Princess Dottie Page 2

  A flash of inspiration came to Randolph. He assumed an air of hauteur to say, “As a matter of fact, it's not 'Okay.”'

  She rose at once. “All right, all right, keep your hair on.”

  “Keep-my-hair-on?” he echoed in bewilderment, feeling the top of his head. “Are you impertinent enough to suggest that I'm wearing a wig?”

  Again her laughter bubbled up. “Blimey no! It's just an expression. It means don't get worked up. Keep your hair on.”

  “But why hair?”

  “I don't know. It's just, well, you're not English, are you?”

  “Is that a crime?” he asked sternly.

  “No, it's just that it's an English expression and, well, you're not English, so you don't understand it.” She made a wry face. “I think I've said enough.”

  “More than enough,” he said coldly. “Now, if you don't mind, I should like something to eat.”

  “Sausage and beans? Sausage and fries? Sausage and bacon? Sausage and eggs?”

  “Do you do anything that doesn't come with sausage?”

  “Hamburger with beans? Hamburger with fries, ham-”

  “Thank you, I get the picture,” he said hastily. “You'll pardon me for saying that the cuisine hardly lives up to the place's name.”

  “Cuisine? Oh, posh food. No love, nothing posh about us.”

  “So I gather,” he murmured heavily.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. Down here it says 'liver and bacon'-”

  “Sorry, liver's off. It's the end of the day. We ran out an hour ago.”

  “Rabbit stew?”

  “We ran out of that two hours ago.” She checked her watch. “And you'll have to be quick. We close soon.”

  “Close? With an unsatisfied customer?”

  “Well, if we could find something you like-”

  “But I've already found two things that I like, and you said they're both off,” he said, trying to sound peevish. He was really getting into the skin of the part now, seeking the point where her patience would fray. Turning the screw a little further, he added acidly, “This hardly seems a very well-run establishment.”

  “It's a little backstreet café, not the flamin' Ritz,” she protested. “I know what my customers like and I cater for it.”

  “You're not doing so well with me.” undervoice

  “But you're not like the others. You should be at the Ritz. Are you sure you came to the right place?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he responded in a hollow voice.

  “So what'll it be?”

  “Since it all looks equally disgusting,” he snapped, “you'd better bring me anything that isn't 'off.' That is, if you can find something.”

  That should test her temper to the limit, he thought. But when he looked up she was regarding him with quizzical amusement.

  “You've had a hard day too, haven't you?” she asked kindly.

  “Yes,” he said, suddenly dazed. “Yes-”

  “What's the matter?”

  “I-nothing.”

  “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I'm not. Just bring me the first dish you lay your hands on.”

  He was glad when she left. He needed a moment to come to terms with his sudden sense of shock. It was nothing that could be precisely defined, just a strange sensation when he'd surprised that odd kindness on her face.

  Suddenly he was a child again, with his Aunt Gertrude, his father's sister who'd raised him after his mother died. The boy had been throwing a temper about some childish tragedy. And when he'd kicked the furniture and shouted unforgivable things in his frustration and misery he'd looked up, expecting anger, but encountered instead his aunt's understanding smile.

  “Why don't we just forget all about it?” she asked tenderly. And he'd known that she was the kindest person in the world. As well as the prettiest.

  He could see Aunt Gertrude now, her pixie face with its halo of soft blond hair, so like the waitress's. There could be no doubt about it. Impossible as it seemed, this was a member of the Ellurian royal dynasty, bearing the family face down through the generations.

  His rudeness hadn't fazed her, and he had to give her high marks for her patience and self-control. But oh, her voice! Her laugh! Her way of calling him “love”! And this woman was the rightful monarch of Elluria! He could have wept for his country.

  She returned with a plate of pie and peas.

  “Sit down,” he said, indicating the seat opposite. She gave him a wary look and he nodded. “I'm not consistent, am I? But I'm a stranger here and I'd like to talk.”

  “All right,” she sat down with a sigh of relief.

