CHAPTER 4
Catriona returned to her own flat, feeling more lonely than she had ever done before. She soon descended into a life style that in later years horrified her, going to bed at eight in the evening, reading for a while, then sleeping until ten each morning, walking to the corner shop for a newspaper, the reading of which took her up to midday. Something to eat, afternoon coffee, evening television, and to bed again. It became an effort to walk far. Indeed, it became an effort to walk at all. She shrugged off her lethargy with some trouble, forcing herself to walk longer and longer distances, leaving the car at home. In the autumn, she found herself a shorthand and typewriting course, driving herself into understanding the strange squiggles that were supposed to represent something meaningful, driving herself into increasing her speed of typing without error.
Armed at last with a brand new certificate, she went searching for work, to find that there wasn’t so much call for shorthand any more, at least not at the relatively slow speed which was all she could manage. There were a series of temporary jobs, using elderly machines which frustrated her when comparing them to the sleek electric models she had trained on, and which broke her fingernails with monotonous regularity. It was during one such spell of work that she met a young man, of about her own age, who actually deigned not only to talk to her, but to sympathise with her plight. She was staring at the fourth broken nail that morning when she became aware of someone leaning over her shoulder.
‘I say,’ said a voice. ‘I see they’ve given you that rotten old machine again.’
She turned to see a pleasant, fresh face looking down at her. ‘I have known better,’ she said.
‘It’s not fair,’ he said. ‘They always give the worst machines to the temps. It’s not as though there aren’t any better in the place either. Would you like a replacement?’
‘Would I like a replacement?’ she asked. ‘I’d almost kill for one. If it actually works, I’ll reduce that to grievous bodily harm.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let me see what I can do. Give me the old machine, then wait for better times.’
Catriona allowed him to lift her foul typewriter off her desk and carry it away. Fifteen minutes passed. He returned, staggering slightly under the weight of what was clearly a different machine. He dumped it with a blown out breath of thanks on the desk.
‘I’m glad to get rid of that,’ he said. It’s a bit on the heavy side. It’s not the best in the place by any means, but it does work. And it’s electric, so it should be a bit lighter on your fingers.’
‘Electric?’ sighed Catriona. ‘I haven’t used one of these since I left college. How on earth did you manage to get this?’
He grinned happily at her. ‘No problem. I just bent the keys on your old one, not that they needed much persuasion. The storeroom couldn’t deny it was unusable, so they gave me this in exchange. Er, I didn’t say it was for a temp, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have got it. I gave the impression it was needed in the main office.’
‘I promise not to tell,’ said Catriona. ‘Thank you very much. I’m very grateful Mr. ..?’
‘Walker. Peter Smythe Walker. That’s Smythe with a Y. Not that it matters, because I never use the name.’
‘Well, thank you again, Mr. Walker.’
‘Call me Peter,’ he said. ‘Everybody else does, but then I’m just the general dogsbody around here. Might I ask your name? It’s so rare we get a temp to stay long enough to know anything about her, but I’ve noticed you’ve been here for longer than what seems to be the statutory week.’
‘Catriona Foster.’
‘Catriona. Now that’s a nice name. I like that. You’re not a Scot, are you. You don’t sound like a Scot.’
‘I’m not. My mother was. But look, I have a mass of work to do, and I’m well behind as it is. I really must get on with it, or I’ll be here all night.’
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have held you in conversation. See you around. Bye.’
She bent to her work with renewed zest, clearing her desk in what seemed to be no time at all. Probably it didn’t take as long as it ordinarily seemed. In truth, there was rarely so much work to do, even when she could find any. She mused on Peter Walker’s kindness for the rest of the day, wondering who he was and what position he occupied. It didn’t take her long to find out that far from being a general dogsbody as he claimed, he was one of the junior accountants, and destined for greater things in life. Everybody really did call him Peter though. He was popular with everyone, from managing director to Rose, the tea lady.
One day he asked her out. He had stopped by her desk to exchange the time of day, as seemed to be a normal practice with him.
‘You’ve been here a lot longer than most of the temps we’ve had,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to think you’ve been telling me fibs, and that you are in reality a permanent member of the staff.’
‘I don’t tell lies,’ she informed him severely. ‘I am, just as I claimed, simply a lowly temp. You’ll see, tomorrow, when this desk is empty. Or rather, probably full, but not with me. I was only filling in for someone who had fallen ill. Well, she’s recovered now, so she’s coming back, and I’m out of work again.’
‘Oh, I say, that’s too bad. Just when we were getting to know each other too. But here’s an idea. Would you er... would you like to come out with me? Tonight even. If you have nothing else on, that is.’
Catriona considered. ‘Well, I’m not sure. I’d have to think about that.’
‘You could always say you have a boyfriend if you don’t like to say no directly. I’d understand that. Then you can tell me who he is so I can punch his nose for him.’
She smiled at his direct approach, an approach she found refreshing.
‘No, no boyfriend. I already said I don’t tell lies. What would you have in mind?’
He looked at her with a calculating eye. ‘You don’t look like a pub person to me.’
‘I’m not. Pubs bore me stiff.’
‘I knew it. What about the cinema? Have you seen anything this week?’
‘No. In fact I haven’t been to the cinema for ages.’
‘Then perhaps I can persuade you to pay a visit tonight.’ He looked at her so beseechingly that she melted. He really was a nice person.
‘All right, I’d love to come.’
‘Shall I call for you, or would you prefer to meet me in town?’ he asked.
‘You don’t know where I live,’ Catriona said.
‘Um, actually I do.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. Your name and address are on our records, and I happened to see yours one day.’ He reddened slightly. ‘I’ll be honest. I took the trouble to look. Naughty of me, but I couldn’t help it.’
Catriona felt flattered. ‘All right then. I’ll let you call for me. What time?’
‘Six thirty. Not too early for you, is it? Only we don’t want to miss anything.’
‘I’ll be ready,’ she promised.