Last Telegram Read Online Free PDF Page A

damask curtains and matching bedcover, but these treasured things now seemed to mock me, trapping me here in Westbury. After a while, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and realized how wretched I looked. Self-pity would get me nowhere, and certainly not into a more interesting life. I needed to get away from home, perhaps to London, to be near Vera. But what could I do? I was qualified for nothing.
    I remembered Aunt Phoebe. She was a rather distant figure, a maiden aunt who lived in London with a lady companion, worked in an office somewhere, drove an Austin Seven all over Europe, and cared little for what anyone else thought about her unconventional way of life. Perhaps I could train as a secretary, like her? Earn enough to rent a little flat? The idea started to seem quite attractive. It wasn’t as romantic as Geneva, but at least I would get away and meet some interesting people.
    Now all I had to do was convince Father that this was a reasonable plan.
    At breakfast next day, I crossed my fingers behind my back and announced, “I’ve decided to get a job in London. Vera and I are going to share a bedsit.” I hadn’t asked her yet, but I was sure she would say yes.
    â€œLovely, dear.” Mother was distracted, serving breakfast eggs and bacon from the hotplate.
    â€œSounds fun,” John said, emptying most of the contents of the coffee jug into the giant cup he’d bought in France. “Vera’s a good laugh. What are you going to do?”
    â€œLeave some coffee for me,” I said. “I could do anything, but preferably something in an office. I’ll need to get some experience first. I thought perhaps I could spend a few weeks helping Beryl at Cheapside?” Beryl managed Verners’ London office. “What do you think, Father?”
    â€œWell, now,” he said, carefully folding his newspaper and placing it beside his knife and fork. “Another Verner in the firm? There’s an idea.” He took the plate from Mother and started to butter his toast, neatly, right to the edges. “A very good idea. But you’d have to work your way up like everyone else.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘work my way up’?” Was he deliberately misinterpreting what I’d said?
    â€œYou’d have to start like John did, as a weaver,” he said, moving his fried egg onto the toast.
    â€œThat’s not what I meant. I want secretarial experience, in an office . Not weaving,” I said sharply. “I don’t need to know how to weave the stuff to type letters about it. Does Beryl have to weave?”
    He gave me a fierce look, and the room went quiet. Mother slipped out, muttering about more toast, and John studied the pattern on the tablecloth. Father put down his knife and fork with a small sigh, resigned to sacrificing his hot breakfast for the greater cause of instructing his willful daughter.
    â€œLet me explain, my dearest Lily, the basic principles of working life. Beryl came to us as a highly experienced administrator, and you have no skills or experience. You know very well that I do not provide sinecures for my family, and I will not give you a job just because you are a Verner. As I said, you need to learn the business from the bottom up to demonstrate that you are not just playing at it.”
    He took a deep breath and then continued. “But I’ll make you an offer. Prove yourself here at Westbury, and if, after six months, you are still determined to go to London and take up office work, I will pay for you to go to secretarial college. If that is what you really want. Otherwise, it’s a cookery course. Take it or leave it.”

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    Weaving is the process of passing a “weft” thread, normally in a shuttle, through “warp” threads wound parallel to each other on a “beam” of the total width of the cloth being woven. The structure of the weave is varied by raising or lowering selected