  “It must be a hard job,” he said sympathetically.

  She groaned. “Tell me about it!” Then she laughed. “But I enjoy it. You meet people.”

  “Do you live on the premises? I understand you're the manageress.”

  She giggled. “Manageress! Honestly! That's just one of Jack's harmless daydreams, like calling this place The Grand. I mean, look at it. He's a sweet old boy, but you've got to admit it's hilarious.”

  Randolph, who was feeling anything but amused, agreed that it was.

  “So you don't live here?” he continued valiantly.

  “I've got a room a few streets away.”

  “You're not married?” Randolph asked cautiously. He no longer dared rely on any of Sigmund's information.

  “Not yet, but Mike and I will be setting the day soon. That's him, over there.”

  Randolph followed her gaze to the stocky young man who was just coming through the door. From his stained overalls he seemed to be a mechanic. He waved at Dottie, then settled down in a corner table.

  “No other family?” Randolph persisted. “Father? Mother?”

  “My parents died years ago.”

  “Brothers or sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Ex-husbands?”

  “No. Excuse me,” she said with sudden determination, “I've got some urgent business to attend to.”

  She jumped up, hurried over to the young man, just getting there ahead of the dark-haired waitress, and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Push off,” she told Brenda. “Find your own feller.”

  “You can talk.” Brenda addressed herself to Mike.

  “She's been all over that bloke behind the palm. Can't see his face but his clothes are posh.”

  “Eee, Dot,” Mike said, awed, “have you got a rich admirer?”

  “Could be,” Dottie agreed.

  “He's been asking her all sorts of personal stuff,” Brenda went on. “Like, has she got any family?”

  “What's he want to do that for?” Mike asked, puzzled.

  “White slavery,” Brenda said dramatically.

  Dottie stared. “You what?”

  “He's the front man, luring innocent girls into his net, then selling them on,” Brenda said with relish. “He's probably stocking a harem. He's asking all those questions because he wants to know if anyone will be looking for you.”

  “Then why isn't he asking you questions?” Dottie wanted to know.

  “There's a better market in blondes. He's probably got your purchaser already lined up.”

  Mike was impressed. “Hey, Dot, do you think he'd give me two camels for you?”

  “You cheeky blighter!” she said indignantly. “What do you mean, two? Three, or you're dead.”

  “Well, tell him I'm open to offers. Three camels would just about pay the deposit on that garage.”

  This sent Dottie into gales of laughter. Still shaking she made her way unsteadily back to Randolph's table, and collapsed into her seat.

  “What's so funny?” Randolph demanded, fascinated. He'd only caught odd scraps of the conversation.

  It took her some time to get the words out between chuckles, but when she'd finished he gave a reluctant grin. Despite his gloomy mood he found her sunny approach to life infectious.

  “I'm afraid I'm not anything as interest
ing as a white slaver,” he said.

  “Pity,” Dottie said, making a face. “I could sell you Brenda at a discount. That would make her leave my fiancé alone.”

  “She's certainly making eyes at him. And he doesn't seem to mind.”

  “Oh, Mike's an innocent,” Dottie said cheerfully. “He needs me to look after him.”

  “Shouldn't he be looking after you?”

  “We look after each other, we always have, ever since we were at school. On my first day, someone knocked me down in the playground and he picked me up and stopped them doing it again. And I helped him with his sums.”

  Yes, Randolph thought uncharitably, the bumpkin looked like someone who would need help with his sums.

  “Is that all you want out of life,” he asked, “to settle down with a garage mechanic?”

  “What's wrong with him being a garage mechanic?” she fired up.

  “Nothing,” he said hastily, reading dire retribution in her eyes. “I just thought you might have been a bit more ambitious.”

  “Why?” she asked, honestly baffled.

  “Because a girl as pretty as you could take her pick of men.”

  “Do you really think I'm pretty?”

  “Ravishing,” he said, adding shamelessly, “With that tiny waist and those smoky blue eyes, you could be a model.”

