Liverpool Annie

by Maureen Lee

  Jeremy Rupert returned at three. A few minutes later, he waddled into her office and threw the Writ on the desk. 'You've spelt the name wrong. It's Kerr, K-E-R-R. Same as Deborah,' he added with a sneer.

  'But you spelt it the other way,' cried Annie. She produced her notebook and turned to the page. 'See!'

  'You misheard. It's Kerr with a K. You'll have to type it again. I'd like the correct version by five o'clock, if you don't mind.'

  He'd done it deliberately! Every shred of anger fled and she felt close to tears. She reached in her stationery drawer for a sheet of special paper, two flimsies, two carbons.

  'C'mon, girl, c'mon.' Mr Rupert was watching her slow movements. Annie jutted out her jaw. She'd sooner die than let him see her cry. It was a ludicrous thing to think of, but she desperately wished she had a mam or dad to go home to, someone who would stroke her head and say her boss was the most evil man in the entire world and she wasn't to work for him another minute. She was fed up being on her own. Sylvia wasn't the same as a proper adult.

  'I need to go to the cloakroom,' she said abruptly.

  'Don't forget, I want that Writ by five o'clock,' Mr Rupert called after her. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

  She would never get the Writ done in time. Her hands were already shaking and her fingers would turn to thumbs with nervousness. She sat on the lavatory for a good ten minutes and made up her mind what had to be done. She would hand in her notice and hope one of the jobs she'd applied for would turn up soon, though it went against the grain to be forced out by a bully.

  After splashing her face, she went to see Miss Hunt and told her she was leaving.

  'Leaving, Miss Harrison! But why?' Miss Hunt's long jaw dropped.

  'I think I would be happier in another job.' Annie had no idea why she should feel uncomfortable, as if she were letting Miss Hunt down. It was she who had recommended Annie for promotion.

  'Happier? But I thought you were happy in your present job. We have had glowing reports about your work from Mr Rupert. Even Mr Grayson has expressed his pleasure more than once at the way you have progressed.'

  'I love the work, it's just . . .' Annie paused, wondering how she could explain to this prim and proper woman what her boss had done.

  'It's just that what, Miss Harrison?' Miss Hunt's permanent frown deepened in annoyance.

  'Me and Mr Rupert don't get on all that well.'

  The frown turned to one of surprise. 'Have you been crying? Your eyes are all red.' She no longer seemed annoyed.

  Annie felt her eyes fill up again. She nodded.

  'Sit down. Miss Harrison, and tell me all about it.' The older woman pulled up a chair. 'Mr Grayson has a client, so we won't be disturbed,'

  'It's awfully embarrassing.'

  'Despite appearances to the contrary, I am not easily embarrassed.'

  Annie explained about the Writ. 'He definitely spelt it Carr. I can show you my notebook. I'll never get it done by five o'clock.'

  'In that case,' Miss Hunt said briskly. 'We'll get the typing pool to do it. The girls can type a page each. Now, why on earth should Mr Rupert do such a mean thing?'

  Annie took a long breath. 'I slapped his face. He's been . . . well, too free with his hands. I couldn't stand it any longer. He ... he did something awful, and I couldn't help myself, I hit him really hard.'

  Miss Hunt's face emptied of expression. 'And how long has Mr Rupert been behaving like this?'

  Annie shrugged. 'Since I started working for him. Oh, I know you're going to say I should have mentioned it before, I should have stopped him, but I was scared of getting the sack.'

  'I see,' said Miss Hunt. She pursed her yellow lips.

  In the next room Mr Grayson could be heard showing his client out, a woman with a loud, pleasant laugh. Annie felt envious; she was so miserable, she was convinced she would never laugh again.

  Mr Grayson returned to his office and pressed the buzzer for his secretary. 'Come with me. Miss Harrison. I'd like you to repeat what you just told me to Mr Grayson.'

  Annie gasped. 'But I couldn't possibly . . .'

  'I'm afraid you must. Come along.'

  Mr Grayson looked mildly surprised when they both appeared. 'Miss Harrison has something to tell you,' Miss Hunt announced.

  Throughout her halting and muddled explanation, Mr Grayson stared grimly at his blotter and didn't look at her once. 'Thank you. Miss Harrison,' he said pleasantly when she'd finished.

