Read Online After the War Is Over by Jennifer Robson - Free Book Online Page A

her trick with the outbound post
     again. This time it was proofs that were meant to go back to the printer. I know I’ve
     said it before, but now I mean it—from now on, no matter how busy I am, I’m to walk
     down the street to the pillar-box and put my post in directly.”
    “How did you find out?” Rosie asked.
    “She said she’d had a telephone call from the printers complaining that the proof
     hadn’t arrived. Of course the call wasn’t for her; we’ve none of us our own telephones,
     apart from Miss Rathbone. But her desk is close to the one at the front, and if ever
     Gladys is away she pretty much leaps on the thing to answer it. For all I know they
     didn’t even call, and she only said so because she was certain of the proofs having
     vanished.”
    “Do you have any idea at all why she’s so nasty?”
    “I don’t know, not really. I have my suspicions, chief among them that she’s jealous
     of me in some way. Perhaps because I left and then was welcomed back so readily by
     Miss Rathbone. Perhaps she thinks I’ll take her place . . .”
    “Isn’t she one of the clerks? Who does the typing and filing and things like that?”
    “Yes, and I’m one of the aides, which means I have my own office, rather than a desk
     in the main room. I thought of that, but it’s always been that way, mainly so that
     I can speak to visitors, constituents and the like, with some degree of privacy. It’s
     not as if I took her office from her.”
    “No, of course not. But I wonder . . . perhaps she envies how easily you were able
     to fit back in, as if you hadn’t been away at all.”
    “I suppose. Though it makes no sense—no one is unkind to her, and we always make sure
     to invite her if we’re going out as a group for lunch. I don’t even go half the time,
     for heaven’s sakes.”
    “Why don’t you confront her? Simply ask her why she is doing such things?”
    “I could, but she’d probably say it’s all in my imagination and I’m simply stirring
     up trouble. I think, for now, I’ll leave it be, and hope she eventually realizes that
     I’ve no intention of undermining her.”
    “A sensible approach. Now—on to more important things. Have you any plans for Friday
     night? Norma wants us all to go dancing at Holyoake Hall on Smithdown Road. Even Meg
     has said she’ll come. We can have our supper here and then walk over after.”
    “I’m not sure, Rosie. I don’t know any of the new dances.”
    “We can fix that easily enough.”
    Somehow, before Charlotte could utter a single syllable of protest, Rosie had led
     her across the hall into the sitting room, where the sofa and easy chairs had been
     pushed to the side and the rug rolled back.
    “Hooray for Charlotte!” Norma cheered. “Take my hand and let’s get you started. Why
     don’t we start with the fox-trot—you do know it, don’t you?”
    “Yes, Norma. I haven’t been living in a nunnery.”
    “I’ll play,” said Meg. “I don’t feel quite like dancing tonight.”
    “Let’s start with ‘My Rainbow Girl,’” Norma suggested.
    “Let me run through it first?” Meg asked. “I won’t be a moment.” She set her hands
     to the keys and joyous, heartfelt music filled the room, a tonic for their battered
     spirits. As she reached the chorus, she began to sing, and after a few bars they all
     joined in, even the Misses Macleod.
                “When you are near, girl, you bring me good cheer, girl
                The love light shining from your eyes
                Is like a rainbow, radiant in the skies
                For you’re the sunlight that gleams, dear
                Thro’ clouds in my dreams, dear
                You set my senses in a whirl
                My little rainbow girl!”
    It had been an age since Charlotte had listened to music, and even longer since she’d
     danced. When had she last stood on a dance floor and let a man hold her