Not a good journey down there, think I must be allergic to trains, didn't feel too well at all, same as when I went for my interview. Well I'd just better get over it, as this may become quite a habit. It takes 2 to 2½ hours to get from Sheffield Midland to London St Pancras, but it can take 4 to 5 hours if one is very unlucky!

I have only taken one case of belongings with me, just enough for me to struggle with. I'm uncertain about taking the underground, but I cannot afford a taxi - so the underground it is. I hate the noise and the wind rushing through the tunnels, struggling down the escalators with my bulky case is a nightmare. How do I know which platform I need? Lots of people crowd around the wall maps - does anyone know where they are going? I stand well back from the platform edge, there are those who stand perilously close, wanting to be the first ones on the train - well I don't mind being the last, there's no way I am leaving the security of this wall until that train has arrived! Somehow managed to find my way to Gloucester Road - a horrible little station, where you are crowded into a ramshackle lift for the last bit of the journey upwards, and then there's still a few steps to drag my suitcase and myself up to pavement level - but Bailey's is just across the road.

Bailey's is not amongst the most modern hotels in London - not as quaintly old fashioned as The Grand - but it has a certain air of sedateness about it, one could imagine it as having once been a Victorian gentleman's hotel. Semi circular marble steps lead up to rather grand full-length glass doors - a doorman, resplendent in gold braided uniform complete with top hat, opens the door for me - politely enough, but his demeanour tells me he's aware that I am not a guest...

The reception area is large enough (still not a patch on the Grand), straight ahead, a u-shaped reception desk takes up the main part, to the right a rather grand staircase sweep upwards. To the left of reception, a corridor leads to the lifts on the right (no little lift girl -they are automatic!) and the manager's office on the left, the bar is to be found further along, next to a side door which leads on to the street, and opposite the bar is an open area which is the switchroom. The corridor continues, and as I shall discover in due course, the wooden panelling along these walls disguise the director's rooms beyond.

A porter shows me to my room, which is right at the top of the hotel; there are three rooms and one bathroom pushed into a tight little corner of the hotel. My room has one small window overlooking a noisy courtyard. (It must have been very noisy indeed for those on a lower level...) Sheila has the room on the left of me, and Brenda's is on the right.

It is not until the next day that I meet the other two telephonists; Sheila Skipper is the supervisor, a buxom woman of 38, and Brenda, who is in her mid twenties. I feel young and gauche in comparison to these two ladies, and it's not long before they start making comments about my broad Yorkshire accent. I feel this rather keenly, in fact I feel like a fish out of water here. No one told me that I have to wear black when on duty - as it happens, I have one black dress, but it is in what I can only describe as 'Chinese style'. It is fitted and has a slit up each side of the skirt; a small stand up collar and it fastens across one shoulder with three ornate buttons. I like it very much, it's the one dress that makes me look quite slim, but Sheila says it isn't a very suitable style, and as soon as I am paid, I must buy something more practical. In the meantime, I get around the problem by sewing up the two slits, making it just a little bit difficult to walk! And replace the fancy buttons with 3 plain ones. I was not very pleased when the manager called me into his office to tell me that he had made a mistake with the wages, and that I will only be getting £5 per week. I feel as though I have been got here under false pretences. I have a moan at Brenda, and she says she suspects that Sheila may have had something to do with it...I have no proof of this, and anyway, what could I do about it - except leave? Sheila is keeping a beady eye on me, she wants me to tell her every time I leave the hotel, and to let her know when I come back - this is worse than being at home! (Although I would have no love for Sheila Skipper, I have to say now, that this keeping an eye on me was perhaps not such a bad intention...)

A young man rang to speak to someone called Nan, it seems that she was the telephonist that I replaced. I tell him that I don't know where she is now, but he asks me my name and stays on the line chatting for a while. The next day he called again, but asked for me this time, he wants me to meet him, but I am reluctant, he sounds really nice, and has a cut glass accent, but he was, after all, originally ringing up for another girl. The next day he rang again, and after chatting for a while, I agree to meet him out side the front of the hotel, just to say hello. Well! He turns out to be an expensively dressed, drop dead gorgeous young man in his late twenties. Tall, with lovely dark brown curly hair, greeny-brown eyes with dark curly lashes, a slight tan shows off his even, white teeth. If I were to describe my fantasy man - this would have been the result! He seems so nice and well mannered that I agree to go for a cup of coffee with him when I have finished my morning shift. Sure enough, he is waiting outside for me at 3.0pm, looking every bit as handsome as I remembered him. We walk down Gloucester Road together towards the Soraya Restaurant, I have to admit that I feel a great sense of pride, me, just a lass from a council house, walking along side this gorgeous, articulate young man. I can't for the life of me, think why he should be interested in me. (Must be that ingenuous veneer, m'dear, that you wear so well!)

Halfway down Gloucester Road, we pause outside an elegant house, he says this is where he lives, and would I mind if we stopped off for a moment as he is expecting a small parcel and he wants to see if it has arrived, I'm instinctively wary, but can't think of a way of saying no, should I say I will wait on the pavement whilst he checks? After he opens the door, I make no attempt to enter, he tells me that the parcel is in fact a small ornament, and he would like my opinion on it, I step into the small hallway, tell him that it's very nice and turn towards the door, but he walks into the adjoining room.

From where I'm standing in the hallway, I can see a very elegant, beautifully furnished living room, Paul places the ornament on the mantelpiece and asks me if it looks good there, my eyes are taking in this most exquisite house, and I'm thinking how can I not trust someone so obviously well heeled? What is there to be afraid of anyway? What could he possibly want with me? He asks me if he can make me a cup of coffee, but still wary, I'm thinking that I would prefer to drink my coffee in public! He takes the ornament into the bedroom and says he thinks he would prefer to have it on his bedside table and would I like to take a look. I really, really don't think so - and he should not be inviting me into his bedroom! I'm sitting on the large, comfortable settee, and wondering how I can make an exit without seeming unduly mistrustful. Paul crouches down in front of me, so closely, that my knees are between his legs and asks again if he could make me a cup of coffee, I see before me still, a deliciously handsome young man, but there's something in his eyes that disturbs me, and I most definitely do not like the way he is rubbing himself, insinuatingly, against my knees, there's no pretence now. I make for the front door and leave without a word - what is there to say? I knew exactly what he was doing, how on earth did he expect me to re-act? How would anyone have re-acted? What kind of a man was he to behave in such an offensive manner?

I made my way back to the hotel feeling angry, disappointed and foolish - if Sheila should ever find out about this, I'm sure I'll never hear the last of it! (I confess that this situation has haunted my dreams many times, with nightmarish results - I was one very lucky girl, that day! I wish I could have met the mysterious Nan, to ask her what she thought of him. Although it wasn't to be, strangely, in the years to come, her shadow would enter my life again. I have often wondered about the dangerous charm of people like Paul - perhaps a psychologist might be able to give me some answers...?)