Radio Girls Read Online Free Page B

with a parcel, asking someone on the phone to please hold the line, and scribbling at a pad with a pencil.
    Maisie closed the door on the painted trees and the gleam and the polish. She swiped impatiently at her eyes, rounded her shoulders against the chill, and trudged up the appropriately dark street.
    â€œMiss! Miss!”
    Rusty was sprinting toward her, a fiery little Olympic torch.
    â€œLucky you’re here, miss. Didn’t think I’d find you, but I took the chance. Miss Shields, miss, she asked if I did find you, would you return a moment, please?”
    He ran back to the BBC, gone so fast Maisie was sure she was hallucinating.
    But Rusty was decidedly solid, standing in the light spilling from the open door, beckoning to her with the impatient exasperation of boys universal, and was only mollified when Maisie finally walkedback toward him. Her heart was behaving in a most peculiar fashion, as though it were holding its breath, wondering if it should crumple completely or take a leap of hope.
    Miss Shields was descending the steps into reception. Her expression was resigned, with a soupçon of fury, and her words sounded rehearsed.
    â€œAh, Miss Musgrave, that is convenient. It has been decided to offer you the position. You may begin on Monday. Be here promptly at nine.”
    Maisie knew she should close her mouth or say something, but she was thoroughly incapable of doing either.
    â€œAre you interested in the position?” Miss Shields snapped.
    â€œI . . . yes, that is, yes, abso . . . Thank you!”
    â€œI will allow for your surprised enthusiasm, but do know that Mr. Reith expects clear-spoken decorum in his presence at all times. As to—” She pursed her lips and appeared to change her mind. “The position pays three pounds, five shillings a week, and we are not accustomed to negotiating. Is that understood?”
    It would never have occurred to Maisie to negotiate. This woman had just offered her life. She only hoped she wasn’t, after all, hallucinating.
    â€œThank you. Thank you so much. I can start tomorrow, if you like?”
    â€œMonday, Miss Musgrave. You’ll report directly to me and we can begin. I expect you to be fully prepared.”
    â€œYes, Miss Shields.” Maisie nodded fervently. She had a bad feeling “fully prepared” meant better clothes. It was tempting to hop a tram to Oxford Street right that minute. But she wasn’t the sort of person to whom the shops gave credit. Shoes and clothes would have to wait. She would just be prepared to do a good job.
    A squeal escaped her as she bounced back to the street, which seemed much brighter. What had turned the cards in her favor? Miss Shields hadn’t seemed to like her much. Maybe she was one of thosepeople who were hard to read. Lots of people were like that. Maisie hoped to be one of them someday.
    Her Charleston-dancing heart reminded her that she would get to see Mr. Underwood again, too. Those eyes, that smile . . .
I’ll go to the library first thing tomorrow and catch up on all the papers. New York ones, too, if they have any. I most definitely want to have something new to say about New York.

TWO

    M onday morning Maisie tumbled out of frantic dreams and into the uneasy darkness of the predawn hours. Trepidation marched down her arms and shoulder blades, pinning her to the iron bedstead. The short gasps of breath allotted her lungs pounded in her ears and felt loud enough to endanger the sleep of the other boarders. Except Lola, who wouldn’t wake up if a biplane crashed into the house.
    Maisie crawled out of bed, wishing she had slippers and a dressing gown. Instead, she wrapped the thin, fraying blankets around her like a Roman senator and tiptoed across the equally thin rag rug to the window. Everything in Mrs. Crewe’s house was worn and thin, though impeccably clean. Including Maisie.
    The view was moderately improved by