Always And Forever by Betty Neels Page B

delightful working in such a pleasant place,’ she pointed out. ‘There are some lovely things in the shop, and Miss Trent—she likes to be called Dolores—is very kind and easygoing.’
    â€˜You are able to cook proper meals?’
    â€˜Yes, and I do—and the room looks so nice now that I have cushions and flowers.’
    â€˜You are happy there, Amabel? Really happy? You have enough free time and she pays you well?’
    â€˜Yes, Aunt. York is such a lovely city, and the people in the other shops in the Shambles are so friendly…’
    Which was rather an exaggeration, but Aunt Thisbe must be convinced that there was no reason why she shouldn’t go to Italy…
    She would go during the following week, Miss Parsons told Amabel, and Amabel was to continue to spend her Sundays at End House; Josh would see to everything…
    Amabel, back in her room with another box of food and a duvet her aunt had declared she didn’t want, was content that she had convinced the old lady that she was perfectly happy; they would write to each other, and when Aunt Thisbe came back in the New Year they would review the future.
    A week or two went by. Amabel bought a winter coat, a pretty cover for the duvet, a basket for Cyril and a cheap rug. She also saved some money—but not much.
    After the first two weeks Dolores spent less and less time at the shop. She would pop in at opening time and then go and have her hair done, or go shopping or meet friends for coffee. Amabel found it odd, but there weren’t many customers. Trade would pick up again at Christmas, Dolores told her.
    Amabel, aware that she was being underpaid and overworked, was nonetheless glad to have her days filled. The few hours she spent in her room once the shop was closed were lonely enough. Later, she promised herself, once shefelt secure in her job, she would join a club or go to night school. In the meantime she read and knitted and wrote cheerful letters home.
    And when she wasn’t doing that she thought about Dr Fforde. Such a waste of time, she told herself. But there again, did that matter? It was pleasant to remember… She wondered what he was doing and wished she knew more about him. Wondered too if he ever thought of her…
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    To be truthful, he thought of her very seldom; he led a busy life and time was never quite his own. He had driven to Glastonbury once or twice to see his mother, and since the road took him past Amabel’s home he had slowed the car to note the work being carried out there. He had thought briefly of calling to see Mrs Graham, but decided against it. There was no point now that Amabel was in York and happy. He hoped that she had settled down by now. Perhaps when he had time to spare he would drive up and go to see her…
    He was seeing a good deal of Miriam, and friends were beginning to invite them together to dinner parties. He often spent evenings with her at the theatre when he would much rather have been at home, but she was amusing, and clever enough to appear to have a sincere interest in his work. Hardly aware of it, he was being drawn into her future plans…
    It wasn’t until one evening, returning home after a long day at the hospital to be met by Bates with a message from Miriam—she—and he—were to join a party of theatregoers that evening, he was to call for her at seven-thirty and after the theatre he would take her out to supper—that he realised what was happening.
    He stood for a moment without speaking, fighting downsudden anger, but when he spoke there was nothing of it in his voice.
    â€˜Phone Mrs Potter-Stokes, please, and tell her that I am unable to go out this evening.’ He smiled suddenly as an idea drowned the anger. ‘And, Bates, tell her that I shall be going away.’
    There was no expression on Bates’s foxy face, but he felt a deep satisfaction. He didn’t like Mrs Potter-Stokes and, unlike the