Story from Roue 08.Episode at St. Angela'sAlthough now 17 1/2 and in her last year at St. Angela's, Julie Williamson had still no real idea of what she wanted to do when she left school. She would certainly be ready to leave – well, still getting your bare bottom caned at 17 was not a pleasant experience; even when the master was not as vicious with it as Mr. Evans (History) who was only content when he'd reduced you to a state of sobbing, squirming wretchedness. Of course when she was younger there were romantic ideas of such things as airline stewardess – but now, with leaving imminent, well, no real idea at all. So when she went to the Head at the beginning of her last term to discuss careers – it must be said that her mind was a bit of a blank.
She was also nervous, for the last time she was in his study (the last day of term before the Easter holidays) it had been to receive six with his cane on her bare bottom. (Although not nearly as bad as Mr. Evans, the Head had really striped her and going home for Easter the next day she'd been afraid the marks would still show for her mother to see. Mrs. Williamson, of course, like other mothers of St. Angela's girls, was quite unaware of the punishment meted out to her daughter's shapely bottom in the cause of school discipline: but Julie carefully made sure that Mother did not see her without knickers.) So Julie had been a bit apprehensive going in to see the Head but, it turned out, without reason. For he had learned of this position with Boutts Bank, the wellknown city bankers, which he thought Julie well-suited for: in fact it was Personal Assistant to Mr. Martin, the Head Office Manager, so really most impressive-sounding, and working in London too! It sounded really tremendous – if she could get it. But the Head seemed confident that she could.....
The Head was in fact sure she'd have no trouble: pretty girls from St. Angela's very rarely did. And Julie was of course a pretty girt, the big blue eyes and full soft mouth giving somewhat the impression of immaturity and innocence, but at 17 these were definitely offset by her figure which was that of a young woman: full-grown, firm and shapely. And, absentmindedly running his hand over her firm bottom as she stood at his desk, he mused that not only would she get the job but she would give every satisfaction to her employer. And to a responsible Head that was just as important, and anything less would be a definite blot on his copy-book.
Complaints were extremely rare, of course, with St. Angela's girls, although there had been that unfortunate case of Penelope Rogers two years ago. Placed with Carruthers Simpkins and Carruthers, a first-rate old established law firm – well, apparently the very first week there she'd refused to take down her knickers for a spanking. Worse still it had been the senior partner, old James Carruthers – in his sixtys and a bit doddery who's chief pleasures now came from his stamp collection and the bottoms of pretty girls. The old boy had been looking forward to Miss Rogers with keen anticipation, but then the little minx had simply refused to take down her knickers and get over his desk. She'd been sacked of course – dismissed at the end of the week – with some awkward explaining to do to her parents back home. Probably serving in Woolworths now, the Head thought with some satisfaction. But dear me – altogether a matter best forgotten....
But no, there would be no such problem with young Julie Williamson, who was such a good, docile girl. Normally cheerful too in spite of the fact that she did get what was certainly more than her fair share of caning: for he knew that quite a number of the staff were very keen on her in that regard. 'Mmmm.' His hand still on her bottom, the Head's mind went back to his own last time with her: that last day of term before Easter. It had been the first time for some weeks that he'd found an excuse to cane her (she'd been late for assembly) and while he wouldn't normally cane a girl when she was going home the next day (as the marks might show) he hadn't been able to resist; and had told himself she was a reliable girl who would be discreet.
He had brought her here to his study, of course – he did so prefer it to the Punishment Room: so much more pleasant and intimate. And she had obediently lowered herself over his chair – the hands on floor position, undoubtedly much the best posture for getting a girl's bottom really up and ready for it. Yes, a most appetising girl. He had taken her knickers down and, using his thin whippy cane, had really teed off on the pale, rounded cheeks, striping them with six angry red lines and bringing hot tears to those pretty eyes. Sniffling, she had tried to turn away as she pulled her knickers back up, but really a 17 year-old should not be shy with her Headmaster and he had made her face him; and in fact had held her skirt up round her waist as she struggled with her knicks. She was certainly a well-developed girl now, with quite a thick bush down there – a couple of shades darker than the medium blonde curls which framed her face – and he had looked with keen interest... But he was not a hard man and when she'd finally got them back up he had given her his handkerchief to dry her eyes.
