Room 2D

From Februs 25 Salutations, O growing band of readers of the immortal words of Will. When our intrepid Lady Editor, Paula, rang to inform me that a person, name of Lucy, was desirous to be interviewed by me, I felt that the name and description of the lady rang a bell. I just couldn’t quite place when, or where. Me: Did Lucy say she knew me, by any chance? P: Yes, Will. She thought she might have met you, that she’d read your interview, and in spite of that, she’s still interested. ( This with Paula’s soft and inimitable giggle ). Me: Very funny, Boss. Can I ring her? P: Yes, she’s expecting you. The appropriate call was made, and I must say it was with a pleasurable feeling that I anticipated the arrival of Lucy. The day dawned, and found Yours Truly frantically involved in much of the usual tidying, hoovering, and such like that is necessary to one who, in the early twilight of his years, is frequently alone. (Aaah...

A photo-story featuring Lucy Bailey from Privilege Club 13 She knew that she was in deepest trouble. Her offence was considered among the gravest a senior girl could commit. She had been instructed to report precisely on time, smartly dressed in Academy uniform, nails polished, hair swept back from forehead as regulations decreed, the books she had been studying in late prep tucked neatly under her arm. Breathlessly she paused outside the daunting door, waiting agonising minutes until the exact moment when she must announce her presence. Her heart slammed, her mouth was dry, her legs felt weak and wobbly. She didn’t feel like Judith Parslowe any more, captain of netball and Classics scholar: her name had dissolved into the mute and terrified entity she had become — a frightened miscreant reporting for the most serious punishment the Academy could administer short of outright banishment. It was time. She lifted her hand and b...