Sir
Everard, apparently under the impression that any secretarial work other than his own ranked under this heading. “Fiona McGrath is a charming woman and tremendously efficient Anything she undertakes is bound to be a success. Go along and enjoy yourself”
So Rachel—in the simplest and smartest cocktail dress she possessed— “went along” to the big house near Knightsbridge, where Fiona McGrath and her brother still lived in a style reminiscent of quite another age.
Comfortable, and even luxurious, though life might be in her uncle’s house, this was something on quite a different scale, Rachel realised, as she followed a dignified manservant up thickly carpeted stairs to a beautiful room on the first floor. It was something between a boudoir and a small sitting-room, and was the perfect setting for its elegant mistress.
Here Fiona greeted Rachel quite informally, bade her make herself comfortable in a chair of somewhat intimidating elegance, and promptly launched into a description of the charity affair she was promoting. Within a few minutes Rachel had discovered that behind all this elegance and luxury, her hostess was—as she had surmised—a remarkably good organiser and business woman. And, when the initial programme had been sketched out for her benefit, she said, with all sincerity, “You’re awfully good at this sort of thing, aren’t you?”
“I should be.” The other woman laughed slightly. “I’ve done enough of it. And, in any case, I can’t bear to do anything less than well.”
“ can imagine that”
“I dislike inefficiency almost more than anything else,” Fiona said frankly. “That’s why I’m not a very sympathetic person. Half the people who make a bid for one’s sympathy have only themselves to thank for their troubles.”
“And yet,” Rachel pointed out, “you have the reputation of doing a lot of charitable work.”
“Oh, that’s different.” The older woman shrugged, “For one thing, my brother and I have to administer a large charitable trust left by my father. And, for another, I like the sense of power it gives me when I make a success of any undertaking. It would be the same if it were a business deal. The fact that most of my enterprises have to be charitable ones is almost incidental.”
“I see,” said Rachel—perhaps more gravely than she had intended, for Fiona McGrath laughed and asked, “Do I shock you?”
“Oh no. But it’s unusual to be so realistic about oneself. Most people would prefer to think of themselves as touchingly charitable, and hide from themselves that they liked the sense of power.”
“I never hide anything from myself,” stated Fiona McGrath coolly and a trifle arrogantly. “I know what I want; and I know how to get it. But I never pretend to myself that things are what they’re not. Are you going to help me over this business?”
“Why, of course,” exclaimed Rachel, not a little charmed by this sudden appeal, following so closely on the slight display of arrogance. And it was only afterwards that she thought that perhaps this too was part of Miss McGrath’s clever way of getting what she wanted.
There and then they came to the arrangement that, subject to Sir Everard’s agreement, Rachel should come to the McGrath house three afternoons a week and, if the work demanded it, on some evenings, too. The remuneration, which Miss McGrath offered was—as Rachel would have expected—generous without being ostentatious.
“Now, if you want to freshen up, there’s a bathroom along here—” Miss McGrath conducted Rachel to the end of a wide corridor. “And, when you’re ready, go down to the drawing-room. No one will be here for half an hour yet. Just help yourself to a drink, or relax or whatever you like. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.” Rachel did as she was bid, revelling in the luxury of the most beautiful rose and silver bathroom she had ever seen, and studying her reflection in the long mirror with
Everard, apparently under the impression that any secretarial work other than his own ranked under this heading. “Fiona McGrath is a charming woman and tremendously efficient Anything she undertakes is bound to be a success. Go along and enjoy yourself”
So Rachel—in the simplest and smartest cocktail dress she possessed— “went along” to the big house near Knightsbridge, where Fiona McGrath and her brother still lived in a style reminiscent of quite another age.
Comfortable, and even luxurious, though life might be in her uncle’s house, this was something on quite a different scale, Rachel realised, as she followed a dignified manservant up thickly carpeted stairs to a beautiful room on the first floor. It was something between a boudoir and a small sitting-room, and was the perfect setting for its elegant mistress.
Here Fiona greeted Rachel quite informally, bade her make herself comfortable in a chair of somewhat intimidating elegance, and promptly launched into a description of the charity affair she was promoting. Within a few minutes Rachel had discovered that behind all this elegance and luxury, her hostess was—as she had surmised—a remarkably good organiser and business woman. And, when the initial programme had been sketched out for her benefit, she said, with all sincerity, “You’re awfully good at this sort of thing, aren’t you?”
“I should be.” The other woman laughed slightly. “I’ve done enough of it. And, in any case, I can’t bear to do anything less than well.”
“ can imagine that”
“I dislike inefficiency almost more than anything else,” Fiona said frankly. “That’s why I’m not a very sympathetic person. Half the people who make a bid for one’s sympathy have only themselves to thank for their troubles.”
“And yet,” Rachel pointed out, “you have the reputation of doing a lot of charitable work.”
“Oh, that’s different.” The older woman shrugged, “For one thing, my brother and I have to administer a large charitable trust left by my father. And, for another, I like the sense of power it gives me when I make a success of any undertaking. It would be the same if it were a business deal. The fact that most of my enterprises have to be charitable ones is almost incidental.”
“I see,” said Rachel—perhaps more gravely than she had intended, for Fiona McGrath laughed and asked, “Do I shock you?”
“Oh no. But it’s unusual to be so realistic about oneself. Most people would prefer to think of themselves as touchingly charitable, and hide from themselves that they liked the sense of power.”
“I never hide anything from myself,” stated Fiona McGrath coolly and a trifle arrogantly. “I know what I want; and I know how to get it. But I never pretend to myself that things are what they’re not. Are you going to help me over this business?”
“Why, of course,” exclaimed Rachel, not a little charmed by this sudden appeal, following so closely on the slight display of arrogance. And it was only afterwards that she thought that perhaps this too was part of Miss McGrath’s clever way of getting what she wanted.
There and then they came to the arrangement that, subject to Sir Everard’s agreement, Rachel should come to the McGrath house three afternoons a week and, if the work demanded it, on some evenings, too. The remuneration, which Miss McGrath offered was—as Rachel would have expected—generous without being ostentatious.
“Now, if you want to freshen up, there’s a bathroom along here—” Miss McGrath conducted Rachel to the end of a wide corridor. “And, when you’re ready, go down to the drawing-room. No one will be here for half an hour yet. Just help yourself to a drink, or relax or whatever you like. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.” Rachel did as she was bid, revelling in the luxury of the most beautiful rose and silver bathroom she had ever seen, and studying her reflection in the long mirror with
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