Colouring In Read Online Free

had lots else in common, too. My previous lady (Mrs. What’s-It – I can never remember the double-barrelled bit) in Holland Park, she and I came from different planets. I only stayed the five years because her husband was so ill. But Mrs Grant, she likes a polish and a shine, just like I do. She likes things done nicely. She likes the day to start with a tidy, though she never wants the place to look unlived in like a waiting room. Course, I know just what she means. I never go into her studio, except once a month to hoover: she says it’s far too much of a mess and she keeps it as she wants it herself. This may seem peculiar, but I believe it’s a good idea to fall in as much as possible with your employer’s ways: it must be difficult for them. It didn’t work, my method, with Mrs. What’s-It and I took a lot of rudeness from her. But with Mrs. Grant, from the very beginning I tried to make relations between us easy for her, and we’ve never looked back. I said ‘Mrs. Grant, if there’s anything I do not to your liking, you only have to tell me. I’ll not take offence, like some’, I said. Turned out she doesn’t like the cushions on the sofa standing on their points – like a chorus line of ballet dancers, was how she put it, which made me chuckle. She also doesn’t like objects – ashtrays and boxes and so on – placed on the diagonal. She said it disturbs her sense of symmetry. For myself, I’ve always rather fancied an ashtray put not quite straight – gives it a bit of character, I always think. That’s what I do in my living room at home. But of course at the Grants I do what Mrs. G likes. I’m so used to it now I rarely make a mistake.
    I’ve got to know them all pretty well, now. Nine years: you do. In a way I think of them as my family, what with Ernie hardly ever home and Jan up north – not that we were ever close, mother and daughter. Mrs. Grant I know best of course. Sometimes I feel I can read her like a book. She’s very quiet, and kind, and, my, she’s considerate. A little vague, perhaps – but aren’t we all? Forgets things, gets a bit panicky when she’s a long list of things to do. When she comes down for her morning cup of coffee is the time she’s most abstracted. It’s almost as if her mind’s still on her business upstairs and she doesn’t want the spell to be broken. She never talks about her work, mind. I’m just sometimes shown the finished product before it goes off and I can see what a talented lady she is. Modest with it. I don’t think she ever believes my compliments, or anyone’s. And then she does move so well, so gracefully. You should see her coming down stairs, a pleasure to watch. Rather stately somehow, even when she’s only wearing jeans and a shirt. Very straight back. She once told me that at her school they had lessons in deportment. They had to walk about with a pile of books on their heads. Don’t suppose there’s much of that around now. She only met Ernie once – he was home on leave and came to pick me up from work in his car, but they got on beautifully. He said I was very lucky to have such a good employer. I said don’t be stupid, Ernie: I know that. Jan she’s never met and I don’t suppose ever will. Jan’s not one for making an effort to come and see her mother, and I’ve only had one invitation to Yorkshire in ten years. But I think Mrs. Grant feels she knows them all, and that includes Bill, though he passed away two years before I came to the Grants. She listens to me chattering on, doesn’t say much herself, but always sympathetic. Always interested. The way I know about her is not so much from what she says, but from her body language, as they say. She’s very expressive eyes and she’s very calm. But just occasionally she frowns, and her fingers play up and down on her mug. Once – I was very late on account of the dentist – I came in and heard her playing the piano. I know she never likes to play to anyone, and she