  “You are a white slaver,” she said triumphantly. “I must tell Mike. He said you could have me for three camels.”

  Randolph felt all at sea. Nothing in his previous life had prepared him for a woman who turned everything into a joke.

  “Why does he want three camels?” he asked, grasping at straws.

  “When he's sold them he can afford the deposit on a garage.”

  “I'm not sure how much three camels would fetch,” he mused, keeping gamely up with her.

  “Well if it's not enough we'll throw Brenda in as well, for another two.”

  “Only two?”

  “Well, she's not worth as many as me,” Dottie said with such indignation that he laughed. “He's not just a mechanic,” she added. “He's going to be an owner.”

  “And who'll do the sums?” Randolph asked, touched by her eagerness.

  “Me of course. Mike's genius is in his hands.”

  “And did you, by any chance, put the idea into his head?”

  “I may have done.”

  “And who found the garage?”

  “Well, me.”

  “And who's been talking with the bank? Mike?”

  Dottie crowed with laughter and thumped him on the shoulder in a familiar way that nobody had ever dared do before. For an instant he stiffened, but then he remembered he was incognito and forced himself to relax.

  “It's no use you trying to make me think Mike is thick.”

  “I can see that,” he murmured wryly.

  “Anyway, I don't care. He's mine.”

  The sudden softening of her voice, and a glow in her eyes made Randolph ask quietly, “You really love him, don't you?”

  “Heaps and heaps,” Dottie said with a happy sigh.

  “So you wouldn't be interested in my nefarious intentions?”

  “Nef- What?”

  “It means 'up to no good.' That's what you think of me?”

  “I've got to, while you're in that posh gear,” she said cheekily. “The last bloke who came in here dressed like that was arrested as he went out the door. Got five years for fraud.”

  “Then since my clothes have given me away, you'd better tell me something about yourself so that I can decide whether you're worth three camels.”

  That made her crow with laughter, and to his ears it had a pleasant sound.

  “My name's Dottie Hebden,” she said, unwittingly sinking his last hope. “It's short for Dorothea. I ask you! Fancy saddling someone with a name like Dorothea!”

  “Perhaps it's a family name.”

  “Funny you should say that because as a matter of fact it is. According to my grandpa, anyway. If you believed him we come from a grand family, years and years ago.”

  “Did he ever tell you anything about this family?”

  “I'm not sure. The trouble was, he was a terrible man for the drink, and when he was tipsy everyone stopped listening. No, it was just Grandpa spinning pretty tales.”

  “Haven't you ever wished that they were true?”

  “Heavens no! What, me? Swanning about in a tiara and acting grand? Don't be funny!”

  Her smile died as something attracted her attention. Randolph followed her gaze and saw that Mike was talking into a mobile phone, looking as annoyed as his good-natured face would allow. He finished the call, shrugged helplessly at Dottie and rose to his feet.

  “Sorry, love,” he said, coming across. “Gotta go out and see to a breakdown. Important customer. It sounds like a long job, so I won't see you tonight. Never mind. Tomorrow's half day. Meet you in the park as usual.”

  He kissed her cheek and departed.

  “Oh heck!” Dottie sighed. “Just when we're about to close. Brenda, come and help me clear up. Brenda? Brenda?”

  “I'm afraid she's gone,” Randolph told her. “She slipped out straight after Mike.”

  “The lousy, rotten… She's not supposed to leave until I say so. You wouldn't believe it, but I'm supposed to be the manageress here.” Dottie stood in the middle of the floor, raised her fluffy head to heaven and cried, “I am Authority, with a capital A. Underlings tremble when I talk to them.” There was a cheer from the other customers, evidently used to this, and she reverted to normal. “But for all the notice she takes of me I might as well be the dogsbody. In fact,

  I am the dogsbody, because now I've got to clear up on my own.”

  “I'm afraid that's the price of scaling managerial heights,” Randolph said sympathetically.

