Two Weeks to Remember

by Betty Neels

  ‘Probably all they are fit for,’ Sidney had commented.

  She eyed them with deep satisfaction now; luckily her best handbag matched well enough—and at least it was leather. She took a final look at herself in the wardrobe mirror and went down.

  The professor had said half-past seven; it was five minutes after that hour. Her room was at the back of the house; she never had heard the doorbell or a sound of anyone arriving. She opened the sitting room door and let out a gusty sigh. ‘Oh, you’re here…I thought…’

  He was on his feet, smiling at her, reading her thoughts so accurately that she felt foolish.

  ‘I’m a little early. I was explaining something of the work I hope you will be doing for me.’

  Cunning, thought Charity, and saw that her father and aunt were quite won over. She gave him a direct look and he said quietly, ‘But only if you want to do that, Charity.’

  And then, before she needed to answer, ‘Shall we go?’

  He took her to the Connaught Grill Room; subdued, unassuming luxury and the kind of food she thought it unlikely she would ever be invited to eat again: tiny mushrooms in a cream and wine sauce, lobster Cardinal, and finally a purée of chestnuts with whipped cream, all accompanied by a bottle of hock which, combined with the sherry she had had before they dined, added up to a delightful evening. And there was not one word about the job until the waiter set the coffee tray before her and slid discreetly away.

  They had been talking easily until now; he was a restful companion, she had discovered, unaware of the ease with which he had extracted the details of her rather dull life from her. As she passed him his cup he observed, ‘You may find the hours of work trying. Normally you would work from nine o’clock until half-past four, but more often or not it will be eight-thirty until heaven knows when—inconvenient, but as you are at present er, unattached, presumably that won’t be too much of a stumbling block. That is taken into account when it comes to your salary.’ He mentioned a sum which made her sit up very straight.

  ‘But that is far too much—it’s more than double…’

  ‘You will be doing double the work at awkward times. I shall expect you to work on a Sunday if necessary and occasionally accompany me when I go on a lecture tour. Patty Whiteman, my present secretary, will no doubt give you all the details and I’ll say no more until you have met her and decided for yourself.’

  He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘But I should like you to work for me, Charity, and I believe you would find it rewarding. You see, the reports and letters and notes you type are concerning people; they’re not meaningless invoices or yours of the 4th ult., or advertising copy. They have a purpose—I try to cure my patients. I couldn’t do it without teamwork, and you would be part of that team.’

  He laughed a little. ‘All very pompous, but it has to be said. Shall we have some more coffee?’ And then, before she could say a word, ‘Tell me, how much money did your bazaar make?’

  She perceived that he wasn’t going to discuss his offer of a job any more, and, although she was bursting with a dozen questions about it, she held her tongue. In any case, she had already decided to work for him. Even if the hours were awkward, it would be a nice change from Miss Hudson. In fact, the irregularity of the hours would be a change…and although she hadn’t had time to give it much thought, the extra money would be a gift from heaven; Aunt Emily, bless her, was getting less and less able to be economical and relied more and more on her to let her have a little something to tide her over, and even so, there would still be enough to buy some new clothes.

  She became aware that he was staring at her across the table and coloured a little. ‘Sorry, I was thinking—The bazaar? Oh, they did awfully well, but they needed to, with that roof to be repaired and the Christmas choir outing and the organ fund.’

  ‘You have lived in St John’s Wood all your life?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, we lived at Sandford Orcas—Father had a practice in Sherborne and I went to school there. When I left, Father decided to take up a partnership in the City and we moved to St John’s Wood.’

  ‘And you chose to train as a secretary?’ The question was put so casually that she answered it without hesitation.

  ‘No, I wanted to go to university and read history…’ It was on the tip of her tongue to embark on an explanation about this; she stopped herself just in time and the professor, studying her face from under heavy lids, asked no more questions, merely remarked that for his part he was delighted at the prospect of getting a first-class secretary.

