"You were dressed in rags."
"I'd run away from a fancy dress party. I was looking for a taxi when Mrs. Thomas knocked me down. The rest you know."
"You're an excellent actress," he said quietly.
"Most women are. And I had an excellent supporting cast Yourself, for example."
His shoulders lifted in a disclaiming gesture, then he picked up the briefcase which he had put on an armchair when he had come in. "Would you like to look at the papers now or after dinner?"
"What papers?"
"Giving details about the hostels. There's a list of all monies expended, the staff engaged, the experiments we're setting up and the -"
"Spare me the details."
"It's what I'm here for. I understood our monthly dinners were to keep you informed about what was happening."
"In a casual way," she drawled. "Reading columns of figures will bore me to death."
He flushed but closed the case, and George Martin came into the conversation, leaving Nicola to sip her champagne and look at Barnaby undisturbed by the fear that he might suddenly turn and look at her. Seeing him again she knew all too clearly that she was as much in love with him as ever - more so, in fact, because she was now seeing another side to his character: that of urbane guest perfectly at home in what could have been an embarrassingly difficult situation. How many other facets did he have to his character, she wondered bitterly, and would he always be able to surprise her as he had surprised her tonight, by accepting the discovery of her identity with barely a lift of his eyebrows?
He leaned forward to illustrate a point to her godfather, and the light from a lamp on a nearby table caught the top of his head, making his hair glow red and reminding her of the first time they had met. But tonight he looked thinner and older, though perhaps it was because of his dark suit. Yet as he turned again she saw a faint speckle of grey in the hair that grew on his temples, and such a strong feeling of tenderness surged up in her that she started to tremble.
Unable to bear his proximity, she stood up. Both men turned to her at once, but before she could speak the butler came in to announce dinner, and feeling she had been saved by the bell she led the way into the dining-room.
No effort had been spared to make the meal a sumptuous one. Beginning with caviar, it ended with Crepes Suzette, with Lobster Newburg as the entree. It was a lavish menu that drew a silent look of surprise from George Martin, and the comment that he might be in need of some indigestion tablets himself.
"We don't usually dine so elaborately," he said to Barnaby as the sweet was cleared away and cheese placed before them.
"I think it was laid on in my honour," Barnaby replied gravely, and raised his glass in Nicola's direction. "I appreciate the effort, Nicky."
It was the first time he had called her by this name since he had arrived, and she set her fork down hastily.
"It's no effort to give an order," she replied.
"Far less effort than making mincemeat."
For a split second she did not know what he meant, then as memory returned so did colour to her face.
"That was the easiest part of my act," her voice was high and shaky. "Much better than all that dreadful ironing and washing-up."
"You did extremely well at both jobs. When the revolution comes you need never be out of work!"
George Martin choked on his wine and Barnaby grinned. "That was a joke, sir."
"So I should hope!"
"Barnaby's full of jokes," Nicola replied, "and full of pretences. Which reminds me, how's Joanna?"
"Very well. She's going to feel a fool when she finds out who you are."
Nicola was surprised at the easy way he spoke of his fiancee, but then realised this was typically Barnaby. He was so sure he was right in everything he did that it was impossible to embar-rass him by making him feel he was wrong.
"You must bring her here next time you come to dinner," she said brightly.
"That might not be such a good idea."
Again his bluntness startled her, and pushing back her chair she suggested they had coffee in the drawing-room.
As they crossed the hall the telephone rang and automatically she reached out to take it before the butler could come hurrying through the green baize door. It was Jeffrey to find out if there was any possibility of seeing her when the dinner party was over. Aware of Barnaby close at hand, her voice bubbled with delight as she spoke, her conversation punctuated with "darlings" before she finally put down the receiver.
"It was Jeffrey," she explained. "I should really have asked him here tonight too. If it hadn't been for him there wouldn't be any Rosten Homes. I was running away from him the night I ended up at your hostel," she explained, leading the way into the drawing-room.
"The ex-fiance," Barnaby said beside her.
"I'm not sure about 'ex'," she replied sotto voce.
"Does that mean you're engaged to him again?"
With an enormous effort of willpower she forced herself to look directly into Barnaby's eyes. They were as quizzical and gentle as she had remembered, though with fine lines around them that she had not seen before.
"I never really broke the engagement."
"I see."
"You look surprised," she murmured.
"Not surprised; disappointed perhaps."
"Why?"
They were speaking quietly, two people in an oasis of emotion, forming an island together that no one else could intrude on. "I had hoped that the weeks you'd spent at the hostel had taught you something about people… something about yourself too."
"Why should you disapprove of Jeffrey?" she persisted. "He's years younger than Marty!"
Barnaby caught his breath and for the first time she knew she had got beneath his guard. "You were so bright and brittle when you were talking to him just now," he said roughly, "that you sounded more like a girl putting on an act than a girl in love."
"I told you I act all the time."
"Why? I can understand Nicky Rose being unsure herself, but not Nicola Rosten."
