A big window let in sunlight which reflected from the polished desk. Behind the desk was a swivel chair and before it two armchairs. Two more stood on either side of the fireplace. Chrissie sat behind her desk and gestured to Sarah to take a chair before it. Sarah complied but only perched on the edge of it. Chrissie asked, ‘So what did you want to see me about?’ ‘My mother thought you might give me a job. She worked for you years ago: Isabel Tennant?’ That ended as a question. Did Mrs Ballantyne remember? Chrissie did. Isabel Tennant had been a good worker, and she had been a grown woman and familiar with the workings of a hotel. But Chrissie had no vacancy for her now, while this girl . . . She asked, ‘What can you do?’ Sarah answered quickly, ‘Anything.’ Chrissie suppressed a sigh again and changed the question. ‘Have you worked in a place like this before?’ When Sarah shook her head she went on, ‘Have you worked anywhere before?’ ‘No, Mrs Ballantyne.’ Chrissie looked down at the desk, not wanting to meet that pleading gaze.
