CUPID WITH A TEA TROLLEY It was only natural for Mrs Johnson to stir things up in the office. After all, she was a tea lady! Twenty years, Gladys Johnson, I thought as I crossed London Bridge, for years you’ve been making this journey. Imagine. All that time, going backwards and forwards from Dixon’s office and making tea. When I first started at Dixon’s, my Arthur was alive and the kids were small and I was very glad of the money. Not that I’m not glad of it now, being a widow. Still, I don’t have to do it, if you know what I mean, but I wouldn’t give it for worlds. My three—young Arthur, Lorraine and Cathie —are all married now, with children of their own, so outside my home, it’s my life. I’ve watched the office staff come and go. And the changes I’ve seen—in them mostly and what they wear. The things they talk about—and they don’t seem to care what they say in front of me. And me old enough to be their grandmother, some of them. “Good, old Johnnie”, they say, on account of me being Mrs Johnson. Anyway, young Mr Geoffrey has been with the firm for about six years now. He took over from his father when the old man retired. He’s such a nice young man— taller than his father, but with the same reddish hair, broad shoulders and lovely teeth. Then along came Miss Parfitt, although everyone calles her Miss Angela. She’s Mr Geoffrey’s secretary — P.A. I think they call it. She’s a big girl, with long dark hair, big brown eyes and a real nice way with her. She and Mr Geoffrey get on like a house on fire. In fact, we all think they’ll make a go of it. Anyway, the thing about Miss Angela is that she’s always on the side of the underdog, always doing something or other for a lost cause. It didn’t take much to see Mr Geoffrey thought the world of her. “Angela,” he’d say, “what about dinner tonight?” And never mind me being there. “That would be nice,” she’d say. Thank you.” There was never any play acting with Miss Angela. She was always direct and to the point. And then as time went by, he got to rely on her more and more. It was pretty obvious that he was giving her most of his personal work. Sometimes he’d be away for a long weekend, perhaps at some country house, riding or hunting. He was a great sportsman, Mr Geoffrey. Once we saw his picture in a gossip column with a pretty girl hanging on to his arm, and very handsome he looked, too. Oh dear, I thought, I do hope someone else doesn’t catch him first. For Miss Angela was a very nice girl, and a very capable one. One morning, soon after we’d seen that picture, I was in the office with Miss Angela. The telephone rang—it was Mr Geoffrey, to ask her to take over an important appointment, since he wouldn’t be back until after lunch. “Had an exhausting weekend, have you?” Miss Angela asked, her voice ice-cold, and waited, her eyes flashing. “Ahhhh,” she said, in mock sympathy, and I could see she was really mad. “No, I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight Geoffrey…”and there was a pause— because I have another date,” she said sweetly, and put down the receiver. “Honestly, Johnnie.” She fumed, catching my eye, “There’s a man for you. Taking advantage... “Still, Miss, I don’t know where we’d be without them,” I said. But she didn’t hear me. She was off on her favourite topic. “Women are being exploited everywhere,” she said, “and it’s men who are doing it.” “Well, I don’t know about that, I’m sure,” I said. “I mean, Mr Geoffrey’s very nice, really... “That’s beside the point,” she said, her cheeks all flushed. A few days later she arrived at the office wearing a long drab-looking dress, her hair scraped back off her face, and not a scrap of make-up. “I’m giving in my notice,” she informed Mr Geoffrey haughtily. The door was open and I was giving tea to Miss Chivers, her assistant. The two of them shared the room next to Mr Geoffrey. Well, I was struck dumb. Miss Chivers was sitting there smirking to herself. You could see she was pleased as Punch. Everyone knew she was keen on Mr Geoffrey. Not that he ever noticed her. I’m glad to say. “But Angela, you can’t,” Mr Geoffrey was saying. “What am I going to do without you?” “You’ll manage,” she said. “Find yourself another poor female to exploit. I’m tired of waiting on you hand and foot just because I’m a woman.” “Don’t be so ridiculous,” he said. “And what on earth have you got on?” “It’s none of your business,” she said, still very haughty. “I’ll be leaving at the end of the month.” She was coming towards the door. “May I ask where you are going?” he said icily. “You may, but I won’t tell you. Sufficient to say it will be somewhere where I shall be more appreciated than I am here. I don’t mind doing my own job, but I’m certainly not going to do yours as well.” “I can never understand Angela,” Miss Chivers said softly, “can you Mrs Johnson? I think being a woman is one of the most exciting things in the world. I’m glad I’m a woman. After all, there’s no need to be exploited, as she calls it. I mean, women have ways—” I bet you have, I thought darkly. I