Sowerbutt's Luck

“I suppose you think you’re smart, Jimmy,” Polly smiled at her man, stretched out on the settee in their smart Cheapside flat.

Sowerbutt never knew what to expect from his lady. One of her slaps or a warm welcome. “Predictably unpredictable,” he once said to her, before ducking out the way as a shoe headed in his direction.

He rattled the ice in his glass of Old Bushmills. Planning a major robbery, breaking into the Savoy, selling women’s fashion; it had been a busy few days.
“Genial George was very excited. Prices, delivery dates, all that stuff. He loved the designs and said the workmanship was first-class. Well done to your girls.
“Marshall & Snelgrove will launch the new look, then the other department stores will tear their hair out to get into the action. Out in the wings, the exclusive milliner’s shops will be chasing around to place orders with you. You and your Luton ladies have arrived.”
Sowerbutt grunted as Polly jabbed him in the ribs, then put her arms round him. “I don’t know a thing about hats, Jimmy, apart from what I like and don’t like. You drag me up here, you bad man, and now I’m running a hat factory. Have you seen the warehouse, it looks so much better. We’ve turned a pigsty into a pleasant workplace for ladies."
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