Rose had often changed employers since she had first gone out to business aged sixteen, but none of them had resembled her present chief. Some had shouted at her, some had been thoughtful, but they had all used an English she could understand. She did not mind Burlap’s laughing at her, men liked to work their moods off on their secretaries, but his indifference was baffling. He was easygoing about lunch and his dictation was superb, but privately she had christened him “the Loon.”
“I can still count five leaves.” Burlap stared out of the pane that was neatly crossed with strips of paper; autumn was, he decided, a less disturbing time than spring. “But come, we must get on our treadmill or the wheels will stop; we have a busy afternoon.”
How like the Loon to notice the branches and not the condition of the room! Rose sat down primly and rigidly. Burlap glanced at his newly won carpet to give himself courage. It was only then that he noticed an unfamiliar space. “But, Miss Rosy Wings, why, what … where is your desk?”
“They fetched it away.”
“What!”
“Four men collected it while we were both at lunch.”
“Collected your desk?”
“Yes, Mr. Burlap, they loaded it onto a van in the courtyard, the one that has just driven away. I did not give the men anything as I did not know the procedure. Ought I to have given them a shilling?”
“Tell me, Miss Wilkins, I am worried, I have been worried, but am I to understand that … unauthorized persons have entered this room where I am engaged, oh, in a very humble and insignificant manner, in guiding the destinies of a war racked country and have removed the tool with which you aid me in such labours?”
“Yes, Mr. Burlap.”
“And you did nothing about it, you did not protest, you did not summon the doorkeeper?”
“How could I, Mr. Burlap? They were within their rights. I am afraid you have forgotten that I only joined the staff three weeks ago.”
“I am well aware of the fact. You still have not run folder X/Z 10342 to earth?”
“I am only entitled, sir, I mean Mr. Burlap, to a deal table.”
“Of course, of course, I did remark that you were using an item of furniture to which you had no legal right, but this is wartime and how can we get on with that report, and without the report they can’t have their machines, unless you have something to write on? Where is your table?”
“The foreman said that a Department in the country had been promoted, he wouldn’t say where, it’s hush-hush, but I think I know because the girl who sat at my table for lunch …”
“Yes, yes, Miss Wilkins, but where is your table?”
“The hush-hush groups are to have our desks and we are to have their tables, on Monday, I think.”
“But this is Thursday.”
“That’s what I said, but the foreman shouted back that I could sit on the floor. I can’t do that, Mr. Burlap, it’s so heavy on the stockings.”
Mr. Burlap looked out of the window to relieve his embarrassment. The barrage balloon was looking more of an aluminium sausage than ever. “The Government would never wish you to assume so undignified a position,” he said severely, thinking of the hilarity the situation would provoke among the juniors. “We must use our initiative, improvise.”
“I have sat on a packing case.” There had been a glorious morning in one of Rose’s first jobs when the manager had removed the office furniture in a van before his partner arrived.
“This isn’t a question of a chair but a table.” Burlap stared gloomily at the carpet that showed he was a seven-hundred-a-year man and saw with horror marks of muddy boots on the new surface. “What do you suggest we do?”
“I could bring my little bedside table with me tomorrow,” Rose suggested, chewing her pencil, “that is, if they would let me take it on the bus. Auntie made me ever such a sweet little cloth to put over it, but it is plain deal underneath.”
“I am afraid that would never do, Miss Rosy Wings; if anything were to happen it would not be on the Government records and we would be uninsured.”
“If we have a direct hit,” Rose said cheerfully, “there wouldn’t be anything of us left to claim anything.”
Such a different type from our regulars, Burlap thought, wishing that his previous secretary had not joined the A.T.S. “The proportion of direct hits per population, Miss Wilkins, is, as I am glad to say, infinitesimal. I have a friend in Statistics who tells me that at the present rate it will be several years before London is demolished. No, regulations are regulations and if in the flurry of opening this new wing we break them, you see the result! Without rules, Government cannot function nor can we bring the war to a successful end.”
“I don’t see how we are going to win it if we keep to them.”
Burlap pretended not to hear. It reminded him of a painful altercation on the coach between a young pilot who should properly have been at school and a colleague. “Our first objective ought to be Minnie,” the fellow had grinned, “I don’t mind fighting but I do mind leaflets.” It revealed a shocking state of part of the public mind.
“Well, I suppose we shall have to recast our afternoon. It is annoying because it will throw our schedule completely out of gear. I have an appointment at three,” he glanced at the memos, “some fellow named Ferguson, you might find me his dossier. As soon as I have got rid of him I will go and call on Supply. Perhaps we can get the loan of a table for the morning.”
“I believe that factory is waiting for your report, Mr. Burlap. Unless it’s ready for the Committee tomorrow, production will be held up till next week.”
“I could not
