"You still have to see Mrs. Forester."

"I know," he said sharply.

"I thought you might have forgotten."

He crossed the room and exited through the opposite door. Christow's eyes followed her as she withdrew calmly. Beryl was plain, but damn effective. He had had her for six years. She never made a single mistake. She never lost her composure, never showed worry or impatience. She had black hair, dull skin, and a determined chin. Behind her thick glasses, her clear gray eyes studied him and the entire universe with the same detached attention.

He was looking for a secretary who was not particularly beautiful and who focused only on her work, and he had found a secretary who was not particularly beautiful and focused only on her work, yet sometimes, irrationally, John Christow felt enraged. According to the laws of cinema and literature, Beryl should have been completely devoted to her employer. But Christow knew she did not take a liking to him. She showed him neither devotion nor self-sacrifice. She regarded him as a human being prone to mistakes and nothing more. His personality never impressed her, his charm never influenced her.