Slowly she walked along the Embankment. The night was warm and still, the dark sky punctuated by glittering stars like a black velvet eiderdown inlaid with diamonds. The glitter was reflected in the still waters of the river, where not even a ripple stirred the jet surface. In the distance, traffic still streamed over Chelsea Bridge, and she rested her elbows on the parapet and looked out over the river, letting her thoughts drift idly back and forth like one of the boats moored on the other side of the bank.
Footsteps sounded behind her and then stopped. Resolutely she refused to acknowledge them and the footsteps came closer.
"Anything wrong, miss?" a deep voice enquired.
Turning, she saw a young policeman. "Everything's fine, officer," she said, relieved. "Why do you ask?"
As though reassured by her svelte appearance, he half smiled. "Water sometimes has a melancholy effect on people. I wanted to make sure you weren't contemplating jumping in."
"I'm not the type to take that way out."
"It's not always a question of type, miss. You'd be surprised at the unlikely ones who do it. Not destitute people either - but youngsters who you'd think had everything to live for."
An old man shuffled by, a bundle of newspapers in his hands.
"Carrying his blankets with him," the policeman murmured, and glancing at a bench close at hand.
Nicola went to move further along, but the policeman held up a restraining hand. "No need for that. We don't let them doss down here, anyway."
"Where can they sleep if they've got no money?"
He did not answer and she turned back to look at the water again, remembering a night when this pavement had been blanketed by fog and she had been running along it searching for a taxi - as she was now searching for a mode of life.
"There's a hostel near here," she said slowly, "that takes care of young people who've nowhere to go."
"That would be Dr. Grayson's place."
She swung round to look at the policeman again. "You know it?"
"Most of us around here do. He's helped us to settle quite a lot of youngsters who'd otherwise have given us trouble."
"Do you know him - Dr. Grayson?"
"Not personally, miss, but very well by sight. Up till a few months ago he used to wander along here every evening. Made a regular habit of it, he did, walking up and down this stretch of the Embankment from ten at night till two or three in the morning."
It was unusual behaviour for Barnaby, and curiosity impelled her next remark. "He couldn't have been searching for inmates," she said drily. "He hardly had room enough for those who were already there."
"He wasn't looking for new ones," the policeman replied, "but for someone who'd been there and run away. All the officers at the station knew about it, but we never got the whole story. Seems one of the girls ran off and Dr. Grayson was trying to find her. Someone had originally discovered her wandering along the Embankment and brought her to the hostel, and he was hoping she'd repeat the pattern and come back here again."
Nicola absorbed the words slowly, afraid she might make the wrong sense out of them. "Did you say he was searching for a girl?"
"That's right - for near on two months. He questioned every policeman on the beat, asked every tramp he found sleeping on the benches - nearly came to blows with some of them. They thought he was demented, waking them up to ask if they'd seen a young girl with long dark hair. Then he suddenly stopped looking. I don't know if he found her or just gave up the search."
"He found her," Nicola said evenly. "I assure you of that."
The policeman looked at her oddly. "I wouldn't stay here too long if I were you, miss. Have you got your car parked handy?"
"I've just escaped from a party." She pointed to the street behind her and the gleaming cars parked nose to tail along both kerbs. "Don't worry about me, officer, I'll be going back there in a couple of moments. I only came out for some peace and quiet."
Reassured, the policeman went on his way, and Nicola leaned against the parapet once more and mulled over what she had just discovered. She could not make any sense of it. There was no doubt Barnaby had been searching for her. But why? Even now she could remember the bitter words he had flung at her when he had discovered that Marty had paid for the book she had given to him, and the fury on his face as he had refused to listen to her explanation. Indeed, the willingness with which he had believed ill of her had sent her from the hostel. Not that she could have stayed there anyway once she had learned of his engagement to Joanna.
Still deep in thought, she walked along the pavement. Night after night for two months Barnaby had tramped these streets in search of her, questioning everyone he met in the hope of finding where she was. What would he have done if he had found her? Apologised for losing his temper and then taken her back to the hostel to try and reform her all over again? She waited for her anger to rise at the thought, but the only emotion that stirred was one of sadness. By coming to look for her he had displayed the compassion that was the essence of his character, a compassion that enabled him to understand it was not always easy to change the pattern of one's life, as he believed she had not found it easy to leave her Marty.
Yet how furious he had been when he had learned she had accepted money from Marty to buy the book of paintings. How furious to think she might leave the hostel and return to a life he thought unworthy of her.
"Get out," he had said. "I never want to see you again."
But his subsequent actions showed her how much he had regretted those words. For more than two months he had searched the dark streets for her; questioned policemen and tramps in an effort to learn her whereabouts. It bespoke a diligence far beyond the call of duty, beyond even his compassionate nature. Yet he had done so, and might have gone on doing it had he not finally discovered that Nicky Rose had never existed at all. In direct contrast to Cinderella who had disappeared from a palace to return to a hovel, Barnaby's Cinderella had returned to wealth and luxury.
