by Janet Dailey
Dani clasped her hands around the coffee cup in front of her, her nails bluntly short but curved and rounded. Her hands were slightly calloused from grooming and saddling horses, carrying water buckets and hay, and mucking out stalls. The idea that she could resemble the glamorous women she had seen in magazines was amusing. Marshall had indicated that he would be Professor Higgins, cultivating her into becoming a lady. There was a wry twist to her mouth as she thought what she really needed was a fairy godmother with a magic wand.
A sensible voice inside questioned her half-formed agreement to his proposal. But there were two things that provided a formidable argument—her own discovery last night that beneath her ill-fitting clothes was an attractive figure and her father's statement that she didn't know what it was to be a woman, let alone a lady. If there was only the slimmest chance that Marshall could succeed, Dani knew she had to take it. Not for the money or the possible success as a model, but for her father.
Yet she wasn't prepared to voice her agreement so quickly. Her impulsiveness was now tempered with caution. There were a few more things she wanted to find out.
'Suppose you do a bit of doctoring with clothes, a new hairstyle and make-up, and your photographer friend does agree that I have possibilities, what then?' Dani challenged.
'I'll see to it that you're invited to all the parties attended by the right people. Who knows? You may be able to snare yourself a wealthy husband,' Marshall shrugged. 'It's really up to you.'
'I'm not interested in men.' She dismissed the thought as unworthy of discussion.
'Men will be interested in you,' he said dryly.
But Dani had already pushed the idea to the back of her mind. 'What are you going to get out of all of this? What's in it for you?'
'Didn't your papa ever teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?' he mocked.
'He may have done, but at the price of grain these days; you soon realize that you never get something for nothing,' she countered.
'Would you believe me if I said it was merely an act of kindness?' Marshall asked lightly. Dark brows raised over his equally dark eyes in an expression of pseudo-innocence.
'No.' There was a suggestion of a smile in the upturned corners of her mouth.
'I thought not,' he murmured with a soft chuckle. 'You and I are going to get along very well, I think. Your candour is very refreshing. It's rare to find a female who prefers plain speaking to feminine deception.'
'Which still isn't an answer to my question.'
'No, it isn't.' There was a significant pause as Marshall hesitated before making a further reply. 'Perhaps I only want certain people to see that things are not always what they appear to be.'
'Would one of those people be Barrett King?' Dani suggested.
'It could be.' Marshall smiled and pushed his cup away from him. 'Well, what's your answer? Are you game to give it a try?'
'Yes,' she said firmly without any qualifications or explanations.
'Then let's be on our way. We have a great deal to do and little time to accomplish it.'
Chapter Four
A HALF an hour later, Marshall parked his car in front of an elegantly imposing one-storey building, bearing the name 'Giorgio's'. Nothing on the outside indicated the type of business within, but Dani guessed it was expensive.
As Marshall escorted her inside, she knew her conclusions had been correct when she spied the imported crystal chandelier in the waiting area and the pastel blue carpet with the dainty Victorian chairs in matching blue velvet. But it took her several seconds to realize that she was in a beauty salon. The beautifully coiffed woman who came to greet them glanced rather contemptuously at Dani and with an obvious question at the darkly handsome man accompanying her, showing her sincere doubt that they had come to the right place.
'I'm Marshall Thompsen. Giorgio is expecting me,' Marshall announced.
The name Giorgio worked its magic and the woman immediately smiled. 'Of course, Mr. Thompson, this way, please.'
Without another glance in Dani's direction, she led them down a carpeted hallway, rapped lightly on a door, opening it only after a voice inside had replied. Announcing that Mr. Thompsen had arrived, the woman smiled again at Marshall and started back to the reception area. A hand on her elbow firmly pushed Dani inside the room.
'Hello, George,' Marshall greeted the man who turned at their entrance.
Giorgio, or George as Marshall had called him, was of medium height and slender build. His dark hair was winged with silver-grey. There was a suggestion of Italian descent in his sharp profile and in the bright, appraising dark eyes that turned their gaze on Dani.
