“I say, look, I’m sorry, all right? Maybe you being American, you can’t understand. Never mind. We don’t need to let them in the salt mine know about it, do we? I mean, you won’t look any better than I will, and no harm done anyway.”
If I had the money, I’d buy him a dictionary and show him the definition of the word.
“I’ll get you a cab, shall I? Maisie! Wait, Maisie!”
She was running. He didn’t have a hope of keeping up, especially now that she had her new shoes. She could hear them, the gang children of the Toronto streets, chasing her still. Mousy Maisie. Mousy Maisie. Mousy Maisie. They were never going to stop chasing her.
On the tram, she fought her stomach’s urge to vomit. She was determined to digest that food. It was the only good thing to come of the evening.
After she’d yanked the velvet ribbons off her dress and thrown them under the bed, she remembered she might see Cyril Monday. It was the sort of thing that could happen.
I’ll just be too busy to bother with him. Miss Matheson can probably guarantee that. And if not, I’ll find a way to help her. Onwards and upwards.
She still wasn’t going to cry.
Despite Cyril’s assurance it wouldn’t be mentioned, Maisie braced herself for an avalanche of humiliation at the BBC. Where the fellows talked, the women listened, and she would be marked: A for Ass.
Well, they can all go to hell. I’m not running away in retreat this time. I’m not the Germans. I’m the conquering army.
Which didn’t stop her dreading their first meeting.
“You don’t look very well,” Hilda said, frowning at her as she typed.
“No, I’m all right,” Maisie lied. She was coiled tight, bracing for a rude comment from Fielden, a knowing glance from Alfred, a smirk from Billy. A giggle from Phyllida. And Beanie would have a four-part soliloquy.
“Well, come along. We’ve got a meeting with the DG,” Hilda ordered. Maisie padded after her, pleased to discover she’d learned to walk almost as quietly as Hilda. Invisible Girl, upgraded.
They passed Rusty, Phyllida, Alfred and his basket, and dozens of others, including Samson the cat, but either Maisie was indeed not floating on the Savoy Hill buzz, or no one would dare even glance at her when she was with Hilda.
“Ah, Miss Matheson,” Reith greeted them, scowling warmly. “Mrs. Reith wanted to pass on her congratulations about . . . well, some ladies’ program. I can’t recall which. Last week, I believe.”
Maisie wondered if it was on home renovation or dressmaking or keeping fit. Possibly Mrs. Reith never listened to any of the broadcasts at all.
“That’s very kind of her. Please thank her for me,” Hilda said.
“Yes, yes. Now, I’m afraid there is a bit of unpleasant business.”
“Oh dear.”
“It seems you have a woman presenting Odd Jobs Around the House? Didn’t you say that referred to mending small electrics and other such tasks?”
“Absolutely. It’s very—”
“Isn’t it awfully dangerous to suggest women take up tools? If they were to injure themselves, they could register a very strong complaint against us.”
“Mrs. Fisher is making it clear that these tasks are quite simple. Anyone with a bit of common sense can do them. After all, sir, many women do live alone—”
“Poor creatures,” he grumbled, shaking his head. He looked miserable, and Maisie wished she could get him a cup of tea. “It’s a bad pass we’ve come to, Miss Matheson, very bad.”
“Of course, it’s very hard on those who wish to marry but can’t,” Hilda agreed, “but it’s also rather exciting for women to have the chance at some independence.”
“Too much independence is not healthy,” he boomed. Maisie tapped her pencil in quiet agreement. She was convinced she’d be healthier in a state of warm dependence.
“I suppose it’s different for everyone,” Hilda said. “But what do you say I bring Mrs. Fisher to come and meet you before her rehearsal? I think you’ll find her a very respectable, decent woman simply trying to help save women a little money by doing these things themselves.”
“Taking work from handymen, too,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Well, all right. I’m sure she is a very fine speaker. You’ve done well with them. We just do need to be mindful, is all I meant. Tread with care. You understand me.”
“Perfectly so, Mr. Reith.”
“Marvelous.” He looked relieved, or as much as Maisie could tell, but she was learning to read his scowls. “Now, looking towards autumn, I very much like—”
The phone rang, and they all glared at its presumption. Maisie wished Miss Shields wouldn’t answer so they could instead hear what Reith liked.
Miss Shields looked as though she wished she hadn’t answered either.
“The Selfridges transmitter is having trouble again. We’re switching to 2LO for the rest of the day,” she reported in the tone of a nurse telling a man his leg would have to be amputated.