disdainful, which puzzled the girl, for she was keen to prove her worth.
She’d discovered from Audrey herself what the bet was that Audrey had had with Trudy that first day.
‘Stephen obviously likes you, I could tell it straight away.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Isabel pinked up as she caught the insinuation. ‘Anyway, he’s married.’
‘You are such an innocent.’ Audrey sat, arms folded, one manicured finger resting against her cheek.
‘I’m not, and you’re wrong about Stephen.’ Isabel stuck her nose in a file to hide her upset. She didn’t understand why Audrey put her down all the time.
It was Trudy who took her aside one day and pointed out how irritating it must be for Audrey to have someone like Isabel, younger and more ambitious, foisted on her.
‘She thinks you want her daylight. Don’t try so hard. Nobody likes a pushy girl.’
Isabel suddenly saw the situation in sharp focus. She thought about it on the bus home. She must tone down her enthusiasm. What was required of her, she decided, was humble obedience . Not, however, subservience . There was a fine line to be drawn, especially with Audrey. She remembered from school how that worked, when she’d wanted a favour from an older girl or been put in charge of younger ones. Fawning was despised. Being spirited but respectful was what brought results. From then on, Isabel made sure that she did everything Audrey asked her, and did it well, but she did not offer to do anything she regarded as being beneath her dignity, such as making tea for young Jimmy Jones. Nor did she openly aspire to tasks that implied she was getting ‘above herself. This meant being furtive about her reading. But with Christmas only a few weeks away, all this effort might be for nothing. Oh, how she longed to be allowed to stay at McKinnon & Holt.
.
Chapter 5
Emily
The autumn fog rising off the Suffolk marshes was so dense that Emily, glancing up from her novel, couldn’t make out the station signs. ‘Where are we?’ she asked the woman opposite her on the train.
‘I reckon it’s Ipswich,’ came the reply.
‘Oh, that’s me!’ Emily cried, snatching her coat down from the rack.
Hurrying from the train, she followed the crowds across the bridge and through the ticket barrier. Someone from Stone House was supposed to meet her, and she waited by the entrance to the station, uncertain of what to do next, the world being practically invisible in the fog. Minutes passed. The concourse emptied of people and vehicles, and silence fell. She wondered what had gone awry, if she’d got the wrong date or time, or had been forgotten. She was searching her bag for the letter with Jacqueline Morton’s phone number when a timid voice said, ‘Excuse me, but are you Emily?’ Emily turned to see a short woman with pale blue eyes regarding her anxiously. She must have been about Emily’s mother’s age, or maybe older, it wasn’t easy to tell because she was enveloped from head to knee in a dark green cagoule.
‘Yes, I’m Emily. You must be . . .’
‘Lorna, Jacqueline Morton’s daughter,’ the woman said in an apologetic tone, putting out her hand. It was a gardener’s hand, the skin roughened and callused. Lorna Morton, Emily thought, might once have been pretty in an English rose way, with her round face, pink cheeks and puzzled blue eyes with feathery lashes. Wisps of silvery hair were escaping from her hood. She had a sweet, gentle way about her that matched her soft voice.
‘Thank goodness you waited,’ Lorna said as they walked across the concourse. ‘I’m sorry I was so late, but the fog’s even worse out where we are – just awful – and then I couldn’t see to park.’
‘I should have offered to take a taxi.’
‘Oh, it’s no trouble, really. The car’s here somewhere. I do hate . . . Ah, here it is.’
Lorna, nervous, took some time edging the tiny vehicle into the traffic, then it was
She’d discovered from Audrey herself what the bet was that Audrey had had with Trudy that first day.
‘Stephen obviously likes you, I could tell it straight away.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Isabel pinked up as she caught the insinuation. ‘Anyway, he’s married.’
‘You are such an innocent.’ Audrey sat, arms folded, one manicured finger resting against her cheek.
‘I’m not, and you’re wrong about Stephen.’ Isabel stuck her nose in a file to hide her upset. She didn’t understand why Audrey put her down all the time.
It was Trudy who took her aside one day and pointed out how irritating it must be for Audrey to have someone like Isabel, younger and more ambitious, foisted on her.
‘She thinks you want her daylight. Don’t try so hard. Nobody likes a pushy girl.’
Isabel suddenly saw the situation in sharp focus. She thought about it on the bus home. She must tone down her enthusiasm. What was required of her, she decided, was humble obedience . Not, however, subservience . There was a fine line to be drawn, especially with Audrey. She remembered from school how that worked, when she’d wanted a favour from an older girl or been put in charge of younger ones. Fawning was despised. Being spirited but respectful was what brought results. From then on, Isabel made sure that she did everything Audrey asked her, and did it well, but she did not offer to do anything she regarded as being beneath her dignity, such as making tea for young Jimmy Jones. Nor did she openly aspire to tasks that implied she was getting ‘above herself. This meant being furtive about her reading. But with Christmas only a few weeks away, all this effort might be for nothing. Oh, how she longed to be allowed to stay at McKinnon & Holt.
.
Chapter 5
Emily
The autumn fog rising off the Suffolk marshes was so dense that Emily, glancing up from her novel, couldn’t make out the station signs. ‘Where are we?’ she asked the woman opposite her on the train.
‘I reckon it’s Ipswich,’ came the reply.
‘Oh, that’s me!’ Emily cried, snatching her coat down from the rack.
Hurrying from the train, she followed the crowds across the bridge and through the ticket barrier. Someone from Stone House was supposed to meet her, and she waited by the entrance to the station, uncertain of what to do next, the world being practically invisible in the fog. Minutes passed. The concourse emptied of people and vehicles, and silence fell. She wondered what had gone awry, if she’d got the wrong date or time, or had been forgotten. She was searching her bag for the letter with Jacqueline Morton’s phone number when a timid voice said, ‘Excuse me, but are you Emily?’ Emily turned to see a short woman with pale blue eyes regarding her anxiously. She must have been about Emily’s mother’s age, or maybe older, it wasn’t easy to tell because she was enveloped from head to knee in a dark green cagoule.
‘Yes, I’m Emily. You must be . . .’
‘Lorna, Jacqueline Morton’s daughter,’ the woman said in an apologetic tone, putting out her hand. It was a gardener’s hand, the skin roughened and callused. Lorna Morton, Emily thought, might once have been pretty in an English rose way, with her round face, pink cheeks and puzzled blue eyes with feathery lashes. Wisps of silvery hair were escaping from her hood. She had a sweet, gentle way about her that matched her soft voice.
‘Thank goodness you waited,’ Lorna said as they walked across the concourse. ‘I’m sorry I was so late, but the fog’s even worse out where we are – just awful – and then I couldn’t see to park.’
‘I should have offered to take a taxi.’
‘Oh, it’s no trouble, really. The car’s here somewhere. I do hate . . . Ah, here it is.’
Lorna, nervous, took some time edging the tiny vehicle into the traffic, then it was
Similar Books
