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  • I had finally lost patience with my boss who called me ‘The Child’ in front of her colleagues; but passed my work as hers. So I sneaked out of my office in Polyphon Public Relations during my lunch hour and raced down Regent Street to the underground, hoping I would be in time for my job interview in the smart St James’s street area.

    I felt a shock of cold air thrust down the escalators then, bracing myself, I stepped out of the Green Park Tube station into the crisp, cold outside world.

    The path leading down to Green Park was so steep I tripped and skipped as my body unhuddled from its underground stance

    Why am I putting myself through this, I thought? Why am I searching for another job in the dead of winter?

    I walked, into a yard surrounded by impressive looking buildings and paused trying to stop the panic that welled up in me.

    A flock of pigeons swooped down, surveyed me scornfully, and then continued with their business of pecking for seeds under a tree.

    I pushed my shoulders back and smartly marched across the square passing two soldiers, wearing tall bear skin hats, guarding the entrance to a large house. One of the wolf whistled at me.

    I came to a dead end; lost.

    “Excuse me,” I said to a kindly looking old man, “can you tell me where Bridgewater House is?”

    “Dunno dear, go to that little black door over there and ask the man sitting inside.”

    I approached the door and with finger poised to ring the bell, I noticed ‘Lord Chamberlain’s Office’ was inscribed on the name plate. Shocked, I turned to see the old man grinning evilly at me. Imagine if I had knocked on the door and asked the Lord Chamberlain for directions, I thought.

    I carried on walking to the next building and finally found Bridgewater House. The entrance hall was huge and a stern looking receptionist glared at me through spectacles perched on the end of her nose.

    “Yes? What is your business here,” she snapped.

    I felt younger that sixteen.

    “I’ve got an interview with Mr Paterson, the manager of the press department.” I whispered.

    “Wait while I buzz you through.” She commanded.

    I stood shifting my weight from one foot to the other shivering.

    “You can go up now Miss Goodwin.”

    I crept up the sweeping thick carpeted stairs and found the public relations department.

    “Come in,” called a gruff voice, when I tapped on the door.

    I felt like a small mouse as I entered the enormous office. Sitting behind a Mahogany desk sat the most handsome man I had ever met. Forget the grandeur; I wanted this job.
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