The Head broke off his reverie... Yes, he was quite sure Julie would give full satisfaction to any employer: 'Don't you worry, my dear. I am quite sure Mr. Martin of Boutts will lose no time in deciding that you're just what he wants. Run along now, and I'll get on the phone about an interview straight away.'
'Yes Sir. And thank you very much Sir!'
An interview was arranged without delay, to take place at the school the next week. The intervening days were naturally awful, with Julie on tenterhooks: for the more she thought about the job the more exciting it seemed, and by the same token the more difficult to get. She was distracted in class and was probably fortunate to get taken to the Punishment Room only once – for day-dreaming in French Class. But fat Mr. Pomeroy was not too bad anyway as he preferred taking you across his lap and using his hand rather than the cane. The nail-biting days somehow passed...
The Head obviously realised Julie's nervous state and the day before the interview he advised her to get an early night: he told her to get into her pyjamas and he would bring a mug of hot cocoa round to her room, which was certainly thoughtful of him. She also had a phone call from home after supper, both Mother and Dad wishing her well, and Mother even putting Julie's pet retriever on the phone to bark encouragement! The Head arrived, mug in hand, at 9 to find Julie in her pyjamas having just taken a bath and washed her hair. She looked a picture of schoolgirl health, flushed and fresh from the bath, her hair still damp, and her shapely figure clearly revealed in the thin pink pyjamas: in particular he noticed that her nipples were erect, sharply defined under the cotton top. Julie saw the Head's keen glance and, embarrassed, said she'd get her dressing gown but he said not to bother. She really was delightful and he stayed – well, it must have been for half an hour – while she drank the cocoa and talked about home and her family and her dog Bobsy, and did her best to relax.
Yes, a very pleasant girl, mused the Head as he walked back across the quad under a starry sky. Obviously tense of course with the coming interview and, he thought, being wise to the ways of young girls, probably now in bed with her pyjama bottoms down relieving her tension with her hand between her legs.....
Whether or not the Head's surmise was correct Julie was certainly a bundle of nerves the next morning, quite unable to face any breakfast and hardly able to concentrate on dressing. But finally she did and got herself, all smart and spruce, outside the Head's study just before the 10 o'clock deadline – then, horrors, she felt an overwhelming need to pee. There was nothing for it but to rush to the loo, desperately yank down her knicks and sit on the seat.... only to find she didn't want to after all! She tore back – but it was now 2 minutes after the hour. Gripes! She knocked nervously...
'Come in!'
Julie entered and there were the Head and a rather severe-looking man in his mid-fifty's (presumably Mr. Martin), both seated at the Head's desk. The Head glanced at the clock:
'Well close the door my girl, and come over here!'
Julie stood nervously before them, her young body firm and shapely under her school uniform; and her nervousness was not improved as she recognised the chair Mr. Martin was seated on as that which she'd had to bend over when the Head had taken her knickers down before Easter... But the Head was continuing:
'Now Mr. Martin is just going to ask you a few questions, Julie; nothing too difficult I am sure, so don't look so unhappy!'
The Head's little quip drew a rather forced smile from Julie but did nothing to relax her. She remained tense and nervous-looking, standing just in front of the desk with firm young breasts pointed at the two men, and did her best with Mr. Martin's questions. Well, it was not too bad to start with but when he got to office procedure, filing, etc. she was at a complete loss. She found herself sweating. It was made worse by Mr. Martin's way of staring intently at her as she struggled for an answer. He must think her a complete idiot.... Really she'd been quite foolish even to think of this position....
But in fact Julie's impressions were wrong, for Martin definitely liked what he saw: the pretty teenager, of above average height and slim-waisted but otherwise firmly filling out the uniform white blouse and short navy blue skirt; while below were long shapely legs in dark nylons and sensible strap-over shoes. Yes, a most attractive package. She was obviously a bit apprehensive, fiddling with her skirt and a couple of times nervously pushing back a blonde curl from her face, in doing so her raised arm thrusting into prominence firm high breasts under the crisp blouse. Yes indeed, definitely a promising candidate for his vacant position of Personal Assistant. A little nervousness was not a serious fault in an attractive girl – it frequently spoke of a submissive nature: and her ignorance in certain areas was likewise of no real consequence, in fact rather than listening too carefully to Julie's answer Mr. Martin was thinking that he'd like to see more of her, under that school uniform: to unfasten those blouse buttons one by one and check the twin bulges which she was innocently pointing at him; mmm..., he thought of firm thighs above the nylon tops...; and most of all, of course, he would like to slip down whatever knickers were under that skirt and check her bottom...
