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Authors: Rita Bradshaw

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BOOK: Always I'Ll Remember
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‘Does he work in the shipyards?’
 
The other girl shook her head, causing her short, glossy brown hair to swing with the movement. ‘No, he’s a miner, like his da afore him and his da afore him. Well,’ she inclined her head towards the building, her voice suddenly brisk, ‘we’d better go in and see what’s what. We won’t get nowhere standing out here like lemons.’
 
Abby nodded, her nervousness changing to anticipation as her new friend linked arms with her.
 
‘Me name’s Winnie, by the way, Winnie Todd. What’s yours?’
 
‘Abby Vickers.’
 
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Winnie grinned at her. ‘We’ll pair up, shall we, if they ask us to? Though likely it’s not like school,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Least, I hope not. I hated school. Our headmaster was the spitting image of this German bloke, Adolf Hitler, who’s causing all the trouble, an’ he was a nasty bit of work an’ all. And our teacher,’ she raised her eyes heavenwards, ‘by, she could pack a wallop with the cane. You’d feel it for weeks when she let fly. I’ve never known anyone wield a bit of wood like Miss Ramsbottom.’
 
‘Ramsbottom?’ Abby giggled as they mounted the steps to the front door of the college. ‘That wasn’t really her name, was it?’
 
‘Straight up. She looked like one an’ all. Mind, she’d been walking out with old Adolf for years an’ years so that’d be enough to give anyone the hump. Well, here we go then. Time to shake a leg and knock ’em dead, as the actress said to the bishop.’
 
The corners of Abby’s mouth lifted as she pushed open the door and the pair of them stepped into the building. She was going to enjoy Monday and Thursday evenings. With or without the shorthand and typing lessons.
 
Chapter Three
 
T
welve months! She could hardly believe a full twelve months had passed since that first night when she had stood in fear and trepidation outside the college. And now here she was feeling pretty much the same at the thought of the forthcoming interview. With a mental shake of her head at her nervousness Abby tweaked her smart Sunday frock further over her knees and breathed out deeply, catching the eye of one of the other girls sitting in the small waiting room as she did so. She returned the weak smile the girl gave but didn’t instigate a conversation, it didn’t seem the time or the place somehow.
 
When the door opened and the woman who had previously called out two other applicants - with a twenty-minute break between them - said her name in a somewhat bored tone, the butterflies in Abby’s stomach did an Irish jig. This was it then, her first ever interview. Mrs Travis, their teacher at the college, had gone through the procedure time and time again until they were all well versed in how to deal with the possible pitfalls, but suddenly that didn’t seem as encouraging as it had been.
 
Abby didn’t glance at the other two girls in the room as she left, concentrating on the woman in front of her who, once they were in the corridor outside, said in a more friendly tone, ‘You’ll have a shorthand and typing test first and then Mr Wynford, the Accounts Manager, will see you. All right?’
 
‘Yes, thank you.’ She was being whisked through doors and along corridors so fast it was making her head spin. She’d never find her way out of here. Price and Osborne, Engineers, had looked pretty impressive from the outside but it was even bigger inside. Winnie had said she was daft to even apply for the post of secretary to the Accounts Manager when they had seen it advertised in the
Echo
. Most girls fresh out of college were happy to find work as a shorthand typist. Price and Osborne were situated at the end of Alfred Street, only a short walk away from home, but this wasn’t what had made Abby decide to try for the job, or even the fact that a secretary’s wage would be much more than a shorthand typist’s. The reason was her mother’s dismissive sneering attitude about her future prospects all the time she had been attending the course at the college. Abby wanted something better than the lowest rung of the ladder, just to show her. She hadn’t felt able to discuss this with her friend or anyone else for that matter, so she’d just said to Winnie that the interview would be good experience, if nothing else. Winnie had given her a look that said better than words she thought Abby was mad.
 
Abby had taken to shorthand like a duck to water, much to Winnie’s envy, for she wouldn’t have completed the course but for Abby’s help. Abby had galloped ahead of the other students, eager to master each stage in Mr Pitman’s book. She found it fascinating, like another language, which in a way it was, she supposed. The typing hadn’t held her interest in the same way but her speeds were good nevertheless, and she found great satisfaction in translating the squiggles and dots in her notebook into neatly set out letters and documents.
 
The woman who had collected her from the waiting room conducted the shorthand and typing test in a small office with just one chair, one desk and several filing cabinets in it. The test proved to be remarkably easy and when Abby had finished, the woman held out her hand for the letter she’d dictated, making no comment except to say, ‘If you’ll just wait here a moment I’ll see if Mr Wynford is free.’
 
She was back within a minute or so, and took Abby further down the corridor and into a large main office which was fairly buzzing with activity. At the far end of the room was a door with a brass nameplate which read, ‘Miss Boyce, Mr Wynford’s secretary’. Once again Abby had to wait while her guide disappeared inside.
 
This was all so different to anything she’d experienced before. Everyone was busy doing something or other and no one took any notice of her at all. Winnie had started work in a typing pool at Pallion shipbuilding yard a few days ago and there was another vacancy there; perhaps she should have gone for that rather than trying for this just to prove something to her mother. Abby was beginning to feel awkward standing about like a spare part when at last the door opened and she was beckoned into the secretary’s office and then through to the one beyond. This room was spacious, with wall to wall carpeting which made it seem bigger still and very luxurious to Abby, though the furniture was plain and functional.
 
A man was sitting at the far end of the room at a large, polished desk. Daylight from the window behind him streamed over his shoulders. He stood up at Abby’s approach, bent forward and held out his hand. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Vickers,’ he said evenly. He did not smile. ‘Please be seated.’
 
