Charles had begun the interviews on Thursday morning, but after seeing the first two women he was not only annoyed but bewildered. He thought the women lacked deference, and they made it clear that the hours were not acceptable. He pointed out the benefit of accommodation, a one-bedroom flat, but though one found that interesting, both of them expected at least one day off a week. He conducted another interview and found the next candidate to be as disappointing as the first two.
‘You can’t expect me to work from before eight in the morning until after seven at night,’ the woman said.
‘You don’t work all those hours. You’d have time off between preparing meals.’
‘Yeah, I suppose that’s something, but I’d want a day off a week, and better pay.’
Charles had run out of patience and said curtly, ‘In that case, I won’t be offering you the position.’
The woman rose to her feet and, before walking out of the room, said, ‘Even if you’d offered me the job I’d ’ave told you to stick it.’
Charles sat forward in his chair to look at the list of candidates on his desk. There was just one woman left, and if she was as bad as the others this was going to be a waste of time. When his study door opened he looked up to see Constance, holding a tea tray.
‘I thought you might like some refreshments,’ she said, walking forward to place the tray on his desk. ‘How are the interviews going?’
‘Not very well. I’ve seen three women and none of them were suitable. They don’t like the hours. No doubt I’ll have the same problem with finding a suitable cleaner.’
Constance poured him a cup of tea, added milk from the dainty jug and then said, ‘If the long hours are the problem, why don’t you employ two cleaners who won’t have to live in. One to work in the mornings, the other in the afternoon.’
‘That isn’t the answer. It would mean double the pay. Now leave me in peace for ten minutes and then send in the last women applying for the cook’s position.’
Constance acquiesced and, while sipping his tea, Charles decided that his daughter might have come up with a solution, at least as far as a cleaner was concerned. If he employed a girl from seven until two who would clean the house and serve breakfast and lunch if required, he’d only need another girl to serve dinner. Surely there’d be a woman who only wanted to work part-time, perhaps from seven-thirty for dinner service, until around nine-thirty to wash up after they’d eaten. The combined hours would be the same, therefore it wouldn’t cost more.
With that idea in mind Charles rang the domestic agency again, pleased to be told that they had a few women who only wanted part-time work on their books. With that problem solved, Charles was ready to interview the next candidate for cook, and when a slim, rather timid-looking woman came in to see him, he hoped she’d be suitable.
Fifteen minutes later, as the interview came to an end, Charles quickly scanned her references, and, sure that the agency would have checked their authenticity, he said, ‘Miss Pearson, I’ll ask my daughter to take you downstairs to see the accommodation, and if you are happy with it I’ll be pleased to offer you the position, starting on Monday.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine, sir,’ the woman said quietly.
Charles was pleased with his choice. Miss Pearson was a spinster who had spent the last few years nursing her mother until she died. She was then asked to leave the home they had lived in, and as she wasn’t named on the tenancy, she had no choice. Prior to nursing her mother she had worked as a cook in a small hotel, and as she hadn’t balked at the hours, Charles found her ideal.
Rita Pearson followed the young lady down to the basement where she saw a short, plump woman sitting with her feet up beside the fire.
‘Miss Pearson, this is Ethel, our cook. She’s retiring soon and if you are happy with the flat, you’ll be replacing her.’
Rita inwardly smiled. If this Ethel had time to sit with her feet up, the job couldn’t be overly taxing. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said pleasantly.
‘Yeah, you too, love.’
‘Ethel, do you mind if I show Miss Pearson your flat?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
Rita didn’t think the woman had any choice in the matter, and was surprised that the daughter of the house had asked for permission. She followed her from the warm and cosy kitchen to a door that led to a small living room and a double bedroom, pleasantly surprised to be shown a bathroom and toilet too. ‘Is it furnished?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but if you want to bring your own things, I’m sure my father won’t mind.’
Rita looked at the old but good-quality mahogany furniture that was far superior to the cheap and ugly furniture in her mother’s home. She had no qualms about leaving it behind and said, ‘Thank you, but this will be fine.’
‘Righto,’ Constance said, ‘In that case, I’ll take you back upstairs to see my father.’
Ethel still had her feet up and asked, ‘Are you happy with the flat?’
‘Yes, thank you, it’s very nice.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be happy here.’
Rita thanked her, and followed Constance back upstairs to her father’s study. Mr Burton Blake was a lot more formal than his daughter and she’d yet to meet his wife. Rita hoped she’d be pleasant. She’d had a tyrannical mother and didn’t want to deal with another of that ilk.
