”“That’ll be a first,” Quince murmured softly.“I seriously doubt she’ll want it to go further, if she doesn’t apologise, Miss Quince,”...I replied, watching an eyebrow rise.“Please call me Doreen when it’s just us,” she answered with a slight smile.“It’s actually Howard, not Mr Howard, but I doubt I can change that now,” I chuckled.“Just watch your back with the Hatchett. She’s a very nasty piece of work,” she warned quietly as I realised I’d found another ally.“Yes, I’ve noticed. Her treatment. In the kitchen for instance, I am always out of place, except as a visitor waiting for food. I don't mean to make her sound like a June Cleaver type out of the fifties. That definitely was not my Julie, not one little bit. She cooked because she enjoyed it. For her it was and is sufficient. She was a woman, and proud to be one, because that is what she was born to be. We played none of the phony conversational games that so many people call communicating. Instead, we communicated.As we talked. More

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