  He drove her home presently, maintaining a steady flow of trivialities until they reached her door. He took the key from her and unlocked it and held it open for her to go in and only then did he say, ‘If I arrange things at Augustine’s, so that you are free for an hour or two tomorrow afternoon, perhaps you would like to meet my secretary? She will be able to give you a far truer picture of the work than I can. My consulting rooms are in Wigmore Street; I’ll let you have the address—take a taxi there. I have a teaching round, otherwise I would drive you there myself.’

  She agreed quietly. ‘I’d like to see what the work is, before I decide.’ She looked up into his placid face. ‘Well, I have decided, really. I’d like to work for you, if you are sure that I’ll do.’

  She turned to go through the door. ‘And thank you for a lovely evening.’

  ‘My pleasure, Charity. And you will do, I can assure you.’

  Half-way through the following morning the phone, which had rung incessantly, rang again. Miss Hudson answered it, her face thunderous as she listened. She muttered snappily into it and slammed down the receiver.

  ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to!’ she declared. ‘That was the office; you are to have two hours off, if you please, to undertake work for Professor Wyllie-Lyon. Whatever next, I should like to know? Well, you’ll just have to stay late—I’ve no intention of doing any more than my normal amount.’ She shot a spiteful look at Charity. ‘What are you going to do, anyway?’

  ‘Some work for Professor Wyllie-Lyon, Miss Hudson. At what time am I to go?’

  ‘After your dinner. And if you’re not back by five o’clock I shall lock up.’

  Charity, who had been the last to leave for months and was always left to lock up, agreed placidly. Miss Hudson was in quite a nasty temper and there was no point in stirring a muddy pool.

  Miss Hudson sniffed and maintained an injured silence until she went to her dinner, which meant that Charity could get on with her work. That suited her nicely; she had no hope of finishing before she went to her dinner and probably she wouldn’t be back before five o’clock; she would have to stay and finish before she went home. She slid more paper into her machine and started on the next report.

  She didn’t waste time in the canteen, she gobbled down a sandwich, drank a cup of coffee and went in search of a taxi, no easy task in that part of London. All the same, it wasn’t quite two o’clock as she rang the beautifully polished brass bell at the address given her by the office. The door opened automatically and she entered a discreetly carpeted hall with doors leading from it and a narrow staircase at the end. She had to scrutinise three doors before she found the professor’s nameplate, as highly polished as the doorbell. Did one just walk in, she wondered, or knock and wait? She compromised—knocked and went in without waiting for an answer.

  A waiting room, empty, well-furnished, with a vase or two of flowers and up-to-date magazines lying around. Very soothing, Charity thought as a door opened and a girl poked her head round it.

  ‘Oh, good—I thought it might be you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I was told to expect you about now.’ She advanced into the room; a pretty girl, wearing a dress Charity instantly wanted. She was exquisitely made up, too, with her hair arranged in an artless style which must have taken ages to achieve. She held out a hand. ‘I’m Patty…’

  Charity smiled happily. She had imagined a paragon with horn-rimmed spectacles and sensible shoes
. ‘Charity Graham. Can you really spare me the time to show me around?’

  ‘No appointments—the one afternoon in my working week when I’m left to catch up on everything. Shall we have a cup of coffee? Then I’ll show you round and explain the work, though I don’t suppose it’s much different to the hospital.’

  She led the way through the door into a small office carpeted in dark grey, the walls papered in a pale apricot, with the desk under the window and a padded chair behind it. A nice change from the austere office at Augustine’s.

  ‘The coffee is here,’ explained Patty and opened another door, revealing a fair-sized cloakroom fitted with shelves on which were cups and saucers and glasses. There was an electric kettle and a coffee percolator and a minute refrigerator, too.