For the truth was that, like many clients for St. Angela's girls, Mr. Martin was especially keen on the young female bottom: that region of a young lady provided especially for her training and correction, as it were, the seat of discipline. He was indeed a devotee of correction in young ladies; and with a Personal Assistant he liked to get a young girl fresh from one of the more reputable schools where she would have had a taste of the cane and build on this early training himself. Yes, he thought this candidate most promising, although of course he'd want to see her alone before finally deciding. First, though, a word in private with the Head...
Julie was dismissed, to return when called. Flushed as she was by her ordeal, she nonetheless managed decorous 'Thank you, Sirs' to the Head and Mr. Martin and followed this by a demure exit. Martin's gaze followed the rhythmic movement of the teenager's skirt.... and he wondered about her knickers. White, probably, matching her bra. But some of these old schools favoured navy blue or green... Hmmm...
The Head's voice interrupted his train of thought:
'I am quite sure, Mr. Martin, Miss Williamson will give you every satisfaction. She was a little nervous just now but...'
'Yes, yes. Headmaster, she seems a most attractive and pleasant girl. I assume she has been... mmm... well-disciplined. I mean I assume you do practice a little... ah... corporal punishment at St. Angela's?'
'Indeed we do, Sir. We do not advertise such matters to the hoi-polloi of course; but yes we do – as do all the better schools.'
'Ah, quite, quite, Headmaster; and this would be on the girl's... mm... posterior?'
'On the bottom, yes: we find that most effective.'
'Excel lent, Headmaster. I thoroughly agree... One final point... would that be on the girl's... bare...?'
'We do find it satisfactory; not always, for it is a matter of judgement, but certainly at times, for the recipient's appropriate undergarment to be removed so that she can fully appreciate the correction. Yes, certainly we cane on the bare, as you say.'
'Good, good, Headmaster. It's just that I wish to make sure what Miss Williamson's background in this area has been.' (To make sure she was used to having them taken down in fact!)
The Head understood entirely. Mr. Martin obviously intended to continue the methods employed by the school and give the young lady's bare bottom a regular warming. Most admirable! 'I quite understand, Sir. Rest assured that Miss Williamson has had the full St. Angela's training, as have all our girls. She has been most receptive and I am sure if you wish to continue such training she will continue to respond.'
'Ah, excellent. That is what I wished to determine. As you can appreciate, when training young staff in their duties – well, a little correction is often necessary. For girls can sometimes get a little out of line once they've left school.'
'You will find Miss Williamson will accept such matters without argument.'
'And she is also... discreet?' (The Bank, of course, had its reputation to consider. It would never do if word got out, for such matters could so easily be taken out of context. Young female staff having their knickers taken down for the cane! Well the gutter Press would have a field day. And there could be wider ramifications as well. For the Bank had its extra special clients who were allowed to borrow a female assistant for, say, an afternoon. Girls frequently returned from these assignments without their knickers or with a reddened bottom or both... Such arrangements made for friendly relations with valued clients but if an indiscreet girl were involved, well, it didn't bear thinking about.)
'Obedient and discreet, Mr. Martin. Have no fears, I can assure you that you will be very happy with this young lady.'
'Excellent, Headmaster, excellent! Well, if I could just have a few final words with Miss Williamson. This need not detain you for I am sure you are a very busy man. But if you had a vacant classroom nearby...?'
'Mr. Martin, say no more! You may use this very study: as it happens I do have business in another part of the school. I will ring for her now and you can take as long as you like. I will instruct my secretary to see that you are not interrupted...'
The two men started to exchange cordial farewells as the Head rang the bell for Julie to return...
Meanwhile Julie had been required to wait with Figgins the school caretaker-cum-handyman, in his room further down the corridor. This was not something that many girls at St. Angela's would have relished, for George Figgins – fiftyish and shifty-looking – was an old lag with a decided taste for female anatomy (and in particular a certain part of the female anatomy) which he grabbed whenever the opportunity was presented. He was in fact the sort of person unfortunately all too often found in such employment in girls' schools. When the Head rang the bell Julie had been in Figgins' room for 15 minutes....