"Money doesn't always bring confidence," she retorted. "We can't all be as sure of ourselves as Joanna."
"Not many people have had Joanna's settled life," he replied easily. "She comes from a happy home and a loving background."
"And a loving future." The words were out before Nicola could stop them.
"She deserves it." His wide mouth curved into a slight smile. "I know you two didn't like each other, but she's a nice person when you get to know her."
"I leave that to you. You mustn't forget to ask me to the wedding."
"What wedding?"
She hesitated, her mouth so dry that she had to moisten her lips before she could speak. "Are you already married, then? If I'd known I'd have asked Joanna here with you."
"I'm not married to Joanna yet."
"I didn't think you believed in long engagements."
"I don't." He reached for his briefcase and took out some papers. "But I won't forget to invite you to the wedding."
"Good," she said brightly, and then flung out her hands.
"But put those papers away. I don't want to talk about the hostels. I'm not interested in them."
"Then why did you set up the Trust?"
"It was my way of - of saying thank you for being so - so kind to me when you thought I was down and out."
"It was a very expensive way of saying thank you."
"Nothing's expensive to me," she said bleakly. "Money's the one thing I can afford."
In silence Barnaby put away the papers. "Then you don't want to know how the hostels are doing? "
"I'm sure they're all doing wonderfully," she said with a smile. "You must be helping lots of poor unhappy people."
"Lots of rich unhappy people need helping too."
"If you're suggesting I'm unhappy -" she said angrily.
"Aren't you? You're thin as a rake and -"
"It's fashionable to be slender. I don't need to fill up on bread and
potatoes," she added thinly. "I can afford meat."
He grinned. "Quick-tongued as ever. It's good to see you."
"Even though I made a fool of you?" she asked.
"It was worth being made a fool of. After all, it got me the hostels. It was a marvellous thing to do, Nicky. I'm very grateful."
"I don't want your gratitude."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing." She turned away from him. "It was a mistake seeing you tonight. I don't think we'll continue with the monthly meetings."
"Are you bored so easily?"
She swung back to face him and saw his expression was sober. "Not bored, Barnaby. Just realising I don't have the same interests as you. I thought I'd go on being interested in your work, but… Well, I'm not."
"In that case I'll go." He still looked sober. "I'm sorry you feel this way about the hostels. I hoped they would relieve your boredom."
"I've too many things to do to be bored," she said lightly.
"Worthwhile things?"
"I leave that to do-gooders like yourself and Joanna."
"Fair enough. Then I won't take up any more of your time. I'll be in touch with the Trustees, of course. And if you ever wish for a first-hand report…"
"I won't."
His eyes narrowed, but he made no comment as he turned and looked at George Martin. "I hope you'll forgive me for leaving so early, but I've a clinic in the morning."
"I thought you'd given up hospital work?" Nicola could not prevent herself asking.
"Only till I'd organised the hostels. But being at a hospital keeps me on my toes."
"It'll put you in an early grave too. You work too hard."
"No one dies from overwork - only boredom!" He held out his hand. "Goodbye, Nicky. I wish you well. And thanks again - not just from me, but from everyone you'll be helping."
Their fingers met, and though she kept her expression careless, his touch sent an electric current throbbing through her veins, making her conscious of every part of her body, and every part of his. Barnaby, she cried silently… Barnaby… But aloud, all she said was a cool, "Goodnight."
Only when the sound of his car could no longer be heard in the quiet square did she move from the motionless position she had held in the centre of the room and fling herself on the settee in a paroxysm of weeping. For a long while there was no other sound, but finally the sobbing ceased and she sat up and wiped her eyes.
"You were right, Marty," she gulped. "I should never have asked him here."
"You had to ask him once," her godfather replied. "You're the sort of girl who only learns by her own mistakes."
"It certainly was a mistake. He's so confident," she whispered. "He takes everything in his stride. When he came here tonight and saw me he didn't even show surprise."
"You put on a pretty good act yourself."
"I know," she sighed. "But he wasn't acting. He really didn't care." Once more the tears flowed and her godfather sat down beside her and drew her into his arms.
"Forget him, Nicky. You'll never find happiness until you do."
"I'll never find happiness either way." She lifted her head. "But I won't see him any more. There's no point. When you see him again, tell him he can have as much money as he wants and that I wish him the best of luck."
"Is that all?"
"He doesn't need anything more from me," Nicola replied. "He never has."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Seeing Barnaby again awakened all Nicola's longing for him, and in an effort to banish him from her thoughts she once more started to lead a hectic social life.
"You'll make yourself ill if you go on like this," George Martin remonstrated one morning as he came in to see her with some contracts that needed her signature. "You look as if you haven't been to bed for a week."
"A good guess, Marty," she responded. "What's the point of going to bed if I can't sleep? At least if I'm with other people I don't think."
"Don't you? You look as if you're doing nothing else. You're haunted, Nicola. Haunted by a man who doesn't want you!"