She drew a shuddering breath and clasped her hands around her. Her silk dress was not sufficient to ward off the chill breeze blowing in from the Thames, and she looked along the road in search of a taxi. Fancifully she wondered if a little car would come chugging round the corner to knock her down and take her into the past again. But what was done could not be undone, and what was undone could never be put together again.
A young couple strolled by, arm-in-arm, followed by an old man who sidled up to her and held out his hand. She found a fifty-pence piece in her bag and gave it to him, then moved away as he showed signs of talking. There was no taxi in sight and she crossed the mainroad and hurried down a side street. It took her a moment before she realised that the hostel stood some twenty yards ahead of her. She came to a sharp stop, her long skirts swaying round her. She wanted to go nearer, yet fear held her back, and blindly she turned towards the Embankment again. But she could not move; though her mind urged her forward, her limbs refused to obey. In a daze she stumbled towards the house.
It loomed up tall and grey. Light shone dimly through curtained windows and a brighter glow came through the fanlight above the door. Was it still kept open, she wondered, so that anyone could come in for shelter? She went up the path. Was Barnaby here tonight or was he in Birmingham or Manchester, or one of the ten different places which her money had made possible? Yet the money she had given him was not enough. She had to give him her apology too. Had to admit she had misjudged him. He had not cruelly cast her out when he had discovered she had let him down. He had come after her the moment he had discovered she had gone, and had continued to search for her night after night. For this alone she owed him an apology.
Tentatively she put her hand on the door knob; it turned noiselessly and she opened the door and stepped into the hall. Everything was the same, yet not the same. The familiar orange-covered lampshade that inadequately covered the bright bulb suspended from the ceiling was still the same, as was the linoleum-covered floor and biscuit-beige walls. But the paint had been renewed
and a large radiator, also new, stood like a sentinel against one wall. No sound could be heard and she glanced at her wristwatch. One o'clock. Most of the people would be asleep. She went into the common room. It was in darkness and she turned back to the hall. As she did so some-one came round the stair-well, a slim dark-haired girl with a calm, untroubled face - Joanna.
Nicola moistened her lips and wished with all her heart she had not given way to the impulse to come here. But it was too late for regret and she stood her ground and waited, gaining strength from the knowledge that she could at least meet Joanna on equal terms.
Joanna came nearer, a flush in her cheeks, her eyes bright and hard. "Miss Rosten! I — we weren't expecting you. Barnaby never said you were coming here."
"He doesn't know. I was at a party a few streets away and I -" Nicola shrugged. "I was passing by and thought I'd see if things had changed."
"Everything's the same. We've put in central heating, of course, but I'm sure you know about that."
"I don't."
"Ah, yes. Barnaby said you weren't interested any more."
"What's he doing now?"
"Getting ready to go to the States. He's been invited there for a month's lecture tour. The Ford Foundation are interested in doing what you've done here."
"You mean I might have set the pattern for something?" Nicola asked.
Joanna nodded. "We're all very grateful. I know our gratitude doesn't mean much to you, but -"
"I don't want yours!"
Joanna flushed. "I suppose you're still angry with me."
"Why should I be?" Nicola began, and then stopped, realising that to pretend would not fool Joanna. "I was angry at the time," she conceded, "but it isn't important now."
"Even so, I'm glad you didn't let the things I said stop you from setting up the Trust. Barnaby's so grateful -"
"He's already told me." Nicola moved to the front door and then stopped. She was so near Barnaby she could not leave without seeing him. Perhaps if she apologised for the spirit in which she had set up the Trust - a desire to triumph over him which had proved to be no triumph at all - she would then be able to find a genuine peace of mind. How right Marty had been when he had said that to hurt someone else only made you hurt yourself. "I'd like to see Barnaby," she said aloud.
"He's asleep."
"I thought you said he was packing."
"I didn't mean it literally. He went to his room about half an hour ago and I'd rather not disturb him. He's had a long day at the hospital."
Nicola knew Joanna did not want her to see Barnaby, and though in other circumstances the knowledge would have added to her bitterness, now it only saddened her. Didn't Joanna know she had nothing to fear any more? Barnaby had made his choice and she had won.
"I'll tell Barnaby you were here," Joanna said. "If you wish him to contact you when he gets back from America…"
"There's no need," Nicola sighed. "It was silly of me to call so late."
"I suppose time isn't important to you."
"It can't mean much to you, either," Nicola said. "You never used to stay so late."
"I stay here most nights now."
Joanna glanced behind her in the direction of Barnaby's room, and jealousy swept through Nicola like a forest fire in a ten-force gale. It left her shaken and trembling. No matter that logic told her that Barnaby never had been, and never would be, hers, the knowledge that he was sharing his life with Joanna - holding her and kissing her - was more than she could bear. Blindly she went to the door.
"Barnaby will be sorry to have missed seeing you," Joanna said behind her, "but I'm sure you understand."
Still unable to speak, Nicola opened the door. The night formed a dark frame around her pink chiffon dress, outlining the graceful curve of her shoulders and the proud tilt of her head.
The man coming round the side of the stairs stopped sharply as though he had seen a mirage, then hurried forward. "Nicola! What are you doing here?"
Nicola felt the blood drain from her head. She stared at Barnaby without knowing what to say, yet wondering why he was still in slacks and sweater when Joanna had said he was in bed.
