A.N. This is a project that has been in my mind for awhile. It is a meshing of an old classic movie with the OUAT players (and, I promise, with a different ending for the sentimentalists among us). As many of my stories do, this one will start out a bit slowly with the second major character not coming along until Chapter Three. (and no, I own nothing). txm

CHAPTER ONE

A New Waitress is Hired

This is a time of war in Europe. Hundreds, thousands of refugees are fleeing before the invading armies. Many eyes turn hopefully, desperately, towards the freedom of the Americas.

Lisbon becomes the great embarkation point. But not everybody can get to Lisbon directly, so a torturous, roundabout refugee trail springs up. Paris by train to Marseilles, in the south of France. Then across the Mediterranean by boat to Oran, on the northern coast of Africa. Then by train, by car or by foot across the rim of Africa to Casa d'Ora, one of the last remaining free ports on the northwest side of the Dark Continent. There, the fortunate ones, through money or influence or luck might obtain exit visas and scurry on to Lisbon.

And from Lisbon to the New World.

But the others wait in Casa d'Ora.

and wait. . .and wait. . .and wait.

But so many others have given up waiting.

They are prepared to die in Casa d'Ora

In the back streets, cluttered with the unkempt remains of the market place, refuse, trash, dirt, is the unhygienic jetsam that the human populace has left behind. In one of these alleyways, in the dark corridor that stretched behind the café-casino were large trash receptacles, filled with the remains of a hundred diners' meals.

The young woman, her clothes once fine, but now ragged from constant wear, is scavenging in the trash bins, pulling out and sorting through the food, working in the dim light provided by the moon and the little bit of light that leaches out from around the kitchen door and a few back windows of the cafe.

Half-eaten food, left by satisfied diners. Maybe there would be enough, enough that would provide her a meal, that would keep her going for another day. She had found this place a week ago and it was almost always good for at least one meal.

But it was water that she really wanted. Water was harder to come by than food in the brittlely hot climate of Casa d'Ora. She had quickly learned that the alcohol left in the bottles would not quench her thirst, would actually make things worse. She had learned to avoid liquor if she wanted to be even marginally functional the next day. She had learned to avoid liquor if she was to be safe from the night predators. It was difficult enough to avoid them without being tipsy.

So intent was she upon sorting through the discarded food that she didn't hear the kitchen door open. Only when the person spoke was she aware she had been caught.

"Oh, you poor thing. I see you're back again."

It was an older woman, kindly, concerned.

"Don't be eating from the garbage can, child. Come on in, I can give you a proper meal," the woman was firm and insistent.

"But I have no money, no way to pay," the young woman spoke. She knew she had to be careful here. Sometimes people would say there would be no payment but then. . . well then, she would find out that there was payment expected.

"I can use some help in scrubbing some of the pots and pans. Can you do that?" the older woman asked.

Honest work. She could do that. Hesitantly, timidly, she nodded and warily approached the older woman.

"Come child, the night air gets chilly, even though the day is hotter than perdition."

The older woman led her into an immaculate kitchen. Everything was swept, wiped down, shined up and otherwise sparkling with on-going attention to detail. The young woman was settled in at the end of a large prep table. The older woman began to fill her a plate. Where were the pots and pans that needed scrubbing?

"I was going to have to discard this anyway. Glad to see it going to fill somebody's belly." The older woman stacked a plate with vegetables, some type of meat, bread, even some fruit, and put it in front of the young woman.

"Something to drink with this?" the older woman asked her.

"Water please," the young woman responded and after a brief moment, finding it all too hard to resist, she dug into the plate. She ate steadily for the next ten minutes, alternately stuffing her mouth, chewing and swallowing. She went through three glasses of water.

"You might want to hold off a bit," the older woman warned her. "If you haven't eaten in a while, too much, too soon could give you a bellyache."

The younger woman nodded. She knew this to be true and began to slow up her eating pace.