* * *
Julie had felt definitely sick when told to wait with Figgins. She still remembered hotly what he had done to her a year ago when she was 16. She had gone for a walk in the school wood one June Saturday afternoon, when the place was deserted – except for Figgins who had crept up on her in a secluded comer, and then grabbed her. He had pushed her to the ground and then holding her down with one hand had used the other to pull down her knickers. In spite of her frantic struggles he had taken hold of her between her legs and after fumbling around, his finger had found her entrance and slid in. She had squealed and yelped but he had continued to hold her down while sliding his thick finger in and out... He had finally let her go saying: 'Arr, that's what you young girls like!', and left her, hot and distressed, fumbling her knickers back up.
She hadn't liked it at all of course but there was nothing she could do about it. If you tried to complain about Figgins he would just deny it and instead report you on some trumped-up charge, and you'd get a caning for your trouble. So she'd just put it down to experience. She knew that Figgins was in the habit of doing that kind of thing and in fact some girls, if he could get them off a caning as he sometimes could, would let him... As for Julie she found him most unsavoury and kept out of his way if she possibly could.
The one saving grace now, having to wait in his room, was that someone might come in for him at any time and this inhibited him from really going to work on Julie. And apart from two quick gropes up her skirt she kept him at bay until the bell rang, when she lost no time in darting out ('Blimey, you're keen to get back in there!').
She walked quickly down the corridor, paused to straighten her hair – and her skirt (Figgins!) – and knocked discreetly. The Head appeared:
'Ah, Julie, there you are... Well you will be pleased to hear that you have favourably impressed Mr. Martin. He now wishes to have a little word with you in private.'
Julie, fresh from struggling with Figgins and not quite able to credit what the Head was saying, had difficulty in collecting her thoughts: 'Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.' She re-entered the study, closing the door silently behind her on its well-oiled hinges.
'Ah my dear Miss Williamson. Yes, well let me say right away that I have been most favourably impressed with you, and I believe you can make a success of a career with Boutts. So, in short, I can offer you the post...'
Julie flushed: it was true then!
'Oh Sir. Thank you Sir. I... well I'll certainly do my very best.'
'I'm sure you will, my dear.' Mr. Martin moved in close and slipped his arm round a slim waist. 'I'm sure we will get on just fine.' His hand squeezed gently... the pliant flesh... 'Mmmm... Yes... As my assistant I shall of course be able to instruct you personally.' The hand slipped down onto Julie's flank... the rounded hip... She trembled slightly. 'So I'm sure you'll have no problems. Mmm...' The hand discovered the strap of her suspender-belt through the skirt. She stood still, slightly tense, as the fingers followed the strap down to the suspender clasp. 'Mmm...' It was obviously interesting and in fact Mr. Martin inquired... She told him that St. Angela's required dark nylons and suspender-belts for Sixth Formers. Hmmm... He digested this information while his fingers wandered onto the nylon top... Julie stood still, submissive. She knew he was just being friendly and reassuring: quite different from that dreadful Figgins, or indeed masters like Mr. Evans!
Mr. Martin was telling her about the Bank and what she would be doing, and it all sounded quite exciting. His hand was still behind her, playing with her nylon tops through the skirt and then, as they discussed travel and commuting, the hand came up and cupped her bottom. As it happened Julie had an aunt with whom she could stay in Wimbledon so there would be no problem. 'Most excellent!' said Mr. Martin, giving her bottom a firm squeeze.
Then he told her about the Stack Room at the Bank. Part of her duties would be in there sorting documents and as it was rather dusty the Bank supplied girls with special overall-dresses, worn in place of a girl's normal dress: 'Light-blue nylon – actually they're rather smart,' said Mr. Martin. Anyway if he took her measurements now they could have this ready for when she started. It seemed a good idea, and as it happened he had a tape measure with him....
Well he did feel her breasts while taking her bust measurement, but not in a nasty way. He asked if she always wore a bra... some of the girls at the Bank didn't – only of course if they had the figure for it: and he then took hold of Julie's and squeezed them a bit, and told her they were certainly firm enough.
She was a bit embarrassed when she had to lift her skirt up round her waist for the hip measurement, but tried not to show it. For Julie's white nylon knickers were brief and unfortunately rather tight (well, she hadn't expected that Mr. Martin would see them), and when he had to kneel down in front of her to take the measurement, with his face really quite close to her... down there... well, she felt quite hot... And then she had to turn round and of course it was the same, the brief knickers only partially covering her full bottom with the tight nylon rucked into the cleft between the cheeks. Obviously he had to take the measurements but at the same time she was certainly glad when he finished.
