They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [4]
‘Why do you say we not have that Knole settee, Daddee?’ she demanded in a high whining voice. ‘Mrs Dievtakis she have one in electric blue satin. You say it is money that is tight? But then why you take that blonde girl out dining and dancing – Ah! you think I do not know – and if you take that girl – then I have a settee and all done plum coloured and gold cushions. And when you say it is a business dinner you are a damn’ fool – yes – and come back with lipstick on your shirt. So I have the Knole settee and I order a fur cape – very nice – all like mink but not really mink and I get him very cheap and it is good business –’
The sudden failure of her audience – at first entranced, but now suddenly resuming work with spontaneous agreement, caused Victoria to break off and swing round to where Mr Greenholtz was standing in the doorway observing her.
Victoria, unable to think of anything relevant to say, merely said, ‘Oh!’
Mr Greenholtz grunted.
Flinging off his overcoat, Mr Greenholtz proceeded to his private office and banged the door. Almost immediately his buzzer sounded, two shorts and a long. That was a summons for Victoria.
‘It’s for you, Jonesey,’ a colleague remarked unnecessarily, her eyes alight with the pleasure occasioned by the misfortunes of others. The other typists collaborated in this sentiment by ejaculating: ‘You’re for it, Jones,’ and ‘On the mat, Jonesey.’ The office boy, an unpleasant child, contented himself with drawing a forefinger across his throat and uttering a sinister noise.
Victoria picked up her notebook and pencil and sailed into Mr Greenholtz’s office with such assurance as she could muster.
‘You want me, Mr Greenholtz?’ she murmured, fixing a limpid gaze on him.
Mr Greenholtz was rustling three pound notes and searching his pockets for coin of the realm.
‘So there you are,’ he observed. ‘I’ve had about enough of you, young lady. Do you see any particular reason why I shouldn’t pay you a week’s salary in lieu of notice and pack you off here and now?’
Victoria (an orphan) had just opened her mouth to explain how the plight of a mother at this moment suffering a major operation had so demoralized her that she had become completely light-headed, and how her small salary was all the aforesaid mother had to depend upon, when, taking an opening glance at Mr Greenholtz’s unwholesome face, she shut her mouth and changed her mind.
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ she said heartily and pleasantly. ‘I think you’re absolutely right, if you know what I mean.’
Mr Greenholtz appeared slightly taken aback. He was not used to having his dismissals treated in this approving and congratulatory spirit. To conceal a slight discomfiture he sorted through a pile of coins on the desk in front of him. He then sought once more in his pockets.
‘Ninepence short,’ he murmured gloomily.
‘Never mind,’ said Victoria kindly. ‘Take yourself to the pictures or spend it on sweets.’
‘Don’t seem to have any stamps, either.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I never write letters.’
‘I could send it after you,’ said Mr Greenholtz but without much conviction.
‘Don’t bother. What about a reference?’ said Victoria.
Mr Greenholtz’s choler returned.
‘Why the hell should I give you a reference?’ he demanded wrathfully.
‘It’s usual,’ said Victoria.
Mr Greenholtz drew a piece of paper towards him and scrawled a few lines. He shoved it towards her.
‘That do for you?’
Miss Jones has been with me two months as a shorthand typist. Her shorthand is inaccurate and she cannot spell. She is leaving owing to wasting time in office hours.
Victoria made a grimace.
‘Hardly a recommendation,’ she observed.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ said Mr Greenholtz.
‘I think,’ said Victoria, ‘that you ought at least to say I’m honest, sober and respectable. I am, you