"This is very good food," she told the older woman between mouthfuls.

The older woman smiled. "Fallen on hard times, my dear?"

The young woman nodded, before taking another mouthful.

The older woman knew the story. "Like so many others nowadays. They all seem to be coming into Casa d'Ora. Coming in from Oran, from Marseilles, from Paris, from who knows where. Pouring into town and all hoping for an exit visa to get out of town. Well you just set yourself here and enjoy your meal."

The young woman nodded and bent herself to her meal. She didn't notice the young man who had peered into the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice the young woman and signaled for the older woman to come over.

"Is that her?" he whispered.

"The little lost lamb. I found her digging in our trash bins again."

The man sighed. "Granny, what has Mr. Nick told you about taking in strays?"

"I know, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just walk away. Such a pretty little thing, too."

The man looked over the young woman. She was dirty and ragged. Pretty? Hard to say. "All right," the man capitulated, reluctantly. He knew there'd be hell to pay if his boss found out about this.

"She needs a place to stay the night," Granny was determined.

The man sighed. Getting in deeper and deeper. "Mr. Nick won't like this."

"She needs a place to stay the night," Granny insisted.

The man was quite uncomfortable. "All right, but just for tonight."

The young woman looked up and noticed the man for the first time. Their eyes met and she blushed. The man turned away. Hard to say if she was pretty! What was he thinking! The woman was gorgeous! If Mr. Nick saw her. . . .

He paused a moment. Right. If Mr. Nick saw her. It was possible she might make the cut. After all they were a waitress short right now.

Granny caught the speculative look. "Now Mr. Nolen, you aren't thinking that she's pretty enough for Mr. Nick to hire her on, are you?"

"Maybe. I need to find out some things about her first. I wouldn't want to waste his time." He cleared his throat and approached the young woman.

"Miss, I'm Mr. Nolen, the maître d' of this café." He came and sat down beside her.

"I'm Mary Margaret Blanchard," the young woman held out her hand to him. He took it and shook it.

Her hands were soft, any calluses were fresh. "Lovely to meet you. Tell me about yourself," he directed her.

Mary Margaret smiled shyly. She recognized him as someone with some authority and knew she needed to be both on her best behavior and on her guard. "I'm sure you've heard my story before. My family, it was just myself and my father, fell on hard times, we lost everything in the invasion. We evacuated with what we could carry. We began walking, trying to get to America." She paused. "My father got sick in Marseilles. He passed on," there was a catch in her voice. "I kept on with the journey, made it Oran and walked to Casa d'Ora. By the time I got here, I was completely out of money. No friends. No references. No skills. Pretty desperate."

Nolen nodded. He had heard this story before. "Looking for a job?" he asked her.

"Honest work," she was wary again. "I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good. This is a restaurant. A high class café with an elite clientele. We hire a. . . uh. . . certain type of young women to work here, mostly to help waitress our tables." He scrutinized her. "You may fit the profile."

She considered. "So the job is just to wait on tables? Take orders and serve? You would hire me on a trial basis?" she asked him.

"I'm not the one who makes that decision. Mr. Nick owns the place."

"This is Nick's Café?!" she asked. "I've heard of it. I didn't realize that this is where I was."

"Are you interested?"

She thought for only a moment. "I think so. Honest work?" she looked at him.

He finally caught the implication. "This is not a brothel. Mr. Nick frowns on fraternization with our customers."

The young woman breathed out. "I'm interested."

"Then I need to take you to meet Mr. Nick." He hesitated, "I should warn you. He can be intimidating, very intimidating. He will try to bully you, frighten you. He will likely try to humiliate you. But. . ." Nolen explained, "he won't hurt you. And if he approves of you. . . well, our girls all say this is the best job they've ever had." He stood and glanced at his watch. It was almost three in the morning. "No time like the present. Come with me."

Mary Margaret wiped her mouth and rose from the chair. "I need to clean my plate," she told him.

