Roberta Leigh - Cinderella in Mink

by Roberta Leigh

  Barnaby glanced at her, his expression cold, before he turned to Joanna. "Nicky's right. Things aren't always as cut and dried as you'd like them to be."

  "She's making a fool of you," Joanna retorted. "A fool!"

  "I'm not!" Nicola put her hand on Barnaby's arm. "Believe me, Barnaby, I'm not!"

  "There's no need to get upset." His voice was gentle, but he stepped back a pace, the movement serving to loosen Nicola's grasp. "You'd better go down to dinner, or there won't be any left."

  Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to keep calm. "What about you?"

  "Joanna will bring me something on a tray."

  He went back into the sitting room and Joanna turned a triumphant gaze on Nicola. Afraid that if she remained within striking distance she might do exactly that, Nicola made for the comfort of the overcrowded kitchen.

  It was impossible even to pretend she had an appetite, and she nibbled at some bread and made herself a cup of tea. The desire to tell Barnaby the truth was a strong one, and she was only prevented from doing so by the fear that - having not yet admitted he loved her - he might never do so once he discovered her real identity. The confidence with which she had told Marty he loved her had been more an assertion of what she wished to believe, than what she knew to be the truth and, faced with the possibility of having to prove what she had said, she knew she dared not do so yet.

  If only Barnaby would stop fighting her and admit he [ wanted her! Yet he was still bound by the conventions of medical etiquette, despite his assertion that she was not a patient of his nor under his vigilance. Perhaps this would , always be the case while she was in the hostel. But she dared not leave it for fear he would not come after her. No, she had to make him realise he loved her.

  She closed her eyes, the better to bring him into focus. How totally different he was from all the other men she had known! There were times when she could cheerfully murder him for all the irritating things he did: his unfailing humour regardless of the situation; his calm that nothing seemed to ruffle; his logical mind that cut away all false emotions to get to the root of the problem, and the stupid way in which he was working himself to death by long hours in the hospital and a leisure spent at the beck and call of everyone here. The urge to seek him out was so strong that she half-rose in her chair, but settled back again as she remembered Joanna was with him.

  Joanna of the soft voice and hard eyes. The kindly helpmate who wanted to be his soulmate.

  Nerves at fever pitch, she kept her ears tuned to any sounds coming from upstairs, and was grateful when several of the young men and girls decided to return to the living room. If she went with them she would be able to hear when Joanna left.

  Slowly the evening passed, the hours punctuated by conversation and records, and it was past ten when she heard the front door slam. Peering casually through the front window she saw Joanna climb into her small white Renault and drive off. Without giving herself time to think, she sped across the hall, knocked on his door and went in. The look on his face told her he had been expecting her.

  "Explanations aren't necessary," he said gently before she could speak.

  "You mightn't want them," she retorted, "but I want to give them!"

  He waited rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. He had changed from a suit into slacks and sweater, a dark blue one which she had never seen before. It made his skin look paler and gave a more reddish tinge to his hair.

  "You must be the most untidy doctor in the hospital," she burst out.

  "Was that the explanation?"

  "You know very well it isn't!"

  "Then I suggest we leave my appearance alone and concentrate on yours. I assume you came in to tell me that appearances are not always what they seem?"

  "They're not what Joanna made them seem. I didn't arrange to meet Marty. It was an accident."

  "On your part, maybe. But he obviously had every intention of seeing you. He wants you to leave the hostel, I suppose?"

  "Yes."

  "What did you say?"

  Nicola looked him fully in the face. They were only a few feet apart and she could see the reflection of the firelight in his eyes. "I told him I was happy here and would never go back to my old way of living." Since this was exactly what she had told Marty she was able to speak with sincerity, and it shone from her eyes which, limpid as forest pools, glowed up at him.

  Visibly stiffening, Barnaby said: "I'm sure he tried to make you change your mind."

  "He never will. From now on my life will be different."

  "Do you mean that, or are you still playing the part you think I want you to play?"

  Wondering if there was't trick in the question, she considered it. "I want to be the sort of person you'd like me to be," she replied carefully. "Is that what you mean by my playing a part?"

  "Not quite. You're like a chameleon, Nicky, or perhaps it would be kinder to say like a little girl wanting to be loved by her great big daddy."

  "I don't see you as my father."

  "Let's agree to differ about that."

  "Why? It's the whole crux of the situation. I'm not a little innocent, and -"

  "I never thought you were," he interposed, and her cheeks flamed as she understood his meaning.

  "Why are you so quick to judge my relationship with Marty?" she flared. "I love him, but there's never been anything between us."

  "If you say so," he said without expression, so that she did not know whether he believed her. "Let's not talk about it any more, Nicky; you're free to leave here any time you want, but you're equally free to stay."

  "Even though I'm taking the place of some girl who might be in need of help?"

  For the first time he looked angry. "Don't take any notice of Joanna. She had no right to say what she did. I decide who stays here, no one else."

  "Will you decide when I must leave?"

  "No," he said shortly. "That will be your decision."

  "Then you'll never be rid of me."

  "Never can be a long time."

