Jane has decided to dream up a rival “initiative” to generate new work.

“You don’t have any contacts who we would want to work for,” Alex points out.

“How do you know?”

We know.  If our years of experience have taught us anything it’s that Jane only associates with odd balls and psychopaths.

“What about her new Tory Party ties?” Liz offers.  “Can’t you make something of them?”

Jane shakes her head.  “That would be immoral.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be using my political position to gain influence.”

“You don’t have a political position,” Alex points out.

“Yes I do.  I was elected as Assistant Fund Raiser to the Environmental Social Committee, last week.”

“And, what does that mean?”

“She sells raffle tickets,” I explain.

“Raffle tickets!” Alex guffaws. “Ha ha!   That’s going to shape world policy.”

“I am not selling raffle tickets!” she fires a flinty glare in my direction.

“Yes, you are,” I counter. “You told me I could win a mini-break.”

“Where to?” Liz (always an eye for a cut-price deal) asks excitedly.

“Brussels.”

“Oh,” her face falls.

“They throw in a guided tour of the European Parliament?” I add. “And lunch with a local Euro MP!”

“Wow, there’s a prize worth fighting for.”

Jane’s face is contorted into a fist of annoyance.  It’s hard to tell where her eyebrows start and her nostrils end. “I did not start this conversation to talk about Euro MPs!”

“No,” I agree, “You started it to undermine the Euro-initiative.”

She shakes her head.  “I don’t want to undermine it, I want to rival it.”

“But with what?”

That crucial little detail stumps us.   The fact is: we have no contacts; we spend all our time in the office and we never meet clients.   We are the legal equivalent of The Borrowers.

“Ah, well,” Alex sighs, after a pause. “We shall all have to cosy up to Celine, if we want to go on swanky trips.”

“Pah!” Jane snorts.  “I shall not cosy up to anyone who pastes pictures of pet cats to her monitor.”

But I have a theory about that: those cats are her familiars; highly trained witch servants.

“Ah, Helen….” she is sitting behind her desk, plotting another gant chart when I return.

“Yes Celine,”

“Where will I find a list of the firm’s clients?”

“On the client database.”

“And where is that kept?”

“In The Tower of London.”

She looks at me with a mixture of suspicion and distain, unable to tell if I am serious. “I assume you are joking?”

“Yes and no,” I smile. “It’s not actually held in the Tower of London, but it might as well be,  given the extreme security measures attached to it.”

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“It’s like the Crown Jewels: only accessible by a select group of people who have been vetted by MI5.”

I am not exaggerating: the client database is the most closely guarded item in the firm.  Forget salary details or medical records the only thing they care about protecting is that database.

“Well, I shall need to see it for my new venture.”

“Good luck.  The only time any of us has seen it, is under supervision.”

She gives a flick of her head which indicates that the conversation is closed and that she will not have any such difficulties.  I return to my letters and wonder if I shouldn’t start adopting some of her Continental arrogance?  It may help me counteract The Boss’s insatiable demands. I am contemplating this as another secretarial rebellion begins to brew outside.

“I aint workin’ my bloody arse off whilst she suns herself in Mallorca!” Danielle tells Cynthia, who is trying (and failing) to stem the revolt.

“We are all entitled to a holiday,” Cynthia tells her.  “And those who remain in the office must all pull together and keep things ticking over.”

“Ticking over would be fine, but he’s given me three hours of dictation and five hundred documents to print!”

“Who has?”

“Simon has,” she sulks.  “And that’s on top of all the normal stuff I get from Jane etc, and not to mention all the letters that Malcolm is churning out!”

“Have a word with them all,” Cynthia advises. “See how urgent everything it all is and then prioritise it.”

“They say everything is urgent!”

“There are degrees of urgency,” Cynthia soothes. “find out what they are.”

“I ain’t got time!”

“Me neither,” Melinda pipes up. “I’m overwhelmed with filing.”

“Filing isn’t a priority.”

It is when it hasn’t been done for six months.

“That’s not what my fee earners say,” she folds her arms in defiance.

“Look,”  I sense that Cynthia’s patience is running out. “Use your common sense.  Find out what needs to be done immediately and do it.  Then work your way through everything else.”

“Can’t we just get a temp?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t have the budget for one.”

“But that’s ridiculous!  We are two secretaries down.”

“And three fee earners so you are only really picking up the slack for Simon and Celine.  Secretaries of your experience should be able to cope with that.”

“But-!”

“No buts.  In the time it has taken you to moan about this, you could have completed half the tasks.  I suggest you get your heads down and get on with it.”

And, with that rebuke ringing in their ears, she retreats.

“I can’t believe she expects us to do all this!” Danielle fumes. “I refuse.”

“Me too.”

“Until we receive the respect and support we deserve, we should work to rule.”

“Agreed.”

And, with that, the machinery of justice grinds to a halt.

“What is going on?” Celine asks.

From  my vantage point: not very much.

“The secretaries are fed up with covering all the holiday absences,” I tell her. “I think they are staging some sort of protest.”

“Protest?”

“Yes, I think they have stopped work.”

Although it’s hard to tell in Melinda’s case.

“They should just sack them,” she sniffs.

Suddenly I like Celine.  Sack them?  What a marvellous idea.

“That is often suggested,” I agree. “But it will never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because the partners are far too scared of them.”

“Scared?” she looks horrified.

“Terrified,”  in Malcolm’s case.

“How preposterous!”

“Preposterous but routine. They stage protests roughly once every six weeks.”

“But they are support staff,” she sneers. “There to support us!”

Oh, she has a lot to learn.

“The thing is,” I measure my words, “They don’t see it like that.”

“Why not?”

“Well……..” because the fee earners are so downtrodden, “because they have become used to doing as they please.”

“That is outrageous.”

“I totally agree.  We do try to temper them, Jane and Tarquin especially, but it’s hard to fight a entire Trade Union.”

“A Trade Union?” she frowns.

“Danielle is the Bob Crow of legal secretaries: always agitating for something – more biscuits, more overtime, less work……  If she says strike, they strike.  We fee earners are all too busy working or stabbing each other in the back to take them on and the management doesn’t care so long as it doesn’t interfere with profits.”

Her eyes narrow in contemptuous silence.  “We shall see!”

Quick as a flash she launches herself into the typing pool with enough Napoleonic zeal to defeat Wellington.

“You should be grateful to have jobs in such a prestigious firm!” she prods Danielle in the arm. “There is a lot of competition out there and this is an extremely easy place to work.”

“Really?!” Danielle rolls her eyes.

“My old secretary would have given her granny to work here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, so if you don’t get on with your work, I shall speak to Personnel about replacing you.”

“Replacing us!” Melinda is on her high horse quicker than I can say Roy Rogers.

“Yes,” Celine nods, “with any of the secretarial staff made redundant from my last place. I have three CV’s on my desk.”

“They wouldn’t sack us,”

“No?” she raises an eyebrow. “Not even if you have committed an act of gross misconduct?  Refusing to work for me would probably qualify for that and I’m sure Alistair would not wish to disrupt the Euro-Initiative.”

Who would?

Danielle fires a furious look at Melinda who is staring, open-mouthed at her in wonder.   Sensing defeat, she turns back to Celine.

“What do you want me to do?” she snarls.

“Your job,” Celine smiles. “That’s all.  Not too much to ask, I hope?”

“I suppose not.  But don’t expect me to do overtime.”

“I had no intention of it,” she agrees. “You should be more than capable of doing all your work in the allotted time.”

Judging by the astonished expression on Danielle’s face it seems as if the Euro-Initiative may have unexpected benefits.