Miss Columbine and Harley Quinn

by Hilton, Margery

  She hadn't had much success during the past couple of weeks regarding the third solution, but nevertheless it was the only one acceptable. Apart from the element of childish

  spite of which the first answer was redolent, she wasn't going back to Samma and her lousy cronies—she never wanted to see any of them again—and she certainly wasn't going to admit defeat and go crawling home to Aunt Lou. Never! However, she thought she had the answer.

  As far as she knew Ocky was still away, but his landlady knew her and would let her in. She would get a taxi and persuade the driver to let her take her trunk and as much stuff as possible to Ocky's. And there she would install herself for a while. Ocky wouldn't mind, and he would store her stuff for her as long as she wanted. Then she would start the weary search again. Perhaps she could go the rounds of the hostels, not that the idea appealed bur at present she wasn't in the position to be choosey. She could make up a hard-luck tale, say she was stranded and hadn't any money. Well, it was true; the sum total of her savings would last her about a week in the most modest hotel. And now, with luck, she would be downstairs, snatch a cup of tea and some toast, pack her stuff and be on her way long before nine.

  She would leave a polite little note for Mr Quinn—Harlequin! She smiled sadly as she closed her door and stood at the head of the stairs, listening for any sound breaking the sleeping stillness of the house. Anyone less like the traditional carnival figure in diamond tights and black skullcap and domino she couldn't imagine. Harley Quinn was a good six feet tall, with the shoulders of an athlete, the authority of a judge, a directness that was unnerving, and an occasional rather startling glimmer in his bearing of a Regency rakehell!

  Still, in his way he had been kind. He could have thrown her out last night, or at the least been extremely unpleasant. But he hadn't, and she must have been quite a shock to come home to. It was still just after seven-thirty, and so sure was she of being the only person astir in the house she did not bother to knock at the kitchen door but thrust it open and marched in.

  `Good morning. I hope you slept well,' said Harley Quinn calmly over his shoulder.

  `Oh!' She came to an abrupt halt, momentarily confounded at the sight of the tall figure measuring coffee into the percolator.

  `Come in,' he said in the same calm tone. 'There's no need to palpitate there in the doorway—I shan't eat you for breakfast.'

  `N-no, I didn't think you would.' She moved into the room and cast a speculative glance at the gleaming breakfast counter. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

  `You can help make breakfast. I assume you discovered something of the layout during your preliminary sortie last night.'

  `Yes .' her tone was doubtful. 'But I can take mine up to my room. A cup of tea will do—I have some biscuits up there.'

  `Is that what you exist on? Cups of tea and biscuits?' `N-no, but I—I don't want to bother—'

  `Do you always stammer, Miss Columbine?' He swung round and set the percolator on the counter and remained facing her, one brow slightly elevated. 'Or is it a temporary affliction induced by my unexpected presence at this early hour?'

  `No, of course not.' She backed a pace. 'I mean I don't. It's your kitchen. Your house.'

  `Disjointed, but true, if I follow correctly. But I've never been guilty of inflicting a stammer on my feminine acquaintances. Other certain reactions, perhaps, to which the unpredictable sex is prone. However ... Do you think you could set two places there, one at each side? You might infect the bacon if I allow you to cook. Stuttering fat can be quite painful, particularly in the eye.' He turned away, but not before she glimpsed the sardonic humour flit along his mouth.

  Her own mouth compressing, she began to take down the cheerfully patterned blue and yellow breakfast ware from the shelf set conveniently to hand above the counter. A drawer below held cutlery, and after a brief deliberation she took out two settings of everything and drew out the two tall stools which were tucked in their own niches.

  `There's the toaster and rack,' he said, gesturing. 'I like

  two slices, lightly done. No cereal for me, but help yourself to whatever you like. There's some tinned fruit juice in the cupboard if you prefer that.'

  `Do you want fruit juice?'

  `Not particularly.' He flipped bacon and kidneys and sausages into a dish warming on the rack over the cooker. `But that's no reason why you shouldn't have some.'

  She frowned. 'It isn't worth opening a tin just for me.'

