a washroom here. There is no need to go to the shop floor.”

Asmita actually smiled.

“Thank you. That I will accept.”

When she emerged again she was happier.

“At least it will be another month before…”

“…Mr. Jones wants to see you again,” I finished for her. “That must be some comfort.”

“You understand that I don’t like this?”

I nodded.

“Is there nothing you can do? You are powerful.”

“Asmita. This is the afternoon of my first day. I must understand first. I cannot do things unless I know what I am doing and why.”

She looked disappointed but hopeful.

“Please, if you can, please help us. He is not a bad man. He just behaves as if he is. He doesn’t really mean to humiliate us but he does. If only…”

“…If only he would stop, you might like him?” I asked.

“Yes. In many ways he is good to us. He treats us well, pays us well, is concerned about our families and us, but this is not good. He is married. He has a wife. Would she do this if she were in our place?”

“Perhaps she might if she knew.”

I left it at that. Asmita thanked me again and left.

At the end of the day I left to visit my witch friend. I’d made an appointment while Mr. Jones was appraising Asmita. I wanted to change things and soon. Any appraisal was one appraisal too many if Asmita’s barely concealed distress was an example.

Helen seemed to be expecting me. Of course she was. I’d rang her to make an appointment, hadn’t I? No. It was more as if she had seen a prediction that I would need her.

Over a cup of herbal tea she listened while I explained the situation at the factory. She prompted from time to time but she seemed to know much of what I was telling her. Finally I challenged her directly.

“You know all about this, Helen, don’t you?””

“Most of it. Jane told me when she knew you were to replace her.”

“So what do I do?”

“About what? Mr. Jones’ sexual urges or you being a witch?”

“Both.”

“You will have to be a real witch, Mary. I can make you a witch. I’m not going to show you how to be a pretend witch. That would be dangerous. If you ARE a witch then you will know what you can and cannot do and will have powers to protect yourself and others. As a real witch you can call upon other witches to help you. That can be very useful.”

“But I’m not a witch!” I protested.

“Not yet you are not. I have always thought that you could be, and could be a very powerful one. A few evenings with you and me could be initiated at the next meeting of our coven. That is Friday week. Are you prepared to make that commitment?”

I sat and thought for a few minutes, sipping her herbal tea. I knew that if I agreed I would be making a significant change in my life, one that I didn’t wholly understand. As I sat, an image of Asmita’s face appeared. For her sake, and the sake of the others who were being degraded by Mr. Jones’ inappropriate behaviour I had to act. I put my cup down.

“Yes, Helen,” I said firmly “I will.”

“What made you decide?”

“The women at the factory. I can’t leave them to suffer.”

“Good. You choose to be a witch, not for yourself, but to help others. That is the best motive.”

Helen launched straight in to my training. I won’t describe any of it. Unless you are a witch, a little knowledge is dangerous. I worked hard for every evening and studied books into the early hours. Mr. Jones’ appraisals made me more determined each afternoon. By the Friday that the coven was due to meet I knew I was ready. I felt like a bride who has made the commitment in her heart. The meeting of the coven, like the bride’s marriage ceremony, was only the public affirmation of something that had already been decided.

Late on Friday, after another appraisal, Serena brought a bolt of bright red cloth into my office.

“Is he free?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“This cloth is flawed. I don’t know what to do with it. I thought I’d ask him for advice.”

“It looks OK to me. What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s an intermittent flaw in the weave. See.”

Serena unrolled a yard or two. In the light I could see what she meant. It looked like a missing thread or two every foot or so. It was a shame. The fine silk was a brilliant in-your-face red with a wonderful shimmer. It draped beautifully and my fingers itched to caress it.

“We can’t use it for dresses or skirts. There isn’t enough undamaged material in a continuous length. It hasn't cost us anything. The suppliers sent it as an extra.”

“We don’t make underwear, do we?”

“No. Only dresses, skirts, suits and sometimes sarees.”

“But we could?”

“Yes. Our women are skilled. We could make anything that is clothing and is made of silk.”

“I wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“Let’s go and ask Mr. Jones. He might think my idea is stupid but we can at least try.”

“We? I don’t know what your idea is.”

“Never mind. Just listen. If I am suggesting something stupid you can say so.”

“OK.”

In we went. Mr. Jones seemed happy. Perhaps today’s appraisal had gone well?

“Well, ladies, what can I do for you?”

Serena showed him the bolt of flawed red silk. She spread it to show the flaw.

“Oh dear,” he said. “We can’t do much with that, can we.”

Serena explained that it had been sent free, as a gift, from the suppliers.

“Has it now?” he mused.

“Mary has an idea.” Said Serena.

That didn’t seem to make an impression. He turned the silk over and over, looking to see if there was any of it that was unflawed for a skirt or dress length. Failing, he put the bolt down on the desk. He looked straight at me.

“Well, Mary? What is your idea?”

“It’s really two ideas. The first is that this silk would make very attractive underwear, perhaps French Knickers.”

Mr. Jones nodded.

“The second idea is that we have just had Christmas. It isn’t long to Valentine’s Day. If we were to make French knickers, we could send them out to our best customers as a present, suggesting that they give them to someone appropriate as a Valentine present. The customer would remember us, even if they were embarrassed.”

I stopped and waited for his reaction. He picked up the end of cloth and ran his fingers across it.

“Yes. I can see this as underwear, very sexy underwear. But we have no lace trimming that would suit this quality of material.”

Serena jumped in.

“We don’t need lace. We could scallop the outside of the legs and perhaps add some discreet embroidery.”

“That might work,” he said, “especially as a free gift. If something is free and good, people aren’t critical.”

He looked at both of us.

“OK. I like it. We’ll do it. But I think the idea needs one last twist.”

We waited.

“Mary is a witch. If she added a spell to each pair of knickers so that they only brought happiness to the owner, that could help us.”

Serena squeezed my hand before I could object. I knew what she was trying to tell me. It couldn't hurt and might help.

“OK.” I said more lightly than I really meant. “I’ll try to find a suitable spell.”

“Then that’s settled. Can I leave you two to sort out the design and cut?” Good.”

That was a dismissal. Serena and I left his office.

“What about this spell?” I exploded. “I don’t like doing an indiscriminate spell.”

“Just do a general goodwill spell. If I know Mr. Jones he’ll keep one pair of panties for his wife. You can put a proper spell on them. I leave it to you. Perhaps one to make her very desirable to Mr. Jones?”