Grandfather nodded, satisfaction glinting in his dark eyes. “Good girl. Between you, me, and your mother, we should be able to keep Randall from losing his career.”
Corinne forced a smile for her grandfather’s sake. Politics were of no real importance to her. She was far more concerned with making sure Will Munroe didn’t lose his heart to that English vixen.
And Corinne was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure he didn’t.
Emma shaded her eyes against the morning sun as she stared up at the ivy-covered walls. Somehow today the law building seemed much more imposing than it had the day she and Jonathan had come here. Today, she was entering as a new employee at the Faculty of Law.
What if she couldn’t perform her duties the way her father expected? The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him. She needed to impress him, to show him she was smart and capable. Emma prayed that the experience she’d gained in Grandad’s shop had prepared her sufficiently for this position and that she could pick up the other skills she’d need in short order.
She smoothed a gloved hand down her wool skirt and tugged her suit jacket into place. Taking a deep breath, she entered the main building. This time, Emma took the staircase leading to the second floor, followed the signs to the Faculty of Law department, and entered a frosted-glass door.
Inside, she found herself in a large room that contained several desks. The strong smell of coffee, ink, and parchment wafted in the air. She hesitated as several heads swiveled to look at her, and she clutched her handbag tighter, willing her heart to quit pounding so hard.
A man stood from one of the desks and came toward her.
Relief flooded her as she recognized Will Munroe’s brown hair and engaging smile.
“Good morning, Miss Moore. Welcome to the Faculty of Law.”
“Good day, Mr. Munroe.” She grinned at him. “I hope I’m not late.”
He glanced up at a clock on the wall, which showed three minutes before nine o’clock. “Not at all. You’re right on time.” He gestured for her to follow him over to the desks, where he introduced her to another man and two women. Emma did her best to commit their names to memory.
“This will be your desk. Professor Moore’s office is right through there.” He pointed to a closed door beside her desk.
“Does everyone here work for him?”
Will smiled. “Not directly. But we all work for the Faculty of Law. You, however, will report directly to the professor as his personal secretary. As such, you will be his right hand, assisting him in whatever he needs done.”
“I thought that was your job.”
He laughed. “Most times I feel like a jack-of-all-trades, but actually I’m a law student, working here part-time as a teaching assistant.” He pulled out the chair for her. “You can put your handbag in one of the drawers, and there’s a coatrack in the corner.”
“Thank you.” She set her bag on the desk and glanced nervously at the door. “Does my—the professor—want to see me?”
“I’m sure he will when he returns from his morning classes.” Will gestured to the typewriter on the desk. “Do you know how to use one of these?” The hopeful glint in his eye made her spirits sink.
Could she really do this job?
“A little. Grandad had one in his shop that I used on occasion. But mostly he insisted on handwriting all his invoices.”
“I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time.” He moved some papers on the desktop. “These are two letters that need typing. You can start with that until the professor returns to give you a more detailed job description.”
Emma smoothed her skirt under her and took her seat, trying not to feel the object of scrutiny from the others in the room.
“Any calls for Professor Moore come through here.” Will pointed to the telephone on the left-hand corner of the desk. “You answer by saying: ‘Good morning, Faculty of Law, Professor Moore’s office.’ You can write any messages on the pad there.”
“That sounds easy enough.” Emma’s stiff muscles relaxed a fraction. Anyone could answer a phone and take messages. She’d done that plenty of times for her grandfather.
“If you have any questions while I’m gone, Doris will help you. Won’t you, Doris?” He smiled at the woman across the aisle, who looked to be several years older than Emma. She wore her shoulder-length brown hair curled under at the ends. A pair of large-framed glasses magnified her dark eyes, while red lipstick highlighted her wide mouth.
The woman nodded. “I’d be happy to, Mr. Munroe.”
“You’re a gem, Doris.” Will grabbed some folders from one of the desks. “I’m off to teach my next class. I’ll see you later.” With that he bounded out the door.
Emma released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding and peered at the machine on her desk. Where to begin?
“The paper, onion skin, and carbon paper are in the top drawer,” Doris said. “They usually like at least one copy of the letters for their files.” She smiled kindly at Emma.
“Thank you. I must say this is all very new to me.”
Doris rose and crossed the room. “You’re from England, I take it.”
“That’s right.”
“How’d you find out about the job opening? I didn’t think the professor had even advertised it outside of the university yet.”
“Professor Moore is my . . . uncle. He knew I was looking for work and offered me the opportunity.” Emma peeled off her gloves and laid them on the desk. “I hope that doesn’t color your opinion of me.”
Doris shook her head. “It’s no skin off my nose. I make it my policy to mind my own business and do my work. Unlike some of the people around here.” She tilted her head toward the workers behind them.
Emma didn’t dare turn around. The last thing she needed was to cause any kind of conflict on her first day.
“Don’t worry, hon,” Doris said with a laugh. “No one here bites. But if they do, just bite them right back.” She sashayed back to her desk.
