Homework by Margot Livesey Page A

mumble. “She’ll be down in a minute. Clare is our managing editor. I think you may have spoken to her on the telephone.”
    I said that I had. While I waited, Marilyn asked me about my journey, and whether I was settled into Malcolm’s flat. “Moving is a terrible business,” she said. “My husband and I have moved twice in the last five years, and I always swear never again.” She pinched a couple of shrivelled leaves off the begonia. “I’ve been on holiday for a fortnight, and I don’t think the temporary receptionist knew anything about plants.”
    A woman dressed in white came round the corner. Unconsciously I had been expecting someone like Virginia, my former supervisor, an untidy woman in her mid-fifties, with whom I had had a pleasant friendship. Clare was my age, perhaps even younger, and her white suit was spotless and ironed almost to the point of rigidity. In her formal phrases of welcome I could not detect even the pretence of warmth.
    She showed me round, presented me with my office, and suggested that I might spend the day familiarising myself with the company’s books. Bill would be back tomorrow, and there would be time enough then to discuss my duties.
    My office had been created by partitioning off one corner of a larger room. The ceiling was tremendously high, and
when I sat down at my desk I felt as if I were at the bottom of a box. Two walls were devoted to bookshelves, now pitifully bare, and on the third wall, beside the door, was a row of battered filing cabinets. A large window provided a view of a brick wall and some rooftops.
    I had been staring blankly at a grammar book for half an hour, when a woman appeared in the doorway. She was the antithesis of Clare. Her hennaed hair was tied up with red ribbons, and she wore enormous bright green earrings, a red and white striped T-shirt, and blue trousers. “I’m Suzie, the book designer,” she said. “You must be Celia, our new guru from London. Bill claims you’re the best thing since sliced bread. I have the office next door. Come and see.”
    Suzie’s office was similar to mine in size, but at the threshold bureaucracy and anonymity ended. A mass of plants hung in the window, a mobile was suspended from the light fixture, and there were children’s drawings all over one wall. Both the designer’s table and the desk were covered with papers. Suzie gestured towards the mess. “I’m struggling with a geography book. I hated geography at school, and now I know why. It’s unutterably tedious. Would you like some coffee?”
    â€œYes, please.”
    She picked up a couple of mugs and led the way down the corridor, introducing me to everyone we passed. As soon as they were out of earshot, she described their foibles. “Diana’s our office femme fatale. She always dresses like she’s on her way to a nightclub.” “You don’t want to do business with Elaine after she’s been out to lunch.” Back at our offices, she said, “I suppose I’d better try and organise these maps. If there’s anything you need, just come and ask. The more interruptions the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
    Somehow Suzie’s boisterous presence enabled me to begin behaving as if I were at work. I went down the hall and asked Marilyn where I could find stationery. Armed with a
notebook and pencil, I began to skim through the books, making notes as I went. Soon after twelve-thirty Suzie came and asked if I wanted to go for lunch.
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    When I had talked to Lynne about being lonely in Edinburgh she had said, “Nonsense. You’ll meet colleagues and neighbours. You’ll have friends in no time.” But although there were a dozen flats in my tenement, only Deirdre seemed like a possible friend. No one could fail to notice her; her small face was surrounded by a cloud of hair which reminded me of the pictures of