Her interview was at 12:15 P.M., and she had allowed herself plenty of time to get there, so now she could walk the remainder of the way at her leisure, gathering in the sights and sounds of the city to furnish future memories. The streets were crowded and Eunice drifted through the homogeneous flow of humanity, occasionally struck by a figure who, for some reason, bobbed above the surface of the indeterminate tide. She nodded at the whistling waiter sweeping the pavement outside the Swish Fish restaurant, and swerved to avoid an unpleasant collision with a fat and sweaty tourist too busy studying her A–Z to watch where she was going. She noticed and smiled at the tall man waiting on the corner of Great Russell Street because he looked nice, but worried. In the moment she passed him, she gathered in everything about him. He was well built and handsome with blue eyes and the bearing of a good man. He was anxiously checking his watch and looking up and down the street. He was clearly waiting for someone, and they were late. Eunice was still early. It was only 11:55 A.M. She strolled on. Her thoughts drifted to the approaching interview and interviewer. She hoped that he would look like the man she had left waiting on the corner. But perhaps it would be a woman; a sharp, spiky unfolded paper clip of a woman with black bobbed hair and red lipstick. As she reached the glossed green door of the address she had been given on Bloomsbury Street, she barely noticed the crowd gathered on the pavement opposite and the distant keen of a siren. She pressed the buzzer and waited; back straight, feet together, head held high. She heard the sound of footsteps bounding down stairs and the door was flung open.
Eunice fell in love with the man as soon as she saw him. His physical components were individually unremarkable; medium height, medium build, light brown hair, pleasant face, two eyes and ears, one nose and mouth. But in composition they were magically transformed into a masterpiece. He grasped her hand as though to save her from drowning and pulled her up the stairs behind him. Breathless with exertion and enthusiasm, he greeted her on the way up with “You must be Eunice. Delighted to meet you. Call me Bomber. Everyone does.”
The office that they burst into at the top of the stairs was large and light and very well organized. Shelves and drawers lined the walls and three filing cabinets stood beneath the window. Eunice was intrigued to see that they were labeled “Tom,” “Dick,” and “Harry.”
“After the tunnels,” Bomber explained, following her gaze and registering the query on her face. The query remained.
“The Great Escape? Steve McQueen, Dickie Attenborough, bags of dirt, barbed wire, and a motorbike?”
Eunice smiled.
“You have seen it, haven’t you? Bloody marvelous!” He began whistling the theme music.
Eunice was resolute. This was definitely the job for her. She would chain herself to one of the filing cabinets if necessary to secure it. Fortunately it wasn’t. The fact that she had seen The Great Escape and was a fan was apparently enough. Bomber made them a pot of tea in the tiny kitchen that adjoined the office to celebrate her appointment. A strange rolling rattle followed him back into the room. The sound was made by a small tan-and-white terrier with one ear at half-mast and a brown patch over his left eye. He was seated on a wooden trolley affair with two wheels and pulled himself along by walking with his front legs.
“Meet Douglas. My right-hand man. Well, dog.”
“Good afternoon, Douglas.” Eunice greeted him solemnly. “Bader, I presume.”
Bomber thumped the table with delight.
“I knew right away that you were the one. Now, how do you like your tea?”
Over tea and biscuits (Douglas drank his from a saucer) Eunice learned that Bomber had found Douglas abandoned as a puppy after he had been hit by a car. The vet had advised that he be put to sleep, but Bomber had brought him home instead.
“I made the jalopy myself. It’s more Morris 1000 Traveller than Mercedes, but it does the job.”
They agreed that Eunice would start the following week on a salary that was perfectly adequate rather than “woeful,” and that her duties would include just about anything that needed doing. Eunice was euphoric. But just as she was gathering her things to leave, the door burst open and the unfolded paper-clip woman strode into the room. She was an inelegant zigzag of nose, elbows, and knees; unsoftened by any cushioning flesh and with a face which had, over the years, sunk into a permanent sneer.
“I see that deformed little rat of yours is still alive,” she exclaimed, gesturing at Douglas with her cigarette as she flung her bag down onto a chair. As she caught sight of Eunice, a twisted smile flitted across her face.
“Good God, brother! Don’t tell me that you’ve found yourself a paramour.”
She spat the word out as though it were a grape pip.
Bomber addressed her with weary patience.
“This is Eunice, my new assistant. Eunice, this is my sister, Portia.”
She looked Eunice up and down with her cold gray eyes, but didn’t offer her hand.
“I should say that I’m pleased to meet you, but it would probably be a lie.”
“Likewise,” Eunice replied. It was barely audible and Portia had already turned her attention to her brother, but Eunice could have sworn that she saw the tip of Douglas’s tail wag. She left Bomber to his odious sister and tripped downstairs into the bright afternoon sunshine. The last thing she heard as she closed the door behind her was from Portia in an altogether changed, but still unpleasant, wheedling tone.
“Now, darling, when are you going to publish my book?”
At the corner of Great Russell Street she stopped for a moment, remembering the man she had smiled at. She hoped that the person he was meeting hadn’t left him waiting for too long. Just then, in among the dust and dirt at her feet, the glint of gold and glass caught her eye. She stooped down, rescued the small, round object from the gutter, and slipped it safely into her pocket.
CHAPTER 4