  Miss Hunt showed her to the door. 'Don't forget the Writ,' she said.

  The Writ delivered, Annie returned to her office. A few minutes later Jeremy Rupert's internal telephone rang, and she heard him say, 'Yes, sir, right away.' He immediately went downstairs.

  The only person he called 'Sir' was Mr Grayson. Annie tried to get on with her work, but kept making

  mistake after mistake, and the waste-paper basket became increasingly full of crumpled letterheads.

  It was a good hour before her boss returned. Through the thick glass, she saw him sit at his desk and put his head in his hands.

  Not long afterwards, a girl from the pool brought the Writ. Annie thanked her. 'I would never have got it done in time.' She read the document through. There were two spelling errors which hadn't been on the original, but she didn't care. She combed her hair in the mirror behind the door and briefly practised looking as if she didn't have a care in the world before taking the Writ into Mr Rupert's office.

  He hadn't moved from the desk. His face was ghastly white and he was gazing into space, entirely unaware she had come in. She stared at him nervously. She hadn't planned on it going this far. If only she'd put a stop to things months ago!

  She told Sylvia the whole story when she got home. As she expected, Sylvia howled with laughter. 'He's gross, Annie, gross in more ways than one. I hope he's got the boot, he deserves it.'

  'I didn't want him to lose his job.'

  'But you were quite willing to give up yours! When we get to the Grand, I think I shall ask Bruno to give you a little pep talk.'

  'I'd sooner you didn't mention it. I feel dead ashamed.' She'd saved her own job, but at the cost of Mr Rupert's. It was an uneasy feeling.

  The situation at the Grand had become bearable. Cecy and Bruno no longer rowed; instead they were scrupulously polite to each other. Bruno was openly consorting with Eve, the former waitress, and there was nothing his wife could do about it. Cecy looked worse each time they saw her. Although only forty-two,

  she could easily have been taken for fifty. Her blonde hair was thinning, her face was haggard and her blue eyes were glazed with sadness - whereas Bruno seemed younger. Annie found herself glancing at him surreptitiously from time to time. She'd always had a crush on him, but now, although it was shameful to admit, since she'd learnt about the affairs he was even more attractive. She felt a little shiver when she thought about him making love to Eve, a plump and comely woman with a jaunty walk, as dark-haired as he was.

  Shortly after the girls arrived, Cecy announced she intended buying herself a little bungalow.

  'You mean move out?' Sylvia said in astonishment. 'But what will Bruno do without you.^'

  'Bruno already does quite well without me.'

  'You know what I mean, Cecy. I meant the food, that sort of thing.'

  Cecy turned away with a sour twist of her lips. Eve had worked in the Grand. She could easily take over Cecy's role in the kitchen.

  Mr Rupert had recovered slightly by next morning. His manner was bland, as was his voice. He asked Annie to come in with her notebook, but stumbled badly over the dictation, as if his mind was unable to grasp the intricacies of the work involved.

  'That will do for now,' he said after a short while.

  Annie remained in her chair, wondering if she should say something, perhaps express some regret. She was searching for the appropriate words when Mr Rupert said again, 'That will do. Miss Harrison.'

  Pauline Bunting from Accounts came round with the wages at the
usual time, directly after lunch. Annie's brown envelope was unusually thick.

  'Hey! It feels like I've got a bonus!' she chortled.

  Pauline gave her a strange look. She didn't stay for a

  chat as she often did, but mumbled she was in a hurry and quickly left.

  The envelope contained twice the usual number of notes. Bemused, Annie searched for her wage slip. It was still in the envelope, along with a folded letter. She felt a flicker of alarm, followed by a sensation of dread. She knew exactly what the letter would say. Signed by Mr Grayson, it was short and to the point; he would be obliged if she would leave the offices of Stickley & Plumm when they closed for business that afternoon. A week's wages were enclosed in lieu of notice.

  She'd been sacked!

  Angry tears pricked her eyes, and she was simmering at the cruel injustice of it all when Miss Hunt came in. Her initials were beside those of Mr Grayson on the letter, AFG/DH, so she must have typed it.

