'I . . . I'm eighteen, and my situation is that I'm unemployed.'
Again that unmistakable smile in the voice. 'I gathered that, in light of the fact that you are calling, seeking employment. But what I meant was, are you married? living at home? have you any children? That sort of thing.'
Pamela was silent a moment. She had none of these things. The woman would think she was worthless when she told her. Worthless, poor, of no consequence. Wanting a quick end to this conversation, she blurted out the truth in a flat monotone.
'I live alone. I have no family. I don't have anyone. I . . . I'm sorry . . . this is just wasting your time-'
'Wait! Don't hang up! Now listen, young lady, that is exactly what I wanted to hear. I'm looking for someone with no ties, who can pick up and move at a moment's notice. Someone who isn't going to become suicidally homesick after a single fortnight has passed-'
'But I don't know anything about fancy houses, or how I'm supposed to act, or anything,' Pamela said, wondering what a "fortnight" was.
'Well,' the woman said, and chuckled, a good-natured, throaty sound, 'if it happens that you end up working for me, we'll soon put that to rights. And by the way, our little abode is in Yorkshire, as in Yorkshire pudding.'
'Where is Yorkshire?' Pamela asked, never having heard of Yorkshire pudding, either. 'Is that in Europe or something?'
Again that throaty chuckle. 'My dear, you are a delight! You North Americans are so brave about admitting ignorance. My late husband would have died rather than admit to the fact that he didn't know everything and anything. Now, when and where can I meet you? Is tomorrow evening convenient? I've other interviews before then, but . . . don't be discouraged, my dear. I find I like the sound of your voice.'
Pamela fidgeted a moment, reluctant yet timidly hopeful. 'Tomorrow's fine . . . but . . . there's no place around here to meet, exactly, except for a doughnut-shop near where I live.'
'I take it you haven't transportation, then?' The woman made it more a statement than a question.
'I don't have a car or anything, no,' Pamela muttered, feeling ashamed.
'Well, give me your address, and I'll meet you at . . . say . . . eight-thirty? You live where? Oh, my! Well . . . but never mind! Just be ready and watch for me. Goodbye.'
Pamela hung up the phone feeling bewildered. 'Huh. She didn't even tell me her name, or ask for mine.' With a shrug and an indefinable emptiness dogging her steps as she listlessly went to the closet, she began picking through her things as if something half-decent, forgotten and unnoticed, was waiting there to be found.