The Country Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

my mouth; but just then there was a furious sound of scuttling and panting up ahead, and all at once a great black bolt of fur and flesh flew at us from the end of the long hall. Taken by surprise, I shrieked as the animal charged my legs, describing crazed circles of excitement around me before plunging his drooling muzzle directly between my thighs.
    â€˜ROY!’ bellowed Pamela. ‘Stop that! Get down!’
    The dog was sniffing at me feverishly, his nose rooted deep in the folds of my skirt. Finally, Pamela yanked him back by the collar and administered a sharp slap to his heaving, glossy side.
    â€˜You’re quite
disgusting
!’ she cried; addressing Roy. ‘Oh, he
is
vile,’ she said, to me. ‘Did he get gunk all over you?’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    â€˜God, what a
madhouse
!’ She set off again, still clutching Roy by his collar. His cowed legs slid and scrabbled over the stone floor. ‘You must be wondering what you’ve let yourself in for!’
    We passed the staircase and left the hall through a door to the right. After several twists and turns, and by a manoeuvre about which I was not entirely clear, we entered a large and sunny room which I took to be the kitchen.
    â€˜Let’s get the kettle on, shall we?’ said Pamela, releasing Roy, who skulked off into a corner.
    â€˜All right,’ I said.
    â€˜And then you can tell me
everything.
’
    She left my side and began busying herself at one of the kitchen counters. The whole room was kitted out in old wood, which is why I had been unsure as to whether it was a kitchen at all. A large, old-fashioned stove – the ‘Aga’, as I later came to call it – and a vast wooden dining table were the only clues. Otherwise, it was furnished with the sort of elegant cupboards and dressers which most people put in their formal rooms. I thought I had never seen anything so tasteful.
    â€˜What exactly was it you did?’ said Pamela.
    Her grammar, although I am sure it was correct, confused me for a moment.
    â€˜Excuse me?’
    â€˜Before,’ she elaborated. ‘In London.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. I worked for a law firm. As a secretary.’ It proved harder to say than I had thought. ‘This is a lovely kitchen. I’ve never seen one like it.’
    â€˜Thank you!’ Pamela, who during the above exchange had kept her back to me, turned and gave me that same large smile she had given me earlier. It was a remarkably pleasant smile to receive. She turned away again. ‘And had you always done secretarial work? Or was it a stopgap on the way to something else?’
    I saw that I had got off lightly with Mr Madden, who had asked me practically nothing about myself.
    â€˜I’ve done various things, but mostly secretarial work. I didn’t mind it,’ I added, attempting to turn the conversation, ‘but I suppose I just got bored. Which is why I’m here.’
    Pamela laughed, and I must admit that my reply had been skilful.
    â€˜Well, you
certainly
won’t be bored here. Exhausted and infuriated perhaps, but never bored. Although’ – her fine shoulders twitched, as though she had been about to turn around, but had thought better of it – ‘if you’re looking for a social life, you might be out of luck. There’s the village, for what it’s worth, and Buckley isn’t far, but we’re definitely rather short on nightlife around here.’
    I took this as a subtle warning and responded appropriately.
    â€˜I won’t mind that,’ I said. ‘One of the reasons I wanted to leave London in the first place was to get away from all of that.’
    â€˜And what about boyfriends?’ she continued; quite pleasantly, but still with her back to me, which added to my feeling of being, albeit subtly, interrogated. For the second time – my account of my inglorious secretarial career had been the first –