Miss Columbine and Harley Quinn

by Hilton, Margery

  `Oh, Quinn!' Shaking with the agony of relief, she collapsed into his arms.

  It was some little while before Shelley's sobs and incoherencies subsided and she was able to heed the urgency of the question Quinn was repeating. At last she raised her head and said shakily: But I didn't see him . . . it was dark

  and...'

  `Would you recognise the man?'

  `I—I—don't know. I—I— No—it was so dark . . . and his hat . . . pulled down . . . hid his face.'

  `Shelley, try to pull yourself together. Get in the car. I'll turn it. The blighter can't have got far. Come on.' He was urging her into the car, bundling in her bag and the untidy folds of her raincoat and her library book. 'We can't let him get away with it. Heaven knows how many girls he's scared out of their wits.'

  `He'll be gone.' She huddled down in the warm safe comfort of the car and stared fearfully at the white tunnel of light opening ahead through the darkness. The black shapes of the trees and the blank holes of night between the houses held unimaginable terrors, and she did not want to search with her gaze into the unknown crevices where her assailant might still lurk.

  Quinn drove slowly round the top of the park until he reached the place where she had first become aware of the footsteps and fright overcame her again. She wanted light and four walls round her, and the doors closed against the night, the reassurance of faces she knew and safety. 'Please ...' she begged, 'take me home.'

  Without speaking, he stopped, reversed the car and drove quickly down the lane at the rear of Silverlane Mansions. The white-painted doors with the black number-plate and wrought iron hinges loomed by the side of the car, and the interior light he flicked on revealed Shelley's chalk-white face.

  `I think we'd better get a tot of brandy into you, young lady. Come on,' he touched her shoulder, 'it's all over. You're quite safe.'

  But reaction was setting in, and with it the awful flow of `what might have been', and her mouth trembled as she looked into his grave face. 'Oh, Quinn,' she gulped, `if—if you hadn't come ...'

  `But I did come,' he said gently, and took her nervously twisting hands within his own. He held them tightly, reassuring, smiling a little now. 'I did come.'

  She gulped again, and nodded tremulously, looking into his dear face and suddenly aware that this was what she had waited for all her life. This was what Linda had meant. This was more than Linda could ever experience. This was dissolving! This was love!

  CHAPTER IV

  THE rest of that momentous evening became, in retrospect, a series of disjointed but vivid pictures. Shelley remembered Bruno coming out to put the car away and standing under the lantern in the courtyard, his battered features a mask of shocked rage as Quinn told him briefly what had happened. Then she was in the study, Quinn sitting opposite her, urging her to drink the brandy he had given her. Bruno came in, with a tray and the strongest tea she had ever tasted, and a choice flow of epithets spicing his repertoire of the retribution he would exact if ever he got his mitts on the bleedin' bastard ... Here, Quinn held up his hand, and Bruno's threats subsided to dark mutterings.

  Quinn had insisted on phoning the police to report the incident, despite Shelley's protests, and the sense of loss in his merely going out of the room shook her with its intensity. She looked at the glass of brandy in her left hand and then at the beaker of rich brown sugary tea on the tray by her side and didn't want either. She didn't need stimulants or restoratives now, she only wanted to go on looking at Quinn and experiencing the astounding sensation that had begun in that moment in the car when he had taken her hands in his.

  She was still in a bemused state of wonder when the young policeman came, extracted her story again and looked doubtful, and announced they would keep an eye on that area in case the assailant should attack again, and then when he had gone Bruno proceeded to produce more refreshments along with a kind of miniature buffet of assorted titbits.

  'Bruno's a great believer in the therapeutic value of food at a time of crisis,' Quinn observed dryly. He glanced up and his mouth quivered. 'I think you could take the steak pie away, man.'

  No—I'd love some,' said Shelley quickly, seizing at anything which would prolong the moment.

  'I'll cut you a nice slice,' said Bruno approvingly while

  Quinn's smile widened.

  `She'll have nightmares—or indigestion—if she tries to sleep on that.'