  He said nothing and reached into the cupboard. A few deft movements and fruit juice was streaming into a tall frosted glass. Still without speaking he set it down by one of the place settings and then said dryly : 'I am well aware of your discomfiture over what has happened, but I'd be grateful if you'd try to be a little less self-condemnatory and con-- cider my feelings for a change. Sackcloth and ashes are not a pleasant accompaniment to breakfast. Now,' he held up a silencing hand, 'I'm endeavouring to remain human, which as a rule I'm not until I've eaten, with at least two slices of lightly done toast. Yes,' he noted her guilty glance at the empty toast rack and nodded, 'I thought not. No, don't bother, I'll do it myself. Now, may we just eat and resume the inquest afterwards?'

  Biting her lip and trying to decide just how serious he was, she hitched up on one of the stools and waited until he also had sat down. Aware of that sardonic gaze on her she sipped at the fruit juice and buttered a roll while he helped himself to coffee and a roll. The toaster popped with a hollow zing and he refilled it, then lifted the lid off the serving dish.

  A delicious smell floated from it and Shelley surreptitiously watched while he dished up two generous helpings. He glanced up. 'Sufficient?'

  `Yes, thank you.' From under lowered lids she looked at him, suddenly aware of how hungry she was and wondering what he was thinking. From his expression he seemed to think she was half starved. Well, it was true in a way. She hadn't had a breakfast like this since she left Aunt Lou's. Samma and Coralie were both fiendish calorie counters and Shelley had soon resigned herself to skimpy breakfasts of starch reduced rolls and monotonous alternatives of minute

  pieces of fish or grilled tomatoes and a spoonful of scrambled egg.

  She had not realised how long she was hesitating over whether the first succulent mouthful should be bacon or kidney or sausage until Harley Quinn abruptly lowered his cutlery and said impatiently : 'Are you afraid to eat as well?'

  His blunt questions were increasingly disconcerting and the fact that her discomfiture seemed to annoy him made it difficult to parry them. Suddenly her hunger vanished and to her dismay she felt her composure crumble under that direct regard. She bent her head and mumbled, 'Of course not.'

  `Then for goodness' sake make a start. By the look of you it's some time since you had a good feed.'

  ' Her mouth trembled and the blue and yellow

  patterns blurred in a watery haze. She swallowed hard, reaching almost desperately for her cup of coffee, and then somehow, how, she did not know, the cup had tipped and a milky brown tide was rippling across the formica surface, making an island of the sugar bowl and dripping dismally down to the vermilion and grey mosaic floor.

  For a moment Shelley froze with shame and dismay, then the two tragic tears spilled and with an incoherent murmur she scrambled off her stool and looked for something with which to repair the damage.

  There didn't seem to be anything so commonplace as a dishcloth in this kitchen, which was more like an operating theatre in its hygienically clean spotlessness, she thought wildly. There was only a surgically white plastic scourer on the stainless steel draining board, and her despairing plunge to the alcove below the sink discovered only a red bucket, again so clean as to appear unused and quite empty. She straightened, brushed an impatient hand over her eyes, and felt a grasp close on her shoulder.

  `Forget it. What's the matter?' He turned her round to face him and looked down at the soft amber curls presented to his gaze. 'What are the waterworks for?'

  `N-nothing,' s
he choked.

  `Not over spilt coffee, surely. All a spill is worth is a hearty swear. Are you—? No—I don't think you're ill, even

  though you look as though you could do with a few weeks of good feeding I think you're healthy enough.'

  `I'm very healthy,' she sniffed, trying to will her eyes to stop their ridiculous watering. 'I'm sorry I spilled the coffee.'

  'I've told you it doesn't matter,' he said impatiently. 'What did I say to cause this?'

  `Nothing. I—I—'

  'Oh, I give up It wasn't the coffee, and I didn't say anything, so it must be that sackcloth and ashes. Why, Shelley Columbine, did you dare invade my house, commandeer my spare room—and my bathroom—and ruin my breakfast? How dare you?'

