Roberta Leigh - Cinderella in Mink

by Roberta Leigh

  Following a tantalising smell of bacon, she went down a flight of steps to the basement, and the large old-fashioned kitchen where several people were eating around a well- scrubbed wooden table.

  Barnaby Grayson was seated between two young girls; though dissimilar in colour and features they had the same stamp of poverty, with lank hair and greyish skins; but they appeared high-spirited and were chatting to him with uninhibited friendliness.

  At Nicola's entry he waved an arm and motioned her to find herself a seat. Almost at once someone set a place of bacon and egg in front of her. Used to thin, curling strips of bacon served hot and crisp on fine-boned china, she stared distastefully at the dried-up edges of the bacon set before her, and even more distastefully at the overcooked eggs. Picking up a steel fork, she made a pretence of eating. Surprisingly it was tasty, or perhaps she was too hungry to mind that it wasn't, and she quickly cleared her plate. Opposite her Barnaby Grayson was being commandeered by the girl on his right-hand side, whose dingy yellow hair was an almost perfect match for her skin.

  "Even if I do take the job," she was saying, "I don't know if I'll stick it for long."

  "You stuck your last one for two months," he reminded her. "And that was one month longer than the job before!"

  The girl laughed, the sound turning into a cough that made her shoulders heave, but brought a becoming flush to her cheeks. "Go on," she said defiantly to the man beside her when she could catch her breath. "Why don't you tell me to stop smoking?"

  "I try not to be obvious!" He pushed back his chair. "Come to my room and let me have a look at you."

  He walked out and the girl followed. Nicola set down her tea and watched them bleakly. How could he be so obvious? And so early in the morning too!

  There was a movement close by and she saw that Joanna had taken the vacant chair beside her. "The clothes look nice on you," she smiled.

  "You must be joking. I feel like the Wreck of the Heperus."

  "They're better than the one you wore when you arrived," came the quiet reprimand. "You should be grateful."

  "Is that why you work here?" Nicola asked. "Because you want gratitude?"

  "Certainly not!" Colour rose in the smooth cheeks. "I'm sorry if I've annoyed you. I didn't mean to."

  Yes, you did, Nicola thought to herself, and wondered why this confident-looking girl should be antagonistic towards her.

  Joanna's next words gave her the reason. "Barnaby told me you wouldn't share a room with any of the other girls. He should have woken me up. You could easily have used the divan in my room."

  "I didn't want to share anybody's room," Nicola retorted. "I wanted to leave, but he wouldn't let me."

  "Naturally he wouldn't. You'd been knocked down and were suffering from shock." The hard brown eyes looked into hers. "I hope you're feeling better."

  "I'm fine. I had a perfect night - even though I swam around in Barnaby's pyjamas."

  Joanna gave an exclamation. "He knows we always keep extra pyjamas in the linen room. It wasn't at all necessary for him to give you his."

  "Perhaps he wanted me to have them," Nicola joked, and was surprised by the fury her remark aroused.

  "He's too generous," the girl snapped. "He always lets women take advantage of him."

  "I'd have thought it was the other way around."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I know your Mr. Do-Gooder's reputation. He told me about it himself."

  "What on earth are you talking about?"

  Wishing she had not started the conversation, Nicola decided to end it quickly. "He's a self-confessed Lothario. Hundreds of women's bodies, was the way he put it." She stood up. "I won't wait for my dress to come back. If I could borrow the clothes I'm wearing, I'll see they're returned to you later today."

  She was at the front door when Joanna caught up with her.

  "You seem to be under a misapprehension about Barnaby," the girl said. "Either he doesn't make himself clear or you misunderstood him."

  "I know what he said."

  "But not what he meant. Of course he's seen hundreds of women's bodies. He did gynaecology before he became a psychiatrist."

  It seemed an endless span of time before the words held any meaning for Nicola, then as they did, she went scarlet. "You mean he's a doctor?"

  "I thought you knew."

