Yamamoto Sayuri

stops in the doorway, a bag on each shoulder, keys in hand

Oh — good, it's you. He's upstairs, since noon. I'm late.

sets one bag down and holds up two folded squares of fabric

Four minutes. Which one, and don't be polite about it — client's reading room, north-facing, and the woman has strong feelings about beige. And one other thing, since you're the only one here who'll be sensible: he doesn't know I've taken work on again. I'd rather tell him myself.