  "Time is much longer when I'm not with you."

  He looked surprised. "That sounds like the lyric of a song! Maybe you should do something in journalism."

  "My Life in the Rosten House," she said mischievously. "That would make a good story for the Sunday papers."

  "Not that sort of writing," he said so sharply that she realised he was not sure if she was joking. "I dislike people who make their living out of gossip. It's the worst form of prostitution."

  She nodded vigorously, remembering how many of her formative years had been spoiled by photographers and ferret- nosed reporters. "People with a lot of money are always considered fair game for the gutter press."

  "I suppose you're thinking of Miss Rosten?"

  "Indeed I am. She had to be careful what she thought - let alone what she said."

  "My heart bleeds for her!" he said unfeelingly, and walked over to the record player.

  Elgar's Violin Concerto echoed sweetly in the room and Nicola listened to it entranced. The music seemed to personify her love for the rough-haired gentle man who sat opposite her. What would her friends think of him, she wondered, and what would he think of them? Somehow she knew he would not even bother to consider them, as she had not considered them ever since she had come here to live. It was surprising that she had given none of them any thought, not even Jeffrey, except for a few fleeting moments when she had realised how weak and facile he was compared with Barnaby. Barnaby. Even his name suited him. Strong yet tender. She gave a contented sigh and curled up comfortably on the settee. A spring dug into her and she jumped up with an ejaculation. She hoped to goodness someone would do something about the spring before putting on the new cover.

  "Sit here," Barnaby said with a soft laugh, and got up from his own chair.

  She shook her head, but he reached out to catch her hand and push her into it. The touch of his fingers made her tremble, and unable to prevent herself she put her arms around him.
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  "Nicky, don't!"

  She refused to heed him and, standing on tiptoe, kissed his chin and then pulled his head down so that she could reach his lips.

  "Don't tell me to stop," she pleaded. "You know how I feel about you."

  "I know how you think you feel."

  "I know what I feel!" she cried. "Stop treating me like a child! I'm a woman."

  "You are," he groaned, and suddenly stopped fighting her any more, returning her kiss with a ferocity that took her by surprise.

  He made no attempt to hide his need, and the vibrant tautness of his body showed his longing for her. Her mouth moved beneath the pressure of his and his lips gently caressed hers, alive with desire as their kiss lengthened and deepened, Her whole body burned with passion, and she pressed against him until she felt the hardness of his thigh and the throbbing of his own desire.

  His woman, she thought exultantly, and pressed closer still. Again and again they kissed, and though he might have called her a girl he showed in every way possible that he considered her a woman.

  If only she need never leave him. A night in his arms and he would no longer be able to pretend he did not love her. Why didn't he put it into words? Almost as though he could sense her thoughts, he pushed her away from him, keeping his hands on her shoulders to hold her at a distance.

  "No, Nicky, we mustn't. And don't ask me why, because you already know."

  "You'll give in to me sooner or later," she said mischievously.

  "Only if you get me at a weak moment. Now be a good girl and sit down."

  "Aren't I good enough for yon?" she asked as she obeyed him. "I know I was only a ladies' maid and -"

  "That's got nothing to do with it. I couldn't care less if you swilled out pigs' bins!"

  "Then why don't you want to make love to me?"

  "Good heavens, Nicky, haven't you any maidenly modesty?"

  "None at all," she said so promptly that he laughed.

  "I'm glad," he grinned. "I see so much pretence around me that being with someone like you is like breathing fresh air after a fog."

  She felt a stab of guilt. No pretence! What would he say when he learned that her entire stay here was a pretence, that everything she had told him was a lie?

  The record came to an end and he put on the other side. She longed to feel his arms around her, but knew he would rebuff her if she came near him. Yet remembering how he had kissed her, she felt sanguine about the future.

  The second side of the record came to an end and he glanced at his watch and pointed to the door, shaking his head warningly as she went to move towards him.

  "If you go on acting like this, Nicky, I'll swear you don't know the facts of life!"

  "It's because I do know that I'm acting like this."

  "Don't you know how easy it is to arouse a man? If that's what you want -"

  "Don't you?"

  He looked at her for a long moment in silence. "Heaven help me, but it is," he groaned. "You're the first girl who's stayed here who's - Go to bed," he said in a strangled voice.

  "Very well," she said, and with a slight smile left him to his thoughts.

  If they were anything like hers, she decided, as she lay in bed, he had several sleepless hours ahead of him. This evening he had made clear much that she had already guessed. Though he had said he did not regard her as a patient, she knew that while she remained in the hostel she would be part of his medical life. Only when she left here would he openly declare his love for her. And he did love her. He was a man with iron control, and for him to have lost it tonight was a declaration without words.

  Fleetingly she toyed with the idea of finding a small furnished flat close by. If she moved into it Barnaby would stop seeing her as a patient. Yet she doubted her ability to maintain her pose of being poor once she lived on her own. In the hostel she could occupy herself the whole time, but in furnished rooms it would be another matter, and she could well imagine herself being tempted into shopping along the Kings Road or making a quick dash up to Belgravia to enjoy luxuriating in her own sunken marble bath or sauna room.

