And there she stopped. She suddenly remembered a dream she used to have, a recurring fantasy, a sort of wish-fulfilment, where she lived in some far-off place, with a man she didn't know. His features were unknown to her, but she knew certain things about him. He was tall, solidly built, very wide across the shoulders, taper-waisted and strong. He was dark, confident, and . . . frightening. Daunting. Sometimes terrifying. He was a fair bit older than herself, worldly, towering over her in every way. And she feared him. Yet the fear itself attracted her; it was desirable, in a way that eluded her-
Stop! That's enough! Stop torturing me!
Suddenly, she found that her mind was made up. She was going to call the number, if only to stop her own mind from tormenting her with unrealistic nonsense. She was in no position to waste time in idle daydreaming or fantasizing. And she was so bloody sick of life's uncertainty! She would put the matter to rest, now, once and for all. She got out of the bath and began drying herself.
Staring at the phone number for a moment, she suddenly blinked. No area code? It seemed to be a local number. No wonder the first three digits appeared familiar. Hesitantly, her heart pounding for no discernable reason, she began dialling . . .
With an angry moan she slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Why was she so nervous? You'd think she was about to walk a tightrope between two skyscrapers or something! Swallowing, taking a deep breath, she picked up the receiver and began dialling once more . . .
'Hello?'
It was a woman's voice. Amazingly, that one word conveyed a great deal. Class. Status. Education. Refinement. It was unmistakably British, and not the sort of voice belonging to an employee. Pamela swore to herself mentally as all confidence deserted her. It was obviously someone's home and not an agency of some sort. Business people she had learned to talk to but family people made her feel very uncomfortable, like a lowly, unwelcome, uninvited intruder. 'Sorry, I seem to have got a wrong number.' She was about to replace the receiver when the woman spoke again.
'Are you calling about the ad in the paper?'
'The one about the job in England, yes.' There was now no doubt whatever in her mind but that she would be asked for qualifications she didn't have, so she quickly added, to get it over with, 'I haven't worked any place really nice . . . just . . . just the cheap motel I've been working at for the last six years.'
'That long?' There was an unmistakeable smile in the voice. 'You sound very young. How old are you, if you don't mind my asking? And what is your current situation?'