Roberta Leigh - Cinderella in Mink

by Roberta Leigh

  "They do more than give you shape," the girl coughed. "They accentuate the positive!"

  Nicola peered at herself in the small mirror that hung on the back of the door. "The sweater's a bit tight," she agreed.

  "The boys will like it."

  "Blow the boys!" Nicola waved at Gillian and went downstairs, anticipating and receiving appreciative whistles as she entered the kitchen.

  However, her depression did not lift, and it coloured the morning, slowing down her actions and responses. She tried to make herself feel better by envisaging her forthcoming meeting with Barnaby. Should she waylay him this afternoon before he began the usual therapeutic discussion, or should she wait till it was over and he was relaxed before dinner? Or perhaps after dinner would be better. Yet if she left it so late she would have to remain here the entire day, and she had planned to return home for dinner - a dinner which she would thankfully have had no hand in preparing. What pleasure it would be to sit at her own elegant Regency table and eat food concocted by a master chef.

  She closed her eyes the better to savour the thought, but it was too ephemeral to overcome the present odour of beef stew and cabbage. This acknowledgment brought forth another reason for her depression. How could she expect herself to be pleased at the thought of returning to the quiet loneliness of Belgravia when the rumbustious life - warm with comradeship and bristling with discussion and argument - was still going on so strongly around her? Not until she was far away from here and once more accustomed to cosseting and luxury would her spirits return to normal.

  At mid-morning Joanna unexpectedly called her into the office. As usual the girl's behaviour could not be faulted. She was politely interested in all Nicola was doing, yet managed to give the impression that she did not like her. None of the other girls had mentioned that Joanna had ever been antagonistic towards them, and Nicola wondered why she herself had aroused it; had in fact felt it strongly almost from their first meeting.

  "You've been here a week," Joanna was saying purposefully, "and it's usual for girls who can do so to try and find a job."

  "I'm doing the ironing and dish-washing."

  "I meant earning money."

  "Are you asking me to leave the hostel?"

  "No," Joanna said in a tone that suggested she did. "But unless someone is very disturbed emotionally we feel it's better for them to have a regular occupation. Even if it's only part- time."

  "Is this Barnaby's order?"

  "I haven't discussed it with Doctor Grayson. He generally leaves this sort of thing to me."

  "I'd still like to talk to Barnaby about it." Nicola stressed his name deliberately and saw Joanna flush. "I intended talking to him today anyway."

  "You take up enough of his time already," Joanna commented sharply. "He has far more important things to do than worry about you."

  The attack was so uncalled-for that Nicola had to use all her self-control not to answer back. Since she could not find any logical reason for it, only an illogical one came to mind: Joanna was jealous of her. She turned in her chair and looked full into Joanna's face, seeing the thick white skin that so successfully masked her feelings, and the hard brown eyes that gazed at her with cool indifference. "I bet she was head girl at her school," Nicola thought, but kept her own features as composed as the ones opposite her.

  "I've a list of jobs I think you might find suitable," Joanna said. "None of them are far from here, so you wouldn't be involved in any travelling expenses. A part-time salesgirl is wanted in a wool shop; a solicitor's office needs a telephonist - it's only a small switchboard so it shouldn't be difficult - and -"

  "No job as a waitress?" Nicola asked brightly.

  "Doctor Grayson wouldn't approve of that."

  "I thought you hadn't discussed it with him."

  "I know what his thoughts are on the subject," Joanna replied, "and for the time being he feels it would be better if you were in a job where you wouldn't have any temptation to revert to - to become - you know what I mean."

  "You're making darn sure I do!" Nicola said angrily. "Keep your jobs, Miss Morgan. I don't need you to find me one!"

  "If you intend staying here -"

  "I don't!" Nicola retorted, and swung out of the room, colliding against a broad, white-shirted chest. With a gasp she looked up - a long way up - into Barnaby Grayson's face. "You've been eavesdropping," she accused.

