The Mouse

Her name is Enid Cardwell but, when they think she isn't listening, everyone in the office calls her The Mouse. For the last 12 years she has worked as the file clerk in the long established suburban legal practice of Smith, Jones, Constable & Wallop, where the files fill a large room with tightly packed, ceiling high shelves and a vault with a heavy, fireproof door. The Mouse knows where to find every one of them. Shy and self-effacing with a colorless complexion and mousy brown hair, she only emerges from her sanctuary to scurry nervously around the office delivering and collecting her files.

The job was arranged for her by her Great Aunt Victoria after her mother died from a heart attack a few days after Enid finished high school. When her mother died, Enid believed she was alone in the world and had no idea how she was going to survive. Her father had deserted their tiny, rented house soon after she was born and, with a liver unable to match his unquenchable thirst for Scotland's national beverage, he died when she was seven years old. She had never even heard of Aunt Victoria until the expensively dressed old lady introduced herself following her mother's funeral.

After asking searching questions about her parents and grandparents and listening to Enid's tearful apologies that she knew very little about her family history, Victoria Regina Cardwell, who had been born just a few days after the old Queen died, declared she was Enid's great-aunt.

"Not very prolific breeders, our branch of the family. You and I, Enid, are the last of the line. As far as I know, my brother Andrew, your grandfather, only had one child -- your father, and that caused a split in the family. I was quite young at the time and don't remember much about it. Before she died, Mother told me that he got one of the maids into trouble, was forced to marry her and was then cut off with a shilling, as they used to say, and thrown out of the house. His name was never mentioned again and I had almost forgotten about him."

They came out of the gloom of the church into the sunshine and the old lady continued, "With my eyes the way they are, the death notices are all I seem to read in the Herald these days. When I saw your mother's notice, I realized who you must be. It isn't your fault that your grandfather got into trouble and broke up the family. I suppose I should have done something about finding you and your mother before this, but, at my age, everything becomes an effort. Come and stay with me until we can sort something out for you. After all, it looks as though you are my only close relative and I am sure I can help you."

Aunt Victoria lived in Ashfield, one of Sydney's old and once elegant suburbs. The large house, with its extensive lawns and gardens, hid behind a high brick wall and tall iron gates. Taken on a tour of inspection, Enid fell in love with the spacious old house and chose as her bedroom a lovely upstairs room at the front with a view of the garden.

Approving of her choice, Aunt Victoria said, "This used to be my room until the stairs became a little too difficult and I moved downstairs to what used to be the housekeeper's bedroom. We had a housekeeper, a cook, two maids and a full-time gardener in the old days, but you can't get staff who are prepared to live in these days even if you can afford to pay them."

Domestic arrangements were now in the hands of Mrs. Kemp who came in from Monday to Friday to housekeep and cook. She was assisted by an ever-changing succession of casual cleaning ladies. Enid prided herself on her cooking and, after she had settled in, insisted on taking over at weekends to provide some variety from the salads and casseroles that Mrs Kemp left for them. Young Charlie, who must have been at least seventy, and a man with a motor mower, paid occasional visits in a valiant attempt to keep some order in the garden.

Aunt Victoria knew people-- important people. She quickly arranged the job -- the position, she called it -- with Smith, Jones, Constable & Wallop and then, after Enid had been living with her happily for almost two years, she announced:

"You should have a place of your own. In these modern times, a young person like you shouldn't be cooped up with an old lady like myself. The daughter of an old friend is about to move into one of those dreadful retirement village places and wants to sell her flat. It's close to your office and I think it will suit you very well. I will pay the deposit for you and you should be able to afford the loan repayments from your salary. I have arranged for you to inspect it during your lunch hour tomorrow."

Enid had learned not to argue with Aunt Victoria, but, as it turned out, she liked the old fashioned second-floor flat. The bedroom was small but the living room was large and caught the morning sun in winter. The kitchen had everything she needed and there was even a proper bath in the bathroom. In a small block in a quiet, leafy street, it was a short walk to the shops and her office. Given a free rein to choose furniture from the Ashfield house, she soon had it looking both elegant and comfortable.

It was a solitary life but Enid was an avid reader -- not, as you might expect, of romantic fiction but of biography and travel books. She rarely felt lonely, particularly as she still returned to the Ashfield house each Sunday to accompany her aunt to the morning church service, which, at Aunt Victoria's stately pace, was a pleasant fifteen minute stroll. As the years went by the walk took longer and longer until it was taking more than half an hour. At that stage the old lady yielded to the inevitable.

"I will be ninety years old next week and I have decided it is time I made other accommodation arrangements. I have booked myself into that new nursing home near the Church."

