Their Finest Hour and a Half Read Free

what?’
    â€˜About Haz-Tam? The wonder grate-cleaner?’
    â€˜Never heard of it.’
    â€˜Or Kleeze? Stain-remover?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Or Effika? Brimmo? Kalma-tina?’
    â€˜You’re inventing them.’
    â€˜No, really.’ She slid the pages out of the typewriter and clipped them together with one of the six paper-clips still left in the office. ‘According to Mr Caradoc they were in every housemaid’s cupboard until the Great War and then the Kleeze factories stopped producing Kleeze and began churning out left-handed swivel-loaders or whatever-it-was and it didn’t occur to anyone that, by the time it was all over, people would have forgotten they’d ever used Kleeze.’
    â€˜You mean they’d forgotten the ease that came with Kleeze?’ said Donald, happily, sitting down again and swinging his feet on to the desk.
    â€˜So what Mr Caradoc says we have to remember is, that it’s our duty to our clients to keep the memory of their products alive, whether or not they’re available in the shops. Which, in the case of So-Bee-Fee, they’re not. At least for a month or two.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜They’ve diverted the main ingredient into gravy for the forces.’
    â€˜And by “main ingredient” they mean . . . ?’
    â€˜Burnt sugar, Mr Caradoc says.’
    â€˜Not beef?’
    â€˜No.’ She paused. ‘There’s no beef in So-Bee-Fee.’ The thought still had the power to embarrass her, though it made Donald laugh. ‘I’d better dash,’ she said, getting up.
    â€˜Good luck, then. I suppose.’
    â€˜That’s a bit half-hearted.’
    â€˜I don’t want you to leave, do I? It’s nice having a girl around.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    â€˜Especially one like you.’ He turned puce and made a great business of fishing in his pocket for a cigarette, and Catrin climbed the stairs to what Colin Finch liked to call his studio, and knocked at the half-open door.
    â€˜Come!’
    He was standing in bulky silhouette against the window, gazing out at the plane trees of Fitzroy Square. ‘Want your opinion, young lady,’ he said, without turning, his voice stuck in a key of perpetual melancholy. ‘The Female Viewpoint. Take a look at the sketch.’ Catrin went over to the drawing-board and inspected the pneumatic blonde ATS girl straining her buttons at the wheel of a truck.
    â€˜Do you think she’s attractive?’ asked Colin.
    She hesitated; although Colin always asked for opinions he never really wanted them unless they chimed absolutely with his own.
    â€˜Yes . . .’ she said.
    â€˜Yes, what? Spit it out.’
    â€˜Yes . . . in a bit of an obvious sort of way.’
    â€˜Whorish, you mean?’
    â€˜No. Not as bad as that.’
    â€˜Tarty?’
    â€˜Well, maybe just a little. Who’s it for?’
    â€˜McLean’s. “Molly Brown’s McLeaned her Teeth Today.” Is she a McLean’s sort of girl, I wonder?’
    It took her a second or two to phrase a tactful reply. ‘To be honest, Colin, I’m not sure that anyone’s going to be looking at her teeth .’
    He sighed. ‘What bitches women are. You’ve brought your copy?’
    She handed it over. ‘I’ll have to leave now, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜And why’s that?’
    â€˜My interview. I’m sure I’ll be back by early afternoon, though.’
    He turned to look at her. ‘What interview?’
    â€˜With the Ministry of Information. I showed you the letter last week.’
    â€˜Oh God,’ he said, savagely, ‘so you did, I forgot. Yet another conscript for the slogans department.’
    â€˜Do you think that’s what I’ll be doing?’
    â€˜More than likely. “Keep Mum and Eat More Prunes.” Though you’ll probably spend most of your time