'Hello, Marshall. When you spoke of bringing me a challenge, you didn't add that it bordered on an impossibility. Is it a boy or a girl?'
'May I present Miss Danielle Williams? Danielle, this is Giorgio Caprio, a valued confidant of mine and a master stylist.' The introduction was made with exaggerated formality.
But before Dani could make a suitable reply, Giorgio had nodded and said, 'Of course, it is a girl. The boys wear their hair much longer.'
Without wasting any more time in idle conversation, Giorgio took her hand and led her to the large chair in front of a lighter mirror and a counter with its multitude of bottles and hair rollers. He ran his fingers experimentally through her short brown hair, checking its length and fullness.
'What crime did you commit, Miss Williams,' he demanded, 'to prompt someone to chop your hair in such a barbarous fashion?'
Under his critical and criticising eye, Dani found she was embarrassed by her appearance, something that had never troubled her greatly in the past. A pale pink stain coloured her cheeks.
'I did it myself,' she admitted in a low, apologetic voice. 'It was easy to take care of this way.'
She wished Giorgio would have erupted in a violent scolding rather than stare at her in a silent and effective reproval. Through his eyes, she could see how uncomplimentary the side part was and the way she had combed her hair behind her ears. It took all her willpower not to attempt to sink into the cushions of the blue chair.
'While you work your magic,' Marshall spoke up, 'I'll see about some clothes.'
'Earth tones and simple lines. No ruffles or frilly stuff,' Giorgio stated firmly.
'Ahh,' it was a soft sighing sound of triumph from the young columnist. 'Then you do agree Danielle is far from hopeless.'
But the look the stylist shot over Dani's head plainly said he would voice no such admission, and she swallowed nervously as the door closed behind Marshall. She sat patiently while Giorgio brushed, combed, and arranged her hair in various ways, remaining silent until she saw the scissors in his hand.
'You aren't going to cut it?' she protested in a surprised voice, then added in a quieter tone in case he thought she was trying to tell him what to do, 'You did say it was too short already.'
'It is too short,' he admitted sharply even as the snip of the scissors sounded near the back of her head. 'But it needs shaping. Since I cannot make your hair longer, I must do what I can with the little you have. Is that all right?' The last was added with deliberate sarcasm.
Firmly reminded that he was the expert and not she. Dani lapsed into silence, observing his every move when she could, but never offering a comment unless asked, which was rare.
After her hair had been shaped and shampooed, the short strands were somehow twisted on tiny rollers. Then she was placed beneath a dryer where a manicurist appeared and began repairing the years of neglect to her nails and hands. When the last application of clear nail polish was applied and had dried, the hair dryer also stopped.
Instead of leading her to the chair and having the rollers removed, Giorgio took her to another smaller chair with a lighted mirror, where he gave a stem lecture on the care of her skin. Cleansing creams, astringents, moisturizers, make-up bases, blushers, eye-shadows, eye-liners, mascara, eyebrow-pencils—she was instructed in the use of them all. Then under his artful guidance, she
was instructed in how to use them, always being cautioned against a heavy hand.
'Wearing too much make-up is a greater crime than wearing too little,' he reminded her impatiently for the fourth time as he made her dab away most of the blue shadow on her eyelids.
Finally he was satisfied with her efforts, but he refused to let her dawdle in front of the mirror, staring at the surprisingly attractive face that looked, back. Back she was taken to the first chair where the rollers were removed and a stiff brush was raked through the short curls, almost flattening them completely.
The chair Dani sat in was turned away from the mirror so she couldn't see the results of his work as Giorgio later combed, and fluffed and flattened. Before he was finished, Marshall walked into the room, his dark eyes lighting with pleasure when he looked, at her. Whatever inner apprehensions she felt fled at the reassuring admiration in his expression.
When the stylist had completed his work to his satisfaction, he started to turn Dani around, but Marshall's upraised hand halted him.
