Chapter 01: The New Secretary
Today is my first day as temporary secretary to Christopher Jones, the Managing Director of Silk Designs 4 U.
I signed up with the temp agency last week after Graham broke his hand in a car crash. I can’t be a magician’s assistant to a magician with a broken hand. When he can’t work, I can’t. Someday I hope that won’t be true. I want to be a magician myself but working with Graham is like a continuous master class. He is good and is constantly trying to vary and improve his act. Sometimes there are failures but they are few and he can usually cover them up with his patter or misdirection.
Enough daydreaming. I am here to work as the Managing Director’s secretary, not as an apprentice magician. I glance at my shorthand notebook and keep typing. It is boring stuff. There are confirmations of orders, reminders about invoices unpaid, letters enclosing sales material, most of which are covered by minor amendments to standard letters already filed in Word. Time goes surprisingly quickly and I will have a good pile to take in for his signature by eleven o’clock when I have to make the coffee just as he likes it.
After coffee the forewoman Serena will come for the daily briefing. She tells him what is happening on the factory floor. He tells her what orders are coming and asks about progress on rush jobs. I sit in and take notes to type up as a daily record. From the files I can tell the sort of discussion that will happen.
Jane, whose place I am filling, is on maternity leave. She has showed me everything. I knew not just the daily and weekly activities and the forms and records, but the unofficial records that Mr. Jones doesn’t know about. Every day as part of the briefing with Serena, he indicates which of the shop floor staff is to be called for an appraisal by him at three o’clock. Appraisal is what he calls it. Fucking is what he really does. He treats the staff as his personal harem.
Why do they let him? All the shop floor workers are Indian women. None can speak English. If they could speak English they might be able to find better work but their husbands are little better off than they are. Mr. Jones pays well and for most of them the pay is the only income for their family. For the rest, the pay is a significant part of the family’s income. They can’t afford to lose their jobs. Since there are over thirty shop floor workers their turn comes only once a month and they get a bonus payment for extra services. Jane knew this. So do I.
I finish typing the pile of standard letters that Mr. Jones has dictated. Most of them are reminders about deliveries, unpaid invoices that sort of thing. It hasn’t occupied my mind or much of my time. A few keystrokes and another one is done. Time for his coffee. I take it and the letters in. Jane told me that then and at three o’clock will be the quietest times of the day.
I pull out some of my props and start practising. I will try some card tricks so when Serena arrives I am just doing a complicated hand shift of two packs of cards. It is spectacular but not difficult but it seems to surprise Serena.
“Mary! How do you do that? Are you a witch?”
“No, Serena, just an apprentice conjuror. Let me show you.”
I get her to select a card, tell her which one she has chosen, pull an egg from behind an ear and then a stream of coloured scarves from her mouth. Serena is astonished. I can’t understand why. They are simple ticks that any junior conjuror can do but she doesn’t seem to have seen them before. I gather up my props. There is no time for explanations before we go in to see Mr. Jones.
“Good morning, Serena. I see you have met Mary. She will be here while Jane is on maternity leave.”
“Mr. Jones!” Serena blurted out. “Do you know she is a witch?”
“A witch?” He didn’t seem surprised. “That might be interesting. What can you do?”
“I don’t think I’m a witch but…” I pulled the egg from his mouth. The scarves came out from behind his ear and draped over his shoulder.
He sat there gawping. As audience reaction it was better than my performances usually got.
He pulled himself together and his hand stroked the scarves.
“Er… I am surprised but this isn’t good material. Our silks are much better. Could you do this with silk?”
“If I had some time to prepare, then yes I could.” I replied.
“A witch on the staff would be very useful to me,” he said.
I couldn’t see why so I kept quiet.
“Now, back to business.”
He and Serena discussed the usual issues that arose every day. He ended by announcing that Asmita was due for her appraisal today at three o’clock. Would Serena tell her, please? Serena glanced meaningfully at me. I nodded almost imperceptibly. I knew what was intended for Asmita and I was letting Serena know that I understood.
We left Mr. Jones’ office. In my room Serena blew out her cheeks.
“Asmita won’t like this but she will come, even if she is unwilling.”
“Why do you let him? I don’t mean you personally Serena, I mean all of the women. Why?”
“We, sorry, they have little choice. Most accept it as a minor price to pay for their jobs. He does pay well and apart from his little foible he is good to the workers.”
“Little foible!” I exploded. “It is rape. Just because they have little choice doesn’t make it any better. We should do something about it. I’m surprised you and Jane hadn’t done something before now.”
“We wanted to, Mary, but we spoke to the workers first. They actually like Mr. Jones. If he wants sex, they’ll give him sex. They are afraid to upset him but he is a considerate partner. The money the women get helps them to buy a few luxuries for themselves because their husbands don’t know.”
“I’m not surprised the husbands don’t know,” I interrupted, “if some of them did know I think Mr. Jones would be dead.”
“Perhaps. Then what? His money runs this business. HE runs this business. Without him there would be no business, no jobs and no money. His wife would sell up. Any new owner would reduce the wages to the norm around here that would mean a third less pay. That difference makes employment here very attractive. Mr. Jones’ appraisals are the only dark spot and all the women know about them before they start. Jane and I make sure they do.”
“So they know they will have to have sex with the boss before they join?”
