by Maggie Ford
Henry unfolded his arms and moved away from the door jamb against which he had been leaning, and as he came fully into the kitchen, his chef de cuisine looked at him suspiciously.
Mr Samson didn’t care for having his domain invaded by the likes of Mr Lett’s son, the “bloody young upstart”. Henry had heard himself spoken of in this way to those working under Samson when he was not expected to be listening, the man daring his underlings to repeat it to anyone outside his kitchen under pain of death. Now Samson merely nodded with terse courtesy.
“Can I help you, Mr Lett?”
Henry shook his head but smiled graciously. “No, Chef, I’m fine. I thought I’d just come in to say that I thought you excelled yourself with this evening’s food. It astonishes me how you manage with so few staff.”
“Any more’d get under me feet. Too many cooks, they say.”
“Yes, quite. Are you happy with the staff you have?”
“Well, sir—”
“I see the girl, Mary, is still working diligently. It was worth taking her on, I’d say, eh?”
“Matter of opinion, Mr Lett, I suppose. She could be worse, though—”
Henry had walked on past Samson mid-sentence, and had now centred his attention on the girl. “And how do you like your job, Mary?”
She had stopped working at his approach, her hands idle in the water, but she didn’t appear cowed; rather she met his gaze with her own steady one, prompting a small twinge of admiration to explode somewhere deep inside him.
Her reply was equally forthright. “It’s heavy going, sir, but I manage. I’m stronger than I look.”
Indeed, for all her slight figure, Henry realised that it wasn’t only her mind that was strong. She glowed with health, a far cry from the waif she had been on first coming here.
“I quite see you are. You appear to be wielding those hefty pots with such vigour.” He realised he was flirting mildly with her. He hoped it didn’t ring in his tone enough for Chef to detect, Chef with his jealous overlording of his little world, the last person he wanted to betray his present feelings to.
And he was having feelings. She was damned attractive. No girl that attractive deserved to be slaving at a sink under the harsh eye of the overbearing Samson. Henry could more easily see her in neat blouse and skirt, seated at a typewriting machine, books and papers about her. He could arrange for her to learn to type, maybe learn shorthand. Her eyes, when they had met his, were intelligent. She would learn office skills in no time at all.
Quite out of the blue he felt a need to see her in as comfortable a working life as possible. Again came that twinge of admiration – more than admiration – and now he knew why he’d been drawn to stand at the door to the kitchens to survey her; why he had more than once been tempted to do so, but had ignored the impulse with a grin of amusement at himself.
“Mary.” His voice sounded strange. He kept his eyes averted from Chef, although the man was busy overseeing Dodds, who was taking out empty boxes and rubbish for collection in the morning by the dustmen. “Mary, are you any good at figures?”
She looked away now, applying herself again to her work. The pots clashed dully against the metal sink. “Figures, sir?” The wire wool scraped harshly against the iron rim of the pot. Henry found his gaze trained on what she was doing.
“Yes, adding and subtraction and multiplication.”
“And division? I’m not bad at figures, though I didn’t have much schooling. I left school at twelve.” She hadn’t eased up from her task. “My dad was killed in 1914, right at the start of the war. I had to leave school.”
“Schooling doesn’t matter. It’s what you learn later in life that matters.”
“You can say that again!”
He ignored the familiarity, the forthrightness that had crept in. Yet for some unaccountable reason it warmed him. “And your mother?”
“She died when I was eight.” Her reply was monotonous.
This was getting away from his aim. He couldn’t waste time on sentiment at this moment. “I’ve had a little thought, Mary. I would like to give you a little test to see how you can add and subtract and multiply, and also how you read. You can read, Mary?”
“Yes, sir. I go to the library a lot.” She had slowed her sluicing of the pot, coming almost to a halt to look up at him again. Her eyes - lovely eyes they were, hazel, like amber with flecks of green in it - had grown questioning. “Why do you want to give me a test, sir?”