Emma opened the drawer and took out some papers, fitted them together as best she could, and threaded them into the typewriter.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath.
She only prayed that by the time the professor arrived, she’d have at least one perfectly typed letter for him to review.
Maybe then she’d begin to win his favor.
The lunch hour came with no sign of her father. Emma tried hard to hide her disappointment that he hadn’t been there to welcome her on her first morning and hoped he wasn’t purposely avoiding her. After the fiasco at the house, maybe he’d changed his mind.
But right before Will left for lunch, he assured her that the professor would be in sometime before one o’clock.
“You can take a break from twelve till one,” he said as he put on his hat. “I won’t be back until later this afternoon as I have classes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Munroe.”
He smiled. “Please, call me Will.”
Doris rose from her desk soon after Will had left. “Are you staying here for your break?”
“I think so. I have a sandwich with me, so I’ll eat at my desk.”
Doris pinned a small hat on top of her head and took her purse from the bottom drawer. “I have an errand to run, but I shouldn’t be too long. I don’t expect anything important to crop up while I’m gone. It’s usually pretty quiet.”
“I’ll be fine,” Emma said, despite the flutter of nerves at being left alone to handle the office.
With a small sigh, she took the brown paper bag out of the drawer and unwrapped the chicken sandwich Mrs. Teeter, the boardinghouse cook, had made for her. Maybe if she was lucky, her father would come back soon and they’d have a bit of time together before the others returned.
About half an hour later, Emma heard footsteps on the stairs. She quickly patted a napkin to her mouth and shoved the remains of her meal into the drawer. She was typing steadily when a man walked into the office.
With a start Emma realized it wasn’t her father. The stranger wore a beige trench coat and fedora and carried a brown leather satchel. He came to a sudden halt when he spotted her.
She summoned her most professional tone of voice. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“Aren’t you a wonderful new addition to this stuffy office?” The man grinned at her and doffed his hat. “A new employee?”
“That’s right.” She tilted her head. “And you are?”
“Giles Wainwright at your service.” He bowed and extended his hand. “I’m with the Toronto Telegram.”
Emma leaned over the desk to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. Do you have an appointment?” She forced a smile, out of her element with no one around to offer advice.
“Not exactly. But I was hoping to speak with Professor Moore. Is he in?”
“I’m afraid not. But he should be back within the hour.”
He frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t wait around that long.” He fished in his pocket and drew out a business card. “If you could give him this and tell him that I look forward to an interview at his earliest convenience, I’d be most grateful.”
“Certainly.” A wave of relief spread through her, and she was thankful that she wouldn’t have to entertain this stranger until her father returned. She set the card on her desk.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” His intense gaze made her shift uncomfortably on her wooden chair.
“Emmaline Moore.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you say Moore? As in Professor Moore?”
“That’s right.” She lifted her chin. “I’m his niece.” The fib was getting easier to roll off her tongue.
“And right off the boat from Britain, I’m guessing. Is this a permanent job or are you filling in until they find someone else?”
Why did she feel as though she was being cross-examined?
The loud tap of high heels sounded in the corridor, and Doris entered the room with a flourish. Her smile turned to a scowl the moment she laid eyes on Mr. Wainwright.
“You!” She planted her hands on her hips. “You know better than to show up here. Get out now before I call security.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open.
Mr. Wainwright held up both hands. “Now, now. No need for hostility. I was just getting to know Miss Moore here.”
Did Emma imagine the emphasis on her surname?
“Out.” Doris pointed to the door.
Mr. Wainwright put on his hat and bowed to Emma. “Lovely to meet you. I hope we’ll see each other again.” Then he turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.
Immediately, Doris leaned over Emma’s chair. “What did that snake want?”
“To speak to the professor. I told him he wouldn’t be back for a while, and he gave me this.” She held out the card to Doris.
She took the card and ripped it into tiny pieces. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone on your first day.”
“I don’t understand. Who is this man, and why did you call him a snake?”
Doris walked over to her desk and sat down. “He’s a reporter with one of the local papers, which isn’t a crime in itself. But he’s always on the lookout to dig up dirt on the professor. He was probably hanging around, waiting for a chance to sneak in while we were all out, hoping to catch the professor alone. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled such a stunt.” She tapped a pen on her desktop. “He sure was quick to take advantage of the fact that you’re new here.”
Emma struggled to make sense of the situation. “I don’t understand. Why would he want to harm the professor?”
“He and his paper are supporters of Mayor Church, and Wainwright has made it his mission to do whatever he can to discredit the competition.” She shoved her purse into a drawer. “But now you know. In future, he is not welcome here.”
Emma blew a curl off her forehead. “What if he shows up and won’t leave? What do I do then?”
Doris pointed to the telephone. “Pick up the receiver, dial nine, and someone in the security office will answer. Tell them Wainwright is here. They’ll know what to do.”
“But he seemed so . . . charming.”
“So does a boa constrictor until it has you wrapped up tighter than a violin string.” Doris smiled. “Don’t worry, honey. Now that he knows you’re onto his tricks, he won’t bother you again.”
