There was no mistaking the woman's car when it arrived. Pamela didn't know what kind it was, except that it had a distinctive-looking hood-ornament which looked sort of like a swimmer crouched on the edge of a pool with arms extended backwards, ready to dive in. The car was big and high and old-fashioned-looking, and bore the unmistakeable patina of wealth. She didn't realize she was standing immobile, gaping, until the woman leaned across and opened the door for her.
'It's all right. You can get in. I don't bite.'
Swallowing, Pamela approached the car, and for a moment was reluctant to touch the seat with her clothes. She felt that at any moment the woman would fully register Pamela's appearance, slam the door on her in disgust and drive off.
'My dear, is something the matter?'
'No! No. It's just . . . ' she got in and closed the door, feeling as out of place, awkward and shabby as a street person at a grand ball.
'Well, then,' the woman said as she started driving, 'I think introductions are in order, don't you? I'm Mrs. Amanda Hill Dewhurst. Or at least I was until my husband died. And how are you called?'
Pamela couldn't help but like the woman, instantly. 'I'm just plain, old Pamela Dee,' she said, feeling shy rather than ashamed. 'I haven't even got a middle name.'
'Plain is best,' the woman said with a dismissing gesture and a grimace. 'Believe you me, when I was your age, flowery superfluous names were all the rage and most of the girls who bore those names were pretentious, inconsequential ninnies-'
'Wha- where are you taking me?'
Mrs. Dewhurst was driving towards a very expensive, very exclusive part of town. Pamela had been humiliated a couple of times when living on the streets simply by coming into contact with people that had nice clothes and nice things. She felt as though she didn't belong, as though she had no right to be here, to breathe the same air these people breathed.
'To my flat, if you must know,' Mrs. Dewhurst said, feigning indignance. 'Well, it's not my flat, really (or apartment as you North Americans call them). It's just a rental, while I'm here.' In a conspiratorial sotto voce, she added, 'I'm here on business.'
'What . . . what sort of business?' Pamela ventured, just to make conversation, hoping she wasn't being rude by asking.
Amanda Dewhurst flashed her a broad smile. 'Why, your sort of business, not to put too fine a point on it. I came all the way here from Yorkshire just for the pleasure of finding you, Miss Pamela Dee.'