Julie was allowed to drop her skirt. Mr. Martin then told her that the Stack Room was rather warm, 'Some would say kept unnecessarily hot,' and some girls wore nothing under their overall when working there. To emphasise the point Mr. Martin stressed: 'I mean no knickers.' Julie blushed. He put a friendly arm round her waist: 'Anyway, we'll be able to discuss such matters after you've started.' She wondered briefly what that meant....
Then – out of the blue – he remarked that they'd never had a St. Angela's girl at Boutts before! 'Tell me, what do they use here: the cane, or the strap, or both?' It was not a question she had been expecting. 'Both, Sir.' 'Hmm... on the bare bottom?' She flushed: 'Sometimes, Sir.' 'You have been caned, I assume?' Julie's gaze dropped to the floor: 'Yes, Sir.'
'Tell me about it.'
Julie fidgeted, embarrassed. 'It's alright: I know such matters do not normally go beyond school walls but I think I am in a somewhat privileged position...
'Y..yes well, y..you normally get it in the Punishment Room... but sometimes the Head... does it in here. Sometimes other masters take you to their rooms for it as well but they're not supposed to... W-well... you have to bend over a... a chair... sometimes over the back of it... with your hands on the seat... and sometimes lie over the seat w..with your hands on the floor... Oh, and sometimes of course the master makes you get over his lap... Well... then the master... he... pulls up your skirt and if its... you know... knickers down... well it usually is... he... he takes them down and...'
'Yes, I see.' Mr. Martin's hand was now gripping one cheek of Julie's bottom. Have you recently...?'
'Pardon?... Oh... Yes, Sir. Last week, Mr. Pomeroy... that was a spanking... and also, the Head... the end of last term... the cane... in here, Sir.'
'Hmmm... Did Mr. Pomeroy take your knickers down?' 'Yes, Sir.'
'And the Head...?' 'Yes, Sir.'
'Mmm...' Mr. Martin's hand was still busy behind Julie. The knickers were certainly brief and on either side the fullest part of the cheeks were not contained... It was indeed a most caneable bum...
'Still, I'm sure It's all for your own good, even though you're quite a big girl now. I expect you realise that?' 'Yes, Sir.' 'Because at Boutts we do like to have a girl who's properly disciplined!'
Mr. Martin reluctantly took his hand from Julie's bottom and looked at his watch: 'Good Lord! I really must rush: due back in town this afternoon! Really, it's too bad. I should have liked to take you out to lunch.' It would certainly have been a chance to get to know her better... lunch (and one or two drinks) did wonders in relaxing an inexperienced girl... afterwards a drive in the country... and he thought of the tight brief knickers under her skirt... But duty unfortunately called.
'Anyway, young lady, I can see we're going to get along very well. You're obviously a very sensible young person – not at all like the typical modern teenager. Yes, quite a credit to your school!'
'Thank you very much, Sir.'
'You will be hearing formally from the Bank of course...'
'Thank you, Sir.' Julie gave him her best sweet smile as his hand went round behind her for a final feel....
She had just left the study, her head in a whirl, when the Head appeared in the corridor. He immediately ushered her back in...
'Well, young Miss, I do believe you have been successful. My congratulations!'
'Thank you, Sir. I... well I can't really believe it!'
'Well, it is true I can assure you. And I do think it calls for a little celebration.' The Head went to his cupboard from which he extracted a bottle of Croft 'El Fino' and two sherry glasses: 'Yes, my dear, a little toast to you and your future!'
Still somewhat bewildered by it all Julie took the glass, raising it to full soft lips. It was unbelievable: after all that worry and tension, here she was with a super job in London, drinking sherry with the Head. She shook her head and laughed: 'I just can't believe it!' Super, super! All her friends would be just green!... She'd have to phone Mother right away of course! Ooohh, she felt like... well, walking on air!
The Head looked over his glass at the pretty girl, her eyes shining. She looked most enticing... and he thought of that shapely bottom under her short skirt. Mmm... he was certainly in the mood for it... not a caning of course, but perhaps a good spanking over his lap. And then he remembered – of course, she had been two minutes late for her interview – a most adequate reason for slipping her knickers down. Well, he couldn't allow any relaxing of standards, just because of all this euphoria. No that would never do!