  Patty got cups and saucers and poured the coffee. ‘The loo’s through there.’ She nodded towards another door. ‘Let’s go back to my office, shall we?’ And, once they were settled, ‘Now, where shall I start…’

  She knew her job; what was more, she enjoyed it. ‘If I wasn’t getting married I’d stay for ever,’ she told Charity. ‘All go, you know, but the professor’s a dream to work for. Mind you, if he gets the bit between his teeth about some patient or other, you’ll be typing reports until all hours, phoning all round the clock and acting as a kind of buffer between him and anyone getting in his way.’ She was pulling open drawers in filing cabinets, explaining the intercom, opening cupboard doors to show their neatly arranged contents. ‘There is a nurse, of course, who deals with patients, but you make the appointments. Do you mind travelling? He will sometimes want you to go if he is lecturing…’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Oh, all over the place—Brussels and the Hague and Vienna and the States.’

  Charity blinked. ‘He didn’t mention…’

  ‘Forgot. He does have a lot on his mind. You’ll get a cheque each month on the first; he likes to have a list of any expenses two days before that. Leave it on his desk.’

  ‘Oh, will I have any?’

  ‘Rather—taxis, buses, overtime. Now, come and see the consulting room.’

  It was as well furnished as the waiting room, with a very large desk across one corner, crammed tidily with papers, folders, a blotter and a stationery rack. There was a curtained-off recess used as an examination room and an imitation log fire, the gas flickering cheerfully. A pleasant room and very reassuring for the patient, thought Charity, and pictured Professor Wyllie-Lyon sitting there, sympathetically listening to whoever was consulting him. She felt a thrill of excitement when she remembered that she would be sitting in the room next door.

  ‘Well, do you think you’d like it?’ asked Patty.

  Charity nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Do you suppose I could manage?’

  ‘Of course you can. Anyway, Professor Wyllie-Lyon wouldn’t have offered you the job if he hadn’t been sure you could cope. It’ll make a nice change from Augustine’s. Your lunchtime may be a bit erratic, by the way; if it’s a busy morning you may be a bit late; on the other hand, if the professor’s at the hospital or away on a consultation, do as you please. The nurse is a sweetie—Mrs Kemp—middle-aged and cosy—been here for years. There is the porter too, Harry; he comes to clear rubbish and bring the milk and run errands and so on. The professor lives close by—he quite often walks round. He’s got a house, one of those discreet Regency places with a housekeeper and a butler. Very posh. Heaps of friends, but hardly what you’d call a party man. There’s a rumour going round that he’s on the brink of getting engaged. I’ve never seen her but Mrs Kemp has; says she is a haughty piece.’

  They wandered back to the tiny kitchen and Patty put the kettle on. ‘Have a cup of tea before you go. I’m leaving in four-and-a-half weeks’ time and Professor Wyllie-Lyon thought it might be a good idea if you worked with me for a day or two before I go. Could you manage that?’

  ‘Yes, I am sure I can. I’ll give in my notice tomorrow morning so that I can leave in a month, and come here for the last half week. Would that do?’

  ‘Super. Do you have to go back to Augustine’s now?’

  Charity thought of the unfinished work on her desk. ‘Yes, I’ll have to work late…’

  They perched side by side on the table, sipping their tea. ‘Isn’t there anyone to give a helping hand?’

  ‘Well, there is Miss Hudson, but she likes to go at five o’clock sharp. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Got a boyfriend?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not—not any more…’

  Patty nodded her head vigorously. ‘You have to be so sure, don’t you?’ She heaved a contented sigh. ‘I’m sure about my George. You must come to our wedding; the professor and Mrs Kemp are coming, so you won’t feel lonely.’

  ‘I’d love to. Is it to be near here?’

  ‘Primrose Hill in just over two months’ time, so that we can be settled in by Christmas. The professor gave us a marvellous present—a combined dinner and tea and breakfast service—china, my dear, and it must have cost a bomb!’

  They spent another five minutes or so on the interesting topic of wedding dresses before Charity got reluctantly to her feet. ‘I’m sure that I’m going to like being here,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to start.’

  They parted on the best of terms and she walked to the corner and got on a bus; it took longer than a taxi but she had a lot to think about. Besides, she would have to work late anyway and another twenty minutes or so wouldn’t make all that difference.