  "It's a habit I learned from you!" As always he refused to be provoked. "Actually I was on my way to see Joanna when I heard your - er - discussion. I was all set to intervene if a storm blew up." He looked at her quizzically. "You're not { very diplomatic, are you, little Nicky?"

  "Stop talking to me as if I'm a child!" She stepped back from him, unaware of her sweater outlined against the dark panelling of the wall, until she saw his eyes lower quickly and then rise to meet her own.

  "You're certainly not a child," he said drily.

  She reddened. "I -I want to thank you for the clothes."

  "I'm glad to see they almost fit!" He folded his arms on his chest. "I gather you want to talk to me." Then seeing her questioning look: "I heard you tell Joanna."

  "We can leave it till later," she stammered.

  "There's no time like the present. Come into the sitting room now."

  He caught her arm and pulled her forward, and her skin tingled at the pressure of his fingers. Aware of him in a way she had never been before, she pretended to a nonchalance she did not feel and moved away from him as soon as they entered the room.

  Perhaps the knowledge that she would soon be disclosing her real identity and showing him how easily he had been duped was making her see him more as a man, and not as a doctor and the guiding light of this hostel? Yet it had been her antagonism towards him as a man - her resentment of his superior male belief that he knew everything better than she did - which had first decided her to maintain her charade with him. It was strange to think that the very characteristic which she had disliked in him then she now found disturbingly attractive.

  Annoyed by her feelings, she tried to rationalise them away. She had been absent from her friends too long; she was missing Jeffrey and needed the assurance that she was still a desirable female. Yet even when she had felt herself to be desired she had never known - in her innermost heart - how much of her attraction was her own and how much her money.

  "You look as though you're thinking sombre thoughts," Barnaby Grayson's deep voice interrupted her reverie, and with a start she raised her head to his.

  His gaze was as penetrating as it always was and just as kind. There was no need to ask herself how he saw her: he made it all too clear that she was a girl in need of a strong, guiding hand to keep her on the path of virtue. Yet he saw her as a person of some sensitivity too. This much was obvious from the way in which - understanding her dislike of Joanna - he had brought her in here to try and placate her. But how quickly the kindly look on his face would disappear when he learned whom she was. She would tell him now, she decided, but even though she parted her lips, no words emerged.

  "Well," he said encouragingly, "what do you want to tell me?"

  "It wasn't important," she hedged, and lowered her eyes to the carpet. She raised them again and saw him stifle a yawn.

  "If I'm boring you," she said angrily, "I'll go."

  "Don't be silly. I'm just tired."

  He stifled another yawn and for the first time she noticed his pallor and red-rimmed eyes. "You shouldn't work so hard," she burst out, her anger dissolving. "People don't appreciate it. What with the hospital and this hostel you'll be an old man at forty."

  "Old but happy!"

  Tenderness tugged at her, and the urge to put her arms around him was so strong that she took a step forward. Her foot caught on a bare patch of carpet and the faint pull of the threads was enough to pull her back to her senses.

  What was this crazy thing that was happening to her? No man had ever provoked her to such tenderness. Men were strong and had to be fought against
, or were weak and were to be despised. But this man had no weakness for her to despise, nor did she want to fight his strength.

  "What's the matter?" he asked.

  "You're the matter," she snapped. "You look tired and old."

  "You said you like older men!" He was still teasing. "I'd be a much better counsellor for you than Marty."

  Anger rose in her again and she turned her back on him. A floorboard creaked and he stopped directly behind her, his hand coming down to her shoulder, the rounded bone fitting into the curve of his palm.

  "Don't be annoyed with me for teasing you, Nicky."

  "Why do you do it? You never tease the others."

  "Perhaps you're a special case."

  Intensely aware of his touch, she tried to keep her voice casual. "I bet you say that to all your patients."

  "I don't regard you as a patient," he said, and dropped his hand.

  "Why not?" She half glanced at him. "Don't you think I need your help?"

