The Temporary by Rachel Cusk

them. ‘I’m only temporary.’
    ‘Oh, don’t say “only”! We need girls like you around here, otherwise we’d die of boredom. It’ll be nice to have something good to look at for a change. No, don’t be embarrassed!’ He lowered his voice and leaned towards her. Close up, his face was large and porous. ‘You’re a very attractive girl. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
    Francine giggled with mingled pleasure and anxiety. At the sound he stood up again suddenly and dropped the piece of paper on the desk in front of her.
    ‘Type that up for me by lunch-time, will you?’ he said, turning and walking back to his desk.
    Francine watched his retreating back with astonishment. The piece of paper had slid from her desk to the floor and she bent to retrieve it. When she re-emerged she saw Mr Louche watching her from his podium. She caught his eye and he looked away. Francine sat with a beating heart. She wished Jane would come back. An older woman sat at a desk identicalto Francine’s at the foot of Mr Louche’s podium. She was plump with short permed hair and wore a cardigan over her shoulders instead of the tailored jacket worn by most of the other secretaries. Francine hadn’t noticed her until that minute, but now she realized that the woman must be Mr Louche’s own secretary. She sat for a moment, paralysed by the necessity for asserting herself.
    ‘Hey you!’ said Mr Lancing suddenly. ‘You!’
    Francine looked up and saw that he was speaking to her.
    ‘Yes, Mr Lancing?’
    ‘Get me Bill,’ he said, picking up his telephone and dialling a number.
    Francine waited for further instructions but Mr Lancing had begun speaking into the receiver. She searched her desk for a list of numbers which might help her and soon found a plastic wheel bristling with hundreds of cards at the far end. She began to flick hopelessly through them. Beside her, Mr Louche’s letter lay unresolved.
    ‘It’s a vanilla reit, dumbo,’ said Mr Lancing into the phone.
    Her own telephone rang and she froze at the sound. It shrilled again and she picked it up, but as she opened her mouth to speak she suddenly lost all memory of where she was.
    ‘Hello? Hello?’ said a man’s voice impatiently.
    ‘Yes, hello!’ said Francine. ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘Don’t they teach you how to answer the phone over there?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I was—’
    ‘I need Lancing,’ said the man.
    ‘He’s on the phone,’ said Francine shortly, desperate to be rid of this latest interference.
    ‘Well, do you take a message too, or do they just programme you to pick it up?’
    ‘Who may I tell him called?’
    ‘Tell him it’s Bill.’
    ‘Oh, Bill!’ gushed Francine gratefully. ‘I know he’s been trying to get hold of you!’
    ‘I was here,’ said Bill, audibly shrugging.
    ‘I mean, I know he wanted to speak to you, I don’t know if he’s actually tried —’
    ‘What is this?’
    ‘I’ll just see if I can get him off the phone for you,’ said Francine, jamming her finger over the hold button. Mr Lancing was still talking, his back turned towards her. ‘Mr Lancing!’ she said. ‘Mr Lancing!’ When there was no response she snapped her fingers in desperation and the other secretaries raised their heads in horrified unison. Eventually Mr Lancing looked round.
    ‘What?’ he said, holding the receiver against his neck.
    ‘Bill’s on the line for you.’
    ‘Oh, put him on!’ he said, waving his arm. ‘Dial the other phone. Larry, can you hold a second? I gotta talk to Bill,’ he added, although the telephone was still pressed to his neck.
    ‘Just putting you through,’ said Francine, releasing the hold button. To her despair, the handset was emiting a dull tone. ‘Hello?’ she said, pressing buttons indiscriminately. ‘Hello?’
    ‘Where’s Bill?’ said Mr Lancing.
    ‘I think I lost him,’ admitted Francine.
    ‘Well, get him back!’
    ‘But I don’t have his number—’
    ‘Larry? You still there? Sorry, we