  As if she could sleep! Shelley chewed manfully at the shive of pie and tried not to watch Quinn with her heart in her eyes. Sleep was a waste of time when she had this ecstatic discovery to dream of ... the fright she had experienced was already dimming into an obscure recess in her memory—she was almost glad it had happened ... she would have just come home, gone about her bedtime routine, probably not seen Quinn at all. If she hadn't missed that bus ...

  The state of bliss proved quite intransient. Shelley danced through the week, the world took on that radiance which only the eye of love can behold, and that the bliss would inevitably be shortlived was mercifully veiled. The torment of one-sided affection and the agony of desire for response had not yet invaded her; for the moment she adored Quinn from afar, and for the moment it was enough.

  For another more mundane viewpoint the unpleasant incident had brought a certain change of circumstance. Bruno had thawed.

  The evening following that Friday he drew her aside and beckoned her into 'his' kitchen. 'I've been thinking, miss,' he said gruffly. 'How would you like me to show you a few tips on looking after yourself?'

  At her blank stare he gestured. 'Judo, miss, and a few little tricks of the game. Every young girl should know how to defend herself these days.'

  Shelley began to giggle. 'Me? I couldn't. I'd be petrified.' She measured her own petite frame against Bruno's bulk and shook her head. 'Me? Throwing a man around as though he were a feather?'

  `Why not? It's easy if you know the secrets. Got five minutes?'

  Still laughing, she nodded, and Bruno led her portentously into the big utility room that opened off the kitchen and heaved out a large gym mat. 'This is where I do me workouts,' he informed her as he unrolled it. 'Now there's one very simple trick you ought to remember. Use the heel of

  your hand, like this'—he grasped her wrist and showed her—`and bung it under the bloke's nose, like this'—he demonstrated again—'hard as you can. Believe me, miss, it 'urts. You try it yourself with a bit o' beef behind it. Throws the 'ead back. Now there's this one ... if a bloke comes up from behind ...'

  The notion of becoming a small formidable Amazon tickled Shelley and youthful enthusiasm entered into what was to her a game. By the end of the week she could throw Bruno's sixteen stone with passable skill and repel three different modes of attack, and even though she suspected that Bruno was a great deal more complaisant an assailant than any genuine thug would prove it was all great fun.

  Quinn arrived once in the middle of a wrestling session and might well have been permitted his slight gasp as he moved hastily out of range. Flushed and breathless and a most appealing picture in her brief white shorts and cotton shirt, Shelley said excitedly : 'It's fascinating. I never dreamed there was so much science to it. You have to know a whole sequence of answers and Bruno knows them all. Because you might find your opponent knew them as well. Then you have to be prepared for an attacker having a knife—' Quinn shuddered and she chuckled, giving a swagger of bravado. 'You put your hand like this to deflect the thrust and at the same time—you have to remember to balance your weight—like this—and----'

  `I'll take your word for it!' Quinn stepped back hastily. 'I trust you're not going to experiment on me ! I'm the saviour, I hope, not the villain of the piece.'

  `Oh, no!' She sent him a shocked glance. 'I wouldn't have to defend myself against you, would I?'

  `I trust not,' he said dryly, with a look that brought a fresh wave into her cheeks. 'How about a drink after all that? While you recover.'

  "While Bruno recovers !' She followed him through
into the kitchen and leaned on the breakfast bar while Quinn took fruit juice out of the fridge and added a couple of ice-cubes to the glass.

  He hitched himself casually on the corner of the table, one

  long leg swinging slightly, and lit a cigarette. After a moment he said, 'Julia—my sister, remember?—has lust been on the phone. She's having a few people along at her place tomorrow and she wondered if you'd like to come.'

  `Oh, I'd love ' Shelley checked suddenly and put down

  the glass of pineapple crush. 'Are—are you going?'

  If he felt surprise at the abruptness of the question he did not betray it. He nodded, then said: 'Julia has her young sister-in-law staying with her for a couple of weeks and I think she's trying to lay on some young company for the occasion.'

  Shelley picked up her glass, feeling a trifle deflated. 'How old is she?' she asked. -

  'Pamela?' He hesitated and raised his brows wryly. 'Now you're asking. I haven't seen her since Julia's wedding, and that must be all of five years ago. She was a small infant in apple-green organza with frills and a sort of poke bonnet, which, judging by her expression, she thought nothing of at all.' He smiled reminiscently. 'I remember she was out of the frills and into more comfortable togs before the bride and groom even departed.'

