The Diary Of Pamela D. Read Online Free PDF Page A

or
that her heart had stopped beating. Her entire being seemed to
scream It’s him !
She didn’t know who he was, but it was definitely him , the man from her old dream. But
no, that was ridiculous! She didn’t even know what the man in her
dream looked like. All she had to go on were vague generalities.
There was nothing vague or general about the man before her, who
now leaned over and talking very quietly with Mrs. Dewhurst. He was
dressed in a dove-grey suit, immaculately tailored, and something
of the way he leaned over emphasised the broadness of his shoulders
and depth of his chest, the hard muscles of his upper body and
arms. His hair was short and wavy, and oh, so black, a true
blue-black, such as Pamela had rarely seen before. She had caught
the briefest glimpse of his eyes. They were grey eyes, strong,
demanding, unyielding . . . a tremor of fear stirred in her vitals
. . . they were eyes to be feared if kindled to anger. At one point
he looked up and Pamela felt a lance of fear pass right through her
as his gaze took her in, seemingly at a glance. Raising an eyebrow,
in what she would find would for him be a characteristic gesture,
his gaze and expression neutral, he extended his hand, which was
very large, warm, strong and . . . when she reached out and placed
her own small hand in his, she almost snatched it back in sudden
fear and confusion.
    ‘Miss Dee. How do you do?’ His voice was
low-pitched, self-assured, altogether a man’s voice, the sort of
man who was master of his own affairs.
    ‘I . . . hi,’ she stammered.
    ‘Now Theo,’ his mother chided, ‘stop
intimidating the poor girl! Come, sit down, and join us.’
    Releasing her hand, he regarded Pamela
directly for the first time, and she found his manner somewhat
threatening.
    ‘You are going to find that my mother has a
penchant for acting out of impulse,’ he said, seating himself in
front of her beside his mother, ‘and that the rest of us usually
end up dealing with the consequences,’ he added, his manner polite
but stern. He was all-too-obviously more than an equal to his
mother. ‘She should never have brought you all the way here, to a
strange country with rather quaint, idiosyncratic ways. Yorkshire
people, I’m afraid you’re going to find, do not take quickly to
newcomers. One can live generations in Yorkshire and still be
considered a latecomer. However, you’re here now, and Mother seems
to have her mind set on your staying, so I guess we’ll just have to
make the best of it. Mother tells me you can type.’
    ‘Better than forty words a minute,’ Mrs.
Dewhurst answered for her, but in a way that showed she wasn’t the
least bit intimidated by her own son.
    Theo sighed. ‘Mother, please, I’m sure the
girl has a tongue of her own. Fine, so you can type. Have you ever
taken dictation?’
    ‘A little,’ she blurted, ‘for Father
Mugford-’
    ‘Splendid.’ He said this as
though it were the least splendid thing he’d ever heard. ‘Do you have any
knowledge of accounting? of keeping ledgers? of
bookkeeping?-’
    ‘Theo,’ Mrs. Dewhurst interrupted in a
warning tone, ‘if you don’t start being civil, I am going to disown
you.’
    To Pamela’s surprise, he
burst out laughing, and for a brief moment there was honest
laughter in his eyes. But only briefly. ‘My dear Mother, I always
thought that you’d will your estates to the stray cats of this
world. She would, too,’ he said to Pamela. She thought she detected
something in his eyes, as though he thought of her as a stray cat. And she wasn’t
sure, but she thought she detected veiled anger; perhaps even
hatred.
    Little was said in the ensuing twenty minutes
or so as they ate breakfast. Pamela herself said not a word, and
found that she had entirely lost her appetite. She kept her gaze
lowered to the vicinity of her plate and tried not to notice the
imposing figure seated before her.
     
    Later, they went out to the car and got in,
Pamela on the left, Mrs.