She’d hoped to get to Selfridges before it opened so she could watch the employees arriving, but her train was delayed twice because of damage on the line. When she finally reached Selfridges, she devised a new strategy: She took the lift up to the personnel office to ask if Polly was employed there. “Sorry,” the secretary said as she walked in. “We’ve already filled the opening for a waitress in our Palm Court Restaurant.”
“Oh, but I’m not-” Eileen began.
“I’m afraid we have no openings for sales assistants either.” She turned back to her typewriter.
“I’m not looking to be hired on,” Eileen said. “I’m trying to locate someone who works here. Polly Sebastian.”
The secretary didn’t even stop typing. “Selfridges does not give out information regarding its employees.”
“But I must find her. You see, my brother Michael’s in hospital, and he’s asking for her. He’s an RAF pilot. His Spitfire was shot down,” she added, and the secretary not only looked up Polly’s name in the employee files for her, but, when she couldn’t find it there, checked the list of recent hires.
She also asked a number of difficult-to-answer questions about which airfield Michael was stationed at, so when Eileen went to John Lewis, she said he’d been injured at Dunkirk.
The secretary there couldn’t find Polly’s name in the files either, and at Padgett’s the secretary said, “I’m only temporary. I usually work in the perfume department, but Miss Gregory’s secretary was killed, and I was called in to substitute, so I don’t know about the personnel files, and Miss Gregory’s not here just now. If you’d care to leave your name, I can have her ring you when she returns.”
Eileen gave her her name and Mrs. Owens’s telephone number and went back to Selfridges to ask the shopgirls in each department if they knew anyone named Polly Sebastian who worked on their floor, but none of them recognized the name. “She’d only just have started,” she told one in the millinery department. “She has fair hair and gray eyes,” but the young woman was shaking her head.
“They haven’t hired anyone new since July,” she said, “even though several girls have left, and now I doubt they will, what with the raids causing business to fall off.”
Which presented a whole new problem-what if Polly had been unable to get hired on at any of the stores she’d mentioned? Presumably she’d have got a job at some other store. But which one? There were dozens of department stores and shops on Oxford Street. It would take weeks to search them all. Polly had said Mr. Dunworthy had insisted she work in one that hadn’t been bombed, but except for the three she’d heard Polly mention, she had no way of knowing which ones those were. “Are you certain it was Padgett’s and not Parson’s?” the shopgirl was asking.
“Yes,” Eileen said. “Her letter said she was coming to London to take a job at Padgett’s.”
“Did she say when? Perhaps she hasn’t started yet.”
She hadn’t thought of that either. Polly might not even be here yet. Eileen didn’t know how long the Blitz had lasted, but she thought it was several months, and Polly’d said her assignment was only for a few weeks. She might not be coming till next week. Or next month.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the shopgirl was asking.
No, Eileen thought. “Yes,” she said, thanked her for her help, and started toward the lifts.
“I hope you find her,” the shopgirl called after her.
I hope I find her soon, Eileen thought. She had only money enough for two or three more days’ tube fares and meals, even if Theodore’s mother let her stay on. “Stay as long as you like,” she’d said, but she’d meant “till you find your cousin in a day or two,” not weeks.
But if Polly wasn’t here in 1940 yet or was working in one of the dozens of smaller shops, it might take much longer to find her. Eileen would have to find work. But doing what? Her only experience was as a servant, but going into service was the worst thing she could do. She’d have a half-day out at most and no freedom to come and go.
Perhaps I can get hired on at Lyons Corner House, she thought, but when she inquired there, the personnel office told her they were only hiring for the evening shift, which meant she’d have to work during the raids, and she didn’t know whether Lyons had been hit or not.
She spent the rest of the day searching Parson’s, just in case that was the name Polly’d said, made a list of every shop and department store on Oxford Street so she could tick them off as she searched them, and then bought a newspaper and, on the train home to Stepney, circled all the Situations Vacant ads with Oxford Street addresses.
There were only four, and none were for Selfridges, Padgett’s, or John Lewis. The best was Waitress wanted. Wisteria Tea Shoppe. 532 Oxford Street. 1 to 5 P.M. shift. It was several blocks from the department stores, but only a few doors down from Marble Arch tube station, so if the raids began before her shift ended, she could take shelter there. And the hours were perfect. She could spend all morning looking for Polly, work her shift, and then go watch the staff entrances as the shopgirls left.
I’ll take the earliest bus so I can be first in line, she thought as she walked to Theodore’s house, but he met her at the door with, “A lady telephoned for you.”
It’s Polly, she thought. She went to Padgett’s to apply, and Miss Gregory told her I’d been there and gave her my number. “What was the name of the lady who rang up?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Theodore said. “A lady.”
“Did she leave her address, or a telephone number?”
Theodore didn’t know that either. She took him next door to ask Mrs. Owens, thinking, Please don’t have let Theodore have been the one who spoke to her, but Mrs. Owens had taken the call. “What a pity. You only just missed her.”
“What did she say?” Eileen asked eagerly.
“Only that she wished to speak with you, and that you were to ring her at this number.” She gave it to Eileen.
“May I use your phone to ring her? I’m afraid if I go down to the pillar box, Padgett’s will have closed.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Owens showed her to the phone. “Theodore, come with me into the kitchen and have your tea.”
Good, Eileen thought, giving the operator the number. With them not here in the room, I’ll be able to ask Polly where her drop is. “Hullo, this is Eileen O’Reilly,” she said.
“Yes, this is Miss Gregory from Padgett’s Department Store. You left your name and number with us.”
“That’s right.” Polly must be there in the office with her.
“I phoned to tell you that we have an opening in our sales staff.”
“An opening?” Eileen said blankly.
“Yes, to start immediately. As a junior assistant in our notions department.”
They were offering her a job. Miss Gregory must have found the card she’d left and thought it was an application. But she’d so hoped it was Polly, that she was on her way home. “Are you available, Miss O’Reilly?” Miss Gregory was asking.
Yes, she thought bitterly. But she couldn’t afford to pass up this job. It was in one of the stores where Polly might already be working, and near the others, and even if Polly didn’t work there, Eileen would be in the heart of Oxford Street and-on her lunch break-able to systematically go up one side of Oxford Street and down the other, searching every department store. “Yes,” Eileen said. “I’d very much like the job.”
“Excellent. Can you begin tomorrow morning?” Miss Gregory asked, and when Eileen said yes, told her when and where to report and what to wear.