must be honest, Miss Chivers is not one of my favourite people. So the day of Angela’s leaving came and we had a whip-round and bought a cake, and made jokes and laughed. You’re sorry already, my girl, I thought. So was I, for that matter. Mr Geoffrey had told Miss Chivers to take over Angela’s job until he found another P.A. Very soon, she was taking the tea from me to give to Mr Geoffrey. “One lump for Mr Geoffrey.” she’d say. “I know,” I’d say, quite nasty. “There’s no need to tell me.” She had that effect on me. Once or twice I’d see her putting on her act. She’d feel a little too warm. Perhaps he could open that great big heavy window. Like a shot, he was prepared to show her how strong he was. One day, her typewriter stuck. She was sure he was so marvellous he could just see what was wrong. He was delighted to assist her. But I had to hand it to her. She knew how to attract a man. What worried me was that she might hook Mr Geoffrey. Her kind sometimes does— clinging, lost and helpless. While young rebels like Miss Angela were so busy championing lost causes they frequently forgot their own. Then, going home one night I humped into Miss Angela. I was so glad to see her. She wore a long woollen jacket, and her hair was short and curly. “Oh, you do look nice, Miss!” I said, for she did. “Johnnie! How are you?” And I knew she meant how is Mr Geoffrey. “Are you in a hurry?” she said. “Got time for a coffee?” She was like that, Miss Angela, warm and friendly. So we went to the nearest coffee bar. “And what are you doing with yourself?” I said. “Temporary secretarial work,” she said with a grin. “Very well paid—and interesting. Also—I’m thinking of going abroad.” “Oh, Miss Angela,” I said. “You’re not.” “Yes, I am. I think one should try everything while one is still young. Anyway, how are you Johnnie? And the family?” Bless you, I thought as we chatted on about this and that. And presently, it came. “And Mr Geoffrey?” she asked in a very off-hand voice that didn’t fool me for one moment. “Well . . .“ I said, and from the expression on her face, I knew. And she knew I knew, for she lowered her eyes and played with the sugar bowl. “You were a silly girl,” I said. “Although you meant well I suppose.” After all, she was like my own daughters. “I know,” she said, beginning to smile. “It was funny, wasn’t it?” And she laughed. “Still, he did take me for granted. My brain is every bit as good as his.” “Yes, dear, we know.” I said. “You know, and I know, but we mustn’t try to prove it to him. What’s the point? He wants to be boss, y’see.” “I can’t bow and scrape,” she said “It’s not my way. I’m too independent. “There are other ways,” I said darkly. “Like those, for instance, used by Miss Chivers.” And I sniffed. She looked suddenly like a little girl. “Is she—is she— coping?” she said. “In a helpless kind of way,” I said, snorting. She looked up, eyes big and round and thoughtful. “Does he - is he - ?” She went scarlet. “Well,” I said, “he’s a man, and you can’t change that. And every man likes to think he’s the boss. ‘Course they never are, not really. “And I don’t know how he’ll manage,” I said, casual like, “when she takes her three weeks’ holiday in August… Have to get a temp, I s’pose, or one of those silly girls in the typing pool. You wouldn’t …?” “Certainly not,” she snapped, but her cheeks were fiery red. “Ah, well,” I said, “never mind,” and gave a big sigh. “You still living at the same place?” I said. “Yes,” she said. “Well, dear, I’d better go,” I said. “I’ve got the grandchildren coming round tonight. Nice seeing you again.” Funny thing,” I said to Mr Geoffrey the next day, “I bumped into Miss Angela — Miss Parfitt, yesterday.” And he looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth open. “Yes.” I said, giving him his tea, quiet like. “Doing temp work, she is, before she goes to America.” “America?” He gulped. “Hmm. Just filling in the time, it seems.” You could have heard a pin drop. Then casually he said, “I suppose she wouldn’t consider helping me out when Miss Chivers goes away for her three weeks?” “Oh, I don’t know, sir. I’m sure,” I said. “I could ask her, perhaps…” “Oh, no, no,” he said, busying himself with his papers, and then he looked up. “Still, if you would ask her, Mrs Johnson, and let me know?” “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’ll mention it to her.” And as I left the office I could hear him humming a little tune under his breath. So that’s how for the first time in my life I became a matchmaker. I wouldn’t do it for everyone, but you could see they were made for each other. Miss Angela came back— “just for the three weeks, you understand.” And Mr Geoffrey took to spending more time in her office than he did in his own—and he wasn’t talking about work. I can tell you. Then, one morning, when I went in with the tea, there was Miss Angela sitting at her desk just gazing at her left hand… It was the biggest, brightest diamond I’ve ever seen. And now I’m off to buy a new hat. The wedding’s on Saturday. THE END