'Not yet, George. When Danielle sees herself, I want the transformation to be complete. The barely noticed packages he had placed in the chair upon entering the room were picked up and handed to Dani. 'Change into these and promise not to look in the mirror until you're dressed,' he ordered.
Butterfly wings of excitement fluttered inside her stomach as she promised her compliance, her eyes glittering at the pleased expression on both men's faces as they left the room. Before she could give in to the almost overwhelming curiosity to see herself, Dani feverishly began untying the packages.
The contents ranged from silken undergarments to a new pair of shoes, but the antique gold trouser suit in a shimmering material was the thing that truly caught her eye. With fumbling fingers, she stripped free of the suddenly distasteful jeans and blouse and slipped eagerly into the new clothes.
When she was finally dressed, Dani was torn by uncertainty, afraid that she might be disappointed by what she saw. So instead she flung open the door and stepped into the hall. Marshall and Giorgio were a few feet away in deep conversation, but turned as one when she appeared.
'Fantastic!' Marshall breathed.
'Do I look all right?' Dani pleaded, very femininely needing more than one word to assure herself.
'Do you mean you haven't looked?' The stern expression left Giorgio's face as he smiled.
'No, I thought…maybe…'
'Go and see for yourself,' the stylist prodded gently, turning her around and pushing her into the room. 'I've never known a beautiful female who was so unanxious to gaze at her own reflection!'
With a mixture of awe and disbelief, Dani looked at the—yes, attractive was the word—girl in the mirror. Feather-soft waves of rich brown hair curled about her forehead and ears, accenting the perfect oval of her face and the strong cheekbones. The clinging material of the trouser top set off her slender figure, making much of the gentle swell of her breasts and her narrow waist, while the deep gold shade of darkly ripened wheat was a perfect foil for the warm darkness of her hair and eyes.
Dani frowned, as did the girl in the mirror. 'It doesn't really seem like me.'
'You'd better get used to that image,' Marshall chided, 'because the old one is gone for good. You'll never be able to revert back to your old ways without seeing yourself as you could be today.' To Giorgio, he said, 'You can throw her old clothes in the trash. She won't be needing them any more.'
'No I ' Dani protested as she stepped quickly towards the small pile of clothes, knowing the money was still in the pockets of her jeans. 'I…I want to keep them!'
'Nonsense!' Marshall retorted sharply. 'You have no need for those rags.'
'I want to keep them,' she asserted more firmly, quite prepared to do battle to enforce her statement.
'Let her keep them,' Giorgio inserted gently. 'They would be an excellent reminder to keep her head from becoming too big for her brain.'
'Very well,' Marshall gave in, however ungraciously. 'Put them in one of those boxes and take them out to the car. I'll be with you shortly.'
Dani did as she was told before Marshall changed his mind and hurried to the car, missing the startled glance of the receptionist that quickly turned to one of amazement. A satisfied smile was on Marshall's face when he slid behind the wheel a few minutes later.
'I knew I was right about your potential,' he commented as the car pulled out of the parking kerb on to the street. 'But I truly didn't expect George would be able to make such a startling change. I'm going to have to revise my schedule.'
'Your schedule? For what?' Dani queried.
'For your unveiling,' Marshall replied complacently. 'Which reminds me, I've made an appointment for you with George this Saturday morning.'
'So soon?'
'Yes, so soon,' he chuckled.
Dani leaned back against the plush cushions of the car in a thoughtful silence, realizing her carefree attitude towards her appearance was at an end.
'Tell me, Marshall, how did you become friends with a man such as Giorgio? I mean…he doesn't strike me as the type you would associate with,' silently reminded of the touch of snobbery that surrounded Marshall.
'My dear girl,' he laughed, 'more secrets are revealed in a beauty salon than in any other place. George passes any relevant information on to me. In return, I occasionally mention his establishment in my column. To borrow an old cliché, he scratches my back and I scratch his. The same goes for the shop where I got the outfit you're wearing and all the other clothes I had sent to your apartment.'