"Oh, I'll take care of that, girl. Go on. And show some backbone. Mr. Nick likes girls who have some spirit," the older woman advised her.

Mary Margaret thanked her and followed the young man out of the kitchen. He was handsome, blond and blue-eyed, tall, well put together. He looked good walking away from her.

As he led her through the back halls of the café, out of the kitchen, by a variety of small rooms and onto the floor of the restaurant-part of the café. It was after closing hours and staff was involved with putting chairs onto tables and cleaning up.

Mary Margaret looked around. She could tell this place was high-toned with plenty of big money. The carpet was thick. The wood furniture was mahogany and was put together by true craftsmen, carved and polished. There was fine art hanging on the wall. The place screamed taste and refinement. They went through the restaurant and climbed some stairs onto a balcony that looked down on the restaurant. Nolen knocked respectfully on one of two doors and waited a moment before entering. Mary Margaret followed him. There was an ornate desk made of some dark wood set in the middle of the room. A man sat behind the desk, going over receipts. Nolen led her over to the man and waited respectfully for the man to notice him.

Mary Margaret examined the man behind the desk. She'd heard of him. Of course she'd heard of him. Nicholas Gold. Wealthy, mysterious, powerful. Easily in his forties, maybe fifties, his hair was brown and longer than most men were wearing. He was small, compact, but exuded power and strength. He was impeccably dressed. He looked up and she found herself staring into chocolate brown eyes.

He glanced over to Nolen.

"Granny corralled our stray, but we think she may have promise. Since we have that position to fill, I thought you should consider her."

"It's late," the man spoke, curt and disagreeable. "Bring her over into the light."

Nolen motioned for her to come closer to the man, to stand under a floor lap that had been put just behind his desk. She stood, the light in her eyes, blinding her, but allowing him to examine her.

"Turn around," he ordered, then added, "Slowly."

There was silence for a very long moment. Then she complied.

"You are. . . Miss?"

"Blanchard," she answered. She glanced back at Nolen and he nodded to her.

The man behind the desk addressed Nolen. "I'll see to her and let you know. Wait in the restaurant," he ordered.

Mary Margaret was left alone with the man, Mr. Nick, was what he was called. He carefully raised himself and walked the few steps to the corner of his desk. He leaned against the desk. Mary Margaret thought she noticed a limp as he maneuvered along the edge of the desk, but wasn't quite sure. He poured himself something (probably) alcoholic.

"Drink?" he offered her.

She shook her head.

"Nolen explained that we have very exacting requirements for the young women whom we employ to work here?"

"He implied you had certain standards," she answered, noting his soft Scot brogue. It made his voice interesting.

"The women that work for me are drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, charming, enchanting, delightful. Are you any of those things, Miss Blanchard?" there was the slightest hint of derision in his voice.

"I don't know, sir." she answered honestly.

"Do you want this job?" he asked her.

"I believe so, sir," she responded honestly.

He finished his drink. His eyes were half-closed. He motioned to her. "Take down your hair," he ordered her.

She hesitated, but unknotted it and allowed it to fall down over her shoulders. It had not been really washed since Marseilles, so she knew it was dull and limp.

"Shake your head," he ordered her again.

Again she hesitated, but then complied, allowing her hair to fall naturally down her back and onto her shoulders.

Very softly he gave the next order, "Take off your dress."

"Sir?"

"Take off your dress. I need to see if you have any track marks from drug use. Any obvious diseases. I need to see if you have a body that will interest my customers."

Mary Margaret just stood for a moment. How badly did she want this job?

"I don't plan to fuck you, dearie." Despite his crude words, he was actually trying to reassure her. "But I do need to be thoroughly familiar with anyone I hire for this particular job."

"Do you make the men strip also?" she muttered under her breathe.

She heard his chuckle, "If they are going to have to flash nubile body parts to attract and amuse customers, I would," he responded to her.