Constance knocked on the study door and when told to enter, Rita followed her in. ‘Miss Pearson is happy with the accommodation, Daddy.’
‘Good. Now give me five minutes then bring me the first candidate for the cleaning job.’
As soon as Constance had left the room, Rita stood with her head lowered to appear meek. She only looked up when he spoke again, saying, ‘Sit down, Miss Pearson.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I think we covered everything in the interview, but I should tell you that as my wife is in hospital at the moment, there will only be myself and my daughter to cook for. My wife, when she is home, likes to entertain, but in the meantime I’m usually only at home for breakfast and dinner, though my daughter may want a little something for lunch.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that your wife is unwell and hope it isn’t anything serious.’
‘She had a stroke, but we are hoping for signs of a recovery. Now, do you have any questions?’
‘Just a couple. Firstly about the times you like your meals served, and secondly, how do I order the food shopping?’
‘Breakfast is at eight, lunch is around two, and dinner at eight in the evening. As far as I know our food is delivered, and further supplies are ordered at the same time. Ethel should have placed orders as usual, but I’ll ask my daughter to ensure it’s been done for this week and then you can take over.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Right then, I’ll expect you on Monday, and if you can be here at seven-thirty it will give you time to prepare a simple breakfast for us, perhaps something like scrambled eggs and toast.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Rita said, rising to her feet as there was a tap on the study door.
‘Come in,’ Mr Burton Blake called.
She saw an attractive woman of about forty following Constance in, no doubt the first to be interviewed for the cleaning job. Rita didn’t envy her. She’d done enough skivvying to last her a lifetime and never intended to pick up a mop and bucket again. Some years ago she’d managed to find a job as an assistant cook, and had been promoted, but then had to leave to nurse her mother.
Until her mother died, Rita’s life had again been a misery, but with this job it seemed her luck had changed. She left the house with a smile on her face, looking forward to a fresh start.
Jessica felt marginally better, but it was still too painful to get out of bed and she had to suffer the indignity of Eric carrying her to the bathroom. He would lower her onto the loo, then leave and wait just outside the door until she called him. He was so kind and gentle that it strengthened her resolve to leave Charles. However, she couldn’t help being worried about the future and said, ‘Eric, when you go back to sea, I’ll have to find somewhere to live.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I can’t help worrying. I’ll have to leave my flat and find a job, one that will pay enough to rent at least a bedsit.’
‘Look, I didn’t want to tell you this yet. I wanted to make sure it’s viable first, but if it’ll stop you fretting I’ll tell you about my mate Jamie Grant’s proposition.’
‘Go on then,’ Jessica urged.
‘Jamie went on holiday to Spain last year, and he clocked that the British bars he saw were really busy. It gave him an idea and we’ve been looking into it.’
‘Looking into what?
‘Going into partnership and leasing a bar in Spain.’
‘But that means I’d hardly see you. It’d be worse than you going back to sea.’
‘Don’t be daft. I’d want you to come to Spain with me. We could find a nice place to live and just think about it, all that lovely sun, sea and sangria.’
‘Oh, Eric, it sounds idyllic, but are you sure this isn’t a pipe dream? Surely it’ll cost a lot of money to set up a bar.’
‘I’m not short of a few bob, nor is Jamie. You don’t spend a lot of money at sea, and on shore leave I’ve been living here for next to nothing. James is over in Spain again now, looking at bars and costing it out. When he comes back on Saturday we’ll know one way or the other if it’s viable.’
‘If it is, I’ve got experience and I could work in the bar.’
‘Hmmm, I’m not sure I want my wife working.’
‘Wife? What do you mean? Eric Dobson, is that your idea of a proposal?’
‘Well, yeah, I suppose it is.’
Jessica yelped, but this time it wasn’t with pain, it was with happiness. ‘In that case, my answer is yes.’
Eric’s lips found hers in a deep kiss and then he said, ‘Mrs Daisy Dobson. I like the sound of that.’
Jessica was about to balk at the name, but then bit back the retort. Jessica was now a name she’d rather leave in her past, and she had to admit that Daisy Dobson had a nice ring to it. ‘I like the sound of it too,’ she whispered, and despite the pain, they made love, Eric so gentle for fear of hurting her. She felt loved and cherished, and looked forward to becoming his wife.