  Shelley looked down. It sounded terribly juvenile. Pamela couldn't be more than about ten at the most, by the sound of this. Then a small stab of horror went through her as Quinn said: 'But you've probably got something more exciting lined up. You don't have to accept out of politeness, you know.'

  `Oh, no ! ' She seized at the straw with almost indecent haste. Quinn would take her and bring her back. That would be worth any amount of juvenile entertaining sandwiched in the middle, even if Pamela proved a deadly drag.

  But Pamela didn't. Quinn's judging of a small girl's age proved somewhat misleading. Although younger than Shelley, she was nearly sixteen, and possessed of a blend of vitality and sophistication that had the effect of making Shelley rapidly revise the preconceptions she had formed. Pamela lived in York; where most of Julia's husband's family still lived. She was an ardent student of ballet and was staying with Julia and Derek for the occasion of taking her Gold

  Seal examination at the Royal Academy of Dancing. And she wanted to see as much of London as possible during the two weeks' stay. But not the traditional sights.

  `She's got thirty pounds buring a hole in her pocket,' said Julia despairingly, 'and she's itching to blow the lot in the King's Road. I've lost touch with the youngsters' haunts, but I wondered if Shelley . .

  Shelley responded promptly. 'I'd adore a shopping jaunt, but it'll depend on if I can get a day off work. If I can work Saturday in lieu I'll be able to. What day?'

  `Any day except Tuesday,' said Pamela. For peace's sake I'm going round the mouldy old Tower, and I'm taking them'—with an impudent nod towards Julia and Derek—`to Kew next Saturday.'

  It was arranged that Shelley should consult her boss the following day and ring Pamela in the evening. It promised to be fun and when she said her goodnights to her new friends she was mentally calculating how much she could afford to blow in the boutiques. Not thirty pounds! But she might manage a new dress or some sandals. Pamela had sworn she was going to buy one of the new stretch lace see-through blouses and a pair of velvet trousers . . . she was so slim and attractive, with a go-go approach to clothes, Shelley thought.

  `By the way,' said Quinn, when they had got into the car, `let me know what plans you make.'

  Shelley's lips parted. 'You're not coming shopping with us, are you?'

  `Heaven forbid. Not where you two are going.' He paused as he eased the car out into the mainstream of traffic. 'But if you let me know in time I'll take the pair of you out to lunch somewhere.'

  Bliss! Shelley heaved a sigh and wished she could afford an entire new outfit for the day, something that would really dazzle him. An opportunity like this mightn't come again. Then the little thought came: it was because of Pamela, who was a relative, that was all. But for this there'd be no dates for Shelley. She frowned and stole a discreet glance at him. He was relaxed, handling the big car with effortless dexterity, and she wondered who were the women in his life. In the

  two weeks since she had come to number eight there hadn't been a trace of feminine influence anywhere, except for the one isolated occasion which now returned with burning unpleasantness to Shelley's memory. Myra Delane had been so sure of herself, had conveyed a subtle sense of—of intimacy where Quinn was concerned. Even though he hadn't been present, and Myra had supposedly left England again the following week. But there was something there; with her new heightened sense of awareness Shelley was positive of that. Oh, God, Shelley thought, if he married her I'd die. And if not Myra, then who? Another little sidelong glance and Shelley decided it would be pure wishful thinking to kid herself that because she hadn't actually seen any trace of a feminine interest in Quinn's day-to-day life there was none. He had everything; looks, charm, polish, assurance, just enough suggestion of a .wicked challenge to make him fascinating and enough sheer sex appeal to make any girl's toes curl. He wouldn't need lift a finger, she decided, just spread the honey and wait for the buzz of wings. He'd have to brush them off like flies!

  `There's some deep thought going on!'

  Shelley jumped. 'Oh,' she said blankly, 'we've stopped.'

  `You are miles away.' He was leaning across her to open her door, and she thought confusedly how she'd wasted the journey. There were so many things she wanted to know about him, his interests, what he did—she didn't even know what he was, except that he went to some office, sometimes.