Ashfordleigh was another palatial old Ashfield house that had become the final home of some of the older and wealthier residents of the area. While her aunt now rarely went to church, Enid continued her regular Sunday visits until Great Aunt Victoria died peacefully and unexpectedly in her sleep a few weeks after her ninety-sixth birthday.

Two weeks after the funeral, Enid received a letter from a firm of solicitors in the City. It informed her that she was the sole beneficiary under her aunt's will and requested she make an appointment to see their Mr. Withers. She went to this meeting without great expectations, anticipating that most of Aunt Victoria's capital would have been swallowed up by nursing home fees. After the usual platitudes, the old solicitor handed her a sheaf of papers.

"A very sensible and methodical woman, your aunt; a very shrewd investor right up until the end. The whole of the Estate consists of her bank accounts, shares, bonds and similar investments. This list shows their current value and the income they presently generate."

With a dexterity honed by years of practice, Enid flicked quickly through the pages, scanning them with mounting excitement. The totals at the foot of the final page staggered her. She wasn't just wealthy, she was rich.

She knew the amount of legal work required meant it would be weeks, if not months, before she would have access to any of the money, so she went back to the office and carried on with her work, avoiding conversation and not mentioning her good fortune to anyone. It wasn't until she was preparing her dinner that she began to realize just how different her life could become. Dumping the half peeled vegetables in the kitchen tidy, she changed into her best dress, checked her handbag for the credit card she kept for unforeseen emergencies and went off to Le Coq D'Or, the French restaurant she passed every day on her walk to the office and which, from the prices on the menu displayed in the window, she had always considered outrageously expensive.

"A table just for one." she asked the young waitress who greeted her with a casual nod.

This tall, slim girl in her short, tight skirt, figure-hugging black top and frilly, white apron, would have looked very French, Enid thought, if it hadn't been for the heavy black boots she was also wearing. The girl waved vaguely in the direction of a small table close by the swing doors to the kitchen. There were only six other diners -- a foursome and a twosome and apart from two tables with 'Reserved' signs, there were about eight others that were vacant. Imagining how Aunt Victoria would have reacted in similar circumstances and a little surprised at her self-confident assertiveness, she asked,

"Could I have one of the tables near the window, please?"

The girl shrugged. "Take your pick."

Although she had studied French for a couple of years at school, Enid was unable to make much sense of the menu.

"Could you please explain what some of these dishes are?" she asked the waitress.

"Sorry, Luv. Don't speak the lingo."

"Is there anyone here who does?" she asked with an unfamiliar hint of steel in her tone.

"I'll get Chef."

After muffled sounds of discussion from the kitchen, the chef thrust his way through the swing doors. Instead of the white coat and the high white hat Enid was expecting, he wore black trousers, a white shirt with a black and white checked bow tie and one of those blue striped aprons that butchers usually wear. His sleek black hair was partly covered by a soft peaked, white cap but his most outstanding feature was his carefully curled and waxed moustache.

"I am sorry Madame... er.. Mademoiselle," he said in highly accented English. "These days one cannot find staff who understand French or the cuisine of Provence. Usually my wife is here... How may I help you?"

Enid took a deep breath. "I've just heard of some good fortune. At this stage, it's quite private and confidential but I decided a little personal celebration was in order. Unfortunately, my schoolgirl French isn't up to translating what looks like an interesting menu."

"Mademoiselle is in a hurry? No !" His dark brown eyes sparkled. "If you leave the choice to me, I can promise you a wonderful celebratory meal. Oui? Bien!"

It was indeed a memorable meal. Even the young waitress proved more adept at serving than Enid might have expected, starting with a tall, elegant glass of champagne on a silver tray, which she said was "With Chef's compliments."

Served at a leisurely pace, the meal consisted of dishes that Enid had only ever seen mentioned in reverential tones in travel books. By the time the coffee was served, she had been able to reflect on her changed circumstances and decide she would quite enjoy being rich. Her eyebrows raised slightly when she saw the figure at the bottom of the bill, but she still added a generous tip and asked to speak to the chef again. After complimenting him on the meal, she said,

"I work at the Solicitors along the street. I will be leaving in a few weeks and I was thinking of arranging a farewell dinner for my friends from the office. I'm not quite sure of the date yet. If everyone comes, there will be twelve of us. Would that be possible?

"But of course! Of course! Just give me one day, two days warning."

Six weeks later she distributed the ornate, gilt edged, specially printed invitations around the office with the files.

To Celebrate Her Good Fortune And Her Departure
The Mouse
requests the pleasure of the company of
The Partners & Staff of
Smith, Jones, Constable & Wallop
At Dinner
7.30 pm for 8.00 pm, Friday 25 May
Le Coq D'Or

RSVP by 21 May
Enid Cardwell
The File Room.