  Nicola shook her head and plunged headlong towards the room where she had been taken on her arrival. Luckily it was empty, and she closed the door and leaned on it, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. No wonder she had had the feeling that Barnaby Grayson had been laughing at her! He had been laughing; deliberately, teasingly, he had led her to believe he was little better than a Bluebeard. How dared he hide the fact that he was a doctor? Barnaby Grayson, he had said when she had asked his name, carefully omitting to add the all-important prefix. What a beast he was!

  Remembering the amused glance he had flung her this morning when he had left the room with the long-haired blonde, Nicola grew hot with indignation. He must have known what her thoughts had been - and why shouldn't he when he had encouraged her to think them?

  The door moved and she stepped back as it opened to disclose the man himself. Looking at him with seeing eyes she admitted that only the shock of Jeffrey's infidelity, coupled with being knocked down by a car, could have robbed her of the ability to recognise Barnaby Grayson's command and the authority which sat so easily on his shoulders.

  "Why didn't you tell me you were a doctor?" she demanded.

  He smiled slightly. "I hadn't realised you didn't know until you jumped on me last night when I said I'd -"

  "Why didn't you tell me then?" she interrupted, face flaming.

  "It seemed a joke."

  "At my expense!"

  "Surely it wasn't all that important?"

  "It was to me. I had to share a room with you."

  "You weren't really frightened, were you? You must have dossed down in some pretty odd places in your time."

  She positively shook with anger. "How dare you say a thing like that? Don't you have any respect for my feelings?"

  "I only respect the truth," he said quietly, "and that's something you're running away from. Ever since you met me you've been pretending - putting on an act that's stupid and unnecessary."

  She fell back a step. "You mean you - you know who I am?"

  "Of course." He led her, unresisting, to the lumpy settee. "You're down on your luck and trying to pretend you're not. You obviously haven't had a job for months and you must have pawned most of your clothes. You wouldn't have worn that flimsy dress last night if you'd had anything warmer. It's foolish to put on an act, Nicky. I can't begin to help you until you start being honest with yourself."

  Her thoughts were too chaotic to make verbal sense and she was still wondering how to answer him when he continued. "If I had told you last night that I was a doctor, you'd have run away like a startled rabbit. Anyway, you were so busy lying to me, I felt you deserved a few back in return!"

  "I still think it was despicable of you." Once again she was the imperious Nicola Rosten.

  "My, my," he drawled, "we are Miss High Society this morning!"

  "I am," she flared.

  "And I'm the King of Siam!" He shook her none too gently. "Grow up, Nicky; daydreams are fine when you're a child, but they can be dangerous when you grow up."

  "I know the difference between fantasy and reality," she retorted.

  "I'm sure you do. But you obviously find fantasy more satisfying. Not that I blame you." His face was unexpectedly gentle. "You don't look as if you've had an easy time. You're as thin as a rake."

  Nicola lowered her eyes to hide their amusement. Anyone would look thin in a sweater three sizes too large. Not even the curves of Mae West would be visible through the bulk of this triple-knit. So she was running away from reality, was she? So she looked as though life had treated her badly, did she? How sure he was that he was right - and what pleasure it would give her to
throw all his words back into his insufferable face!

  "Why not stay here for a few days and see how things go?" he broke into her thoughts. "I'm here every evening for you to talk to if you wish, and during the day there's always Joanna and Mrs. Thomas."

  "What do you do during the day?" she hedged.

  "I work at the hospital. I started this hostel in my spare time."

  "It belongs to everyone who comes here," he said quietly.

  "You mean its yours?"

  "It can belong to you too, if you want to take advantage of it."

  She thought of Jeffrey and the other young men she had unwisely loved. "I'm more used to people taking advantage of me."

  "That won't happen here. Make a fresh start, Nicky. You've nothing to lose."

  "Will you help me?" she asked softly.

  "That's what I'm here for."

  Again she lowered her eyes, fighting the temptation to have her moment of triumph now. Yet how much sweeter it would be if she could wait and give him more words to eat than those already in store for him."

