• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 364 0

my sherry, grateful for the sandwiches I had eaten to absorb the alcohol. The colonel soon fetched yet another round, which left me feeling quite warm and seemed not to affect him, beyond stepping up his volubility. He talked about this neighbourhood as if it were his personal possession, told me about the process by which it was being swallowed by greedy London town, told me about his army career. He talked; I listened. Mary Small seemed very good at listening, first to Rosie, now to the colonel. In fact, people responded to her shyness with words, pouring out their life stories. By eight o'clock, two of the darts players had joined us, the publican's wife, and the publican himself occasionally, all apparently set on thrusting their personal histories on this tall, quiet, pale young woman in the tinted glasses. I have no great head for alcohol, and although I had managed quietly to rid myself of almost half of what was brought me, I had drunk more in the last couple of hours than I normally drank in a week. I felt flushed all over, my hair was coming down, the loud voices battered my senses, and a high and nagging voice spoke in my ear, warning me that I was going to make an awful mistake if I was not careful.

I rose abruptly, and five sets of eyes looked up at me uncertainly. I faced the wife and asked, with immense dignity, for the use of her facilities.

When I returned a few minutes later, considerably cooler and my hair under control, the party had broken up, but the colonel remained, and he stood when I entered.

"Miss Small, it occurs to me that neither of us have dined. Would you care to join me? Just a simple meal. There's a nice restaurant up the street."

This is really too easy, I thought happily.

"Oh, Colonel, it would be lovely, but I have to be up early tomorrow. I have an interview for a position at eight-thirty on the other side of town, and I really mustn't miss it, I'm getting— well, the situation is becoming a bit urgent. I must find work by the end of the week, or— well, I must, that's all. So I'd enjoy having dinner with you, but—"

"But of course you'll have dinner with me. Just a quick dinner, nothing fancy, and we'll have you in early. Where are you living?"

I told him where the boardinghouse was located and protested weakly, but of course he overrode my objections, and so we went to dinner. It was a pleasant-enough meal, and the wine was superb, causing me to regret the earlier alcoholic treacle that I had swallowed. The colonel drank my share, however, and seemed to enjoy it. I heard more of his story, his love for hunting, the book he was writing, his cars. Finally, over coffee, he fell silent, and as I looked down at my cup, I felt his eyes on me for a long minute.

"Don't go to that interview tomorrow," he said. I raised my eyes in surprise.

"Oh, but I must. I can't afford to miss the chance. I have to find work, I told you. If I don't, I shall be forced to go home." I made it sound most unpleasant.

"Where is home?"

"Oxfordshire. Outside Didcot." Not too far from the truth.

"And what do you do, that you interview for?" Here it came.

"Oh, anything, really. Except cooking," I had to add in all honesty. "I'm hopeless in the kitchen. But anything else. The interview tomorrow is for a personal secretary, which would be ideal. Correspondence, typing, a bit of research— she's a writer— driving. All things I can do, and it pays well. I can't let it go by," I repeated.

"Certainly you can. Come work for me."

The jackpot. O frabjous day! I thought, but I put on a face full of distress and embarrassment.

"Oh, Colonel, I couldn't do that. It's terribly nice of you to be concerned about me, and I do truly appreciate it, but I couldn't possibly take advantage of your kindness."

"It's not kindness; it's a job offer. My own secretary left several weeks ago," (slammed out of the house after the colonel had emptied a desk drawer over her head, according to Tea Shoppe Rosie) "and the work's been piling up ever since. And, as I said, I'm writing a book, and you say