  "Not in the way the other girls do."

  Her heart began to thump, but she remained silent, and after a slight pause, he continued.

  "From the moment you came here, you put on an act. Your story about the orphanage, for example. It just won't wash."

  "Do you think I was lying about Marty too?" she said deliberately.

  "I believe you were running away from a man," he replied, "and I believe your past life was extremely unhappy."

  "Past life? You make it sound as if I came from another world!"

  "I believe you do. And I also think you don't want to return to it. You haven't yet made up your mind what you want to do with your future, Nicky, and until you have, I'd like you to stay here."

  She took back everything she had ever thought about his lack of perception. He had no way of knowing her identity, yet training and instinct had told him she was far different from what she appeared to be.

  "If you do decide to stay on," he continued, "there's no need to come to the discussion groups if you don't want to. And I'll also tell Joanna to leave you alone."

  "You mean I'm here as a non-paying guest?" she said with an effort at humour.

  "Until you make up your mind what to do with your life."

  Here was her opportunity to tell him that she already had a role in society. Yet the words would not come out and she began to tremble, sensing something that until this moment she had never remotely guessed.

  "There's no need to cry," he said gently, and put his arms around her shoulders. "Live day by day and let the future take care of itself."

  "You're being very trite," she mumbled against his jacket.

  "A remark becomes trite because it's so good that it's been said many times before."

  "What's good about my staying here?"

  "You'll be with me!" he laughed, and moving her away from him, gave her a little shake. "You've always been a little spitfire, Nicky. Don't spoil it by going all tearful and docile!"

  She looked at him for a long moment, her mind a whirl of frightening thoughts which, even as they settled into place, formed a picture that frightened her even more.

  She was in love with Barnaby Grayson.

  With a little sob she turned and ran from the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Whatever it was that Barney said to Joanna, it only served to increase her antagonism towards Nicola, and though she offered no more suggestions as to jobs, she went out of her way to make it clear that Nicola's presence in the hostel was robbing someone else of a badly-needed place.

  Because she knew there was some justification in this, Nicola had to fight a sense of guilt at remaining here, and told herself she would return to Belgravia as soon as she had established a real relationship with Barnaby. Only when this happened would she be able to tell him who she was, and not till he knew her true identity would she leave. Yet for the moment she was no nearer to altering his attitude than she had ever been, and it remained friendly, interested, but by no stretch of the imagination any different from what it had always been.

  It was Joanna who unwittingly helped to change this. Commenting bitterly that if Nicola intended to stay at the hostel indefinitely she should at least have the decency to do some extra work, she prompted Nicola to offer her services as cook.

  It was an offer Nicola regretted the moment she was faced with having to plan a meal for twenty-five people. Having watched her own chef from time to time, she would have been able to make a passable dish providing she had a larder full of food, but she found it almost impossible to do anything with the unappetising hunk of meat and sack of potatoes with which she was faced. For nearly half an hour she debated what to do, refusing to think of the large, white-tiled larder in her own home with its two freezers and huge refrigerators burgeoning with prime cut sirloin steaks, fresh vegetables and fruit flown to London twice a week from Rosten farms in southern Europe. Rummaging in one of the cupboards, she found a large hand-mincer, and two back-breaking hours later had turned the meat into mince. Several large onions, which she found lurking in a wooden box on the larder floor, were also minced in with it, with the liberal addition of nutmeg and cinnamon - the only two spices she was able to discover - and which were normally used for the rice pudding which made a weekly appearance as hostel fare.

  Cooking for so many people was more tedious than she had anticipated, and as she cut and sliced potatoes ready to saute them, she looked longingly at the ironing cupboard. Even ironing sheets seemed preferable to what she was doing now.

  But later that night, with dinner successfully served and a replete group of people crowded round the table, she felt an enormous sense of satisfaction at a job well done.

  "Best looking meat-balls I've ever had," one of the young men said. "They tasted foreign."