  "Well?" he asked. "Will you stay?"

  "Yes, Dr. Grayson." She raised limpid hazel eyes to his. "I'll put myself entirely in your hands."

  His grey eyes looked back at her with such intensity that for a brief instant she had the feeling he could read her thoughts.

  But when he spoke it was only to say he was sure she was doing the wisest thing, and that he would see her later, when he returned from the hospital.

  Only when he had left the room did she do a little dance around it, giggling to herself as she looked ahead to the next week; seven days should give her enough time to run a ring around Doctor Do-Good Grayson! Breathless from her exertions, she fell back on to the settee, uncaring of the lumpy springs, her mind still savouring the pleasure ahead.

  After a few minutes she stood up and wandered round the room. A large table near the window was stacked with old magazines and dog-eared books, none of which she found appealing, and apart from yesterday's newspaper there was nothing for her to read. Nothing, indeed, for her to do.

  She yawned and stretched her arms. She felt she had been up for hours, yet an old clock on the mantelpiece only showed half-past nine. Normally at this time she would be sitting up in bed sipping her orange juice, while Maria ran her bath and set out fresh, pure silk lingerie. A far cry from the tepid shower and cotton underclothes that this new day had brought her! But it would all be worth it in the end: Barnaby Grayson's face would see to that!

  Wandering over to an old-fashioned-looking wireless that stood on another table, she switched it on. An ominous crackle filled the air, but a twist of the knob brought forth a programme for schools and some church music, neither of which was appropriate to her mood. Used to a wireless which at the flick of a button brought in America as clearly as London, she turned the switch off irritably. There was a snap and, dismayed, she saw it had come away in her hand.

  "Drat it!" she exclaimed.

  "Is anything wrong?" It was Joanna Morgan, her look of enquiry changing to crossness as she saw what had happened.

  "Couldn't you be more careful? Now you've broken it."

  "It was an accident."

  "You seem prone to accidents," commented Joanna dryly.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It was an accident that brought you here."

  "I didn't arrange it," Nicola replied, "though it turned out to be a lucky one for me." Aware of the unresponsive look on Joanna Morgan's face, she said sweetly: "Are you here to help too - like Barnaby?"

  "We're all here to help." The reply was stiff and unfriendly. "I'm a psychologist."

  "Have you always done this sort of work?"

  "I was in industry until a year ago. Then I met Barnaby - Dr. Grayson - and he persuaded me to come here."

  "I should have thought you'd prefer industrial work. You don't look the type to enjoy helping down-and-outs."

  "It can be frustrating," Joanna Morgan said coolly. "But it's extremely rewarding when one achieves results."

  "Is Barnaby successful?" Nicola asked, more for want of something to say than because she cared.

  "Dr. Grayson," there was notable emphasis on the prefix, "has achieved remarkable success in his particular field."

  "You make him sound like a farmer!"

  "An apt remark when you consider that he encourages people to grow and develop."

  Feeling she had been successfully put in her place, Nicola retired into herself, a habit she had developed when - as a child - her eager curiosity about the world around her had elicited a dampening response from her current nurse or governess. I had all the money in the world, she thought suddenly, but no one to talk with.

  "As you'll be staying here a little while," the psychologist was foremost in Joanna Morgan now, "there are a few things I'd like to know for the record."

  "I haven't got a record," Nicola retorted. "I'm not a criminal."

  "Please don't misunderstand me," Joanna flushed and looked - to Nicola's eye - irritatingly pretty. "All I meant was that Dr. Grayson likes to know the reason why a person comes here, and how each one progresses."

  "Is he planning to write a book on it? It's bound to be a success - those sort of books usually are." Nicola warmed to the subject. "I can just see it on the best-seller list. How I Helped The Drop-outs Get Back Their Self-respect. It's amazing the pleasure that well-fed liberals get from reading about people like me!"

