Part 18 (2/2)

'Oh yes, of course.' Polly tried to make it sound convincing. 'It's Dermot, isn't it?'

'It's Cohn,' said Cohn.

'Oh yes. Cohn. That's it.'

'I'll get your green form then.'

'Thank you, Cohn.'

'Oh, it's not Cohn any more,' said Cohn, drawing Polly's attention to the smart name badge he wore. 'It's Mister Coffins now.'

It was a very big filing cabinet. And G can take a bit of finding. Especially if you're dreaming about trains.

'I'll have to hurry you now,' said Mr Coffins, when he finally returned. 'It's half-day closing.'

'Is that my green form?'

'Yes. It all seems to be in order. What did you say your query was?'

'I don't have a query. I want a job.'

'But you have a job. And a good one too. With a pension.

'I just got made redundant.' 'Redundant is a red form,' said Mr Coffins. 'I just want another job.

What do you have?' Mr Coffins studied Polly's green form. 'Polyhymnia Gotting. Polyhymnia?'

'The muse of singing and sacred dance. It's Greek.'

'It is to me.' Colin had a go at a smile. But he just couldn't pull it off. 'You pa.s.sed all your exams,'

he said. 'All of them.'

'That's what they were there for. To be pa.s.sed.'

'I didn't pa.s.s any of mine.

'Perhaps you weren't clever enough. No offence meant.'

'None taken. But it can't be anything to do with being clever.'

'It can't?'

'No. Because I'm clever enough to be in full-time employment, and you're not.'

Polly was clever enough to keep her temper. 'Do you have any jobs on offer?'

'Not for you.

'Why not for me?'

'Because you are over-qualified.

'What does that do?' Polly pointed to a gleaming new computer terminal that stood on Mr Collins's desktop.

'That', said Cohn proudly, 'is an on-line computer. It gives an hour-to-hour update of all new job opportunities. You punch in the qualifications of the applicant and the computer matches them to any available employment and prints out the reply. It's brand new. It only arrived half an hour ago.'

'Why not punch in my qualifications and see what happens?'

'I'd love to. But I can't.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's half-day closing. And we just closed.' Polly would dearly have loved to drag Mr Coffins from his little gla.s.s-fronted booth and punish him severely. But instead she smiled.'It looks incredibly complicated,' she said.

'It is. Very.'

'I can understand you being wary about operating it.

'Who said I was wary?'

'Careful then. It must be a bit of a responsibility. I know, if I were in your, er, sandals, I wouldn't fancy trying it out without my supervisor present.'

'I am fully capable of using it. I did it at in-house training.'

'Of course you did. But I can understand you being nervous.

'I'm not nervous.

'It probably doesn't work anyway.'

'Of course it works.'

'Sure it does. I bet.'

'It does work and I'm not nervous about using it.'

'I'll come back tomorrow and speak to your supervisor,' said Polly. 'I expect she's a woman.

She'll have the bottle to try it out. Always best to go straight to the top. Cut out the unambitious technophobes who don't want the glory of being the first to make a placement with such hi-tech equipment. Men have sight; women insight - to quote Victor Hugo. So long, Cohn.' Polly turned upon her heel.

Mr Coffins dithered. He hadn't understood half she'd said. But he got the general gist. 'Just you come back here,' he said.

Polly watched him as he worried at the computer keyboard. Her mother had told her, as she had told her sister Anna, that all men were basically stupid. And she, like her sister, would pa.s.s this information on to daughters of her own one day.

'Eureka!' said Colin. suddenly.

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