"What are you doing here?" he repeated.
"I was just going." To her own ears her voice sounded inaudible, but he seemed to hear her, for his brows rose.
"Nobody told me you'd arrived."
"I thought you were asleep," Joanna put in.
"You should have come to find out."
"I didn't want to disturb you."
"Nicky's entitled to disturb us."
"I'll come back another time," Nicola said. "I only - only came in on an impulse."
She went to step through the doorway and found him by her side. "Where's your car?"
"I haven't got one. I was at a party with Jeffrey and -"
"Not the same house where you were the night you first came here?"
Nicola nodded and was surprised to see the colour seep from Barnaby's face, leaving it with a greyish tinge that made his hair more richly brown by contrast.
"There'd be no mistaking you for Cinderella tonight," he said huskily. "But where's your Prince Charming?"
"I left him at the party. I had a headache and I -I decided to leave early."
"By yourself?"
"There was no reason to spoil his fun."
Barnaby's jaw clenched. "I'll drive you home."
"There's no need. I'll take a taxi."
"I wouldn't dream of letting you."
"Perhaps Miss Rosten prefers to go home alone, Barnaby." Joanna came to stand beside him, her hand lightly touching his arm.
"Maybe she does, but I've no intention of letting her."
"You're making a fuss about nothing." Nicola turned in a swirl of pink chiffon. "And Joanna's right. I do prefer to go home alone."
"Then I'll call you a radio cab," Barnaby said. "It's ridiculous for you to walk along the street like that." He looked at Joanna. "Would you call one for me?"
Watching Barnaby and Joanna, Nicola had the strange feeling that Joanna was going to refuse. Twin flags of red burned in her cheeks and grew brighter still as she swung on her heel and disappeared into the office.
As she did so, Barnaby went over to the sitting room and opened the door. "We might as well wait in here. It's more comfortable."
Silently she followed him, resolutely keeping her head averted from him. She heard him close the door but did not hear any footsteps, and when she glanced round she saw that he was leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest. No man had a right to look so handsome and uncaring, nor exude such virility at this hour of the night.
"Why did you come here, Nicky?" His voice was deep and low.
"I told you. I was - I was on my way home and - it was an impulse. You know I do things on the spur of the moment."
"So you said when we last met." His words reminded her of the reason that had brought her here, a reason which no longer seemed easy to explain when he was towering in front of her. Yet she had to explain. Until she did, she would be haunted by it.
"You're right," she said stiffly. "It wasn't impulse that made me come here. I wanted to - to apologise for the things I said when we last met."
"You said so many."
"Don't tease me," she said sharply.
"I find it easier to tease you than to take what you say seriously." His voice had a curious tremor in it. "I don't know how you deal with emotion, Nicky, but I find it less difficult if I'm being funny."
She tried to work out what he meant, but her awareness of him made it difficult for her to think clearly, and with the desire to run into his arms growing stronger and stronger she put more of the room between them.
"When I formed the Trust," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the wall, "I did it for the wrong reasons. I wanted to humiliate you. To make you report to me every month."
"To humiliate me?" he said, puzzled.
"Yes. You'd - you'd hurt me. I realise now that I'd misjudged you. You couldn't hu
rt anyone," she whispered. "You're too kind."
"You're always exaggerating," he said. "That's one habit you haven't got rid of!"
"And you were right about me," she went on, ignoring his comment. "It isn't satisfying just to sign cheques and let other people do the work. I need to do something more positive - more active. I won't interfere with - with what you're doing, but I'm sure there are lots of other - other equally worthwhile causes that need me - my money and my help."
"Hundreds," he agreed gravely.
Tears stung her eyes. "You're still being sarcastic, aren't you? Why are you trying to make me dislike you?"
"I didn't think I needed to try."
She drew a deep breath, forcing herself not to lose her control. If only she could hate him, how much easier her life would be.
"I hear you're leaving for the States tomorrow." The words came out of her unprimed, surprising her, as they seemed to do him.
"Who told you?"
"Joanna."
"You must have misunderstood her. I'm not going for a couple of weeks yet." He moved from the door and perched on the arm of the settee.
Nervously Nicola backed away, wondering how much longer she would have to wait for a taxi. "I'm surprised you aren't getting married before you go."
He looked up sharply. "Why should I?"
"Then your trip could be a honeymoon."
Abruptly he stood up and she saw the unexpectedly hard set of his chin. "You seem very anxious to get me married, Nicky," his voice was like ice. "Perhaps you can tell me whom I should marry?"
"Do I need to?"
"My God, you're a cool one!" He strode over and caught her shoulders with a viciousness he had never shown before. "Don't rely on your exalted position to protect you all the time! A man can take so much and no more." He flung her away from him and she staggered against the table.
"Wh-what's wrong?" she stammered. "Why are you so angry? I thought that - that as you're going to the States - you'd have taken Joanna with you."
His head straightened, and the colour which he had lost earlier returned to his face, but more intensified, as though he were flushed with excitement.
"Why should I marry Joanna?" he asked.
Roberta Leigh - Cinderella in Mink Page 16