  It was after half past four by the time she opened the office door to find Miss Hudson seething with impatience and bad temper. ‘There you are!’ she exclaimed crossly. ‘All this while…and left me to cope with all this work.’

  As far as Charity could see, the work she had left on her own desk was still there and there was very little left to do on Miss Hudson’s.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said kindly. ‘It’s almost five o’clock and you’ve all but finished.’

  ‘I had to make the tea,’ complained Miss Hudson, still seething.

  Charity was typing briskly. ‘Yes, well I expect you had to,’ she observed, her mind on other things. ‘I’ve had mine.’

  She whisked an X-Ray report from the machine, inserted a sheet of paper and typed out her notice, then put it into an envelope and sealed it ready for the morning. She was aware that Miss Hudson was watching her, but she rattled away at the next report without saying a word and at five o’clock Miss Hudson, deeply suspicious, took herself smartly off home.

  It was an hour later before Charity had finished, and it was quite dark as she left the hospital. The rush hour had dwindled to a steady trickle and the bus queue wasn’t long. She dismissed the childish wish that Professor Wyllie-Lyon would come along in his car and give her a lift, and climbed aboard her bus to stand squashed between two bowler-hatted gentlemen with sharp elbows. Not that she noticed; she had too much to occupy her thoughts.

  She told her father and aunt that evening and was a little surprised to find them so enthusiastic. Her job at the hospital was sure and steady and there was always the chance that she and the professor might end up at odds with each other.

  ‘You can take a little holiday before you start, dear,’ said Aunt Emily.

  Charity explained that she planned to go to her new job the day after she left Augustine’s. ‘And the hours may be a bit erratic, although I understand that they are made up to me. I don’t mind that a bit, it’ll make a nice change from nine till five and knowing exactly what work I’m going to do. I may have to accompany Professor Wyllie-Lyon when he goes to a seminar or does a lecture tour.’

  Aunt Emily, still living by the standards of her own youth, frowned a little but her father observed, ‘Splendid. You may see something of the world, and meet people. I was only thinking, my dear, that our own circle of friends is a narrow one and you have little opportunity of meeting fresh faces.’

  A speech which surprised Charity very much indeed.

  She saw nothing of the professor
for several days, although she received a letter confirming her appointment as his secretary. When she did see him, he was standing in the entrance hall, talking to two of the honorary consultants and, although he smiled and nodded to her as she went past, he made no attempt to speak. She felt vaguely disappointed for no particular reason, but in any case she hadn’t the leisure to worry about it; Miss Hudson, apprised of her departure, was intent on getting the last ounce of work out of her before she left. Another girl was taking her place but, as Miss Hudson said darkly, she might be unreliable and she, Miss Hudson, still had a string of appointments with her dentist which necessitated her leaving early at least twice a week. Charity, who had had the task of showing her successor round, thought it likely that Miss Hudson might have to change the times of the dental appointments, for the new assistant had stated quite clearly and in no uncertain terms that she intended working her hours and no more than that. Charity felt quite sorry for Miss Hudson, even when she was working late in order to clear up the very large half of their work which that lady decided was her share.

  It was half-way through the month before she saw the professor to speak to. She had heard in the canteen that he had been away on a lecture tour, but she didn’t know that he was back until he walked into the office while Miss Hudson was at her dinner.

  He handed Charity a bundle of papers, at the same time wishing her good afternoon and expressing the hope that she could have them ready by five o’clock.

  Having done this he showed no wish to leave. He sat down on Miss Hudson’s desk and looked her over thoughtfully. ‘You and Patty discussed the job?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ said Charity matter-of-factly. ‘Didn’t she tell you? I’m looking forward to starting, only I’m a bit scared, too.’

  ‘Don’t be, I don’t bite. You do understand that you will be more or less your own boss? You’ll have to work like a Trojan, but you can arrange things to suit yourself, as long as the work is done. And if at the end of a month you feel that you just can’t work like that, tell me.’