A time to be born by Powell Dawn

Author:Powell, Dawn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Publishers and publishing
Publisher: South Royalton, Vt. : Steerforth Press
Published: 1999-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

"Mrs. Corpen thinks she has the nicest refugees of all the women in her organization," Miss Bemel reported, reading off the stack of mail with her new harlequin glasses, green-rimmed, giv-

A TIME TO BE BORN 163

ing her thick, dark face a somewhat hippo effect. "The children are dears, so she says, but now that their mother has arrived she is having trouble. The mother is a very charming young woman only she's been having affairs with all the husbands in the neighborhood. Mrs. Corpen says here she is rather suspicious of her own husband and she knows about the gardener and the chauffeur for certain. So she wants the committee to do something."

"What does she think I am—Dorothy Dix?" Amanda cried, exasperated. "The woman's just a jealous old thing, that's all. I can't be bothered."

Miss Bemel continued to look at Mrs. Corpen's plaintive letter with a speculative expression, no doubt thinking that the young refugee mother must be having a far better and gayer time than Miss Bemel was having, and being protected at it, too. A furtive seed of rebellion was sown in Miss Bemel's soul that very moment, and she was not content to drop the matter.

"After all, Mrs. Corpen is in a spot, Mrs. Evans," she said doggedly. "She can't send the woman away, can she, without people saying she's a Fascist or something. She's got to go on and let her take her husband or everyone will say she's unfair to England."

"I'm sick of women being so trivial," Amanda said sharply.

Miss Bemel laid the letter reluctantly aside, half deciding to solve Mrs. Corpen's problem on her own hook. She wouldn't quite dare but it was a temptation, for these ruthless refugee women were a constant burn-up to the loveless Miss Bemel.

"Here's another request from that woman's magazine asking for an article on how you personally handle your little war charges," pursued Miss Bemel. "That makes the tenth such request."

Amanda's pretty brows met in a frown.

"I don't understand why everyone is jumping on me right now," she said plaintively. "What's a person expected to do—outside of working on one novel and a dozen speeches and articles? Next they'll be at me for not doing my own cooking! You can

164 DAWN POWELL

send a memo to Mr. Evans that he can do anything he likes about this matter, I'm far too busy."

Miss Bemel bowed over her typewriter, happily. It was always a pleasure to send the ball back to Mr. Castor. While she typed, Amanda drummed on the desk, frowning. In half an hour the young man who was assisting her in writing her new book would arrive for two hours' conference. After that came a vital interview with an international banker. A roundtable discussion with six foreign correspondents was booked for a six o'clock broadcast. It was a very full day for even Amanda, a day that required her to be on her toes even more than usual. It was unfair in every way that her mind should be unable to throw off the matter of Ken Saunders.

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