  "I can understand you feeling bitter towards society. But you shouldn't be suspicious of everyone." Joanna's words were sympathetic, but her face was not, and Nicola wondered if she was unduly sensitive to the girl. If not, then she couldn't see Joanna having much success with this work. After only a few hours she was beginning to know the person it required: someone who could be authoritative without being bossy; who could display intelligence without arrogance.

  "If you'll come into the office," Joanna interrupted Nicola's thoughts, "I'll give you your list of jobs. Dr. Grayson doesn't like people being idle here unless there's a good reason for it."

  "Like death, I suppose? I should think that's the only reason that would qualify in his mind!"

  With a sniff of disapprobation the older girl led the way into a small office directly opposite Barnaby Grayson's bedroom. It was filled with filing cabinets, a battered desk and an equally battered typewriter. Joanna Morgan began to search through some papers and Nicola watched. In the daylight she looked younger than she had done the night before; not more than twenty-five, though with a serious manner that made her appear older. Her clothes, though formal, did not hide a very good figure that was in no way depreciated by a classically oval face with pale but clear skin and well-shaped features. It was difficult to define in what way she just missed being beautiful. Perhaps it was the stiff control with which she did everything or the hardness that not even a smile could totally remove from her face. It's the eyes, Nicola finally decided, they're like brown pebbles.

  "Here we are," Joanna held out a typewritten sheet of paper. "Several of the girls are having to double-up on some of the work, so if you could take over one of the jobs…"

  Nicola leaned forward to look at the list and felt Joanna stiffen, as if she had to restrain herself from moving away. Perhaps she thinks I might smell, Nicola thought, and could not resist saying: "My clothes are perfectly clean, Miss Morgan. You gave them to me yourself."

  The girl reddened, but training came to her rescue and silently she put the list on the desk.

  Looking at it, Nicola nearly changed her mind about staying here, but sensing that this was exactly what Joanna wanted, she pushed the idea out of her mind.

  "I'm very good at sewing," she said. "That's down here as a job."

  Joanna glanced at the list. "It's being done by Elaine Evans and it's her only job. Look at the girls who are doing two, and take one of those."

  Nicola studied the list again. It was less than inspiring, with cooking, dishwashing, shopping and ironing noticeably
understaffed. "I'll have a go at the shopping," she said, thinking it would at least get her out of the hostel for a few hours at a time.

  "I'm afraid you can't do that. Shopping requires money and we don't give our new residents any cash until Dr. Grayson says so."

  Nicola stiffened with shock. "I'm not a thief!"

  "No one's suggesting you are. It's just one of the rules."

  "It's crazy! If I came here with the intention of stealing money I wouldn't be so obvious about it."

  "If you have any comment to make on the subject, I suggest you take it up with Dr. Grayson." Joanna looked at the list again. "I believe you've been a ladies' maid and also a waitress. Surely you could help with the dishwashing and ironing?"

  Instinctively Nicola knew she was expected to refuse. "Suits me," she said laconically. "It'll really be home from home then!"

  "You might as well start now." Joanna held the door open and Nicola preceded her back into the corridor and down to the basement.

  The kitchen had been cleared of breakfast and three girls were busy preparing meat and a huge amount of cabbage and potatoes.

  "You'll find the ironing board and the washing in the cupboard," Joanna said, and waited while Nicola took out a heavy board behind which was stacked a mountain of sheets and pillowcases.

  "I'm not expected to iron all this?"

  "We don't run to an electric ironer," came the cool reply.

  "What's wrong with the laundry?"

  "Price if you're complaining about what you have to do…"

  "I'm only commenting," Nicola said quickly, and reached into the cupboard for the iron. This, at least, seemed new and manageable, and she plugged it into a socket in the wall beside her and then carefully hoisted a sheet on to the ironing board. Three-quarters of it dragged on the floor, and Joanna clicked her lips disapprovingly.

  "Fold the sheet, Nicky. There's no point ironing it and then having to re-wash it."

  One of the other girls giggled, and feeling inept, Nicola manfully struggled with the folds. It was impossible to keep the sheet off the ground, and her movements were made more clumsy by knowing she was being watched.