Griselda hesitated. Could her love for Louise be already such common knowledge? Had Lord Roller gone over to the side of her Mother? Was there a cabalistic communion, based presumably upon telepathy, between such all eminent personages as Mrs Hatch and Lord Roller? Miss Guthers had seemed ignorant of anything amiss. Or was it because of knowledge that she had been so pleasant and agreeable? In any case a good private secretary was supposed to differentiate in her reception of the Recording Angel and of the man to read the gas meter, in degree only, and not in kind. Griselda began seriously to worry about her inexperience of Uncle Bear’s ‘real life’. But then her love for Louise seemed much more ‘real’ than her obligation to Lord Roller. Repelling another onset of tears, Griselda reflected that unless she had a reasonable job by the end of the week, she would go to jail for debt, which would put society still more against her.
‘Lord Roller,’ she said bravely, ‘I need a job. Suddenly I need a job badly. I have no right to bother you, but since we still have eleven minutes, or perhaps ten by now, I wonder if you can suggest anything? Or must it be the Secretariat?’ Griselda thought of living in a loft with Louise. Tears, tears. Almost she wished that she smoked. Lord Roller had already made the room like a luxuriously aromatic engine house. The reek of his mammoth cigar deadened the nerves of even non-smokers.
‘It will not be easy,’ he said. His tone implied that his magnanimity in offering to say no more about Griselda’s offence (if that was what he was offering to say no more about), was meeting with insufficient acknowledgement. But even now it was uncertain whether his present remark alluded to more than the depressed state of trade, so alarmingly revealed in the Report; was more than an accepted and standard observation to jobhunters. ‘You may have to enter the Secretariat after all.’ It was as if Griselda had to enter a convent for a course of spiritual rectification; even that being, all things considered, a lucky escape.
‘I should so much rather not.’
‘Naturally. But it is not in every case possible to choose. Often our present is decided for us by our past. I do not wish there to be any misunderstanding, however: any doubt that I am anxious to do everything possible. Though I should so much prefer to talk about the daffodils I noticed growing in the Green Park this morning, or the newest novel which I lack time to read, and can only read about.’ He smiled: then expelled a cloud of smoke so dense and unexpected as to make Griselda cough.
‘I am so sorry. Let me ring for a glass of water. And we might have the window a little open perhaps, just for a moment.’
‘Thank you. I’m perfectly all right.’ It was almost the sensation of crying again.
But Lord Roller had already rung. Miss Guthers appeared instantly.
‘Could you possibly fetch a glass of water, Hazel? I have nearly choked Miss de Reptonville.’
‘Certainly. Lord Roller.’
Again in an instant, Miss Guthers was back with a tumbler filled to the brim with water. Despite the speed of the transaction, not a drop was spilt: an achievement which Griselda found difficult to sustain.
‘Could you open a window too?’
‘The noise is rather bad today, Lord Roller. Now that it’s almost summer, it’s difficult to have the windows open. All the roads are coming up and the traffic’s being diverted. You can hear the hooting.’
‘None the less, please open the window, Hazel. Miss de Reptonville requires air. The Ministry of Transport has no business to repair the roads anyway, with the country in the state it is. Write a letter to Leech pointing that out and I’ll sign it. See that it catches the midday post or it’ll never arrive with the posts as they are now. You might even send it to Number Ten by messenger.’
‘The messenger service isn’t at all what it used to be, you know. Perhaps I’d better telephone Downing Street and ask them to send a messenger to collect.’
‘Please don’t trouble,’ interjected Griselda.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The window. Please don’t trouble, I’m perfectly all right.’
‘That’s splendid.’ Miss Guthers smiled encouragingly. ‘What about some more water?’
‘No, thank you. I still have more than half a glass. I wonder if we could possibly finish what we were saying, Lord Roller?’
‘Of course we can. All right, Hazel. Just let me know when Sir George arrives.’
‘Yes, Lord Roller. Shall I take your glass?’
‘Thank you so much for the water.’ It was probably wise to keep on the right side of Miss Guthers, especially as Griselda’s last remark might have been interpreted as a dismissal and as presumption.
‘Well, Miss de Reptonville, you want suitable employment.’ Lord Roller took a sheet of paper from a satinwood stationery stand which stood on the table with his cigars. He began to write. ‘An opportunity has occurred to me. It might prove to be the very thing.’ He scratched away. ‘You don’t mind working out of London?’
‘I should prefer London, but, obviously. I’m in no position to choose. How far away will this be?’
‘Not far, you’ll be pleased to hear. Not far at all. Just the other side of Seven Kings.’ He signed the document: a swift, driving, single name; then folded it and put it in an envelope. ‘No. On second thoughts, you’d better read it.’ He withdrew it from the envelope and passed it folded to Griselda.
The paper bore two or three sentences in a hand, dashing and sloping eagerly to the right, but not one word of which could Griselda read.
She stared at the indecipherable words while Lord Roller stood behind his desk watching her and waiting.
‘I’m terribly sorry. I’m bad at handwriting. I can’t read all of it.’
‘Doesn’t matter in the least, Miss de Reptonville. Hardly worth showing you. Conventionality, simply; but I hope it does the trick. My fist’s got worse and worse, I’m afraid, with increasing years of service. Give me the thing back and I’ll pack it up again.’ Griselda gave it back. ‘Just find your way to this address and they’ll take care of you.’ He was writing on the envelope. ‘I’ll do it in capitals.’ He smiled again at Griselda.
‘I feel I’m rather a fool, Lord Roller.’
‘Hardly worth employing, I’m sure.’ He said this with the kindliest of irony. ‘There.’ He returned the letter.
Miss Gathers was back in the room.
‘Sir George, Lord Roller.’
‘Show him in, Hazel. And bring a lot of whisky. Better open a new bottle.’
‘Yes, Lord Roller.’
‘Good-bye, Miss de Reptonville. I do hope I’ve been of some small help. Your position is difficult.’ He extended his hand. ‘But whatever you do . . . don’t worry.’ It was the last word on the subject.
‘Thank you for giving me so much of your time.’
‘I should so much have preferred to talk of the daffodils in the Park.’
‘Perhaps on another occasion.’
He glanced at her.
‘I hope so.’
Miss Guthers had rather to rush Griselda’s departure from the office, as Sir George could be distinctly overheard stamping like a thoroughbred in a loose box.
XV
Mr Shooter, to whom Lord Roller’s letter was addressed, hardly even attempted charm; nor did The Bedrock Accessories Supply Company, her prospective place of employment, impress Griselda much more favourably. Even when with the assistance of Messrs Arkwright and Silverstein’s outside porter, she had located Seven Kings, it seemed to take several hours to reach the place by train from Liverpool Street, so that on arrival she at least expected spring buds on the trees and skipping lambs. But Seven Kings seemed little different from the less attractive parts of London. It was now lunchtime but Griselda did not dare to eat; nor did there seem facilities, even had she dared.