‘Thank you.’ Abby sat down, staring into steely blue eyes and willing herself not to glance away. Mr Wynford was middle-aged, possessed of a military bearing and as neat as a new pin.
 
The unnerving gaze held for a moment more, and then he glanced down at the papers in front of him. ‘Mrs Travis has given you a glowing testimonial both to your character and qualifications, but the fact remains you are still only seventeen years of age, Miss Vickers, with no practical experience. My present secretary,’ he waved his hand towards the door, by which Abby assumed he meant the woman who had conducted the test and shown her in, ‘had already worked for two other employers when she came here eighteen months ago.’
 
There was nothing she could say to this and so she merely continued to look at him.
 
‘She’s leaving, incidentally, because she’s getting married and the fellow in question has been offered a very lucrative job down south.’
 
After a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘Yes, I see, sir.’
 
‘Bernice, my secretary, was impressed with your shorthand speed. I am not the most patient of men and I dictate as I speak and don’t like to repeat myself. Neither do I respond well when files go missing or papers can’t be found. In effect I run a tight ship, Miss Vickers. Excuses aren’t tolerated.’
 
It was almost as if he was accusing her of something and now Abby sat up straighter, her cheeks burning.
 
‘Are you a clock watcher?’
 
She almost said, ‘What?’ but just in time changed it to, ‘I beg your pardon?’
 
‘Are you the type who makes sure they’re out of the door at five o’clock come hell or high water?’
 
What a horrible man. It wasn’t so much what he said as the tone of his voice, and she’d bet his face would crack if he ever smiled. ‘As you have already pointed out I haven’t worked in an office before, sir,’ she said crisply, ‘so my reply to that question would be rhetorical at best.’ She hoped she’d used the right word there. ‘But I have never thought of myself as a
type
, and certainly if there was work which needed to be seen to on any particular day, it would be dealt with.’
 
‘Would it now.’ He settled further back in his big leather chair. ‘Why did you apply for this particular post?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Why not something more suited to your limited knowledge of office work? You must realise that however successful you were at the college it is not like being in a real work environment. Most girls in your position go into a typing pool or something of that nature, I believe.’
 
And she could understand why now. Aware she was glaring, she tried to smooth her face clear of expression and moderate her voice as she threw caution to the wind and, with some bravado, said, ‘I am not most girls.’
 
‘So why did you apply? Was it the money?’
 
Wonderful! Not only had he got her down as inadequate to the task and flighty, but now she was grasping too. She drew in a long breath before she said truthfully, ‘No, it was not the money.’ But she could hardly tell him the real reason. ‘I felt I wanted something more interesting and demanding than a typing pool, and whatever I might lack in experience I’m determined I can make up for with hard work.’
 
‘You’ve worked in a factory for three and a half years since leaving school.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘It took you a while to decide what you really wanted to do, didn’t it?’
 
Again his tone caught her on the raw. She stared at him, lost for words. But only for a second or two; then she said, rising to her feet, ‘You don’t know me, Mr Wynford, and I resent that remark. From the day I started work I put money aside for the time when I would be able to pay for a shorthand and typing course. It took me a while but I did it. We’re not all born with silver spoons in our mouths—’ She stopped abruptly. She shouldn’t have said that last bit, she’d gone too far. She would have known it even if the look on his face hadn’t told her so.
 
Expecting a sharp reprimand she stood staring at him, wanting to turn tail and leave the room with every fibre of her being but feeling that would be to admit total defeat. Some ten seconds ticked by, and then he said flatly, ‘Sit down, lass.’
 
It was the ‘lass’ that seated her. It was so unexpected after everything that had gone before. She sank down more out of surprise than anything else.
 
‘You’re eighteen in,’ he consulted the papers in front of him, ‘six months’ time. Is that right?’
 
She nodded. ‘In January, yes.’
 
‘You appear older, in your manner, that is.’
 
He didn’t seem so nasty now but she wasn’t sure how to take him so she said nothing.
 
He pulled his chin into his neck, looking at her over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses. ‘This is the second batch of applicants I’ve seen today and there were some yesterday too. It was difficult enough finding Bernice eighteen months ago. Why the damn fool woman has to marry a man who’s determined to take himself off down south I don’t know.’ He stretched slightly, taking off the glasses, and again the sharp blue eyes bored into her. ‘Are you looking to up and skedaddle in the near future with some young man or other? Not that you’d tell me if you were, I suppose.’
 
Abby felt herself redden as she said, ‘I’m not and I would not have applied for the post if I were.’
 
It wasn’t very grammatical but he didn’t comment on this, continuing to stare at her for a moment or two before he said, ‘Hmph!’ which could have meant anything. ‘So . . .’ He stood up and turned to look out of the window towards the river. With his back towards her he said, ‘Would you want the job if it was offered to you?’
 
From being absolutely sure minutes before that she didn’t want it, she now found herself saying, ‘Yes, I would, sir.’ Which probably made Winnie right when she’d called her daft, Abby thought wryly.
 
He swung round to face her. ‘Got something to prove to them all, have you?’
 
His perception took her aback. She could have said, ‘Not all of them, no, just one person actually,’ but what she did say was, ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.’
 
The ‘Hmph!’ came again but he did not pursue the matter, contenting himself with, ‘Well, there’s worse motives for taking a job than being determined to succeed come what may, certainly from where I’m standing as the one likely to benefit. Now Bernice is not getting wed for another two months and she’s staying on to instruct her replacement on how I like things done and so on. That means you’d have a few weeks before you’re thrown in the deep end.’
BOOK: Always I'Ll Remember
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