Henry found himself beaming. “Because if you are any good I might find employment for you on the office side of this business.”
“Me?” Now she had stopped working altogether. And he was smiling idiotically at her, waiting for her response.
Chef had come back into the kitchen. He glared at his underling. He almost glared at Henry, a vague insinuation that this was not his employer’s domain but his, and that the man was intruding, boss or no boss.
“You still wasting Mr Lett’s time, girl?” he blasted her. “Get your work done and leave Mr Lett to his own business. I apologise, Mr Lett, for my worker’s cheek. You, girl, say sorry to Mr Lett. We’ll be finished in a tick or two, as soon as she gets a move on, and be out of your way.”
Henry lifted a hand. “It’s quite all right, Chef. I am in the way, I know. I’ll leave you to your clearing-up. And thank you once again for the very good fare tonight. Not a single complaint. Not that there ever are, or very few. Not a thing out of place. We have a good staff here, Chef, kitchen and waiting staff alike. Well, goodnight to you.” As he turned to go, his glanced at Mary. “Remember what I said, young lady.”
Chef’s pale eyes blazed. As Henry went out of the swing door he heard him blare: “What’ve you said to Mr Lett?” and her reply, “Nothing.”
Leaving that night Henry hoped he hadn’t got her into much trouble.
Five
Mary’s face was radiant. “I can’t believe my luck, Will. He came into the kitchen and, just like that, asked me if I wanted to work in the office.”
Holding hands, they strolled through London Zoo in the May sunshine, past the throng absorbed in gazing at the fully grown male gorilla motionless behind his bars. His powerful bulk resting on the thick forearms which he had folded in front of him, his great black fingers clasped together, he gazed back at the chattering humans. His amber, bloodshot eyes conveyed – if the crowd cared to look closer, which they didn’t – something like contempt, certainly curbed frustration, perhaps still remembering the misty freedom of some remote mountain lair, maybe even vaguely recollecting a group of chosen females and their infants, his offspring, which he had once defended with his supreme presence.
“I’m happy for you,” William managed as he and Mary moved on past the gathering, the oohs and aahs fading behind them – but he did not feel happy for himself, nor content for her. Not only would he see less of her, but there was a question at the back of his mind as to why Henry Lett should behave so generously towards a mere skivvy in his restaurant kitchen.
He was conscious of prickles of jealousy running through him. Mary, cool in her summery cream cotton dress with its low waist, her fair hair recently cut in the shorter fashion so that its natural waves, released from its weight, now sprang lightly about her ears, was a pretty girl. More than pretty, she was striking. But for her petite figure she would have commanded rapt attention for she held her head high and her eyes steady whoever confronted her, even if it was the most important of her superiors. Chef didn’t like her for it. He declared she lacked the humility dictated by her station in life and made a point of scolding her as often as he could. On several occasions he would have called for her to be sacked as a waste of the restaurant’s money but for Henry Lett insisting that as a hard worker she warranted no such action.
That alone gave cause for jealousy in William’s breast, for why should someone like Henry Lett go about championing the lowest worker in his father’s employ if not because he was attracted to her looks?
“M
r Lett said he would get one of his office staff to learn me on the calculating machine,” Mary was saying, now clutching his arm in her enthusiasm. “He gave me this test and found I was really good at sums. I knew I was, but it never stood me in much stead before and never seemed to matter.”
“I shan’t see so much of you – you up there in that grand place, and me still only a commis in the restaurant.”
“We’ll still be going out together. I’ll see you then.”
“You might lose interest in me, not seeing me so much.”
“I’ll never do that.”
“There’s three other men in that office.”
Mary gave out a tinkling laugh. “Men! Two of them’s married and the other’s a boy of fourteen. I’m hardly likely to look at any of them, am I? There’s another girl working up there, the one who’s going to teach me to work the calculating machine, so I’ll have company.”
“I expect you’ll see a lot more of Henry Lett, too,” he said, the remark made to sound casual, its innuendo entirely lost on her.
