“No, sir. I lost track of what floor I was on, sir. Was supposed to pick up drafts, sir, and deliver them to . . . they who do our advertising,” she improvised.
“Well, you won’t find those up here. Go back down to Miss Hensley on two and get her to sort you out, and tell her to be more mindful in her instructions. I am not impressed.”
“Very sorry, sir.”
She skittered away, feeling great sympathy for the maligned Miss Hensley.
Maisie was rounding the second flight of stairs in Savoy Hill when she heard them. Men shouting. No one was allowed to shout in the corridors. They risked getting sacked. She sped up, nursing a foolish hope it was Siepmann.
As she bore down on the crowd that was trying to go about its business but couldn’t tear itself away from the bloodletting, she saw Cyril and her hopes soared. He often trailed in Siepmann’s wake.
“It’s not your business, Reith!”
Oh. Eckersley. In a booming voice reverberating more than his beloved transmitters.
“I’d suggest you control yourself, but clearly that ship has sailed,” Reith shouted back.
“And I’d suggest to you that he who’s without sin cast the first stone, but you’ve never committed a sin in your life, have you? Maybe you should. It might loosen you up a bit.”
“Gentlemen!” Hilda joined the fray, hands out in a gesture intended to be beseeching and instead looked reminiscent of Augustus Caesar. “Let’s not create a ruckus, shall we? Mr. Reith, I understand your concern, of course, but you know Mr. Eckersley’s the top in his field. We couldn’t possibly ask for better. If the Engineering Department hasn’t suffered, then surely—”
“Don’t try to charm me, Miss Matheson!” Reith roared. “You may have bewitched every other snake in the garden, but you may consider me impervious.”
Hilda recoiled, shrinking just enough to be noticeable before she tried again.
“Forgive me. I’m hardly trying to charm. I’m only thinking of what’s best for the BBC. And Eckersley’s part of that best.”
Eckersley put a hand on Hilda’s arm.
“No, Miss Matheson, not anymore. I’m not going to be treated like a naughty schoolboy, and certainly not because of my private life, which, may I add, is no one’s business bar my own!”
“We have standards to maintain,” Reith said, arms folded. “As I said before you lost your temper in such an appallingly schoolboy-like manner, if you are willing to heal your home wounds, I will be happy to forget I ever heard anything of it.”
“No one cares except you,” Eckersley told him. “You may be my superior here, but you’re not a confessor. I tender my resignation, effective immediately. Replace me with an altar boy, or an aspidistra, or Samson—I’m sure one of them will perform to your standards.”
Eckersley thundered off to his lair, and the others dispersed quickly, zigzagging on the theory that a moving target is harder to hit. Hilda remained steadfast, so Maisie hovered near her.
“I do understand that he and his wife were very unhappy,” Hilda ventured, in her most winningly placating tone. “No one likes divorce, naturally, but the actions of the chief engineer in the BBC are hardly the stuff of interest to the general public.”
“I am setting a tone here, Miss Matheson,” Reith said. “I cannot abide anyone being unseemly towards their family. And I’d thank you not to interfere where you don’t belong!”
He strode back to the executive suite, and Hilda, her face apocalyptic, marched back to Talks, not seeing Maisie.
“Well, one might see where he has a point,” a faintly amused, silky voice snaked into her ear. Siepmann. “It is no great leap from ‘unseemly’ to ‘unnatural,’ after all, and that would have a dreadful effect.”
She wished he didn’t linger quite so lovingly on the word “unnatural.” His smile made her appreciate the far more honest sludge of the Thames.
She kept her arms folded tight around her, staring after him as he left. That’s history, isn’t it? How much damage a man can do, with so little?
“I’m sorry,” Cyril whispered. She hadn’t realized he was there. They locked eyes briefly. He seemed to want to say something more, but she pulled away from his gaze and hurried back to Talks. There was a lot of work to do.
“Imbecile should have stuck it out or gone to the governors,” was Phyllida’s shrugged response to the dearth of Eckersley ten minutes later. “All right, so he’s a louse to his wife, but what does that have to do with anything? If every man who behaved like a complete toad were forced out of his job, then . . . well, you know, it would open up a lot more jobs for women.”
“Meaning what, you could be chief engineer?” Fielden said with a sneer.
“I’d put up a good fist learning. I’ll tell you that.”
Hilda crooked a finger at Maisie, beckoning her away from the brewing donnybrook.