Brisk, Within this pastiche, I have tried to present Mansfields style through the utilisation of themes, vocabulary and literary techniques.

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Natasha Frost        World Literature: Mansfield Pastiche April 2008

Pastiche

Brisk

Despite not being particularly late, Robert Jenkins always found pleasure in briskness: in rushing into the office and cocking his hat at Bunty and strolling, always strolling, into his bureau. It mattered very little whether he was running a little late or exactly on time or even a little early : what was important – crucial, even – was to give off that all-important impression of urgency and briskness.
What would his colleagues had thought of him if they had seen him dawdling – yes, stalling and lingering! – on his way to work? Oh, the very thought was ghastly – a man’s job was based upon briskness and Jenkins knew that he had an image to uphold.  

He strolled, veritably marched, into his bureau and flung down his briefcase. His papers were quickly bustled into a neater pile – couldn’t Bunty do anything right? – and he opened his glossy leather-bound agenda to the day at hand.  Frowning at its aching emptiness, he called in Scott.

‘Now, look here, Scott, and let’s make this sharp; I’m a very busy man, you see. My agenda obviously hasn’t been kept up to date – what ought I to do today?’

At that, the telephone began to ring. Robert let it ring once or twice – his clients couldn’t think him too available – then swept it up:
‘Jenkins.’ He liked that, it was abrupt.. hurried.. powerful... fitting for a man such as himself. Definitely brisk.
‘Oh, hello dear. It’s me, Mary.’
He was annoyed, she knew better than to disturb him at work. Poor woman, she couldn’t manage five minutes without him at home. Probably bothering him with some nonsense about sauces for tonight.
‘Hello darling, now, you know I’m glad to hear from you, but let’s make this sharp; your husband’s a very busy man, you see.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I just wanted to let you know that you left your umbrella at home, and it looks like it might rain, so perhaps you should call for a cab tonight?’
What did she do all day? – How had she the time to notice such things? Should she not have been occupying herself with the children? He supposed it was rather sweet, but Robert Jenkins was a grown man and did not need to be picked up after.
‘No, no, that was quite deliberate. Bit of cloud never hurt anyone, what. Now, dear, I should be off, got to make sure there’s bread on the table. Tell cook that I’d most fancy béarnaise tonight.’

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That ought to have put her in her place, he decided. A man wanted a wife, not a mother. Now, back to the day and its all-important tasks.  Scott had disappeared again, wretched man, and his agenda was still looking achingly, numbingly, excruciatingly blank. He was an important, busy man; surely Bunty could understand that? It was crucial that she kept his affairs in order, his leather-bound agenda au courant, he was the lynchpin of this operation, there was no way it could continue without  -

‘Jenkins? I’d like a word with you. Not too busy, are you, chap? This ...

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