She was trembling as she began to unfasten the buttons at the front of her threadbare shirtwaist dress. She slipped the dress over her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. She was standing only in her brassiere, panties and shoes. She blushed. She knew her undergarments were not particularly clean, stained with sweat and desert grit.

She looked up at him.

He was watching her closely, not moving, except for his eyes which stared intently at her, occasionally flicking down her body.

"Your shoes, next," he told her.

She complied, removing her shoes and shoving them aside with a foot. She was now standing only in her bra and panties.

"And the rest now, please," he had poured himself a second drink and was thoughtfully sipping it.

Mary Margaret swallowed. How badly did she want, need this job? She reached around herself and unfastened her bra. She slipped the straps down her shoulders. She closed her eyes and dropped the bra down, holding her hands in front of herself.

This was even harder than she had thought it would be. She had always thought that when she did undress in front of a man that it would be her wedding night. For a man she loved. But there was no romance here, no warmth, no affection. This man just had a clinical, business interest in her body.

Truth be told, Mary Margaret didn't actually know if she were pretty or not. Her father had always called her his little princess and told her she was beautiful, but then that was her father.

Mary Margaret swallowed again. She took a deep breath and after a moment, she began to slide her panties off, down her thighs, over her knees and off. She straightened up.

She didn't, couldn't meet his eyes but she knew he was looking at her.

Good grief. The woman was so pale she was almost luminescent. She actually seemed to glow in the dim light of his office. The contrast with her black hair was amazing. Her body. . . perfect, everything in just the right proportion, firm, taut. She was quite the beauty. Drop-dead gorgeous, indeed. With a bit of spirit, too. Ten years ago, hell, five years ago, he would have tried her out.

He picked up a cane he had left next to his chair and walked the few steps over to her, leaning on the cane. He stopped right before her and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him.

"Have you been with a man before, cherie?" he asked her. She dropped her eyes and, as much as he would allow, she turned her head.

"I don't see how. . ." she began.

"So you're a virgin?"

Still not meeting his eyes, she nodded, closing her eyes.

"Are you familiar with a place called The Red Heart?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Then you know you could have gone there and bartered your hymen for enough money to get you a black market visa?"

She stood a moment and finally, in a small voice, replied, "I know, but I'm not a whore. Not that desperate yet," she admitted.

"That's good to know. Because if I ever find out that you're turning tricks with the customers, you'll be out on your pert little ass. If I find out that you're doing drugs, you're out. If I find out that you've stolen even a blue farthing from me, then you're out. Understand?"

She stood a moment, "I'm not a whore, a junkie or a thief," she told him. After a moment she asked, "Then I'm hired?" She didn't want to sound too hopeful.

"Trial basis. I assume you can read and write." He had looked down at her lush, perfectly formed breasts. He couldn't help but notice that hard peaks that had formed on the tender mounds. She was responding, against her will, but responding none the less. Strong feminine drives. He definitely approved.

"Of course," she had answered him.

"My girls stay in a dormitory. You'll be provided room and board and a small salary. I provide your clothing and I have total approval on your hair and makeup."

He was still standing next to her. She could feel the warmth coming off the man's body. He leaned in and whispered, "I will take good care of you, cherie." He then slowly limped back to his desk, "Put your clothes back on. I'll have Nolen take you to the dorm." He turned his attention back to his receipts.

Trembling, she put her clothing back on. She would have never thought she would have done such a thing, but this man was so demanding, commanding, dominating. And he was offering her a job. . .and shelter. . . and clothing. . . and a salary. . . and food. Once dressed, she went out and down the stairs to Nolen, who asked her to wait. He briefly went upstairs where she assumed he spoke with Mr. Nick. Did he know what his boss had just had her do? Did he think Mr. Nick had had his way with her?

When he returned to her, Nolen's face was impassive. "Come on. I'll get you to the dorm and we'll get you set up for the night. Tomorrow you can start out following Jesse."

