‘A good sleep,’ Mrs Birch was saying somewhere a long way off. ‘A good sleep.'
Catriona slept.
SHE was awoken by a hand on her shoulder. Mrs Birch in outdoor clothes was standing by the bed, holding a small tray.
‘Coffee, miss,’ she announced. ‘Mr Lord will be back soon. I'd be ready if I were you. He hates being kept waiting.'
Catriona was sorely tempted to proclaim her total indifference to Mr Lord's likes and dislikes, but she knew that under the circumstances, that would be churlish.
‘The bathroom's just across the hall, and I've put clean towels in there in case you want a shower,’ Mrs Birch went on. ‘Now if that's all, miss, I'll be getting along.'
‘Thank you. You've been very kind,’ Catriona said sincerely.
‘It's been a pleasure,’ Mrs Birch replied brightly. ‘I hope we meet again, miss. And if I might say so'—she lowered her voice confidentially—‘I wouldn't wear the jeans, miss. Not up West anyway. Fine for the Kings Road, but I don't suppose you'll be going there.’ And she was gone.
Catriona finished her coffee and slid out of bed. The unpopular jeans and her shirt were lying on the dressing stool and she picked them up, her face a little mutinous. All she had in her rucksack were two cotton dresses she had made last week, and some woollen sweaters. Tossing her dark hair determinedly from her face, she marched off to find the bathroom.
She was brushing her hair back into a ponytail and securing it with an elastic band when Jason Lord returned. She heard him come whistling down the hall and pause outside her door, and she squared her shoulders.
‘Are you ready, Miss Muir?’ he called.
‘Quite ready.’ She picked up her duffel coat and walked to the door. Somewhat to her surprise, he gave her a mocking grin as she emerged into the hall.
‘I like a girl who sticks to her principles,’ he commented as his eyes ran over her. ‘Come, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.'
Her blood boiling, she followed him to the front door and down the steps to the sleek cream-coloured car that awaited them. Jason Lord held the door open for her and she subsided a little awkwardly into the low tan leather seat on the passenger side. She stared entranced at the dashboard, wondering what the various buttons and dials could be for.
‘Do you drive?’ He slid into the seat beside her, and flicked the ignition expertly. The car started immediately, and they pulled away.
‘I had a few lessons, but I never took the test.'
‘A pity. It's an advantage, wherever you happen to live,’ he said.
‘Perhaps Jeremy will teach me.'
‘Perhaps he will,’ he returned noncommittally.
Catriona tried to make note of each turn they took, but she was soon bewildered. The streets were wider now, and the traffic was getting heavy. The houses were giving way to shops too, and as they drove along Catriona saw signs advertising more theatres and restaurants than she had ever dreamed existed.
‘I've never seen so many people,’ she remarked impulsively, then regretted sounding so naïve.
‘You should see it on Sundays. It's almost as quiet as Torvaig,’ he said. ‘And what's more, I've seen a vacant parking meter. Here we go.'
A few minutes later, Catriona found herself in a huge shop. Jason Lord's hand was under her elbow, urging her forward through the crowds thronging the counters, as she caught tantalising glimpses of exquisite displays of scarves and handbags and sniffed exotic odours as she was whisked through the cosmetics department.
‘Lift or escalator?’ he asked, then quickly, ‘I'm sorry, I'm treating you like a child. But you look so damned young in those jeans with your hair tied back.'
‘I know—like a waif,’ she retorted, already more than conscious that she seemed to be the only person in jeans in the whole massive building. ‘And I've never been on an escalator.'
‘Up we go, then.’ He steadied her on to the moving staircase. ‘Hold on to me if you like.'
‘The rail is quite adequate,’ she returned stiffly, then spoiled it by stumbling as they stepped off at the top.
Her feet sank into a thick carpet, and somewhere soft music was playing. Everywhere there were clothes, displayed on models, pinned on wire frames, hanging on rails and circular racks. She felt she was dreaming, and then another more demoralising thought struck her. She caught at Jason Lord's sleeve.
‘My money! I—I left it in the rucksack.'
‘Well?’ He looked tall and forbidding as he swung to look at her. ‘What of it?'
Catriona gestured awkwardly around her.
‘I haven't enough with me to pay for anything here.'
‘I never suggested you should. Now come on. We've a lot to get through.’ He sounded impatient. ‘First things first. We don't even know whether you'll find a dress you like here.'
‘But they must have hundreds of dresses,’ Catriona gasped.
‘You're an unusual woman if that makes any difference,’ he said. ‘Ah, there's the person we want.’ He propelled Catriona towards a grey-haired woman in a smart black suit, standing by a rail of coats studying some papers. ‘Hello, Mrs Cuthbert. We need your help.'
‘Mr Lord.’ The woman smiled charmingly, then turned to Catriona. ‘My word!’ she said.
‘And that's putting it mildly.’ Jason Lord took Catriona by the shoulders and pushed her forward. ‘She's going to Mrs Lord's party with me and she hasn't a thing to wear. What can you do for her?'
Mrs Cuthbert studied Catriona, now flushed with humiliation.
‘Well, there are possibilities,’ she said cautiously. ‘What does she need?'
‘The works.’ Jason Lord released Catriona and stepped back. ‘And her hair, Mrs Cuthbert. I don't know who attends to my sister-in-law, but …'
‘It's Miss Barbara,’ said Mrs Cuthbert. ‘I'll phone the salon now and see if she can squeeze another appointment in.'
‘Fine.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Shall we say the restaurant in two hours?'
‘I'll send her to you,’ Mrs Cuthbert promised.
Catriona raged inwardly. They might have been talking about one of the dummy figures standing round the department, she thought furiously. And just who was going to pay for all this? She still had to find somewhere to live until she and Jeremy could be married. She could not afford to spend any of her little hoard of money on a party dress she did not need. But Jason Lord's tall figure was already disappearing, and Mrs Cuthbert was leading her gently but firmly to a fitting room.
Later that evening, Catriona stood in front of the mirror in the small bedroom at the flat and looked at herself in frank disbelief.
The dress was almost the same green as her eyes, and its low bodice cut square across her small breasts was covered with sparkling crystals with narrow matching shoulder-straps. The straight satin skirt reached the floor, hiding her delicately strapped high-heeled sandals.
She was really Cinderella, she thought wonderingly.
Her hair, expertly trimmed, had been set so that it hung smooth and shining to her shoulders, just turning up at the ends. She was lightly made up, with eye-shadow and mascara used just as the girl in the beauty salon had shown her,