Always And Forever by Betty Neels Page A

that box under the shelves. Be careful, they are china figures. Arrange them on the bottom shelf and mark the price. That will be on the invoice inside the box.’
    She put away the mirror and unlocked the drawer in the counter. ‘What was your name?’ When Amabel reminded her, she said, ‘Yes, well, I shall call you Amabel—and you’d better call me Dolores. There probably won’t be any customers until ten o’clock. I’m going next door for a cup of coffee. You can have yours when I get back.’
    Which was half an hour later, by which time Amabel had dealt with the china figures, praying silently that there would be no customers.
    â€˜You can have fifteen minutes,’ said Dolores. ‘There’s coffee and milk in the kitchenette; take it into your room if you want to.’
    Cyril and Oscar were glad to have her company, evenif only for a few minutes, and it made a pleasant break in the morning.
    There were people in the shop by now, picking things up and putting them down again, taking their time choosing what they would buy. Dolores sat behind the counter, paying little attention to them and leaving Amabel to wrap up their purchases. Only occasionally she would advise a customer in a languid manner.
    At one o’clock she told Amabel to close the door and lock it.
    â€˜Open up again in half an hour if I’m not back,’ she said. ‘Did I tell you that I close on Wednesday for a half-day? I shall probably go a bit earlier, but you can shut the shop and then do what you like.’
    Amabel, while glad to hear about the half-day, thought that her employer seemed rather unbusinesslike. She closed the shop and made herself a sandwich before going to sit on the patch of grass with Oscar and Cyril for company.
    She was glad when it was one o’clock on Wednesday; standing about in the shop was surprisingly tiring and, although Dolores was kind in a vague way, she expected Amabel to stay after the shop shut so that she could unpack any new goods or rearrange the windows. Dolores herself did very little, beyond sitting behind the counter holding long conversations over the phone. Only when a customer showed signs of serious buying did she exert herself.
    She was good at persuading someone to buy the more expensive glass and china, laughing and chatting in an animated way until the sale was completed, then made no effort to tell Amabel how to go on, seeming content to let her find things out for herself. Amabel supposed that shemust make a living from the shop, although it was obvious that she had very little interest in it.
    It was a temptation to phone Aunt Thisbe and ask if Josh would fetch her for her half-day, but there were things she wished to do. Shopping for food and material for a window curtain, a new lampshade, flowers… Next week, when she had been paid, she would find a cheerful bedspread for the bed and a cloth for the table.
    She did her shopping and took Cyril for a walk, and then spent the rest of her day rearranging her room, sitting by the electric fire eating crumpets for her tea and reading the magazine Dolores had left behind the counter.
    Not very exciting, reflected Amabel, but it was early days, and there was Sunday to look forward to. She wrote a letter to her mother, read the magazine from end to end and allowed her thoughts to wander to Dr Fforde.
    Sunday came at last, bringing Josh and the prospect of a lovely day and the reality of a warm welcome from Aunt Thisbe.
    Warm as well as practical. Amabel was despatched to the bathroom to lie in a pine-scented bath—‘For that is something you must miss,’ said Miss Parsons. ‘Come down when you are ready and we will have coffee and you shall tell me everything.’
    Amabel, pink from her bath, settled before the fire in her aunt’s drawing room with Oscar and Cyril beside her, and gave a detailed account of her week. She made it light-hearted.
    â€˜It’s