‘Yes, you told me about the old days and your boss leaving,’ she obediently repeated. ‘And then—’
‘Oh dear,’ Jean interjected. ‘We don’t seem to be understanding one another very well, do we?’
‘It’s not my fault!’ Agnes cried impatiently. ‘You won’t tell me what you’re trying to say! Just say it in a way I can understand.’
‘I’m leaving,’ Jean blurted out. ‘And there’s really no need—’
‘You see, it wasn’t so hard!’ said Agnes. ‘It’s really very easy. You should try it more often.’
‘I admit I might not have made things clear,’ Jean conceded nobly. ‘It’s all been rather sudden, you see. These upheavals can be quite stressful, I’ve found.’
‘I’m sure,’ Agnes politely returned. ‘But you’ll be surprised how quickly one adapts.’
A spatter of rain hit the window with a gravelly sound. Old autumn leaves were hurled acrobatically into the air by a fierce gust of wind. The disturbance outside made the atmosphere within the office suddenly rather pleasant. They sat in companionable silence. Agnes thought of Jean leaving, and decided she might even miss her.
‘So why are you leaving?’ she inquired presently, as the still-mysterious fact of it occurred to her.
‘I’m getting married.’
‘To Dave?’
‘To David, yes. We decided last week.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Agnes. An atmosphere of candour having now been established, she felt confident to continue: ‘But — if you don’t mind my saying so — that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to leave, does it?’
Jean took some time to consider the question. Agnes was struck by the thought that her soon-to-be ex-boss might be harbouring some old-fashioned ideas about wifely duty from which she herself might be able to dissuade her. Further delay, however, forced upon her the idea that such concealments could only hint at the importunate presence of scandal and subterfuge. Perhaps Jean had become pregnant and was being driven by shame towards a hasty union. The thought of it filled her with horror: not so much for the fallen Jean, but for the thought that her inquiry might provoke tearful confessions. She wished she could recall her words. Under such circumstances, they were both prurient and inflammatory. Despite the currently civilised tone of their discussions, she felt sure her relationship with Jean would not bear up beneath the strain.
‘I’m not just doing it for David,’ Jean finally declared. She pronounced her words carefully. ‘Although David certainly showed me the way and I am profoundly grateful to him for it. Our forthcoming marriage should make that gratitude adequately clear. But there are other, greater reasons for my resignation. I am dedicating my life to Jesus and all his works.’ She fixed Agnes with a steely eye. ‘And might I tell you, for me there could be no greater privilege.’
Agnes’s horror doubled. Jean gave her a sinister smile. All at once, the thought of her leaving did not seem so very unfortunate. Agnes glanced at the door, calculating the time it would take to hurl herself through it should Jean decide to commence her ministry peremptorily with the doubter before her. Immediately, however, she repented her aversion. What business was it of hers if Jean found happiness in the employ of the Almighty? Was it, perhaps, her own recent sense of redundancy from that very realm that had brought from her such a response? Could she resent the certainty currently illuminating Jean’s features, knowing that she herself no longer possessed it? Might she even be jealous?
‘So,’ she said hurriedly, before she could work upon herself the conversion which, so far, Jean had not attempted to perform. ‘So, who’s replacing you? That is, if you don’t mind my asking. I mean, I don’t want it to seem as if I want you to go or anything, but it would be helpful to know what we can expect.’ She laughed shrilly. ‘I suppose they’ll be getting a real slavedriver. After a couple of months, we’ll probably be begging you to come back.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Jean, who did not seem to find this idea particularly amusing, ‘we were thinking of offering you the job.’
Her tone suggested that, based on the evidence of their conversation, this offer could at any moment be withdrawn. Agnes stared at her in amazement.
‘Me?’ she said.
A fierce wind tore round the corner of Elwood Street, hurdling the low garden walls like a greyhound. The trees groaned in the dark while empty tin cans rattled percussively on the pavements. Agnes sat in the house listening to the storm brewing. A draught was whistling through the crack in the wall and she felt its cold breath on the back of her neck. She moved from the sofa to the armchair. Now it was licking her leg like a fawning cat. It was hard to think amidst all this disturbance. She got up crossly and slammed out into the desolate garden.
A deckchair left over from the summer was leaning against the wall, its striped innards fluttering darkly in the wind. She unfolded it and sat down. All around her were the blazing square of windows from other houses, astonished eyes in the darkness. She leaned back and looked at the moonless sky.
‘Agnes?’
Merlin clattered out of the back door and stumbled into the garden. He wrapped his coat around him and crumpled his face against the wind.
‘Getting some air?’ he said blithely, trying to get into the spirit of things.
‘I’m trying to think.’
‘Do you want some help?’ He sat down cross-legged beside her. ‘I’m very good on cosmic issues and I can throw in man trouble at a discount.’
‘You sound very cheerful.’ Agnes peered at him through the shadows of trees. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘Very perceptive of you. Well, let’s just say that I’m no longer in bondage to the power-crazed lusts of the dominatrix.’ He sighed contentedly. ‘I seem once again to be my own man. Whatever that means.’
‘So what happened? Did she catch you reading Cosmopolitan?’
‘Nothing so tawdry.’ Merlin laughed. ‘I keep it well hidden beneath my desk. No, she has found a replacement, impossible though it may seem.’
‘Who?’
‘My male secretary, as it happens. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s sleeping my way to the top.’
‘Or his own.’
‘Or his own. Anyway, now that I’m an expert in the fickleness of womankind,’ he continued casually, ‘I may as well put it to good use.’
‘How?’
‘Well, you know.’ Merlin rubbed his face with embarrassment. ‘Like, a girlfriend.’
‘You mean you’ve got one? Who is she?’
‘No, no, I don’t mean I’ve got one. I’m just — well, open to offers.’
Agnes stared at him. She almost began to laugh, but the aspect of vulnerability in his face moved her instead to tenderness.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We’ve monopolised you for too long.’
‘Oh, it’s not that! I’ve never really thought about it before, I suppose. I always assumed I was something of a late bloomer. Besides, I preferred having women as friends. Maybe it’s to do with my upbringing. I’ve been well schooled in the effects of male iniquity.’
‘So now you’ve had a close encounter with the effects of female iniquity, you reckon it’s time to get your own back.’
‘Not at all. It sounds quite strange, I know, but I think that what happened made me see myself in a different way. Not as a friend of women—’ he cackled melodramatically — ‘but as a seducer of them.’
Agnes thought about this. At first it made her sad, as she thought it must do watching a favourite child grow up and hence away from those who had loved him first. And yet Merlin was no child! She had never thought before about how unusual he was. It seemed to her then that she never knew she had things until she lost them.