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was an immensely tall and very thin grey-haired American of kindly aspect and slow deliberate speech.
    Victoria told him her name and mentioned the Agency.
    ‘Why now, Miss Jones, you’d better come right up and see Mrs Clipp. She is still in our suite. I fancy she’s interviewing some other young lady, but she may have gone by now.’
    Cold panic clutched at Victoria’s heart.
    Was it to be so near and yet so far?
    They went up in the lift to the third floor.
    As they walked along the deep carpeted corridor, a young woman came out of a door at the far end and came towards them. Victoria had a kind of hallucination that it was herself who was approaching. Possibly, she thought, because of the young woman’s tailor-made suit that was so exactly what she would have liked to be wearing herself. ‘And it would fit me too. I’m just her size. How I’d like to tear it off her,’ thought Victoria with a reversion to primitive female savagery.
    The young woman passed them. A small velvet hat perched on the side of her fair hair partially hid her face, but Mr Hamilton Clipp turned to look after her with an air of surprise.
    ‘Well now,’ he said to himself. ‘Who’d have thought of that? Anna Scheele.’
    He added in an explanatory way:
    ‘Excuse me, Miss Jones. I was surprised to recognize a young lady whom I saw in New York only a week ago, secretary to one of our big international banks –’
    He stopped as he spoke at a door in the corridor. The key was hanging in the lock and, with a brief tap, Mr Hamilton Clipp opened the door and stood aside for Victoria to precede him into the room.
    Mrs Hamilton Clipp was sitting on a high-backed chair near the window and jumped up as they came in. She was a short bird-like sharp-eyed little woman. Her right arm was encased in plaster.
    Her husband introduced Victoria.
    ‘Why, it’s all been most unfortunate,’ exclaimed Mrs Clipp breathlessly. ‘Here we were, with a full itinerary, and enjoying London and all our plans made and my passage booked. I’m going out to pay a visit to my married daughter in Iraq, Miss Jones. I’ve not seen her for nearly two years. And then what do I do but take a crash – as a matter of fact, it was actually in Westminster Abbey – down some stone steps – and there I was. They rushed me to hospital and they’ve set it, and all things considered it’s not too uncomfortable – but there it is, I’m kind of helpless, and however I’d manage travelling, I don’t know. And George here, is just tied up with business, and simply can’t get away for at least another three weeks. He suggested that I should take a nurse along with me – but after all, once I’m out there I don’t need a nurse hanging around, Sadie can do all that’s necessary – and it means paying her fare back as well, and so I thought I’d ring up the agencies and see if I couldn’t find someone who’d be willing to come along just for the fare out.’
    ‘I’m not exactly a nurse,’ said Victoria, managing to imply that that was practically what she was. ‘But I’ve had a good deal of experience of nursing.’ She produced the first testimonial. ‘I was with Lady Cynthia Bradbury for over a year. And if you should want any correspondence or secretarial work done, I acted as my uncle’s secretary for some months. My uncle,’ said Victoria modestly, ‘is the Bishop of Llangow.’
    ‘So your uncle’s a Bishop. Dear me, how interesting.’
    Both the Hamilton Clipps were, Victoria thought, decidedly impressed. (And so they should be after the trouble she had taken!)
    Mrs Hamilton Clipp handed the two testimonials to her husband.
    ‘It really seems quite wonderful,’ she said reverently. ‘Quite providential. It’s an answer to prayer.’
    Which, indeed, was exactly what it was, thought Victoria.
    ‘You’re taking up a position of some kind out there? Or joining a relative?’ asked Mrs Hamilton Clipp.
    In the flurry of manufacturing testimonials,