Primrose Square by Anne Douglas Page A

folk with the money for anything, Elinor thought, when she was on her way back to join Mattie and Gerda for their window cleaning. Still, you had to be grateful to Miss Ainslie for even thinking of better conditions for her maids. There was no doubt that working at the Primrose was about as good as it could be for girls in service. Would working in an office be any better?
    Elinor paused for a moment, swinging her wash leather, frowning a little. It was going to be a lot of work, doing this course. Swotting up on arithmetic, learning different skills, maybe having to do tests and so on. Did she really want to do it?
    Yes! came back her eager reply. Oh, yes. Because service at the Primrose was still service, while working in an office would give her a distinct identity that you never had as a maid, as well as perhaps providing a stairway to better things. She would have to leave her beloved gardens, of course, and that would be hard, a real sacrifice, but she’d come back, she’d visit, and they would be in her mind, always. As for the WEA course itself, even if it was hard work, it would be interesting and challenging. And had a good tutor, eh?
    At the remembrance of Mr Muirhead, Elinor began to walk on swiftly, surprised to find her face growing warm and probably pink. It was a relief that when she joined the others in their window cleaning, no one took the slightest notice and soon her cheeks were pink anyway, as she rubbed away with her leather, her thoughts free to concentrate on a certain date in August. The last Thursday. Seven o’clock. Carlyle High School.
    She’d be there.

Twelve
    When the last Thursday in August finally arrived, it was no surprise to Elinor that she was feeling nervous. There was so much pressure. Everyone watching, commenting – especially Mrs Petrie. Oh, dear, oh dear, what were working lassies coming to these days, thinking they could do bookwork the same as educated folk, where would it all end? Et cetera, et cetera. And then there was Mattie, fearing that Elinor wouldn’t be able to do the sums required, and Ada asking what good would it all be if she never got into an office, eh? And wouldn’t everybody prefer men, anyway?
    Only Gerda was supportive, telling Elinor she was doing the right thing and she wished she’d thought of doing something like it herself. Perhaps she still would.
    â€˜If I get on all right?’ Elinor asked dryly, but Gerda shook her head.
    â€˜You’ll do well, that’s what the others know. They’re a wee bit envious, that’s all.’
    â€˜As though anybody needs to be envious of me!’ cried Elinor.
    When it was time to go on Thursday evening, she left the Primrose by the area steps, conscious of the eyes watching, aware that she looked her best, even in the blue jacket and skirt she had not been able to afford to replace, but she was nervous. Come on, she told herself, you’re looking forward to this, eh? Enjoy it, then.
    The evening was still fine, the light still good, though August would soon be September and the northern summer was fading. Having taken a quick look at the gardens of the square to make her feel better, she was hurrying on when she saw ahead the figure of a man approaching. And stopped in her tracks.
    It couldn’t be, could it? Couldn’t be  . . . her father?
    No, he’d never come to the West End, he’d never come to the Primrose. Yet  . . .
    â€˜Dad?’ she whispered, as the man came nearer and she saw that there was no mistaking her father’s tall figure, his way of walking, throwing out his feet as though kicking stones. No mistaking the cap and jacket he was wearing, or the good-looking face, the dark eyes meeting hers.
    â€˜Dad,’ she repeated. ‘What are you doing here?’
    He had reached her, was standing close, and she could make nothing of his expression, except that it was not angry, nor did it show any emotion. But then he