The Diary Of Pamela D. Read Free Page B

I’d
do without him. But he needs some . . . assistance , and some distraction as well. By
the by, do you type?’
    ‘Just a little,’ Pamela admitted, able for
the first time to manage some confidence. ‘I helped out a lot with
the Mission’s correspondence. But I can only do about forty-five
words a minute. Mrs. Gilroy- she showed me how to type. She’s a
real secretary. I’ve been told she can type about seventy-two words
a minute.’
    ‘Well, it seems you have
some genuine talent after all!’ Mrs. Dewhurst smiled. ‘Forty-five
words is about twice as fast as Theo can manage. He uses the “hunt-and-peck”
method. That clinches it! You’re coming with me, and that’s all
there is to it. I’ll have someone collect your things-’
    ‘I . . . I’d better go along,’ Pamela
muttered, uncomfortable with the thought of someone going through
her belongings, most of which weren’t worth keeping. ‘But- didn’t
you say something about leaving in the morning? If I get my things,
where will I stay?’
    Mrs. Dewhurst made a face.
‘Why, here , of
course. As though you’d be staying any place else!’
     
    And so it was settled. Mrs. Dewhurst sent her
back home in a cab. It took less than fifteen minutes to sort
through the few clothes and articles she would bring while the cab
driver sat in the kitchenette drinking the last of her instant
coffee. She finished by writing a note for the landlady. She then
put this in an envelope, along with her keys, and slipped it under
the landlady’s door.
    ‘Where you off to, Miss?’ the cab driver
asked her when they were under way.
    ‘Back to Mrs. Dewhurst’s-’
    ‘No, I mean I heard the two of you talking. I
thought I heard something about your going overseas.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling suddenly lightheaded
about the prospect, ‘I’m going to a place called Yorkshire in the
morning.’
    ‘Oh, yeah. That’s in England, up north on the
east side, just below Scotland.’
    ‘Oh,’ Pamela muttered. ‘I
didn’t realise that Yorkshire wasn’t . . . like, a country or
something.’
    The cab driver, an older
fellow, chuckled. ‘It is to most of the people who live there.
Never travelled before? Well, take it from me, I’m just a broken
down old cab driver, without much ejumucation , but I’ve travelled a bit,
and if I’ve learned anything from the experience, it’s that you’re
never the same afterwards. Broadens your view of the world and your
place in it. Besides, it’s not a good thing to be stuck in one
place your whole life, especially at your age. No, you mark my
words: when you get back, you’ll be a whole new person.’
    ‘I don’t plan on coming back,’ she replied
defensively, feeling threatened by the notion.
    ‘Oh, you’ll come back all right,’ the cab
driver said with a knowing smile. ‘They always do. No one ever
really leaves this place.’
    That thought struck a chill down her spine,
and she didn’t answer. But she pretended to agree with the man, and
smiled politely when he helped her with her dilapidated suitcase.
But for the rest of the evening, the background of her thoughts was
dogged by the man’s words, distracting her from what Mrs. Dewhurst
was saying.
    At last, the woman said
apologetically, ‘My dear, I am sorry! Here I am, prattling along like a giddy old
matron at a social tea, and you’re obviously too tired to pay
attention. Run along now- have a nice long bath and go to bed. I’ll
wake you in the morning, and we’ll begin what it is hoped will be a
long and happy adventure together.’
     
    Pamela luxuriated in the tub
for almost an hour. Bath salts! Bubble
bath! Hot water that was really hot, not
lukewarm because the owner was too cheap to turn the boiler up. It
turned out that she and Mrs. Dewhurst were sharing the same bed but
the woman was busy at the desk, staying up late. Pamela went to bed
and lay awake for a long time, enjoying the silence , the lack of traffic noise, of
public disturbances, of