Graham Masterton - The Doorkeepers

THE DOORKEEPERS

Graham Masterton

There was a Door to which I found no key:

There was a Veil past which I could not see.

Edward Fitzgerald

The Rubayt of Omar Khayyam

Six doors they stand in London Town

Six doors they stand in London, too

Yet whos to know which way they face?

And whos to know which face is true?

Traditional nursery rhyme

One

Julia typed Yours in anticipation, F.G. Mordant, and tugged the letter out of her typewriter. She slipped the letter into Mr Mordants red signing folder and dropped the pink and yellow copies into the box file next to her. She returned the carbon paper to her second drawer down.

It was five thirty-two p.m. and the office was bright with the last marmalade-colored light of the day. Julia put the lid on her typewriter, not knowing that this was the very last time she would do it, and that once the sun had sunk below the rooftops of the factories opposite, she would never see it come up again.

Alexandra put her head round the office door and blinked at her through owlish glasses. Havent you finished yet? Davids offered to give us a lift to Hammersmith.

David? Oh, yes please! Just give me a minute, will you? I have to take these letters into Mr Mordant.

You should complain, you know. Hes always keeping you late.

Julia gave her a dismissive pff! The idea of complaining to Mr Mordant was out of the question: especially if you wanted to keep your job. Alexandra had told her that it was highly unusual if any of his secretaries survived for more than six months. Some of them had stayed for only a week.

Julia opened her oak-paneled filing cupboard. There was a mirror on the back of the door and she gave her hair a quick brush. She pushed her tongue under her upper lip. She wasnt sure if she was getting a cold sore or not.

She was a pretty girl, a little plumpish, with a heart-shaped face that made her look much younger than twenty-three. She had short blonde-streaked hair with a fringe, and wide brown eyes. She had been living in England for ten months now. She had lost all but the faintest ghost of her California tan, and acquired a pale blue twinset, but her accent had hardly changed. Everybody at Wheatstone Electrics called her Yankee Doodle. Americans were a rarity, except in films, and her friends never tired of hearing her talk about luxuries like washing machines and supermarkets.

She walked along the echoing linoleum-floored corridor to Mr Mordants office. All through the building she could hear doors slamming and people calling out gnight and clattering downstairs. Mr Mordants door was open but she still gave a little knock. He was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone and cats-cradling elastic bands between his fingers as he did so.

Well, Im sorry, Ronald, youll just have to buck your bloody ideas up, wont you? His accent was clipped, like a BBC wireless announcer. If you cant let me have those insulators by the end of the month, well have to start looking for a new supplier. No, Ronald, I dont care tuppence how long youve been dealing with us. Today is what counts.

He noisily cradled the phone and said, Idiot. He couldnt organize a beetle-drive. Then he looked up at Julia and gave her an unexpected smile. Well, Julia, what have you got for me?

Frank Mordant was handsome in a sharp, slightly Brylcreemy way. He had a finely chiseled forehead and a straight, thin nose, and his eyes were piercing blue and hooded like a hawks. His brown hair was brushed straight back, and he sported a thin, clipped moustache. He was always immaculately dressed in gray three-piece suits and starched white shirts with double cuffs and a separate collar. Wheatstones kept their offices warm and by the end of the day he always smelled faintly of body odor.

Julia put his signing folder down in front of him. He unscrewed his fountain pen, but before he opened his folder he leaned back in his chair. How long have you been with me now, Julia?

Ten months next Wednesday. I started here May eleventh.

Doesnt time fly! But let me tell you something, Julia, no word of a lie Ive never had a secretary anything like as good as you. Not even a secretary from well, where you came from.

Thank you, she said. I wonder if you could sign your letters now, please. Some of my friends are giving me a ride home.

Frank Mordant opened the folder and wrinkled up his nose at the letters inside. These arent all that desperate, are they? Theres only this prospectus to the Air Ministry, isnt there? And if they want that in a hurry you can send it up to Whitehall by taxicab.

Well, if its OK with you, Mr Mordant

He screwed the cap back on his pen. Of course its OK with me. But listen, instead of going into town with your friends, why dont you let me take you? Im going that way myself. Id enjoy a chinwag.

Julia couldnt think of anything less appealing than driving into Hammersmith with Mr Mordant, especially since she had a severe crush on David and hadnt seen him since Tuesday lunchtime. But Mr Mordant was her boss and it was very difficult to say no.

I, ah

Fine! Thats settled then! Why dont you go and fetch your coat and Ill meet you in the lobby in five minutes.

Alexandra was waiting for her in her office. Come on, Julia! Were going to be late! Were all going to go to the Corner House for tea and cream cakes!

Sorry, said Julia. Im going to have to take a raincheck. Darth Vader wants to drive me home.

Who?

Mr Mordant. He says he feels like a chinwag.

Oh, God. You poor thing! Cant you faint? Cant you stick your finger down your throat and pretend that youre sick?

I wish.

Oh, well. Cest la vie. You can still meet us at the Corner House later.

Ill try. But if I cant, look, Ill see you tomorrow, OK?

All right, said Alexandra. But just you be careful. You know what they say about accepting lifts from strange men, and you couldnt find anybody stranger than Frank Mordant, could you?

He was waiting for her in the gloomy hexagonal lobby, with its pale-faced illuminated clock and its polished marble floor and its bronze statue of the goddess Electra. He was wearing a Homburg hat and a long black overcoat, and was buttoning up his black leather motoring gloves when she entered the room.

Goodnight, Sheila, called Julia to the receptionist, a curly redhead with a high, silly laugh. The lobby rattled with the footsteps of Wheatstone employees going home.

Frank Mordant gave Julia a slanted smile. You look splendid, he complimented her, looking approvingly at the dark brown hooded coat she had bought in Bloomingdales on her stopover from Los Angeles. I suppose it would be more circumspect of me not to ask where you got it.

They pushed their way through the bronze and glass art deco doors. The sun had set and although the sky was still light there was a nip in the late-February air. Their breath smoked as they walked across the forecourt to Frank Mordants long navy-blue Armstrong-Siddeley. He opened the passenger door for her, and she climbed into a black leather interior. It smelled of cold cigars and motor oil. Frank Mordant settled himself beside her, turned the keys, and pushed the starter button.

So, Julia, how do you see your future? he asked, as he nosed the car out into the rush-hour traffic along the Great West Road. Youre not going to stay a secretary for ever, are you?

Actually I was hoping to get into television production.

Television production? he said, with obvious surprise.

Whats wrong with that?