  She said hastily : 'I was thinking that I'd enjoyed myself. I like your sister, and Pamela.'

  `Good,' he said easily, taking her arm to guide her across the little courtyard into the house—for some reason Bruno had not switched on the lantern. He found his key and added, 'We must have Julia and Derek over to dine one night. We may be able to fit it in before Pamela goes home.'

  We! So casual a little word, and so easy to kid herself that she belonged. Shelley's imagination soared like wildfire into the fantastic realm of let's pretend. Already she was conferring with Bruno over menus, arranging flowers on the table, wearing a fantastic dreamy creation that would transform

  her into an irresistible beauty, and after the guests had gone Quinn would compliment her on how perfect a hostess she'd been and perhaps he would ask her to share an intimate drink when it was quiet and late, and the candles would be burning low, and ...

  She did not realise she was standing, unseeing, a misted glow in her eyes and a half smile of wonder parting her lips, until Quinn gave hey a small push and said lightly : 'I think we've visitors tonight.'

  While she registered the light fun-fur jacket which Quinn's observant eye had already noted was slung carelessly across the low chest in the hall and recognised it instantly the door of the lounge opened and Samantha emerged.

  `Samma cried Shelley.

  Samantha was wearing scarlet, and she looked even more sleek and attractive. She also looked decidedly bad-tempered, and instantly Shelley felt her old sense of childish inadequacy take possession. However, Samantha's annoyance vanished in a flash, to be replaced by an expression Shelley knew very well as the considering blue eyes took in the man behind Shelley.

  Samma smiled. 'So I've caught you at last, poppet. Well, aren't you going to remember your manners?'

  Y-yes—I'm sorry.' Hastily Shelley made introductions, bitterly conscious of her own clumsiness. Her mouth compressed as she watched Samma flash her charming smile at Quinn, and allow it to linger as her hand lingered within his a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. He was looking at Samma with that certain expression a man wears when he first meets an attractive woman who has subtly made him aware of his own attractiveness in her eyes. He began to usher her courteously into the lounge, saying, `Would you care for a drink?' and, when Samma smiled sweet assent, adding, 'then I'll
leave you to talk to Shelley.'

  Oh, would he? After Samma had done her ogling act and he'd fallen for it? And he knew what a horrible grotty little trick Samma had played. Shelley saw red, far redder than her cousin's eye-catching dress, and came to an abrupt halt at the doorway.

  `No,' she said raggedly, 'don't bother, Quinn. Samma can come up to my room. That's what she came to see.' Ignoring his startled glance, she stood her ground and glowered at her unwelcome visitor. 'Come on, Samma, let's get it over with. I haven't got all night and I'm tired.

  `Well!' said Samantha, with a flutter of wide-eyed surprise at Quinn. 'A charming welcome from my little cousin.'

  `But I'm not charming,' said Shelley, 'I'm a whole lot of awful things you've often said I am.'

  For a moment Samantha was visibly nonplussed. Then she recovered rapidly and gave a wry little shrug. She turned to Quinn. 'I hope you're not having to put up with much of this! Will you forgive my cousin her appalling behaviour? I'm sorry.' She paused, her smile a perfect blend of concern and distraught appeal. 'I'd better not stay for that drink. Perhaps at a more ...' Another shrug of resignation and a glance at the mutinous Shelley which said everything.

  Quinn followed that glance, his expression unreadable, and inclined his head, merely watching as Samantha walked gracefully in the wake of Shelley's stiff-backed ascent of the stairs.

  `Well!' said Samantha, when they reached Shelley's room. 'Of all the disgusting little brats!'

  'Go on,' said Shelley, crossing to the dressing table and reaching for her cleansing milk, 'say it all. Then I'll start.'

  `What?

  `Telling you all the home truths about yourself, and Coralie, and Tim. I've had a fortnight to look back and realise them all. It only took you three days to decide to ring to see if I was dead or alive. You didn't know where Tim and Daniel were dumping me, and you didn't care. It was just good riddance ! Wasn't it?'

  There was a silence. Before Samantha could recover from this attack Shelley rushed on hotly : 'How do you think I felt when I got here and found out, and he hadn't a clue who I was? I could've died from shame.'