‘Good morning, everybody.’  Carmel Andrews smiled primly as she walked through the typists’ pool.

She felt their gaze, and quickened her step into her office.  She knew they discussed her behind her back.

‘Poor Miss Andrews,’ they said, and some, less kindly. ‘Frustrated old hag.’

In the privacy of her office Carmel took a good look at herself in the mirror.  Her skin was well cared for, and she was still attractive.  Soft, slightly greying hair framed her face. She would have done something about that, but Paul Burton had always admired her hair.

‘I like it that way,’ he said. ‘Don’t alter it.’

He liked it because it was natural.  His wife’s hair underwent so many changes that he hardly recognised her from one week to the next.

Paul used to be a happy, easy going boss and lover, and their relationship had lasted five years.  Five years of clandestine meetings, and mysterious conferences, interstate and overseas.

They had been good years. Carmel had enjoyed prestige in the office, had been on good terms with the staff.  Until recently.  It was hard to define just when the situation changed; maybe just an imperceptible remoteness in Paul’s manner. Then he began to dictate his letters with an air of polite detachment.

‘Thank you, Miss Andrews,’ he said formally that morning.

Carmel looked up quickly. What had happened to Carmel?   She opened her mouth to ask him, but felt a cold wave of apprehension.  Paul got up abruptly and strode across to the window as if suddenly interested in the traffic eight floors below.

He was growing sideburns, something he had once disapproved of in the younger members of his staff. Carmel noticed his hair. It was quite long.  And his suit!  Not the conventional well cut business suit he used to wear, but  a trendy light coloured one.

A knock sounded on the door. A girl breezed through, twitching her hips elaborately. She put down some papers with a cheeky grin and bounced out of the room. Paul turned and smiled.  All at once sickening realisation hit Carmel.  The reason for Paul’s change in manner and dress was clear. 

Why hadn’t it occurred to her before - Sally Osborne!   The new typist! Barely eighteen and she had hit the office like a jet. The clerks, young and old had suddenly become animated, and the girls had shortened their skirts even further. And the boss had fallen harder than any of them.

A resentful flush reddened Carmel’s cheeks at the revelation. It all added up. The reason for Paul’s odd absences from the office, coinciding with Sally’s ‘sickies’.  The indolent way she worked, always smoothing her hair and making up her face.

Pushing her chair back abruptly, Carmel picked up some papers.  ‘I’m going to the bank,’ she announced coldly. 

She felt frustrated and confused as she walked to the door  Paul turned to speak, then he smiled oddly and continued to stare out of the window.   Simmering, Carmel waited for the elevator, drumming her fingers against the wall.

‘Hi!’  

Carmel glanced around, startled. Sally stood there. Her skirt barely covered her bottom, eye-lashes exaggeratedly long, a pert little face, with all the confidence of youth.  She pressed the button again.

‘Must be out of order.’  She grinned with easy familiarity.

Carmel gave the smallest sniff and compressed her lips.  ‘Ought you to be travelling up and down the elevator in office hours, Miss Osborne?’

Miss Osborne giggled. ‘Golly, aren’t we being formal?’  She winked confidentially. ‘I’m just popping down to pick up a lay-by;  and if I play my cards right, I’ll soon be able to buy what I like when I like.’

Carmel’s eyebrows shot up.  The adjoining lift arrived, and they descended in comparative silence, except for the lift-man’s quips towards Sally.

The girl minced off to the shops and Carmel went seething into the bank.  For a moment she considered an anonymous phone call to Paul’s wife.  No!  She was shocked at her own thoughts. Heavens, she couldn’t stoop so low.  It was just that she felt so - well - sort of silly.

How could Paul fall for an empty little thing like Sally?  All men were vulnerable, of course, and wasn’t it a fact they tried to regain their youth at forty?  But Sally! Hardly more than a school girl!  Carmel finished her business in the bank and re-entered the lift.

‘Wait for me.’ Sally ran to the gate panting and giggling.  Like a child, Carmel thought, giving the girl a withering stare.

On the eight floor, workmen were busy barricading the open lift doorway, and fixing an out of order sigh. Carmel felt chagrined at the men’s cheeky banter with Sally in contrast to their polite nod to her.

In the private office, Paul was speaking on the telephone.  He put down the receiver thoughtfully as Carmel entered, and cleared his throat.  ‘ Carmel,’ he began. ‘We have to talk.’

She flinched, sensing the tension in his voice, and a little chill ran up and down her spine.  So he was going to tell her it was all over.  Just  like that; after five years. She was glad when the senior partner interrupted them, before Paul had time to deliver his no doubt, carefully prepared speech. He had to go to court, it was an urgent matter.

‘Can you stay back tonight?’ he asked, pausing at the door.

‘Certainly Mr. Burton,’ Carmel said mockingly, and he gave her a quizzical glance.

She waited until he left, then went to the personnel file. She dialled a telephone number, and leaned back with a smile of satisfaction.

Paul returned to the office after the rest of the staff had left.  He looked a little peaked, and Carmel felt a small pang of remorse. But not for long. He thoroughly deserved what was coming to him.

Then exactly as she had planned, on the dot of 7.30 p.m. the door swung open and the man stood there, tall powerfully, built with an expression on his face that struck a chill of foreboding into Carmel’s heart.

Sally’s father!

That, unfortunately was where Carmel’s plan misfired. True, she had for a few brief moments toyed with the possibilities of the lift well, but that wouldn’t have been practical.  How could she have removed the barricades?   Besides she could never have carried it out.  She still loved Paul in spite of everything. She only wanted to teach him a lesson,

Paul was sitting in his office chair and he looked up, startled and angry at the man’s intrusion.

Sally’s father crossed to Paul’s desk with a slow measured tread.  Carmel, instantly regretting her action, put out her hand to stop him, but he brushed her aside.

‘What ........?’ Paul began, raising his eyebrows, when without a word or preamble, Sally’s father savagely smashed his fist into Paul’s face.

Taken unawares, Paul put up his hands in a vain effort to protect himself from further blows.

Wham!  Wham! Wham!  Blood spurted from Paul’s nose and mouth as the fist hit him again - again - again.

He tried to rise from his chair, but another vicious punch sent him toppling backwards.

Carmel screamed. As he fell with the chair Paul struck his head with full force on the corner of the metal filing cabinet.

He lay motionless, sprawled across the fallen chair, the look of shocked incomprehension still on his battered face, blood trickling and matting his dishevelled hair.

Sally’s father stare open-mouthed in horror: he hadn’t meant to kill.

Then the telephone rang. Dazedly Carmel picked up the receiver. George Randall, Paul’s lawyer spoke.

‘Is that you, Miss Andrews?  I suppose Paul has told you the good news?  Mrs. Burton has finally agreed to the divorce.  You won’t have any trouble at all. I’d like a word with Paul, if he’s there.  Miss Andrews - are you there?  Miss Andrews.....?’