T
temporarybreakdown
Guest
Ditto to everything that was said in #1! =D
****************************************
The fog that enshrouded every home in London that night was laced with mystery and intrigue. Nicky Constantine left the driver of the hansom cab in a state of shock by tossing him a 10-sovereign note and walking away quickly to the door of the a small house tucked in the corner of the square. He let himself in with his own key, quickly but calmly shed his coat and hat and left them with the skinny, glassy-eyed servant, then took the stairs two at a time, stealthily as a cat. Knocking at the door that was at the right of the head of the stairs, he softly called, "Are you ready, Miss Stevenson? We're expected at 5, and it's 4:25 now." "I'm almost ready," The voice that replied was childishly delicate, "Come on in and wait." Nicky entered a very femininly decorated drawing room and idly browsed the many bookshelves until a young- very young- woman entered the room from another door. As Nicky turned to greet her, and she stopped in the middle of the room. "Well, Nicky?" She slowly pirouetted, then came to a halt under Nicky's cold scrutinizing stare, meeting his gaze with timid confidence, trying not to blush. Nicky came closer, walking around her with his lips pursed in thought and his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he stood back and gave a curt nod of approval. "You'll do. You'll make a good first impression." Released from his appraisal, Olivia Stevenson turned and picked up a small but chic hat from the top of the the grand piano, moving to a decorative mirror to place it on her head and attach it with two elegant hat pins. Still watching her, Nicky added the comment, "That Chanel suit was a good investment." Olivia turned to him with a small smile, "And it's a good thing that I didn't sell my grandmother's pearls when I was short of cash and liquidated most of my jewels, es?" "Mm-hmm," Nicky's brow was wrinkled with a small frown. "Change the angle of your hat," he finally commanded after studying her, "We want you to look like a proffesional, not just another girl off the streets." Olivia had been at the mirror again, but she spun back around, mouth open, hands still adjusting her hat. "I'm not-" she began, her flutely voice richened to an oboe with indignation. Nicky held up his hands, "No. You're not, of course. I"m sorry. But most of the ladies applying for this job are of a station lower than yours." Casting a final glance at herself in the mirror, Olivia murmured wistfully, "And I could have been Lady Dunwood..." Nicky smiled for the first time, sympathetically, then stepped forward with Olivia's white cashmere coat in his hands. She allowed him to help her into it, then the two exited the sitting room, went downstairs, paused for Nicky to collect his outer vestments, then entered the dark and damp early London morning. Nicky whistled for a cab, and the same one that had brought him there-- always faithful to a well-paying passenger-- emerged from the mist that flowed down the street like a river.
****************************************
The fog that enshrouded every home in London that night was laced with mystery and intrigue. Nicky Constantine left the driver of the hansom cab in a state of shock by tossing him a 10-sovereign note and walking away quickly to the door of the a small house tucked in the corner of the square. He let himself in with his own key, quickly but calmly shed his coat and hat and left them with the skinny, glassy-eyed servant, then took the stairs two at a time, stealthily as a cat. Knocking at the door that was at the right of the head of the stairs, he softly called, "Are you ready, Miss Stevenson? We're expected at 5, and it's 4:25 now." "I'm almost ready," The voice that replied was childishly delicate, "Come on in and wait." Nicky entered a very femininly decorated drawing room and idly browsed the many bookshelves until a young- very young- woman entered the room from another door. As Nicky turned to greet her, and she stopped in the middle of the room. "Well, Nicky?" She slowly pirouetted, then came to a halt under Nicky's cold scrutinizing stare, meeting his gaze with timid confidence, trying not to blush. Nicky came closer, walking around her with his lips pursed in thought and his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he stood back and gave a curt nod of approval. "You'll do. You'll make a good first impression." Released from his appraisal, Olivia Stevenson turned and picked up a small but chic hat from the top of the the grand piano, moving to a decorative mirror to place it on her head and attach it with two elegant hat pins. Still watching her, Nicky added the comment, "That Chanel suit was a good investment." Olivia turned to him with a small smile, "And it's a good thing that I didn't sell my grandmother's pearls when I was short of cash and liquidated most of my jewels, es?" "Mm-hmm," Nicky's brow was wrinkled with a small frown. "Change the angle of your hat," he finally commanded after studying her, "We want you to look like a proffesional, not just another girl off the streets." Olivia had been at the mirror again, but she spun back around, mouth open, hands still adjusting her hat. "I'm not-" she began, her flutely voice richened to an oboe with indignation. Nicky held up his hands, "No. You're not, of course. I"m sorry. But most of the ladies applying for this job are of a station lower than yours." Casting a final glance at herself in the mirror, Olivia murmured wistfully, "And I could have been Lady Dunwood..." Nicky smiled for the first time, sympathetically, then stepped forward with Olivia's white cashmere coat in his hands. She allowed him to help her into it, then the two exited the sitting room, went downstairs, paused for Nicky to collect his outer vestments, then entered the dark and damp early London morning. Nicky whistled for a cab, and the same one that had brought him there-- always faithful to a well-paying passenger-- emerged from the mist that flowed down the street like a river.
