Read Online Spearfield's Daughter by Jon Cleary - Free Book Online

discovered women’s rights, God help us.”
    â€œI’d like it run it as is, Mr. Brearly,” said Cleo. “I don’t want the mickey taken out of those two nice old ladies.”
    â€œThat’s the point—Felicity will run it exactly as you’ve written it.” He was a tiny man with a mop of grey hair who seemed to live in a continual miasma of cigarette smoke. He would like to have visited the Misses St. Martin’s bordello, but Cleo’s story had already told him he would not qualify as a guest. “I don’t think our readers will give your nice old ladies as much sympathy as you seem to think. Let’s face it, they’re snobs. But the Mayfair Estates people won’t like it, not since they’ve known about the brothel—”
    â€œBordello.”
    â€œOkay, bordello. I didn’t know there was a difference. Since they’ve known all about the bordello and done nothing about it.”
    â€œI’ll play down the snob angle and play up the bit about only English clients. It probably won’t help the Examiner’s Scottish edition, but you Poms will love it.”
    â€œNow you’re taking the mickey out of us.”
    Which was exactly what Felicity Kidson said when Cleo went in to meet her. “But I don’t mind that at all, darling. I think we English like having the mickey taken out of us, so long as it’s not vicious. It proves we have a sense of humour about ourselves. Would you like a job with me?”
    â€œ I was hoping you’d say that. Yes, I’d like very much to work for the Examiner .”
    She had not wanted to work on the women’s page, but it would be a start. It hurt her to think that she was having to start all over again, but this was England and England had always made foreigners start at the bottom. Except, of course, its imported kings.
    â€œI have only one rule,” said Felicity. “I am the boss lady and don’t ever forget it.” She smiled, not taking the sting out of the remark, just polishing it. “I know all about you ambitious Aussies.”
    â€œI’m surprised you’re offering me the job.”
    â€œI like to live dangerously.” She flicked a gentle finger at the single red rose in the glass on her desk. “Good luck, darling.”
    IV
    That evening Cleo took Pat Hamer to dinner. “Dress up, Pat. We’ll go to the Mirabelle.”
    â€œLuv, that costs the earth! Please don’t go off your head. Let’s go to a steak house.”
    â€œI owe you the best, Patricia. When you get your star part with the Old Vic, you can take me out for a champagne dinner.”
    â€œAre we going to have champagne, too? Wait till I write and tell my dad about it. He’ll die of shame.”
    They went to the Mirabelle, two good-looking girls who got admiring glances from the stout, balding businessmen who stole surreptitious looks at them while their bouffant-haired wives weren’t attending.
    â€œThey think we’re a couple of tarts,” said Pat. Then, “Oh migord! There’s Mrs. Dysen, one of the ladies I clean for!”
    Mrs. Dysen, a formidable woman under her blonde helmet of hair, saw Pat and reared back as if she had just been pierced in a joust. Her face cracked in a mix of grimace and smile, then she turned her head away and took a sip of water, as if recovering from an unexpected assault.
    â€œThere goes that job,” said Pat.
    But it did not matter. A week later she got a job with a company going on tour before coming into the West End. She gave up her bed-sit and said goodbye to Cleo and the two of them wished each other all the luck in the world. Cleo gave up her own bed-sit, went looking for something better and found it in South Kensington. Recklessly she took a year’s lease on it with an option for a further year, leaving herself with exactly nine pounds to get her through to her first Examiner pay day. But she