  How would Barnaby react when he learned her real identity? She had asked herself the question many times and each time had reassured herself with the belief that though he might be annoyed at having been fooled, he would quickly see the amusing side of it. But at this moment she was filled with unease, afraid that he would see her charade as a game she had played to overcome her boredom.

  He might be less likely to think this if she had done something worthwhile since leaving school, but she had done nothing except look to the future with blissful innocence and hope that marriage and children would give her all the fulfilment she required. She had quickly realised this was not going to be so. Marriage and children could easily have been come by - there was no shortage of suitors for Nicola Rosten's hand - yet passion without respect was impossible for her, and even short acquaintance with the various men she had believed herself in love with had soon shown her how little they had merited her respect.

  She thumped her pillow into a more comfortable position. Looking at her past with a less jaundiced eye she knew she had been partially to blame for her abortive engagements. Even when a man had wanted to control her she had been too headstrong to listen, and none had had the character to insist on being the master for fear of losing her completely. In that respect her wealth had weakened them, and knowing they were in awe of her position had usually been enough to kill her love for them.

  But with Barnaby it had been different. Unencumbered by her money, he had seen her solely as a person, and not a person who could give help, but a person who needed it. Nobody had ever seen her in this way before, and she hugged the sensation of being made to believe she was in need of guidance and comfort. When had she realised she had also wanted Barnaby's love? Though the full awareness had come as a revelation to her, she had been intrigued by him from the first moment of meeting. The knowledge of how much he meant to her brought her up from the pillow to sit shivering in bed. It was incredible to think Barnaby held her future happiness in his hands without knowing it. What would she do if he didn't want her - if he found it impossible to accept Nicola Rosten in the same way he had accepted Nicky Rose?

  But he had to accept her; she refused to consider any other possibility.

  To lull herself back into confidence she thought of the way he had kissed her, relieved every pulsating second of it. Warmth suffused her body and her shivering ceased. I know he loves me, she said to herself, and hugging the thought, drifted into sleep.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The first time Barnaby had kissed her he had avoided her for several days afterwards, and determined not to let this happen again, Nicola was dressed and in the kitchen by seven o'clock.

  Shivering with cold, she put on the kettle, then set out cups and saucers and cut the bread ready for toast. Was Barnaby one of those people who never ate anything in the morning, or did he like a large breakfast? She peered into the ancient fridge which chugged away noisily in one corner of the room, but apart from milk and eggs she saw nothing that would provide a cooked breakfast, and decided to scramble him some eggs.

  Some fifteen minutes later she stood outside the door of his bedroom, a brown plastic tray in her arms. Nervously she hesitated, then knocked loudly on the door and went in.

  His bed was unoccupied, the blankets flung carelessly aside. From the bathroom came the sound of splashing and she called his name.

  The bathroom door flew open and he stood there in his pyjamas, hair tousled, skin still flushed with sleep. "Good lord!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

  "I've brought your breakfast."

  For the first time he noticed the tray. "I never have breakfast in bed. Take it back to the kitchen."

  Anger at him and pity for herself warred within her, but pity won and her eyes filled with tears as she turned to the door and fumbled at the handle. "Could you open it for me?" she mumbled.

  Muttering, he came
over to her; only then did he see her tears. "What on earth are you crying for?" Enlightenment dawned. "Not because I asked you to take back my breakfast?"

  "I thought you'd enjoy it in bed. Most people do."

  "I'm not most people," he said drily. "Look, put it on the table and I'll sit on the bed and have it. Will that make you feel better?"

  Her face cleared instantly and she hurried over and set the tray on the bedside table, watching as he kept his promise and sat in front of it. He stared at the scrambled eggs, toast and coffee for so long that she wondered if he was only a black coffee drinker after all, but when he picked up the knife and fork and attacked the food with obvious enjoyment she visibly relaxed.

  "You might as well sit down and keep me company while you're here," he said, munching.

  Happily she perched on the settee, remembering that she had once slept on it. What a pity she didn't have the opportunity to do so now. The thought brought the colour to her cheeks and the look he flashed her told her that he had guessed her thoughts.

  "Not so early in the morning," he grinned. "You've a one- track mind!"

  "Only where you're concerned."

  He bit into a piece of toast. "You're a minx. Do you know that?"

  His teasing attitude told her he was not taking her seriously, and she longed for the time when he could see her as she really was. She glanced down at the skirt and sweater he had brought her.

  "You look beautiful," he said, once again divining her thoughts.

  "Wait till you see me properly dressed."

  "You set too much store by appearances. Haven't you realised yet how unimportant it is?"

  "Don't you like your women well dressed?"

  "I like all women to be well dressed."

  "But your particular one," she persisted.

  "I don't have a particular one. I love them all."

  "You're teasing me again."

  "I've decided it's the only way to deal with you."

  "When did you decide that?"

  "Last night, after you left me."

  "After you sent me away, you mean. I didn't want to leave you."

  "Oh, Nicky!" He got up from the bed and came over to her. "What am I going to do with you?"