“Yes. We rebel in other ways. He doesn’t want the women to learn English. Whenever he’s around I speak to them in their own language and dialect. The rest of the time we all speak English. Gradually they learn English and we also have classes after work that Mr. Jones doesn’t know about. We have been doing it for years. Jane will still help with them. The women have the ability to speak English to shopkeepers. Many of them can now negotiate with the Council and Council Officials’ English is difficult.”
“So I could speak to any of them and they would understand me?”
“Yes. Which reminds me. One of the things you must do is warn us when Mr. Jones might visit the factory floor.”
“I know. Jane told me. The button is under the desk and I press it with my knee or if I’m standing up I press the end of the bookcase. How did you arrange that?”
“One of my relatives is an electrician. He worked on the rewiring of the factory a few years ago. Jane and I asked him for some modifications. For example Mr. Jones can cut off the intercom from his office but you can listen to whatever happens without him knowing. Do you know how?”
“Yes. Jane explained a lot to me.”
“Good. Jane always listens when he has his appraisals just in case there is any trouble. There hasn’t been… Well, it depends what you mean by trouble. One of the women who have now left decided to be masterful. She left him tied to his desk after her appraisal. Jane “accidentally” went in to bring him some papers and released him before he was too embarrassed.”
“Didn’t Jane embarrass him just by finding him tied up?”
“Not really. He knew that Jane knew about his appraisals. He was more annoyed with himself. He had enjoyed the experience. Most of his appraisals had been and still are colourless events. A simple fuck that lasts a few minutes and that is it.”
“I see. What about me? Am I expected to participate?”
“Jane didn’t. She knew too much about him and was in contact with his wife. You – you are a witch. He will be afraid to upset you.”
“What is this about me being a witch? I’m not.”
“I think you are. So does he. If you show the workers some of the things you did with the egg and scarves they’ll think so too. Don’t knock it. It can be useful to have people afraid of you as long as you don’t make them too afraid.”
“So I might be immune from Mr. Jones’ attentions if I’m a witch?”
“Yes. He is as superstitious as the rest of us. A witch is a wise woman who should be propitiated. You will be safe as a witch.”
I can take a hint. If I would be safe as a witch, a witch I will be.
“You are joining the rest of us for lunch, aren’t you? Mr. Jones goes to his club from one to two. We break from one to one thirty and then have the English lessons he doesn’t know about. If you showed some of your magic you will have the workers attention and respect. Will you?”
“Yes. Jane suggested that I might find the women difficult because I can’t speak their language. Why should they be difficult? Do they resent me?”
Serena was diplomatic.
“You get paid more than they do. You have skills they don’t have. They have skills you don’t share. They could be awkward and uncooperative if they wanted to be.”
“OK. They shall have a magic demonstration. I can’t do much. I didn’t bring everything I need but I have probably got enough.”
I had. My demonstration of magic had them enthralled. I finished with a show of juggling. I persuaded Serena to try. After a few minutes she was juggling with three soft balls and catching and returning a ball from me as well. There was no applause, just an awed silence. That was frightening. As I left many of the women bowed to me as if I was royalty.
When Serena and I were alone I asked:
“Why no applause? Didn’t they like it?”
“They have never seen anything like it except for a few pathetic village jugglers who are always men. You did something that only men do, but much better. Then you showed that I could learn from you. That makes you a teacher of rare skills. If we were Japanese we would consider you to be a Zen master. Your reputation and status is enormous.”
“But…”
“But you only did the simple things? I know. They know. If that was the simple things, what else can you do? If you are not careful they may consider you to be a goddess – or a demon.”
“A demon?”
“Not all demons are evil. Some are just playful. All are dangerous and to be avoided if possible. If not they have to be sacrificed to. Much more of your magic and you will frighten them silly. They may be learning English and living in England but they are still simple village girls at heart. You are beyond their understanding. Mr. Jones is not. He behaves just like a big landlord would.”
“But he thinks I’m a witch.”
“Yes. He isn’t much different. He sees things on television but he doesn’t understand them. Experiencing you do things face to face is different. He can turn his television off and he can refuse to believe it. He can’t refuse to believe something that happened to him personally.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to be a witch,” I said reluctantly.
“I think you are. The women think you are, if you are not a goddess or a demon. Mr. Jones thinks you are. You will be a witch to us, even if you don’t believe it yourself. Please, just be a benevolent witch.”
“I will,” I said, thinking of the real reason why I was working for Mr. Jones. The reason that only one other person knew, not Serena, not Mr. Jones. Even my occasionally available boyfriend didn’t know. Would being a witch help? I think it will, so I witch I would be.
Tonight I would do some research. I know a real witch, the kind that does spells and incantations. She is a friend. She might disapprove of me pretending to be what I’m not, but if I tell her why I’m sure she’ll help me maintain the role. Who knows? Perhaps I actually might have some magical powers? If belief is important then I already have believers.
The rest of the day passed as expected. Asmita came for her appraisal. She looked irritated as she went in to Mr. Jones’ office and relieved when she left. I offered her a drink but she refused.
“Please, no. I want to wash myself clean before anything else.”
“I understand. There is a washroom here. There is no need to go to the shop floor.”
Asmita actually smiled.
“Thank you. That I will accept.”
When she emerged again she was happier.
