ISABEL’S
Stepping through the door of Isabel’s was like stepping back in time, but Jean delighted in the sight of several elderly ladies sitting contentedly under huge, humming hairdryers. She always felt like a mere youngster here.
‘Morning, girls. Morning, Paul,’ she said, smiling as she squeezed past the umbrella stand.
As always, she blessed the day she had discovered Isabel’s. Two years earlier, after her husband had passed away, and newly arrived in a small Dorset