The cruelty of the jibe was like acid on a raw wound, and the unexpectedness of having it flung at her by Marty was her undoing.
"How can you be so hurtful?" she cried, and burst into tears.
It was the first time she had cried since the night Barnaby had come to see her, but this time the tears were for herself alone, for the lonely seeker of companionship, the frustrated and bored girl searching desperately for love. But the harder one searched the more difficult was the finding. This was something she was beginning to find out. Barnaby was right. Happiness came in its own time. It could not be plucked from the tree of life like a ripe fruit.
"I'm sorry, Nicola." Her godfather came to sit beside her. "I didn't mean to be cruel. But I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself - any more than I was prepared to have you destroy Grayson."
"He's indestructible," she sobbed. "He believes in the Divine Right of Barnaby!"
"Then accept the fact and forget him. He's in love with someone else and he doesn't want you."
"I've told myself that a million times."
"Then say it a million times more! One day it will start to take effect."
"When I'm old and grey."
"Long before then," Marty assured her. "Perhaps if you married Jeffrey…"
"I thought you didn't like him?"
"I don't. But it would be better for you to be Jeffrey's wife than widow to a shadow!"
Nicola remembered this when Jeffrey called for her later that evening. By a quirk of fate they were going to a party at Deborah's, and sitting beside him as they drove towards Chelsea she had the strange feeling that she was turning back the clock. If only she could! She clasped her hands in her lap and prayed for the ability to close her mind and her heart to the past.
But Jeffrey's hands, coming down on hers, brought her hurriedly back to the present. "What's going to happen to us?" he whispered. "I'm crazy about you. How much longer are you going to keep me waiting?"
"I'll let you know in a few days," she murmured, and was relieved when the car stopped outside the tall, brightly lit house in the imposing street.
"Why not now?" he persisted.
"Because we're going to Deborah's party - and you remember what happened the last time we were there."
He caught his breath. "I was drunk then. I told you so. For heaven's sake, don't keep threatening me with that!"
"I'm not threatening you. I'm just suggesting it's better not to talk about our future until I'm sure I've forgotten the past."
"I could make you forget the past if you'd let me," he said, and purposefully drew her against him.
"No!" she cried, and tried in vain to pull free of him.
But he would not let her go and, deciding that it was as good a time as any to test her reaction to him, she remained quiescent in his arms. But his touch held no magic, nor his lips the power to arouse her, and no matter how hard she tried she could not force reality to blur. It remained crystal clear, each action and sound sharp and magnified: the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the hardness of his arms around her body and the dampness of his forehead as he rested it against hers.
Caught up in his own emotion, he did not recognise that she was devoid of any, and when he finally set her free it was with a contented sound. "You see?" he said. "You do still love me.
Deciding it was less hurtful to pretend, she let her hand rest in his as they entered the crowded marquee which had been set up on the lawn at the back of the house.
It was an excellent party, not too crowded and with a swinging band and a lavish amount of food and drink. Yet though she tried to lose herself in the gaiety, Nicola felt as if she was in a state of suspension, hovering high in the air and looking down upon the body that was hers, watching it as it gyrated on the dance floor or drank champagne.
Jeffrey did not leave her side, determined to prove the truth of what he had said a few hours earlier. But his constant attenda
nce became increasingly difficult for her to bear, and by eleven o'clock she knew she could not face any more of it.
She could never marry Jeffrey. The certainty of the knowledge was beyond doubt. There was no need to reconsider it or discuss it with Marty. All at once she saw the path ahead of her, the long lonely route she would never be able to share with another person for many years to come. Perhaps one day she would forget Barnaby sufficiently to consider marrying someone else, but to try and do so now would be courting disaster. There was no point pretending that filling her days with social trivia was helping her to forget the past. Indeed, since she could not forget it she might as well learn to live with it.
Barnaby was right when he said the only way to combat boredom was with work. And this did not mean writing cheques for charity but doing the act of charity oneself.
Unable to bear the noise and heat, she slipped out of the marquee and wandered in the garden. Perhaps she would form another Trust and administer it herself. She did not have the qualification to do the work Joanna was doing, but Barnaby had once told her she had an empathy for the girls at the hostel, and perhaps this could replace the more usual academic degrees.
If she did not love Barnaby so much she would have asked him to let her work in one of his hostels, but even though he might only visit it rarely, it would still be too painful to be connected with him. No, whatever she did, she must stay out of his life.
Beyond the garden wall she heard the intermittent hum of traffic as it rumbled along the embankment, and finding herself by a side door she impulsively unlocked it and stepped outside. She was in a narrow alley that ran behind the houses, and she walked swiftly down it till she reached the main road. Behind her she could still hear the blaring of the orchestra, and several cars laden with people were still turning into the street and stopping outside the brightly lit facade of the house she had just left. It was going to be more crowded there than ever; she could not face the prospect of going back. Jeffrey would be furious when he discovered she had gone, but she did not care.
Roberta Leigh - Cinderella in Mink Page 15
