June, 1986
This is the story of Lady Jane and two accidents. I shall let you be the judges in this matter, but would ask only that you keep an open mind, for this story is far from commonplace, as you will see.
There are many places in which this tale might commence and even now, in my dotage and with the benefit of hindsight that stretches back a full three-score years, I am not certain that I know them all. And so, I shall start at a point that might seem arbitrary in the grand scheme of things, but which, for me, was a place and time that altered the course of my personal history. It was, of course, the day that my eyes first beheld sweet Lady Jane.
She arrived at my offices on a fine May morn, unannounced and equally unexpected, and were it not for the letter of introduction from none other than the redoubtable Miss Fotheringale herself, I should have turned my visitor back into the street. My thirtieth birthday was still fresh in my mind, and my business -- the agency that still bears my name -- was in its infancy. I was neither seeking to employ new staff and nor did I have a need for more hands on my particular deck -- the success which is now, of course, legendary was still many a year in the future.
Nevertheless, Miss Fotheringale was not the type of lady that one could ignore, and if she saw fit to send along a young woman then I was certainly not going to turn her away before I had at least perused her credentials. I summoned a little chivalry and ushered the young woman into my office, where I settled her in the client's chair while I went about the business of breaking the seal on the introductory missive and scanning the contents.
One of the few benefits that arrive with great age is the ability to be honest without attracting displeasure or criticism, and so I will admit to you now that I scanned not only Miss Fortheringale's elegant copperplate, but also the face and form of my visitor. And I will admit, also, that I found the letter of far more interest than the young woman herself.
Although we had entered the third decade of the twentieth century, she was attired in fashions more suited to the early Victorian era, and, dare I say it, the drabness of her appearance was exacerbated by the severity with which her dark-brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, and by a pair of black-rimmed spectacles that appeared to threaten the integrity of her nasal bones. My junior partner, Thomas Greenhorn, was once given to remark of Lady Jane that "were she not to move, you would never know she was there" -- and whilst there is an element of hyperbole in his observation, it is not without a grain of truth.
I should interject at this point in my narrative in order to reassure you that the story of Lady Jane and the undetermined number of accidents will not descend into cliché. You will not read of me taking a shocked, deep breath and uttering "But my dear, without those spectacles you are beautiful!" Indeed not. This is not that kind of story in the slightest.
For one thing, it was clear to me from that very first morning that Lady Jane, underneath the stiff cottons, high collars, and monochromatic raiment, was a fine looking woman. She was slight of build, taller than most ladies, and moved with a grace that the best of her efforts could not conceal. The features of her face were fine and evenly proportioned, her cheekbones high, eyes large and the palest shade of blue, her lips full and yet capable of thinning at the slightest provocation. And yet...
And yet, there was nothing about her that you actually noticed. Nothing which caused the slightest of pauses for thought, nothing that made you think for a fraction of a second that here was an attractive woman. Lady Jane could blend into her surroundings so effectively that you would be hard pressed to say for sure that a human being was present, let alone a potentially beautiful female.
Miss Fotheringale was, however, entirely unconcerned with Lady Jane's appearance as was made plain by her letter. She requested 'most humbly' that I might consider offering the young woman a junior upon my staff. Given that the redoubtable Miss F was not given to humour of the more ribald type, I took this to mean that she wanted me to employ this young woman. As I have already mentioned, I was not at that time precisely flooded with work, but now that Miss F has mentioned this possibility (she would never have lowered herself to write anything as demeaning as an outright request), I took to consideration of the matter.
I had heard word at my Club that a growing number of the more youthful and thrusting professional types were taking to the new-fangled American concept of keeping a personal aide at their side, and the idea held appeal. Unfortunately, many of these young, thrusting types were considerably better financed than myself, and I had rather imagined that a personal aide would be beyond my pocket.
I read the letter once more, this time paying considerably more attention to the detail. The young woman's real name was Jana Safina, and she hailed originally from Moscow. She was the daughter of an exiled family and had been technically orphaned at the age of 15, some eight years previously, when the French farmhouse they had been staying in was shelled during the last year of the Great War. Although Russian, she was extremely well-versed in the English language, took shorthand, and typed at an impressive one hundred words per minute. All of these facts were vouchsafed by Miss F, who further attested to Miss Safina's honest, hard-working character.