An hour later, when her father finally strode into the outer office, Emma had filled a trash can with crumpled pieces of paper, proof of her many failed attempts to type a simple letter. Her fingers stilled on the keys as Randall came to an abrupt halt in front of her desk.
“Emmaline. Good afternoon.” He blinked as though surprised to find her there.
“Good afternoon.” How did one address one’s father—or uncle—in the workplace? He looked very professor-like in his tweed jacket, a gold watch chain dangling from his vest pocket.
“I see Will got you situated. Give me five minutes, then come into my office, and we can discuss the job in more detail.”
“Yes, sir.”
Precisely five minutes later, Emma knocked on his door. She carried a notepad and pencil, not sure what would be required of her.
“Come in.”
She walked into the room and halted, seeing he was on the telephone. He gestured for her to sit down on one of the chairs. She did so, trying not to listen to his conversation, and looked around the office while she waited. It seemed her father was a tidy person. The bookshelves were meticulously arranged with books of like height grouped together. His gleaming desktop held a telephone, a globe, a blotter, and an inkwell. In the corner by the window, a large fern hung from the ceiling by a heavy cord.
“Can you not cancel the appointment?” Randall’s exasperated tone drew Emma’s attention.
She glanced at him, attempting to study him unnoticed. He really was a handsome man. Distinguished would be a better word. With his dark hair and vivid blue eyes, he must have turned many a girl’s head in his day. Including her mother’s.
“Very well. Let me see what I can arrange. Perhaps Will can take her.” Frown lines marred Randall’s forehead. “Feel better, my dear. I’ll see you at dinner.” He replaced the receiver with a loud exhale.
“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Emma said cautiously.
“Nothing serious.” He looked at her with a slight smile. “Vera is under the weather with one of her headaches and can’t take Marianne to her doctor’s appointment. Once Will returns, I’ll see if his schedule permits him to do it.”
Emma straightened on her seat. “I’d be happy to take her, if I can. I mean, I don’t know exactly what it would require . . .” She bit her lip, feeling foolish. What did she know about transporting a girl in a wheelchair to her physician?
Randall studied her. “Actually, I believe it would be helpful if you could accompany Will. It would make Marianne and Will feel more at ease, I’m sure.”
She brightened. “And if Will can’t do it, perhaps Jonathan would help me. I presume you need someone to lift Marianne in and out of the auto.”
“Precisely. Vera is used to doing it, but even she has trouble sometimes.”
Emma hesitated. She longed to ask a hundred questions about her youngest sister but hated to appear nosy. Finally, her curiosity won out. “May I ask how Marianne came to be confined to a wheelchair? Was she born that way?”
At the look of misery that crept across Randall’s features, Emma instantly regretted her question.
“Marianne was a healthy, happy girl up until three years ago. Her favorite game was chasing her pet rabbit around the yard. And skipping.” He pressed his lips together. “Then she came down with polio, and for a while we didn’t know if she would live or die. Paralysis seems a small price to pay to still have her with us.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been terribly hard on everyone.”
“It was dreadful. Vera blamed herself for not realizing the seriousness of th
e illness sooner, even though the doctor assured us it wouldn’t have mattered.” Randall shook his head. “We are fortunate to have the financial means to see to her needs, like installing an elevator in the house and hiring a private tutor. Still, I constantly worry about her future.”
“Is there no possibility she will regain the use of her legs?” Emma asked gently.
“Very little. She is working with a physical therapist at the hospital to strengthen her muscles, but it’s a relatively new process and there’s no guarantee of improvement. Vera and I deemed the possibility worth the time and money involved on the slim chance that it might help.”
“Of course.” Emma smiled. “If anyone can achieve the impossible, I believe it would be Marianne.”
For a moment, the tension left her father’s face and he smiled. “You’re right about that. Our Marianne is indeed a special girl.”
Emma’s throat thickened. What would it be like to hear her father speak of her in such glowing terms? Perhaps if she continued to prove her worth to him, one day she would.
CHAPTER 12
Later that afternoon, Emma walked down the corridor of the children’s hospital beside Will, who pushed Marianne in the wheelchair. This was definitely not how she envisioned spending her first day on the job.
The strong scent of lye soap and antiseptic hung in the air, burning Emma’s nostrils. Nurses bustled from room to room, their soft-soled shoes barely making a whisper on the tiles. Emma peered into a waiting room as they passed, amazed to see parents and children of all ages inside. Some of the little ones played with toys, while others clung to their mothers, fear evident in their eyes.
In her wheelchair, Marianne smiled brightly, seeming unaffected by the sights or smells around her. “Thank you for coming with me, Emma. I can’t wait for you to meet Dr. Stafford. He’s so nice.”
Emma marveled at Marianne’s cheerfulness. Most children would not be looking forward to an appointment with their physician. But she seemed eager for it. “Your father mentioned that you also come here for physical therapy.”
The Highest of Hopes Page 10