He took the two glasses; and Julie looked enquiringly, thinking this might be the cue to leave, but... 'Not quite yet, young lady... a little matter outstanding...' Being late for an important interview could not simply be ignored... no, it would be a few minutes yet, well perhaps more, before she could leave...
'Yes, over my lap please... that's it, head well down... mmmm... and I think... we'll have the knickers right off... then we can do the job properly, can't we...' Because with knickers completely off, rather than merely lowered, the subject's legs were free to part... and usually did...
Julie no longer felt like walking on air as her knickers were removed and she got into position over the Head's lap. She consciously kept her legs together in an endeavour, like any modest 17-year-old, not to show anything; although in her upended position this attempt could not be entirely successful and it was inevitably to be partially seen, peeping from the juncture of her thighs... But the Head liked more than a peep and as his spanking continued he was rewarded, for she became oblivious to everything except the sharp stinging smacks and modesty was forgotten: and without the restraining presence of lowered knickers the thighs relaxed, and parted... fully revealing to the Head what he liked to see. She was of course a very well-developed girl...
(The Head anyway was strongly of the opinion the excessive modesty in his girls was to be discouraged (at least where he was concerned), it being a pernicious hangover from Victorian times. Indeed in pursuing this philosophy did he not, when taking girls (small select groups) to his country place at weekends, insist on a complete ban on knickers throughout the duration of the visit. And on arrival there he would personally remove each girl's garment, to be retained in his charge, until the return to school on the Sunday evening. Indeed a man of firm beliefs.)
The spanking continued on the now freely-displaying Julie until the Head was satisfied that he had done justice to her splendid rear and rendered it and her upper thighs a uniformly rosy hue. Only then was she allowed to rise and, red-faced as well as red-bottomed, replace her knickers. Reflecting unhappily that even today there was no getting away from the St. Angela's routine, Julie said her 'Thank you' to the Head and exited.
Her mind a turmoil from the day's events, she walked unseeing along the corridor.... and straight into Mr. Evans coming the other way. She came back to earth extremely rapidly! Oh No!
Mr. Evans made an equally quick recovery: 'Miss Williamson!'... he pushed her up against the wall: 'Stand still, girl!' and his hands made a quick reconnaissance of her breasts... 'Mmmm..' He had not had an excuse for getting his hands on Julie for quite some time: 'And what do you think you are doing?'
'I... I'm very sorry, Sir.'
'And you will be, my girl, wandering along in a dream and knocking into members of staff... I think a visit to the Punishment Room is called for. Yes. A touch of the cane on your bare bottom is what you need, young lady. Come along: I intend to have your knickers down right away.'
Julie felt sick but she had no option but to go meekly, Mr. Evans a step behind ('Smartly now, girl.'), his hand almost immediately up her skirt at her tightly knickered bottom, still smarting of course from the Head's attentions. Down the stairs... along the corridor... the familiar route... and all too soon the sight which every girl at St. Angela's dreaded: the door of the Punishment Room with (how convenient for Mr. Evans!) the sign now reading 'Vacant'. He ushered Julie in, then closed and locked the door with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes: 'Now, Miss, we'll see about such unseemly behaviour....'
He took a medium weight whippy cane and bent it testingly. Mr. Evans was in no mood for delay: 'Come on, Miss, over the chair and we'll get your knickers down. Your bottom is obviously badly in need of a reminder of what we regard as proper St. Angela's behaviour...' He flipped up Julie's skirt as she got over the seat of the chair and reached his fingers into the waistband of her knickers: 'Well, I think I can give it what it needs....'
So Julie's day – tension, triumph, an unexpected spanking from the Head – was finishing in a way that perhaps typified St. Angela's: head down and knickers down over the chair in the Punishment Room. Her bottom, pink from the Head's work on it, was about to receive what all St. Angela's girls feared most: a caning from Mr. Evans. She started weeping in anticipation, fearfully wondering how many she would get........
The apple store was redolent with the scent of summer. Too sweet and heavy to be pleasant. Yet it was now late Autumn and the apples stood in serried rows upon the benches around the narrow, brick-walled room. In fact, more like a large cupboard than a room. Whitewashed brick; a bare floor.
'I've made up my mind,' he said, immediately he came back into the store. Janet must have been left alone for at least an hour, nerves jangling constantly. She felt like a jelly as she stood there before him.