  'I'm sorry. Miss Harrison,' she said stiffly, her long, thin body poised clumsily, like that of a gauche young girl.

  'Why on earth should I be dismissed when I've done nothing wrong?' Annie cried. She felt like throwing her typewriter through the window. Either that or bursting into tears.

  'I'm afraid it's the way of the world, dear. Us little people are no more than pawns on a chessboard. When the powerful want us out of the way, we just get shoved aside.'

  Annie blinked at this rather emotive response. 'If you hadn't made me tell Mr Grayson, this wouldn't have happened.'

  Miss Hunt's yellow face grew bleak. She nodded. 'I know. The fact is. Miss Chase is emigrating to Australia at the end of the month and I felt sure Mr Grayson would allow you to take over as secretary to Mr Atkins. Unfortunately, he feels it would be better all round for the firm if you weren't here. Of course,' she went on

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  caustically, 'the firm is all that matters where Arnolc Grayson is concerned.'

  Annie laughed contemptuously. She nodded to wards Mr Rupert's empty room. 'What's happening to him?'

  'Mr Rupert has been given a severe dressing-down. Ii would be difficult to get rid of a partner. Nevertheless his behaviour falls far short of what is considerec acceptable.'

  'In other words, he's got off scot free!'

  'He has been warned it must never happen again.'

  'Did you say anything to Mr Grayson when h( dictated the letter?' Annie asked curiously.

  Miss Hunt averted her eyes. 'It would have been i waste of time.'

  'I'd like to leave right now. I'm up to date with m( work.' She couldn't stand the thought of seeing Jerem] Rupert again.

  The older woman frowned briefly, then her fact cleared. 'Perhaps that would be wise.' She went to th< door. 'Good luck. Miss Harrison. I hope your next jol turns out more happily than this one.'

  She was about to go, when Annie called, 'Mis: Hunt?'

  'Yes, Miss Harrison?'

  'How do you stand it?'

  'I don't know,' Miss Hunt said as she closed the door

  Annie gathered together the belongings accumulatec over the years; spare make-up, emergency sanitar towel, paper hankies, aspirins, soap and towel, tooth brush, and all the other odds and ends she had acquired She had nothing to put them in, so helped herself to ; stout envelope with plackets in the sides - the first thinj she had ever stolen.

  Throughout, her cheeks burned and her hands shool with anger. She glanced around the tiny office to maki

  sure she'd got everything. It was important to get away quickly. Pauline Bunting might have passed on the news of her dismissal and the office would be agog. She didn't want to discuss why she'd been sacked with anyone, no matter how sympathetic they might be.

  Feeling like an outcast, she slipped quietly downstairs with the envelope clutched to her chest, and was about to open the front door leading to North John Street when the enormin.- of what had happened sank in. For over three years, she had been coming in and out of this door regularly, without once being late. She had always given conscientiously of her best, yet where had it got her?

  Annie sat on the bottom stair and sniffed hard several times. It had got her nowhere. She was brooding over the unfairness of it all when the door opened and the stairs flooded with sunlight. Annie cursed inwardly for not making herself scarce. If it was Jeremy Rupert . . . ! But the man who entered was a stranger, jacketless, with crumpled navy cotton trousers and a long-sleeved check shirt.

  However, he turned out to be a stranger who knew her. 'Hello,' he said pleasantly. 'This is a coincidence. It's Annie, isn't it, Annie Harrison.^ I was going to come and see you today.'

  Aimie stared at him for several seconds. There was something familiar about his affable features and bright brown eyes, but it was the moustache that finally did it; a moustache that was not too big and not too small, but just the right size for his face, though she had to search for his name.

  'Mr Menin,' she said eventually. 'We met at Auntie Dot's on New Year's Day.' He was buying a house in Waterloo and she'd recommended Stickley & Plumm. She had forgotten all about the incident.

  'Lauri, please!' he protested. 'Mr Menin makes me

  feel very old. I have an appointment at three to sign the final contract for my house.'

  'It's taken a long time!' she remarked.

  'The building work has just finished. It'll be ready to move into soon.' He was still holding the door. 'Are you coming in or going out?'

  'Going out,' Annie said brightly. She went past him into the street. 'Goodbye, Mr . . . Lauri.'