“I expect I will,” she said without hesitation.
They stood together in silence gazing at the lions in their square, foul-smelling cage, the concrete area bare but for one tree trunk scored white by bored claws, the cage bars so thick and close it was hard to see the pacing creatures in their full majesty.
William contemplated them for a while but his mind was more on the Lett brothers. They’d be rubbing shoulders with Mary every day, putting ideas into her head that she would never have had in her previous lowly state, making her feel that she was someone of importance, turning her head with their attentions. Who wouldn’t feel jealous, his girl subjected to the interest of two wealthy and handsome young men who could, if they wanted, give her all the things he couldn’t? But he was being selfish. He should be glad for her. She deserved to get on. And she was still his girl.
Last week he’d taken her to see the ever popular Chu Chin Chou at His Majesty’s Theatre. They’d had to line up for ages just to get into the gods, along with all the others who couldn’t afford decent seats. But it had been worth all the lining up and jostling of elbows once they’d found a place up there. And Mary had been so taken by all the spectacle of the musical.
It had taken a great chunk out of his wages that week, though she seemed equally happy with less expensive pastimes, such as today’s visit to the zoo. But at least he was making sure that she never lacked excitement. At the end of March he had taken her to watch the Boat Race. Cambridge had won and, both of them sporting rosettes in the light blue Cambridge colour, she had clung on to his arm as they stood on the bank of the Thames cheering the rowers onward and squealing with excitement.
That evening as he took her home they had kissed and cuddled in an alleyway. The way she’d returned his kisses confirmed that she was his girl and no one else’s, and the possessive way she now clung on to his arm as they moved on past the lions’ cage cemented that fact all the more, despite her new lofty position of assistant clerk.
“It’s not a very grand post,” she insisted. “I’m only a junior. I do all the mundane jobs, make tea for the office, run errands, do filing. I even have to clean the little cupboard where the tea’s brewed.”
But to him it was still a loftier job than being on the restaurant floor, though rather than feel jealous, he was determined to be proud of her. She’d go a long way. She had even vowed to rise to an even better position if she had anything to do with it.
* * *
“And how are you getting on, Miss Owen?”
Startled by the suddenness of the voice, Mary looked up from turning the handle of her adding machine to see Mr Geoffrey Lett standing at her elbow.
Colouring a little at his attention, she stammered, “Oh, I…” then collected herself. “I don’t think I’m doing too badly. I hope I’m not proving a disappointment, Mr Lett.”
“Not at all, Mary.”
He was trying to sound authoritative but there were slits through which his youth beamed, making Mary smile; a smile he didn’t see for she kept her face turned away from him as she affected deep concentration on the totals the machine was turning out under her hand. At nineteen he was hardly one year older than she and to hear him trying to assume the role of his father was amusing.
His father, James Lett, no longer came to the office. Mary had seen him once, when she had first started. He had looked ill and gaunt and terrifying, a man of disconcerting authority, one to make any new girl wilt and quake with fear. Had he been standing over her now, she knew she would have been reduced to that sort of behaviour, but Geoffrey hadn’t the ability to make anyone quake. Wilt a little, but for entirely different reasons, her heart now pounding more rapidly at his unnecessary proximity to her.
“You and Mr Henry have done so much for me, giving me this job,” she managed to burst out. She felt his hand lightly touch her shoulder and trembled briefly, just hoping he wouldn’t notice.
It was June. She had been here six weeks now and was part of the office staff. From the very first day she had fitted in. Having cajoled William into helping her smooth away the last remaining rough edges of her English until she learned not to utter double negatives and mix up her tenses, she and the better-educated Edith Ramsey, who had been here a year and did the more coveted clerical jobs – certainly not the filing – got on like houses on fire.
“Not at all,” Geoffrey Lett said in reply to her statement of gratitude and to her relief took his hand off her shoulder and walked off, back through the office door and downstairs to the restaurant from which appetising aromas were wafting, lunchtime fast approaching.
