I for Isobel by Amy Witting Page A

house. You end up being a skivvy. What’s it like? The boarding house?’
    â€˜Oh, good.’
    â€˜Glad to hear it.’ Aunt Noelene was finding her heavy going. ‘Three pounds a month ought to do it. Make it four, a bit over for a bit of fun. You can come here for lunch, the first Sunday in every month, and I’ll give you four pounds to tide you over. Now, that means I’ll expect you on the fifth. If something happens that you can’t make it, ring me up. You have my number, don’t you?’
    â€˜It’s too much.’
    â€˜You might as well have it now as after I’m dead. It’s now that you need it. Don’t look so down. We’ll cut it out as soon as you get your rise. You’ll just have to see to it that you do get it.’
    At the thought of asking Mr Walter for a rise, Isobel felt faint.
    â€˜Won’t they give it to me, without my asking?’
    â€˜No.’ She made a comic turn out of saying so, looking dead-eyed at Isobel and wagging her head. ‘Understand this. You will get nothing out of this world unless you fight for it.’
    Fate was stricter than any headmistress. She must fight for money or be a burden on Aunt Noelene. Both prospects were intolerable, but not equally. She thought she could learn to fight rather than impose on Aunt Noelene.
    â€˜You want to keep your eyes open at the office and find out what’s what. What do you do, apart from the mail?’
    â€˜Keep the petty cash, check the invoices when Frank unpacks the glass. I help him to polish it and set it out in the showroom and sometimes I take the mail to the GPO. Otherwise I do anything Olive wants—filing, mostly.’
    â€˜In fact, you’re the junior, except that you translate the German mail. For a junior’s wages. They sound like shysters to me.’ She frowned and rubbed her thumb across her chin as she reflected. ‘You’ve started off on the wrong foot, there. It’s a special skill, the German, and you should have a loading, but you’ll see, once they’ve got it for nothing, they’ll go on taking it for granted. Who did the job before you came?’
    â€˜I don’t know. They never mention it.’ She added with feeling, ‘Perhaps she threw her typewriter at Mr Richard.’
    Aunt Noelene’s laugh must be what was called a guffaw. ‘Mr Richard! What a berk! Lord of the Manor, is he?’
    â€˜There’s Mr Richard and Mr Walter, you see.’
    â€˜Dick and Wally, right. This Olive is the head girl, I suppose?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Who else is there? Who takes the dictation, does the shorthand for Wally and Dick?’
    â€˜Rita, mostly. Olive and Nell do sometimes, when Mr Stephen is in and wants something done. I’ve only seen him once. He’s the salesman.’
    â€˜You’ll have to find out a few things, like what pay the others get. And find out about the one whose place you took. Are you making friends with anyone?’
    â€˜Well, Frank, I suppose. That’s the storeman.’
    There was a pause, Aunt Noelene said, ‘I need a drink. I could do with a gin and tonic. Can I get you something? Lemonade?’
    â€˜No. Thank you.’
    Having fixed her drink in silence, and carried it back to the table, she said earnestly, ‘Look, love, I don’t think you’ll make it. You’re no fighter. They’ll tread you into the ground.’
    Isobel had not known life was like this. She had expected it to be simpler.
    â€˜Why don’t you go for teaching? Your Leaving pass was good enough. Apply at the end of the year. You’d get an allowance, you can live here if you like, get your own meals. There’s a room at the back, even got a sink and gas ring. I used to let it before the business took off, don’t bother now. You’d be independent and you’d meet a few people of your own type, go to dances and such and have a bit of young