  To her astonishment, he let the door go and began to walk along the pavement beside her.

  'What about your appointment?' she stammered.

  'That can wait,' he said gently. 'There are more important things at the moment, such as why does Miss Annie Harrison's face show so many different emotions? Her eyes say one thing, her lips another and her forehead is full of worried lines. None of the emotions are happy ones, and her voice tells the same story. What's wrong, Annie?'

  'Oh!' She had rarely felt so moved. It was incredible that this virtual stranger was able to see through her so easily. She'd thought she'd put on a brave face when they just met. She stared up at him. Her head came to just above his shoulder and she didn't think she'd ever seen such a kind, concerned expression on a face before. His brown eyes smiled into hers. She noticed his eyebrows were like little thatches and his luxuriant brown hair curled onto his broad neck. Why hadn't she noticed how nice he was on New Year's Day?

  'May I invite you for a coffee? Or would you prefer to tell me to get lost and mind my own business?' he twinkled.

  'I'd love a coffee.'

  The first place they came to was a long, narrow self-service snack bar which was virtually empty after the mid-day rush.

  Lauri Menin brought two coffees over to the plastic table. 'The truth is,' Annie blurted as soon as he sat down, 'I've got the sack.'

  'I thought as much. At least, I thought you were leaving.'

  'How on earth could you possibly guess?'

  He nodded towards the envelope. 'The contents told me the whole story. People don't usually walk round with stuff like that. Changing jobs is a bit like changing house, on a smaller scale.'

  Annie felt glad the sanitary towel was hidden. To her astonishment, in a rush of scarcely stoppable words, she found herself explaining the reason she'd lost her job, yet she didn't feel a bit embarrassed. Lauri Menin listened to the whole sorry tale right up to the point where he'd found her on the stairs. He didn't interrupt once. When she finished, he said seriously. 'This Jeremy Rupert sounds a most disagreeable creature, but also rather tragic. How terrible to have to get your kicks out of forcing your attentions on a young girl. You must feel very sorry for him.'

  Pity was the last thing Annie felt. 'I never looked at it that way.'

  Lauri continued, 'Mr Grayson - who my appointment was with - is even more to be pitied. The man is totally unprincipled.'

  'Why were you co
ming to see me?' she asked shyly.

  He folded his broad arms on the table. 'To thank you,' he said. He had a soothing, slightly husky voice with only a trace of Liverpool accent. She couldn't imagine him sounding angry. 'For all their faults, Messrs Stickley & Plumm handled the purchase of my house efficiently.'

  She murmured something about it being a highly reputable firm, and he said that under the circumstances, that was open to question and it was time to

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  change the subject from Stickley & Plumm. 'What do you know about interior decoration?' he asked.

  'Absolutely nothing!' Annie replied.

  'According to your Uncle Bert, you're very artistic. The thing is, I'm in a quandary over what colours to have my house painted. The decorators are waiting on my instructions. If I don't let them know soon, they'll paint everywhere white, including the front door.'

  'You must have the front door bright yellow,' Annie said quickly. She knew he was only being kind and trying to take her mind off things. 'Our front door used to be a horrible dark brown. I swore if I had a house of me own I'd have the front door yellow.'

  Lauri Menin grinned. He had large, slightly crooked white teeth. 'Then yellow it shall be. It's lucky I spoke to you. I could well have chosen horrible dark brown. What about the lounge? My favourite colour is red, but I have a feeling that might not look so good.'

  Annie cringed. 'Red would look dead awful. Pastel colours would be best, pale pink or lemon, with matching wallpaper on the breastwork. According to the women at work, that's the latest fashion.'

  'No wallpaper, I'm afraid, until the building has settled. Pink or lemon sounds fine. I like the sound of it.'

  'What about your wife? Isn't she allowed a say in the colours?'

  He drained his cup, 'I haven't got a wife.'

  'You don't look like a bachelor,' According to Sylvia, bachelors were either men of the world or mothers' boys. Lauri Menin appeared to be neither.

  'I'm a widower,' he said lightly.

  Annie clapped her hand to her mouth. 'Gosh, I'm awful sorry. I mean, I'm sorry about taking you for a bachelor and sorry about your wife.'