Perhaps most significantly, Miss Fotheringale advised that 'were you to consider the young Russian for your employ, then you would be well-advised to offer terms more suited to a junior than to an accomplished employee, since Miss Safina's expectations are very low in this regard'. This was by the way of being Miss F's very own brand of shorthand -- in this instance meaning that the girl would work for the proverbial peanuts.
It took me but a minute to link my desire to embrace the modern trends in company affairs with the prospect of a low-cost solution, and I set down Miss F's missive and turned to face Jana Safina.
"Miss Fotheringale speaks very highly of you, my dear, and I confess that I have recently entertained the idea of... how shall I put it? ...adopting a more modern approach to the affairs of my company."
I paused to see how the young woman would react and was rewarded with little more than a politely raised eyebrow -- barely visible behind the thick, dark frame of her spectacles. I was however, offered a clear view of her blue-grey eyes as they widened a little, and I was struck by their clarity.
I continued, "The agency has become increasingly busy of late and I have new clients arriving daily. If the rumours of talking films prove to be more than mere penny paper puff, then this trend will no doubt only accelerate. I am therefore faced with the prospect of a vastly increased workload and in particular the need for someone to assist me with my appointment book, and help with letters to clients and the production companies. In short someone to manage my time for me. Of course, much of this is supposition based on rumour and so on, so I wouldn't be in a position to offer more than a basic salary at first-"
"I would be very happy to become your assistant, Mr Barclay."
I am still not sure to this day whether I was more surprised by Lady Jane interrupting me, agreeing to take the position, or the beautiful, musical lilt to her voice. Whatever the reason, I was unaccountably flustered, and were I but to know it, this would certainly not be the first time that I was wrong-footed by her.
I found my voice after a moment or two, "Well... if you're quite certain?"
"I am, Mr Barclay. Miss Fotheringale was very... informative and I felt sure that I would want to work for you before I even stepped foot in the door."
"Very well, Miss Safina. And may I say that your English is every bit as proficient as Miss Fotheringale described. I feel sure that you be an asset to the agency." I told Lady Jane to report for her first day of work on the following Monday and then escorted her from the building. She had been in my office no more than a quarter of an hour, and that was all the time it had taken for my life to change forever.
In the intervening days before Lady Jane started in my employ, I often found my attention wandering to her. There was no one thing about her that captivated my attention so, but rather it was a constellation of impressions and shuttered memories from that first meeting. As I've already said, Jana Safina was not an obvious beauty -- but that is not the same thing as not being beautiful. I do not think it is pride that has me saying now -- as I've said so many times over the years -- that I was one of the few that could see through her disguise, could discern the real woman beneath that mask of dowdiness. I think, maybe, that by the time her first Monday at the agency rolled around, I was already more than a little in love with the mysterious Russian.
Her performance in her new role did nothing to negate the positive thoughts that I was harbouring for Jana, and she settled in to her tasks with seemingly consummate ease. Not only was her English proficient beyond the reach of many a native-speaker, but her organisational skills were nothing short of incredible. Before two months were out, she had organised my time so marvellously that I scarce realised that business had begun to boom in a way hitherto for unknown.
To cap it all, Jana proved to be a most popular addition to the staff -- at least, among the womenfolk. Of my ten staff, the seven were ladies and they welcomed Jana with open arms; seemingly genuinely fond of her in no time at all. The three men, however, appeared to find her unremarkable and even aloof. It was they who began referring to her as Lady Jane, and only much later did I discover that this was a reference to Lady Jane Grey -- a place on words that embodied Jana's haughtiness and choice of attire.
For my own part, I soon began to enjoy her company in my cluttered office, and her lilting voice with its trace of soft accent became the music which accompanied my days. She was reticent around me in those early months, and only ventured to speak when she was called upon to do so through necessity. Any attempt on my part to birth a conversation relating to matters outside of work was swiftly, but politely, brought to a premature end.
