Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
‘Good afternoon, Miss Cole.’ He looks over the top of his spectacles at me as he places his newspaper on the desk.
‘Good afternoon, Mr . . . H,’ I reply politely, following Mrs Potts’s lead. I resist the urge to curtsey. I feel like I’m in the company of royalty, with my surroundings, his attire, his posh accent. He could be a duke or a lord.
‘Your CV was very impressive, how you spoke so passionately about this world.’ The old man pushes his paper to the side of the desk.
I blush a little. ‘Thank you.’ I’m still in the dark and a bit taken aback by this interview process, but I really, really want this job.
‘We could do with some help for Mrs Potts,’ he continues. ‘She isn’t getting any younger.’ Chuckling, he rests back in his captain’s chair, a big smile on his face.
I hear Mrs Potts tittering from across the room, and I look over to find her rolling her eyes as she makes her way to Mr H. She unhooks a walking stick from a coat stand to the side of the desk. Even his walking aid looks like an antique, all shiny and gold.
‘Eleanor is quite something, Donald,’ Mrs Potts says. ‘I think she’ll fit in well.’ She thrusts his walking stick at him, and I go all warm and fuzzy inside. She thinks I’ll fit in well, which is great because I do, too.
Mr H’s face immediately bunches in disgust at the walking stick being waved under his nose. It’s plain to see he’s a proud man, and needing a walking aid clearly frustrates him. My dad would have been exactly the same, had he made it to Mr H’s ripe old age.
‘Bossy boots,’ he mutters, accepting the cane and pushing away from the desk in his chair. I nearly laugh out loud when he flicks me a wink. Difficult? From what I’ve seen, which, granted, isn’t much, he seems wonderful. I already love him. ‘Do you consider yourself honest, loyal, and trustworthy?’ he asks me.
‘Very.’ I nod.
‘And how can you prove that?’
‘Well . . .’ I fade off, trying to figure the best approach. ‘Mr H, I could give you many examples of my loyalty and trustworthiness, but you would never know if I was telling you what I think you want to hear. I can’t provide references because I’ve only ever worked for my father in his antique store. The only way to win your trust is to prove myself. If you’ll allow me.’
He smiles, bright and happy. ‘I agree, Eleanor. I don’t believe in references, anyway. The proof is in the pudding.’
I watch Mr H struggle to his feet, using the cane and Mrs Potts for support. ‘It’s time for your medication, old man,’ she says, winking at me.
‘Yes, yes,’ Mr H grumbles, flipping her a half-scowl, though I detect playfulness there, and Mrs Potts smacking his arm lightly confirms it. He checks the time on his pocket watch – a lovely gold piece, which I suspect is solid. ‘You’re not far behind me, Dorothy. And just you remember who is boss.’
She slaps his arm again and this time they both chuckle as Mrs Potts ambles alongside an unstable Mr H. I smile, admiring the clear fondness between the employer and employee. I remember how Mrs Potts said she had worked here for decades. The thought makes me nervous. I’ll never live up to Mrs Potts. She is leaving me some big boots to fill, and she fits right in. I can only hope I can, too. If I get the job. Please, let me get the job.
I start to follow them when Mrs Potts swings around, just as they reach the door. ‘Take a seat, dear. Won’t be a moment.’ She nods past me, and I turn to see an old leather chair facing the magnificent desk.
‘You want me to wait here?’ I ask, but before I can find her again, the door slams and I’m alone in this big, plush office. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ I shrug to myself and wander over to the chair, resting my bottom on the edge, not wanting to get too comfortable, and being unable to anyway. My tight skirt won’t allow it. I shuffle and tug at the hem.
Then I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
A good five minutes pass before I turn in my chair to find the door. There’s silence, not a sound from beyond, nothing to suggest that Mr H is on his way back. How long does it take to give him his meds? My shoulders drop a little as I relax, and I cast my eyes around the office, drinking in the opulence again, before my gaze lands back on the door. I start to nibble my lip, wondering at what point I should go in search of them. I don’t know, so I swivel back around to get comfy, prepared to wait a little longer.