An hour later she calmed down, knowing that while she couldn’t regret what she had done at the same time she simply couldn’t afford to have done it. Not that she was going to ask for her job back. The thought of working for Clive Norris again made her shudder.
There had been just one letter in the post on Tuesday morning. She’d opened it and very nearly weakened in her resolve not to ask for her job back. Her letter was from Keswick House. One of the larger rooms had become available and Mrs Whitford had asked to transfer—would that be in order? Emmie had read on down, taking in the increased charge of the room. Oh, heavens, she couldn’t afford it; she really couldn’t. Well, not unless she managed to find a much better-paid job than the one she’d just walked out of. Clearly Aunt Hannah just hadn’t taken into consideration when deciding that she’d like to move to a larger room that it would be more expensive.
Emmie went out and bought a paper and scanned the Situations Vacant column. One job had stood out from all the rest—assistant and then acting PA. The salary alone suggested it would be to someone very high up. She could do it, she knew that she could, and the salary named was beyond her wildest imaginings. The only snag was that the post was to cover maternity leave, and as such was only temporary. Emmie put the paper aside—then picked it up again as it dawned on her that so far over these last twelve months the longest she’d stayed anywhere had been four months. To work somewhere while covering maternity absence was starting to sound more like permanence to her. Besides which, if she had this sort of a salary coming in Aunt Hannah could move into the larger room and would perhaps be even more settled.
And, anyhow, Progress Engineering was no twopenny-half-penny firm. The company were well-known in the mechanical and electronic engineering field. Surely, if she proved herself as good as Mr Denby had always said she was, might they find a niche for her within the organisation when the PA returned from maternity leave?
First, though, get the job. Hoping against hope that anyone better qualified would be more career-minded than to want to apply for a temporary job, Emmie picked up the phone and dialled. ‘You’re available straight away?’ the head of Human Resources to whom she spoke had enquired efficiently.
‘That’s correct,’ she’d answered, having not yet worked out what reason she was going to give for leaving her previous employer.
‘Can you come and see me this afternoon?’
My word—they didn’t hang about at Progress Engineering! ‘Yes, of course,’ she’d replied.
And now she discovered, as she sat before Mr Garratt, that the post she was applying for was not only as assistant and acting PA, but to Mr Barden Cunningham, the head of the whole conglomerate no less! The reason they weren’t hanging about getting someone in was because Dawn Obrey, who was in around the fifth month of her pregnancy, was starting to have a few complications which, together with her antenatal appointments, meant she was out of the office quite a lot—sometimes very unexpectedly.
‘Which, as you can appreciate—’ Mr Garratt smiled ‘—is not always so convenient in the running of an extremely busy office. We’ve been able to switch people from other departments, of course, but Mr Cunningham prefers his own team.’
‘That’s quite understandable, from a continuity standpoint,’ Emmie put in, having stretched the truth a mile by saying she had taken temporary jobs this past year to gain experience in many branches of industry. She had felt that her interview was going well, but owned to feeling a little let down when, the interview over, Mr Garratt stood up and, shaking her hand, advised her that he had two other candidates to see, but would be in touch very quickly.
Emmie drove home from her interview feeling very despondent. She hadn’t known that the job was as PA to the head of the whole outfit. Barden Cunningham would want someone older; she was sure of it. Which was unfair, because she was good at her job; she knew she was.
By the time she reached her flat Emmie was convinced that she hadn’t a hope of being taken on by Barden Cunningham. And though she knew that she should straight away ring Keswick House, and give some kind of reason why Aunt Hannah should not move into a larger room, somehow she could not.
Mr Garratt had said he would be in touch very quickly, but Emmie saw little point in holding her breath or looking forward to opening tomorrow’s post. She knew how it would read: ‘Thank you very much for attending for interview, but…’
A few hours later Emmie was again scanning the Situations column when the phone rang. Aunt Hannah had a phone in her room, but it wouldn’t be her because as far as she knew Emmie was out at work. Emmie picked up the phone, ‘Hello?’ she answered pleasantly, trying not to panic that it might be Lisa Browne or one of the care assistants ringing to say Mrs Whitford had gone missing.
There was a small silence, then, ’emily Lawson?’ queried a rather nice all-male voice.
‘Speaking,’ she answered carefully.
‘Barden Cunningham,’ he introduced himself—and Emmie only just managed to hold back a gasp of shock.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, and cringed—she’d already said hello once!
He came straight to the point. ‘I should like to see you Friday afternoon. Are you free?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered promptly, her heartbeat starting to pick up with excitement. ‘What time would suit you?’
‘Four-thirty,’ he replied. ‘Until then,’ he added, and rang off—and Emmie’s face broke out into one huge grin. She had an interview with no less a person than the top man himself!
She was still grinning ten minutes later. Mr Garratt had said he would be in touch very quickly—indirectly, he had been. He must have reported back to his employer the moment he had concluded all interviews. And, not waiting for mail to reach her, Barden Cunningham had phoned her within a very short space of time.
Which told her two things. One, that despite there being other candidates she was still in there with a chance. The other, that Progress Engineering were anxious to fill the temporary vacancy with all speed. Though from what Mr Garratt had said she thought she knew that already. Oh, roll on Friday; the suspense was unbearable.
Adrian Payne asked her to go out with him for a bite to eat on Thursday evening, but Emmie put him off. She wanted to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the next day for her interview, and intended to have an early night.
She was in frequent telephone contact with Aunt Hannah, but had not discussed her aunt’s desire to move into a larger room, nor had she yet answered the letter from Lisa Browne at Keswick House. She knew, however, that she would have to ring Lisa Browne soon; courtesy if nothing else meant she should give some indication of whether or not Aunt Hannah could move. But pride, Emmie supposed, decreed that no one should know how desperately hard up she was but herself.
She was again early for her interview on Friday, and sat in her car for some minutes composing herself. She had on her best all wool charcoal-grey business suit, her crisp white shirt ironed immaculately.
She stepped from her car, knowing that she looked the part of a cool, efficient PA in her neat two-and-a-half-inch heels, but felt glad that no one could know of the nervous commotion going on inside her. So much depended on this interview—and its outcome.
‘My name’s Emily Lawson. I’ve an appointment with Mr Cunningham at four-thirty,’ she told the smart woman on the reception desk.
Emmie