  Dottie pointed a sausage at him. “You can hush!”

  She went around the tables collecting money, and the café slowly emptied. As she started the washing up a wall phone buzzed. Under cover of taking his crockery to the counter Randolph shamelessly eavesdropped, but it gained him little. Dottie's face, full of exasperation, was more revealing.

  “I'll strangle Jack,” she said, hanging up. “Someone called Holsson made a reservation for tonight and Jack forgot to tell me, so I've got to get his room ready before I go. Oh blast Jack. I hope his milk curdles and his socks rot. And the same goes for Mr. Holsson, whoever he is.”

  Chapter Two

  “I'm afraid you have to go now,” Dottie said. “I'm locking up.” “Can't I help you clear away to atone for my crime?”

  “Crime?”

  “I'm the awkward Mr. Holsson,” he confessed.

  “Oh heck!” She clasped her hand over her mouth, looking so much like a guilty child that he had to laugh. “Me and my big gob! I'm always doing it.”

  “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone if you don't.”

  “I'm not usually this disorganized.”

  “It's not your fault if nobody told you.”

  “Thanks. That's nice of you. Just give me a minute and I'll be over there to make you comfortable.”

  Randolph felt that nothing short of a miracle could make him comfortable in this nightmarish place, but he held his tongue. He was growing to like Dottie.

  She was loudmouthed, over-the-top and totally unsuitable to be a queen, but she had a rough good nature that appealed to him, and her ability to laugh in the face of her dreary life touched his heart.

  She was just finishing the cashing up. “This is supposed to be Jack's job,” she sighed.

  “But tonight he's giving you a wide berth,” Randolph reminded her. “That way you can't complain about his 'high crimes and misdemeanors'.”

  “His whaters?” Dottie asked, her eyes on the till.

  “His failure to pass on the message.”

  “Oh, I see. Why not say so in English?”

  “It is English,” Randolph said, suppressing a desire to tear his hair.

  “Not where
I come from.”

  He drew a long breath. It was her language, wasn't it? If he could speak it, why couldn't she?

  But he abandoned the subject as fruitless. “Since this is partly my fault, why don't you let me help you clear up?” he suggested.

  She agreed to this readily, and within a few minutes they had finished. She vanished into a little room at the rear to remove her waitress uniform, and returned in a blouse that looked faded from much washing, and shorts that revealed a pair of dazzling legs.

  He had a sudden aching memory of his much loved but erratic father, a “leg man” and proud of it. Gazing at Dottie's shining pins Randolph wondered if he had more in common with his wayward parent than he'd suspected.

  She locked up, turned out the lights and together they went next door, where, despite Jack's promise about a porter, Randolph's bags were still standing in the hall where he'd left them. It was a measure of how far he'd traveled in the past hour that this didn't surprise him.

  Room 7 came as a nasty shock. With his first step he had to hold onto the door frame as a loose floorboard wobbled underfoot. The wallpaper was a sludgy green that suggested it had been chosen to hide stains, the mattress seemed to be stuffed with cabbages. The curtains were too small for the window, and the drawers beside the bed didn't shut properly.

  An inarticulate sound behind Randolph made him turn to see a pile of sheets and blankets walking around on Dottie's legs. He guided her inside and removed the top layer, unblocking her view.

  “Sorry,” she said, dumping everything on the bed. “The furniture's a bit…a bit…”

  “Yes, it is,” Randolph said with feeling.

  “Jack buys it secondhand, you see. Never mind. It's clean, I see to that.”

  “I believe you. Let me help you make up the bed.”

  This wasn't a success, except that his efforts reduced Dottie to tears of laughter. “I'll do it,” she said when she'd recovered. “It'll be quicker.”

  She proceeded to attack the bed in a wild frenzy of efficiency, punching seven bells out of the pillows until they took on some sort of shape.

  “I still feel I should atone for making your life difficult,” he said. “Let me take you for a meal.”

  “But you've just had a meal.”