“They are both very nice to me,” she told William that evening, as he seemed to want an almost daily report on her progress. “Both Mr Henry and Mr Geoffrey.” But she didn’t tell him of the reaction the younger Lett brother had provoked.
* * *
“Do you dance, Mary?”
“Dance?” The question took her by surprise. “Not that well, Mr Geoffrey.” He was looking quizzically at her.
“I wonder, would you care to do me a great favour? You see, I’ve been let down. I’ve tickets for a Ladies’ Night… You know what a Ladies’ Night is, Mary?”
“No, sir.” It often seemed a little ridiculous calling a young man a mere one year her senior “sir”. But since he was her employer’s son, she supposed she must.
He began explaining what a “Ladies’ Night” was, to looks from those in the office: a narrow-eyed one from Edith Ramsey, no doubt jealous of the attention her friend was getting; indignant glares from the male staff who saw Mr Geoffrey as not conducting himself with enough decorum, conversing with such apparent familiarity with a mere office junior who’d not yet been here six months. Not that they could hear what he was saying; he was keeping his voice low.
“Have you heard of Freemasons, Mary? No? Well, I won’t explain, but once a year the ladies are invited to what is known as Ladies’ Night, a dinner dance given to honour the ladies who patiently allow their menfolk to go off without them once a week. My Lodge’s Ladies’ Night is always the last Friday night in October. That’s only two days away and the problem for me is that one can hardly attend a Ladies’ Night without a lady on one’s arm. I regret to say the lady I was taking has the wretched ’flu. She’ll never be recovered in time. So I wondered…” His voice had gone even softer, the rest of the office straining their ears, hopeful of catching a little of what was being said. “At such short notice I can’t find anyone else. I wonder if you would care to go with me as my partner. No strings attached, I assure you. Just to be there with me.”
Mary was stunned. Mr Geoffrey, asking for her company at a dance? Could he find no one else; a girl of his own class? Dumbfounded, she finally managed to stammer out as much.
“It’s not every girl’s cup of tea,” he came back at her. “A bit tight-corset, so to speak. The girls I know prefer to let their hair down when we go out. I do desperately need to find someone
to accompany me. I’d be most grateful if you’d agree.”
He paused, and divining her reluctance, swept on hastily, “Obviously I don’t expect you to have suitable clothes for such an occasion, so what I’d do to show gratitude would be to buy the necessities you’d need - the dress, shoes, handbag, evening gloves, and all else you’d need. And for your kindness in consenting, they shall remain yours, Mary. Yours to keep. Will you say yes?”
“Will it be posh?” With special clothes needed, of course it would be posh – beyond her simple capabilities.
“Yes, it will be rather.”
“I’ve never been to a posh dance. I wouldn’t know what to do, how to behave.”
“It won’t matter. I shall look after you. You won’t be required to dance if you can’t.”
“Oh, I can dance.” William had taught her quite a bit. He was a good dancer and easy to follow in the one-step and the foxtrot. He had shown her how to jazz, too, they going to a modest club, enjoying a glass or two of beer. Under his guidance she was doing well enough. But it wasn’t just that, it was all the rest.
“I don’t think I could sit and eat with the sort of people you know,” she hedged, though she now wanted so much to go, for one evening to know what it was like to behave as though she were rich, rubbing shoulders with the well-off. At the same time it was asking a lot. She’d make a fool of herself. They’d point her out, laugh behind her back, or even to her face. Knowing her for what she was, they’d assume it didn’t matter if they hurt her, this nobody. And what would she do if, so sure of himself, he left her alone for a moment? Like Cinderella she would run from the place, but, unlike in the fairy-tale, make a fool of herself. Yet his offer was an opportunity she’d never again have. She took a deep breath, teetering on the edge of desire. “You won’t leave me on my own, not for a minute? I wouldn’t know what to do.”