  'What?' At last she looked up. 'You're laughing at me ! You—'

  `And so will you laugh when you look back on it. Now don't start again,' he said hastily. 'You're going to sit down and eat what's still eatable and I promise not to say another word. Come on.' Firmly he steered her back, held her arm while she perched on her seat, then picked up a tea towel which he had obviously used to mop up the spill and tossed it carelessly towards the sink. It missed and fell on the floor, and he merely murmured, 'Damn!' ignored it, and dropped two more slices of bread into the toaster. Then he sat down, folded his arms and looked pointedly at her and her breakfast.

  Shelley blinked and began to eat.

  A little while later he relaxed his vigilance and smiled `Better now?'

  `Yes, thank you. That was lovely.'

  He refilled her coffee cup and said, 'Cigarette?' then, as she declined, 'No, I didn't think you'd acquired the vice. Now, shall we examine the problem?'

  `I think I've sorted it out,' she said with commendable nonchalance, considering the somewhat shattering effect he seemed to have had on her nervous system. 'I'm going to call a taxi straight away, as soon as I've packed. It'll only take me about half an hour, then if I could use your phone ...'

  `You've decided to go home?'

  `Home? To Anbury?' Her eyes widened with outrage.

  `Certainly not. I have a job here. I'll have to be back on Monday. Today's one of my off Saturdays—I have to work one Saturday morning in three when we're very busy.'

  `And what do you do in the City?' he asked solemnly.

  `I'm a junior Girl Friday at Armordell and May's—I've only been there three months and I've been promoted to the second floor already,' she said proudly, 'and Mr Glade's secretary's getting married at Christmas and isn't staying on, so I'm hoping to get promoted again.'

  `To the third floor?'

  `Mm.'

  He smiled. `So it's one of those set-ups, is it? How long do you think it'll take you to ascend to the top executive suite?'

  `Another year or two, I think. By then I'll have grasped the whole laydut of procedure in the firm and be indispensable. I want to be personal assistant to Mr Armordell.'

  `And a seat on the board by the time you're thirty.' Harley Quinn leaned back against the pine-panelled partition behind him, and laughed. `Are you really so dedicated a career girl?'

  `I have to be,' she said seriously. 'I've no intention of going home and having people say, "I told you so".'

  `Aren't you going to get married?'

  `I might,' she said cautiously, 'if I meet the right person.'

  `Ah, the right person. The one who will be amenable to your pursuing this search for feminine emancipation?'

  This possible eventuality had not occurred to Shelley and she remained silent, pondering its angles, and Harley Quinn smiled again.

  He said lightly, 'I do believe you're serious. This is the first time I've met the female business executive in embryo.' For a moment or so he considered her, and the amusement ebbed from his face. don't know how your qualifications rate, but there's one thing you'll have to cultivate if you want to achieve your ambition.'

  `What?' she asked abruptly, still too young to avoid the direct response of naiveté.

  `A tougher shell than you have at present. Otherwise,' his mouth tightened at the corners, 'you're going to shed an awful lot of tears before you press the top button of that lift

  to the executive suite.'

  `Oh.' She looked down, immediately conscious of the embarrassing impressions she had presented during the short while she'd been here. She had not acquitted herself at all well, she thought sadly. 'It's different at work,' she murmured awkwardly.

  `Is it? I doubt it. However, good luck.' He glanced at his watch and rose. 'As you've decided on your plan of action we'd better get moving. I happen to have the morning free so there's no need to bother with a taxi. As soon as you're ready I'll run you back myself to your cousin's place.'

  `Samma's!' Shelley half rose to her feet and stared at him. `But I'm not going back there! Not likely. Besides, I can't. She wants the room. At least she wants the place to herself so that—'

  `Yes?'

  `Oh, it doesn't matter.' Shelley shied at further explanations. 'That's why I have to find my own place now.'

  `And you've found it—since 'last night?'

  `N-no. At least—that is—yes. I have.'

  `How odd,' said Harley Quinn sarcastically. Did you locate it by radio or telepathy?'

  `Of course not. I'm going to Ocky's.'

  Harley Quinn might well have been permitted his slight surprise at this information. 'And who might Ocky be?' he asked dryly.

