According to YES Read Online Free Page B

should he shuffle off? He is still useful as a consultant and advisor. He’s employed enough thrusting young bucks to convince folk of the firm’s strong contemporary heartbeat. A bit of experienced old-school advice from the sidelines doesn’t hurt. He ain’t ready to go yet. He’s productive. Besides which he enjoys the structure, the schedule, the office, the point. He wants it. He needs it.
    Glenn pipes up, ‘She’s so fat.’
    Glenn is folding Thomas’s pyjamas and her nightdress, and placing them both under the pillows. She folds the sheet and blanket back so that the bed can air. Iva will make it later. Thomas notices that she retrieves the nightclothes from under the pillows and refolds them. She is clearly distracted and tense.
    ‘Who is?’ he asks, genuinely unsure.
    ‘The British girl, the nanny. She asked me what she should call me … I mean, seriously. What? “Glennie?” Seriously … …’
    Thomas knows it’s best to head her off at the pass, ‘It’s Sharpe’s memorial on Wednesday. I’ve been asked to say something.’
    Glenn isn’t listening. ‘She’s from somewhere in the UK that sounds like a toilet …’
    ‘I have to choose a reading, and say something personal.’
    ‘She’s far from ideal. I’ve got my eye on her,’ says Glenn as she starts to vigorously brush her hair, ‘Tillman phoned again for you. Is Kemble underperforming?’
    Thomas puffs, ‘He’s getting divorced for God’s sake.’
    ‘Is Tillman carrying him? I don’t want us to have to feel obliged to Tillman in any way.’
    Thomas shakes his head and walks away. Everything around Kemble is tricky at the moment, and Thomas is all for letting it blow over, rather than tackle it head on.
    Glenn stares after him, so disappointed at his weakness. ‘I guess that’s subject over,’ she mutters under her breath.
    Thomas bobs back into her reflection, ‘I think we should give her a chance … the Limey,’ and off he heads to breakfast, interested to meet the incomer.
    Was that Thomas asserting himself?

Fed
    Rosie is first in the imposing dining room, where a large mahogany table is laid up for breakfast. It is set for six people, and she has absolutely no idea where she ought to sit. Luckily, Iva bustles into the room carrying a bowl of scrambled eggs, which she places on the side, on top of a plate warmer alongside other bowls of streaky bacon and waffles and chopped fruit and yoghurt.
    Rosie feels awkward standing by and watching her, ‘Morning Iva, can I help …?’
    As she exits, Iva flings over her shoulder, ‘No, that is my job. You sit.’
    ‘Right.’
    But where? There’re bound to be assigned places, surely? She certainly won’t sit at the head of the table, perhaps the last chair, the one nearest her is the safest choice? Just as she is wrestling with this dilemma, the door bursts open and clattering in come the twins, in their school uniforms, boisterously
arguing about who should be first through the door. Rosie is standing on the other side of the table from them. They stop in their tracks the moment they see her. She looks at them, they look at her, and then, in one shocking sudden motion, Rosie falls to the floor like a tree felled in the middle of the forest. From their side of the table, she simply drops out of view. They are small enough to be able to crouch down and see under the table. There she is, a crumpled heap. Today Rosie has chosen a red polka-dot dress with a black cardigan and black tights with her bright red brogues, and a big red ribbon wrapped around her head. It would seem that a giant Minnie Mouse has collapsed in the corner.
    The boys look at each other, very concerned. Red gasps and whispers, ‘Is she OK?’
    ‘Dunno … Get Granpop?’ his brother suggests, sensibly.
    ‘Just … yeh … Maybe …?’
    ‘Wait, look, breathing …’ Three is watching intently.
    The boys tentatively walk round the end of the table and approach the pile that unbeknownst to them is to be