'It wasn't anything!' Pamela retorted in a desperate whisper, thoroughly flustered. 'I don't know why he did that.'
'Did what? Did he try to kiss you?'
'No!' Pamela almost shouted, and then, quietly, 'No. He didn't do anything. I think he was just trying to be nice to me because I was so upset, but I got scared and ran-'
'Hello, hello, and what have we here?' It was the big blonde fellow from the farm, who stood over the two women, leering at Pamela. He was obviously a bit drunk.
'Get lost, Albert,' Mrs. Pascoe said. 'We're busy talking, and you're obviously busy getting stewed to the gills, so go back to it.'
'I jus' want to have a word with Miss Prissy Pants,' he said, sitting down beside Pamela, leaning over her and trying to put his arm around her. When she flinched away he only laughed and put his arm around her. 'We'll have none of that!' he said, drunkenly. 'Come on, lass, how abou- ow, OW!'
Pamela had taken two of his fingers and bent them backwards. She then scooted away from him, put her back to the wall, and used her legs to push the loutish Albert unceremoniously off the seat onto the floor, prompting a couple of staff members to investigate.
'He bothering you women?'
'Yes!'
'He is!' the two women said together.
'Come on, you,' the barkeep said, 'sit down! And not with the women! Go back to where you were, with your friends. Once more and you'll be out of here for good.'
As Albert was led away, Mrs. Pascoe said to him, 'Little kittens got claws sometimes, Albert,' prompting him to make an obscene gesture. 'Don't worry about him,' she told Pamela. 'He's not a bad fellow, really. He's just a wee bit . . . coarse. I liked the way you handled him, though,' she added with a wide grin. 'You should have hauled off and nutted him a good one. I'd'uv paid good money to see that!'
'That bitch, Miss Prissy Pants, she's the one as broke my fingers . . . '
The two women shared a look and, along with Albert's companions, burst into laughter.
'Well, so much for a quiet time,' Pamela said.
'She did! She broke my hand- no, my fingers. Right here, see?'
This was received with more unsympathetic laughter.
'Poor Albert doesn't seem to have a very receptive audience, does he?' Mrs. Pascoe said. 'I do wish he'd shut up! How's your pastie?'
'Hot!' Pamela said, only having managed a nibble or two so far. 'By the way, I don't quite get this exchange thing. How much is a British pound worth, exactly?'