One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [23]
When Katya returned she went into his office for a word – quite a long word – and came out pink and flustered.
‘Right. Well.’ She patted her hair. ‘You’ve obviously done rather well. Dominic wants you to stay on to help out, although I’m sure you’ve got other career plans. Don’t want to be a typist for ever. After all, you’re a graduate.’
‘Oh, no, I’d be delighted.’
‘Would you now. Right, well, pop in,’ she said crisply. ‘He wants to see you.’
Dumbly I walked to the door. I’d barely been in this hallowed, book-lined sanctuary, Katya had seen to that, and certainly not when he’d been in it. Dominic was behind a huge leather-topped desk, signing papers, and I thought how young he looked to be in such an important position, with such weighty responsibility. He looked up and smiled as I approached.
‘White smoke?’
‘Oh, thanks.’ I whipped out my Marlboro Lights and lit up, perching on a chair.
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘You know, when they choose a pope? Except I hope I’ve chosen a typist.’
Shit. I looked around for somewhere to stub it out. Heavens, I’d thought we were settling down for a clubby moment with cigars.
‘Oh, don’t worry, puff away,’ he said. ‘I’m not averse.’
I held the wretched cigarette low; so low the smoke billowed around me as if my ankles were on fire.
‘Of course you may not want it, but I’ve been aware for some time Katya has too much to do, so if you could see your way clear to becoming full-time dogsbody – I’m afraid that’s what it’ll amount to to begin with: tea lady, photocopying—’
‘Oh, no, I’d love to,’ I burst in. ‘Honestly, it’s my dream.’
‘Really?’ He looked at me with new interest. ‘I didn’t know. Did you read Politics? Here.’
He handed me a saucer for my cigarette and I stubbed the wretched thing out.
‘No, English. And I don’t know the first thing about politics, but I love working here and I’m sure I’ll develop an interest.’ I licked my lips. Took it more slowly. ‘I mean – I’m already very interested. My dad’s a journalist,’ I threw in widly, ‘so it’s always been a kind of… family thing.’
‘Oh? Called?’
‘David Carrington.’
‘Ah, right.’ He frowned; leaned back in his chair and tapped a pencil thoughtfully on his blotter. ‘Good of you to mention it. Many people might not.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, your father’s very left wing, Hattie. The Guardian is not necessarily my paper of choice.’
‘No. Of course not.’ Damn. Why was I so clueless? ‘But… he’s a very fair man. And it doesn’t really matter who’s on what side, does it? I mean if we all want a better country? Eventually?’
‘Noo,’ he said slowly. ‘Although I suppose I’d want to know you’re fundamentally on our side. But I agree, essentially we should all be after the same thing, the common good. Which personally I see as a better education for all.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more.’
‘Our schools are chaotic.’
‘Ghastly.’
‘Some are downright disgraceful.’
‘Crap.’
I was nervous, OK?
‘I mean, I was lucky enough to have a very privileged education. But the majority don’t, and it breaks my heart.’
‘Mine too,’ I said firmly.
‘Really? Where did you go?’
I thought quickly. I had any number to choose from. Laura always said St Mary’s on the grounds that it sounded private though it was in fact state, Kit plumped for one in upstate New York (two terms), but I tended to gauge it to whoever I was talking to.
‘Stockwell Comprehensive.’
‘Really?’ I could see he was impressed. ‘Well, your father clearly put his money where his mouth was.’
‘We didn’t have any money.’
‘No. Quite. So you know the situation then. Know the problems.’
‘Oh, I do,’ I said gravely. ‘Terrible place.’ I’d had a ball at Stockwell. An absolute ball. Had made masses of friends of all creeds and cultures and found it far more lively and vibrant than any of the stuffy convents I’d been to.
‘Well, that’s my particular hobbyhorse, gripping the inner-city comprehensives. And how fascinating that you’ve got first-hand knowledge. Presumably quite recently?’
‘Yes, I only left a few years ago.’
He stared at me, almost in awe, as a botanist might a rare orchid. I