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6.00 pm came, and finally Mrs Carstairs packed up and left the office. I stood up as she passed.

‘Good night, Mrs Carstairs’. She breezed past without looking at me, and I sat down. The girls in the office immediately began packing up and getting ready to leave – but I had the photocopying chores to carry out before I could go. The office quickly cleared. I was just putting my jacket on to go to the photocopier – I had to wear it whenever I left my desk – when Miss Fortescue’s door opened. She stood in the doorframe and fixed me with a look.

‘Good evening, Miss Fortescue’, I stammered, quickly doing my middle button up and unconsciously tightening my tie.

‘Smedley, Miss Carrington-Jones is on her way up for a little drink.’ That was all she had to say, I knew by now what that meant for me.

Miss Fortescue turned back into her office and shut the door. I jumped smartly across and stood at absolute attention outside the door, back to the wall. Five minutes went past, before I heard the click of high-heeled footsteps coming down the corridor. I didn’t dare look around, but I knew it was Miss Fortescue’s guest. The steps drew nearer and nearer, sometimes fading out as Miss Carrington-Jones moved over the carpeted areas. Then, she was standing right in front of me.

She was a raven-haired beauty of about 28 years. She wore a formal black skirt suit, with a blue shirt. She had black high heels and dark silky stockings. She was around 5’ 10” in her heels. She smiled through her lush red lipstick.

‘Smedley, working late again I see’.

‘Yes Miss Carrington-Jones,’ I replied, trying to sound as respectful and deferential as possible.

‘Any extra duties today, lad?’

I explained about the photocopying chores set me by Mrs Carstairs. Miss Carrington-Jones gave a short lau,gh.

‘Oh what a lovely job! You’ll enjoy that, won’t you Smedley?’

‘Yes, Miss Carrington-Jones’.

‘Good – because when you’ve finished doing the first copy for Mrs Carstairs, you can do another one for me.’ She knocked on Miss Fortescue’s door.

I heard Miss Fortescue call to come in, and I reached past and held the door open for her visitor. But Miss Carrington-Jones seemed to have another thought, and paused in the doorway.

‘Smedley, did Mrs Carstairs tell you to highlight those three letters in the same colour pen?’

‘Yes Miss Carrington-Jones, she just said to highlight the different letters,’ I replied.

‘SHE’, snarled Miss Carrington-Jones. ‘How dare you refer to your superior like that. Who do you think you are?’ And suddenly she drew her arm right back and slapped me across the face. I involuntarily fell back and lowered my head against any more blows.

‘Get back here!’ she shouted. Miss Fortescue was by now coming across the office to see what was happening.

I stood back up straight and stepped nervously towards Miss Carrington-Jones. ‘I’m very sorry, Miss Carrington-Jones, I meant that Mrs Carstairs had told me to just highlight the three letters.’

‘That’s better, Smedley,’ she replied. ‘Don’t ever forget to refer to your superiors by their proper titles, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Miss Carrington-Jones,’ I said meekly.

‘Now, you will highlight the same three letters on my copy, but each in a different colour – yellow, orange and pink. On my desk before you leave tonight.’

I went to say, ‘yes, madam’ or some such but, before I could open my mouth, she whacked me once again, this time around the ear.

‘Understand, boy?!’ she shouted, and hit me again, from the other side this time.

‘Yes Madam, thank you Madam’, I babbled, my head ringing with the blows.

‘Now fetch us some white wine. At the double, lad, MOVE!’

I ran off down the corridor, glad to escape the blows for a few moments. I just caught Miss Fortescue saying approvingly, ‘Very nice, Lucinda’, and the two ladies disappeared into the office. I kept running until I got to the kitchen, and then found a bottle of Australian chardonnay, a corkscrew, two glasses and a tray.

I opened the bottle and placed it and the glasses on the tray. I adjusted my jacket, made sure it was pulled down smartly and the middle button fastened, looked in the mirror and ensured my tie was straight and tightly knotted, then returned to the office. I knocked on the door, and Miss Fortescue answered immediately:

‘Come in’.

I entered, and closed the door softly behind me. I stood at attention just inside the door. The two ladies were sitting in the comfortable chairs which Miss Fortescue used for more informal meetings, with a small table between them. They had removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. The office was always a bit warm, not using air conditioning.

‘Serve the wine, Smedley. Chop chop’, she said.

I moved forward, balancing the tray carefully in one hand, and poured two large glasses of white wine. I placed one each on a coaster in front of each lady, then withdrew slightly and put the tray and bottle down on a bookcase nearby.  My place now was to stand stiffly to attention, back to the wall, with a vacant expression on my face. I must give no indication of listening to the conversation, but at the same time be ready to jump if one of the young ladies gave an order.

It was around ten past six. The girls chatted together for about half an hour or so. Miss Carrington-Jones, without turning to look at me, waved her empty glass in the air. I picked up the bottle quickly and moved swiftly to fill her glass. Miss Fortescue’s glass was almost empty, so I leaned down, keeping my legs straight and bending my back low, and filled her glass too. I retreated, and stood back to attention.

Seven o’clock came and went. The bottle was finished by 7.15, and finally they got up and started to think about going out to dinner.

‘Jacket, Smedley’ barked Miss Fortescue. I ran over and held her jacket for her, and then did the same for Miss Carrington-Jones.

‘Tidy up my office, wash up these glasses, give my desk, the table and the wardrobe a good polish, then you can leave.’

Miss Carrington-Jones interjected. ‘Oh no, I think not, eh Smedley? Don’t forget Mrs Carstair’s photocopying. And mine!’

The two ladies began to leave. I quickly held open the door. As Miss Carrington-Jones came past, she stopped and looked at me, her eyes slightly glazed with the effects of the wine. She took hold of my left ear, and pulled it towards her. My head went down, and my ear started to hurt. She twisted it around and around, tighter and tighter. She spoke in a menacing undertone:

‘Next time I see you, Smedley, we’ll have your trousers down so I can inspect your frilly underwear and give you a damned good beating. Understand?’

I whimpered, my ear being really painful by now. ‘Yes, Miss Carrington-Jones.’

She pulled it down and twisted it even more, then suddenly let go.

‘Get up, stand up straight,’ she commanded.

I did as I was told.

‘Photocopies on my desk before you leave, you little worm.’

‘Yes Miss Carrington-Jones.’

They flounced out and clicked off down the corridor. I rubbed my red ear, and turned to the mess they had left behind. I straightened my jacket, and started to clean up. Better get on with it, I suppose. The sooner I got going, the sooner I could crawl home to bed – and start the awful waiting for Friday’s office beating.

To be continued...
 

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