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“I suppose so. I don’t normally cry,” she said, brushing hair out of her eyes as he seated himself at the other end of the bench.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m crying because I was fired today.”
“Oh,” he said. “You’re clearly upset. Was it fair… to dismiss you?”
“Yes. I’m not upset at that. I’m angry because I can’t seem to find a decent job which I enjoy doing.”
“What did you do?”
“Shop assistant.”
“I see,” said the man, grimacing. “What happened?”
Casey rocked her head from side to side, contemplating if she should tell the stranger about her failings in life. He had a kind face, charming too, but the edges of him seemed hard and stern.
“I’m not a great one with people,” she confessed to the stranger. “Love reading about them, but don’t really interact. The shop was a fancy, expensive clothes shop. All the latest fashions, and the clientele were of the kind who knew they were the only ones who could afford to shop there. I mean, some were lovely and liked clothing. Others, well, let’s just say they wanted to dress up. Like kids do to show off.”
“So you were a little curt with them?” he guessed.
Casey blushed at his rapidly accurate appraisal. “Basically, I lost my patience too easily. They mucked about with sizes, wanting this, that colour, this length. Dumping things on me as if I was their personal carrier. Honestly, they were so unaware of how lucky they are.”
“That got you fired?” said the man, bemused. “Tough boss?”
“Well. I lost my motivation to work there. The years dragged on, and I’d given up on being anything useful. So, maybe being late a few times, swearing under my breath at customers, and reading books under the counter…” Her voice drifted into a mumble.
“Books? You like to read then,” he noted.
“Yes, all sorts. I studied history, but I didn’t really think through what to do next.” Casey loved history, especially the romantic notions of chivalry, the renaissance period, and grand houses filled with paintings. With it she had learnt mankind was quick to war and slow to peace. That part of history saddened her lively nature—too lively, according to her parents, who had been glad to see her off to college and away from their house. They had seen only the mess she made of her room, the constant stream of boyfriends, and the homework she had struggled to finish on time. Once at college, she had been fortunate to have a studious bunch of friends, without whom she would have failed to graduate.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked, pulling up his collar. The wind was changing direction, and the air was cooling rapidly.
“I don’t know. I have this little pokey flat, and I can’t afford the rent without work.”
“I need a personal assistant,” announced the man. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Robert Tolchard, and I am a professor of law. I write books.”
“Really,” said Casey with a broad grin.
“Law books.”
Casey deflated slightly. She held out her hand and introduced herself, and they shook.
“A personal assistant?”
“Yes. To help me with my work. Organising, correspondence, and I travel too. I would need somebody to be in my house assisting me. Are you interested?”
Casey could not believe what she was hearing. A job interview on a park bench, and she had just confessed to being useless at her last job. She asked him why. Why after telling him she had been rude and unhelpful to her customers.
Mr Tolchard smiled. “You’re sitting here crying. I think you feel bad that you didn’t do a good job. Sometimes, when we’re disappointed with ourselves, it is the best time to start afresh and try really hard to be a better person.”
Casey thought very hard about what he had told her and asked if they could meet again somewhere more appropriate, when she was not covered in drying tears and holding a snotty handkerchief. He smiled again and agreed. The next meeting took place at his house a week later.
At their second encounter, she was dressed in her finest clothes, the ones she had bought discounted from her previous job. She smoothed down her skirt as she sat down. She wore a light sheen of make-up and had grown a few inches with her high heels. Mr Tolchard had greeted her at the door of his large house, and she was impressed with the architecture and furnishings. It was like stepping back in time, and she liked the ambiguity he portrayed in his home. The interview went well, better than she envisaged. Yes, she could type, she could communicate well on the telephone, and she could read quickly and summarise documents. No, legal jargon was a mystery to her, but she was a quick learner.
She agreed to start work with him and to arrive at his house at nine o’clock each day and stay until five in the evening. He showed her the little room where she would check his emails, open his mail, and type up his dictations. Mr Tolchard arranged for her to take home some books on basic legal texts and terminology. Casey was delighted with her new job.
* * *