  "It was the seasoning," said Gillian, and looked at Nicola. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"

  "In the orphanage," she mumbled, and avoiding Barnaby's gaze.

  "We never got grub like that in our orphanage."

  "I think Nicky's orphanage was rather special," Joanna intervened, her voice placid but her look malicious. "You're a very capable cook, Nicky, I'm sure you could earn your living at it."

  "I've seen loads of jobs like that advertised," Carole remarked. "You know the sort of thing - elderly widower requires cook-housekeeper."

  "What does she have to keep apart from the house?" asked Frank, newest resident at the hostel.

  "An old man happy," said Gillian.

  "I'm sure you could do that very well," Joanna murmured so quietly that only Nicola could hear.

  With an effort Nicola kept her expression blank, though her fingers itched to feel Joanna's cheek beneath them. The feeling grew stronger as the girl left the kitchen with Barnaby, walking up the stairs beside him in a way that indicated greater closeness yet to come. There was no doubt Joanna had truly inveigled herself into every aspect of his life. Not only did she know of his work at the hospital, but she was a close part of his work here. How hard she was trying to get him to say the one word that would enable her to enter his life completely.

  "Don't you like our dishes?" Gillian asked Nicola. "From the way you're banging them together I get the feeling you'd like to smash them!"

  "I'd like to smash something."

  "Joanna's head, I suppose." And then, at Nicola's startled look: "We all fall for Barnaby sooner or later. But don't worry - it doesn't last."

  "You sound very sure," commented Nicola.

  "I am. This place is a shelter, and he's the head of it. It's natural we should turn to him; women always love anyone who protects them. It's part of their heritage - goes back to the days when men did the hunting and killing and women stayed in the caves."

  "Where did you learn that?"

  "Barnaby was talking about it this afternoon when Elaine said she fell in love with him the first week she arrived."

  "You mean he knows that the - that the girls here usually fall for him?"

  "Sure. There isn
't much that escapes his notice."

  Nicola found the thought mortifying; not only because it meant Barnaby must know how she felt, but because he had made no response to it. But then he was too ethical to do so.

  Despite his assertion that she should not regard herself as a patient of his, the very fact that she was here, under his aegis, would preclude him from allowing himself to have any emotional feeling towards her. Only when she was no longer here would he be free to see her in the way he wanted. Yet how did he want to see her? She was no nearer knowing this today than she had been last week. She had to make him aware of her as a woman. Once she had done this, she would not be afraid to tell him her real name.

  "I'm surprised Barnaby remained single all these years." She did not realise she had spoken her thoughts aloud until she hard Gillian laugh.

  "Joanna's trying to remedy that. She's around him all the time." Gillian retrieved a plate before Nicola could bang it on the table. "Go up and watch the telly," she advised. "You look flaked out after all your cooking."

  Nicola escaped upstairs. Laughter came from the common- room, and unwilling to make any more conversation she stood in the hall wondering what to do.

  The door of the small sitting room opened and Barnaby stood looking at her. "What's the problem, Nicky?"

  "Not tired enough for bed but too tired to join in all that." She jerked her head behind her.

  "Come and sit with me," he said. "I'm listening to some music."

  "I can't see Nicky enjoying Bach." Joanna had come to stand beside him, tall and slim and very sure of herself.

  Nicola drew herself up to her full five feet. "I was hoping Barnaby would play me the Teddy Bears' Picnic," she retorted.

  Barnaby's mouth twitched, but his face remained serious as he moved Joanna back into the room and waited for Nicola to join them.

  Ensconced on the lumpy settee, she found it worse having to watch Joanna smile enticingly at Barnaby than it would have been to stay in the other sitting room without him, and only the knowledge that her presence here was a considerable irritation to Joanna enabled her to remain.

  A Bach fugue came to an end and Barnaby removed it from the record player. "That was Joanna's choice," he said pleasantly. "What's yours, Nicky?"