  `Oh, Ocky's a pet.' Shelley forgot the cool little act she'd been trying hard to sustain since her unforgivable backslide over the coffee. 'He's frightfully clever but very kind. He's a sculptor and art lecturer. Actually he's quite old, about forty, I think, but you don't notice it.'

  `How decrepit.' Harley Quinn shuddered. 'Thank God I have five years left to me before the younger generation consigns me to the scrap heap. Oh, well, where does this Ocky reside?'

  `Just off the King's Road. He has a super place, a whole floor to himself with hardly any furniture, that's so as to leave room for his sculptures—the last one he made they couldn't get it through the door and round the bend of the

  stairs, so they had to take the window frame out and lower it down to the street. But he got five hundred guineas for it, so he said it was worth it.'

  `Ocky's wife must be a long-suffering woman,' he observed.

  `Ocky isn't married. He says women and creativity don't mix.'

  `I see. And he's expecting you this morning?'

  'Well, not exactly.' She looked away. 'He's away just now, but he should be back any day. I thought I could stay there for a bit till I have time to look round. He won't mind in the least, he's terribly kind. I don't know why I didn't think of him last night,' she added in an undertone, almost to herself. She glanced up and caught her breath as she met a penetrating grey gaze from which all amusement had gone.

  He said almost curtly : 'In actuality you're homeless at present, aren't you?'

  `In a way,' she admitted reluctantly. 'But it won't be for long. And you needn't go to the trouble of taking me across town. I can easily get a taxi and

  `I think not.' He stood up, a decisive figure in his immaculate dark suit and crisp linen. 'You are taking no taxis until I know where you're going, and, more important, to whom.'

  `But ...' she backed a pace, still holding the red-topped stool she had been about to replace in its niche. 'You don't know—how can you know my friends? Anyway, Ocky won't be there. He

  `Go and get your coat. You're coming with me.'

  `But I—'

  `Would you prefer me to ring your aunt? Or your cousin?'

  !' The stool went down with a thump. 'I'm not going

  back there and let her know what happened. Do you think

  I'm going to give her a free giggle?' she said furiously. 'Oh,

  no ! She's not going to have the satisfaction of knowing how

  well their beastly joke worked. Landing me here, on an entire

  stranger who didn't even know I existed. Well, I won't. I'm


  through-with my dear cousin and her beastly boy-friend.

  Harlequin and Columbine! How they must have sniggered

  last night, wondering what was happening and what you

  said when you came home,' she cried bitterly. 'Only I'm sorry it made so much bother for you.'

  He shrugged. 'It's not important. Now will you hear me out?' he said impatiently. 'I happen to know an agent. If you'll go and get your coat I'll phone him and see if he has anything on his books which might suit you. Then we'll go and have a look at it.'

  `Yes, b-but ...' Shelley knew she was stammering again, but he was going far too quickly for her and assuming far too much authority in the process. Besides, it wasn't nearly so easy as he appeared to think; if only he knew! She took a deep breath. 'Mr Quinn, it's very kind of you to bother, but I've already been to several agents—I've been looking for a small flat for three weeks now and everything I've seen was either an appalling dump or far too expensive. It would be wasting your time,' she added helplessly. 'I know it would. But I've had another idea. I'm going to advertise for someone to share with. There must be lots more girls in the same soup as me, it's just a case of finding them. I did ask around at the office, but everybody seems to be fixed up. But something will turn up,' she ended hopefully.

  `And until it does?'

  `I can stay at Ocky's. He won't mind.'

  Harley Quinn frowned, and after a few moments of silence she said, 'Please don't look so concerned. Honestly, I'm not helpless and I'm quite sensible, really.'

  `Sensible !' He expelled his breath sharply. `So sensible she falls for a jape that one could smell a mile away. And so trusting she agrees to move into a place she's neither looked over nor inspected the owner. This could have been anything. And I could have been anyone!' he finished explosively.

  `Are you?' she giggled. 'A white slaver, perhaps.'

  `What!'

  She giggled again. 'Oh, Aunt Lou warned me. She said when she was young she always watched out for pathetic old women who wanted to be helped across the road. She said if you didn't watch out you got a hypodermic needle stuck in you and carted off in a cab with dark windows.'