'You mean you didn't pay for this?' Dani gasped, fingering the gold top in surprise.
'In this case, because I needed an entire wardrobe, there was money involved, but only a fraction of the cost,' he admitted, 'Don't worry, Danielle. When you begin earning money, I'll present an itemized account of the money I've invested in you.'
'You said something about my apartment?'
'You do need some place to stay. There was a vacancy in the complex where I live, so I made arrangements to lease it.' His sideways glance glittered laughingly over her. 'Your apartment is a considerable distance from mine.'
'Will you be doing the landlord a favour, too?' Dani mocked cynically.
'Unfortunately not. This complex happens to be the exclusive kind that doesn't like publicity,' Marshall sighed with pseudo regret.
'What happens if none of this turns out the way you planned? You're expending time and effort and money on me with no guarantee that I'll be able to pay you back,' she asked, secure in the knowledge she had the money should he demand repayment.
'You aren't very trusting,' he teased.
'Considering the types I've met around the racetrack, I've learned that not everyone has a heart of gold.' Her mind instantly thought of Barrett King, a man she wouldn't trust any farther than she could throw him.
'In the first place, my plan will work. But if, as you say, it failed, I hope I would realize it was bad judgment on my part and be content to cut my losses. I promise you, Danielle,' he said with obvious laughter in his voice, 'I won't sell you to the white slavers to recover my investment. I told you there would be no strings attached. The gamble is mine and the loss will be mine, if there is any. Does that satisfy you?'
'Yes,' Dani nodded, adding with an impish twinkle, 'so long as you remember if your plan does fail.'
'We're going to get along very well, I think,' Marshall smiled.
'Where to now?'
With the last of her doubts set aside, Dani was quite eager to step into this new existence, chasing away the nagging pain that her life would be quite different if The Rogue were still alive. She refused to admit that she was missing the bustling activity around the stables at this time of the morning. This was her father's wish and she couldn't let him down.
'To the photographer's first,' Marshall was answering, 'then somewhere for lunch.'
During the next few days, Dani felt as if she had been caught in a whirlwind. The constant acti
vity made the loss of The Rogue easier to tolerate and the emptiness of being away from her father less consuming. Still there were times when she wished for a familiar face, even that of Barrett King's that could link her new life with the old. Every minute of her days was organized by Marshall with tours of local art galleries, sessions with the photographer, posture lessons to add grace to her already supple body, and instruction in wines and foods to enable her to choose intelligently from the menus of the finest restaurants.
Even her so-called idle hours were controlled. The music on the record player was supplied by Marshall to teach her an appreciation of classical music. Reading, too, was from books that he deemed necessary to improve her cultural background.
At nights, Dani tumbled into her luxurious queen-size bed exhausted, too weary to ponder about the abrupt about-face her life had taken. In spite of her excessive tiredness, she couldn't break the habit of rising with the sun. It was in the mornings when she wished for the sweet smell of hay and the impatient whickering of horses to hurry with their grain. Many contented hours she had spent rhythmically funning a curry-comb over sleek, shining coats. Yet through all her wistfulness of those uncomplicated days ran the painful memory of the last morning she had spent at the track and the fateful breakdown of The Rogue on the home-stretch.
Before the anguish of that moment overwhelmed her, Dani would recall the last visit of her father and the real reason why she was here in this empty apartment. And whatever plans Marshall had made for the day, she would throw herself in with them, driven by an even sterner resolve to succeed and become the sophisticated lady her father wanted.
As she emerged from the taxi returning her from her Saturday appointment with Giorgio, Dani saw Marshall's car parked in front of her apartment. With a sigh of regret for the loss of a precious free hour that she had saved strictly for herself, she hurried into the two-storey Colonial brick building and to the door where Marshall stood impatiently waiting.
'You're early,' she accused, removing the key from her purse and unlocking the door. 'Where are we off to this time?'
