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What if they asked too many questions? How much should she tell them? After twenty minutes of pacing up and down the street, Bonnie climbed the outer steps.
    The London and County was three doors along a dingy corridor. As she knocked and walked in, a middle-aged woman with tightly permed hair and wearing some very fashionable glasses looked up from her typewriter. Bonnie introduced herself stiffly and handed over her references.
    ‘Do take a seat, Miss Rogers,’ said the woman, indicating some chairs behind her. ‘I shall tell Mrs Smythe that you are here.’
    Taking Bonnie’s references with her, she stepped towards a glass-fronted door to her left and knocked. A distant voice called and the woman walked in and closed the door behind her.
    Bonnie looked at herself in the wall mirror, glad that she had stopped crying. If she’d turned up with red eyes and a blotchy face, it wouldn’t have helped her cause. She looked smart. Her hat, a new one she’d bought from Hubbard’s using the staff discount, suited her. It was a navy, close-fitting baker boy beret, which she wore slightly to the left of her head. Her hair had a side parting with a deep wave on the right side of her face and was curled under on her shoulders. To set off her outfit, Bonnie always carried a navy pencil-slim umbrella. She liked being smart. One of Miss Reeves’s little remarks came back to mind. ‘Smartness equals efficiency; efficiency equals acceptance; and acceptance means respect.’
    She unbuttoned her coat to reveal her dark blue suit with the cameo brooch George had given her pinned on the lapel. It wasonly from Woolworth’s, she knew that, but it looked very pretty, especially next to her crisp white blouse. She absentmindedly smoothed her stomach and pulled down her skirt to get rid of the creases. Thank goodness the baby didn’t show yet. Turning towards the chairs, Bonnie had a choice of three, one with a soft sagging cushion, a high backed leather chair and a wooden chair with a padded seat. Lowering herself carefully onto the wooden chair, Bonnie placed her matching navy handbag on her knees, checked that her black court shoes still looked highly polished, and waited anxiously.
    Presently, the secretary came back with a tall languid-looking woman in a tweed skirt and white blouse. She introduced herself as Mrs Smythe and invited Bonnie to step into her office.
    Mrs Smythe, as would be expected of the owner of a highly respected agency, had a cut-glass English accent. She had a round face with a downy complexion and wore no make-up apart from a bright red gash of lipstick. The woman examined Bonnie’s references carefully. ‘These are excellent, Miss Rogers,’ she said eventually. ‘But shop work is very different from working in the domestic setting.’
    ‘I want to train as a nursery nurse,’ said Bonnie, ‘but I am not quite experienced enough to be accepted. However, I am a hard worker and I am willing to learn.’
    ‘When did you cease your last employment?’
    ‘Just over a week ago.’
    ‘May I ask, why did you leave Hubbard’s?’ Mrs Smythe was going back through her papers again.
    ‘Personal reasons.’
    Mrs Smythe looked up sharply. Bonnie held her eye with a steady unyielding gaze and didn’t elaborate.
    ‘I see,’ said Mrs Smythe, clearly not seeing at all. She waited, obviously hoping that Bonnie might explain, but how could she? Bonnie’s heart thumped in her chest. Mrs Smythe wouldn’t even consider offering Bonnie employment if she knew the truth.
    Bonnie cleared her throat. ‘It has absolutely no bearing on my ability to work with children.’
    Mrs Smythe stood up and went to the filing cabinet. ‘What sort of post were you looking for?’
    ‘I don’t mind,’ said Bonnie, swallowing hard. ‘Anything at all.’
    ‘Here in London,’ Mrs Smythe probed, ‘or further afield?’
    ‘Really,’ Bonnie insisted, ‘I have no preference.’ Why should she care where she lived? Without George, what