The Diary Of Pamela D.

Suppertime, when it came, was organized chaos. The staff dining room filled up with hungry men dressed in rain gear and muddy Wellingtons. They varied in age from a boy of twelve to a pair of men in their late fifties. They were a rustic, rugged-looking bunch, quiet and soft-spoken for the most part. Despite what Theo had told her, they greeted Pamela with friendly interest when Mrs. Pascoe introduced her. One fellow, huge, hulking and blonde who appeared in his late twenties, ran his eyes appreciatively over her form in a way that made her withdraw quickly, her face scarlet, making the older men chuckle and rib the fellow.

Moments later Pamela was struggling with a heavy tureen into the dining room, doing her best to appear to make light of the burden. As she set it on the table her eyes were caught by Theo, who watched her with an odd expression. Mrs. Dewhurst, who was sitting beside him, gave her a surreptitious wink. Tearing her eyes away with what seemed to take great physical effort, she fled to the safety of the kitchen, her feelings a confused turmoil.

The rest of the meal passed without incident. Almost two hours later, the kitchen staff, after having removed the dishes from the dining room, sat down to eat in the staff dining room after the outdoor workers had left.

'Well, Pamela,' said Mrs. Pascoe, 'you did very well.' There were mutterings of assent and approval from around the table that made Pamela flush with . . . it took her a moment to realise that she was accepted. This fact gave her a warm feeling inside, a feeling she had never dared to experience-

It wasn't until Mrs. Pascoe put an arm around her shoulders that she realized she was crying. To her relief, no one said anything or plied her with unwanted attention. When she finally regained her composure, the looks she got from the others were kind, understanding, and unaffectedly warm.

It was only her first day, yet already the place was beginning to feel like home.

When the washing and cleaning up were finished, Pamela was dismissed for the day. Instead of going to her room, however, she began the task of tackling the kitchen's grimy shelves and discoloured pots and pans. It didn't take her long to discover that places either very low or very high were badly neglected: something she had experienced before when working with ageing volunteers and hotel staff. She began to suspect, as well, despite her first impression, that the rest of the mansion was likewise hiding a patina of neglect. She was just cleaning out the contents at the back of one of the cupboards when a voice caused her to react with alarm, to withdraw too quickly, bumping her head.