Mary Margaret followed him silently. They left the café and going to the adjacent building, went up some stairs along the outside of this structure. At the top of the stairs, Nolen knocked on the door. It was opened just enough, stopped by the chain lock, just enough for a large soft brown eye to peek out.

"Nolen, sir!" The door closed, there was the sound of a chain moving and then the door opened.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" The large soft brown eye belonged to a young woman with thick, black hair and a milky café au lait complexion. The woman was middle eastern and one of the most beautiful women Mary Margaret had ever seen.

"Jesse," Nolen began, "This is Mary Margaret. She's on trial as a new waitress."

"Mary Margaret, so happy to meet you." The young woman welcomed her in and gave her a hug. "We have been desperate for another waitress."

Nolen spoke directly to Jesse. "Mr. Nick wanted you to show her the ropes. Help get her ready. He told me to tell you that he's counting on you."

"Wonderful," Jesse smiled at Mary Margaret. "I'm happy to help." She leaned in and whispered to Mary Margaret, "It'll be good not to try to have to wait so many tables since Ashley got herself. . . " she stopped, glancing a bit guiltily at Nolen, "since Ashley can't work the front anymore," she finished, somewhat lamely.

Nolen let himself out and Jesse locked the door behind him. "Here let me introduce you to the other girls."

"What's going on?" It was Ruby, the croupier who ran the roulette wheel in the back room, the Gambling Room, of the café.

It was the next day. There had been police whistles and scurrying about all afternoon.

"Swan has given orders to round up the usual suspects. Two German couriers carrying important official documents were murdered on a train from Oran. The murderer and possible accomplices are believed to be headed towards Casa d'Ora. The police are rounding up all suspicious characters to search them. Refugees, liberals, and probably some pretty girl for that new German Major Spender." It was Jefferson, Mr. Nick's ebullient piano player, who gave the girls the news.

Mary Margaret could not help but like the tall young man. He had a kind smile and easy laugh. He was not well focused but was much easier to be around than his creepy boss.

"Watch out for Jefferson," Ruby had warned her. "He is very fond of the ladies."

"How about Mr. Nick?" Mary Margaret had taken awhile to gather up courage to ask this question of the outgoing young woman.

She had learned quite a lot about her co-workers, mostly from Ruby, the evening before and during that first day. Jesse had fled an arranged marriage and had arrived penniless and destitute at Nick's door. Arry and a now very pregnant girl named Ashley had both fled constricting families trying to find a better life but both had found only poverty. Ashley, Mary Margaret had learned, wasn't allowed out on the restaurant floor, but had a job helping in the kitchens. Ruby and her grandmother had fled the encroaching German army and ran out of money in Casa d'Ora. Katy's story was much like her own, a young woman of wealth, fleeing with her father, then losing her father and running out of money. Tina was just trying to get enough money together to open her own restaurant. She was probably the only one not trying to get out of Casa d'Ora.

"Is he fond of the ladies? To be completely honest, I don't know," Ruby had explained. "When I started here, he had me strip for him before he would hire me. I think he does that to all the girls he hires, just to make sure they know he's the boss. And, I think, if you cry, he won't hire you – I guess he figures you're not spirited enough. At first, I was afraid that sleeping with him came with the job package, but I've never had him put any moves on me nor heard of him doing anything like that with any of the other girls. I promise you as good as he treats us, most of us wouldn't object to putting out for him if he asked us to."

Ruby continued, "He visits The Red Heart on occasion but I think that is just to aggravate Miss Regina, the owner, rather than to partake of the entertainment there."

Ruby lowered her voice. "For a while I'd wondered if he was playing on our team, you know, I wondered if he preferred the company of boys, that maybe he and Jefferson. . . well, you know," Ruby shrugged. "But I don't think so. He's incredibly discrete if that's what's going on."

It was right before the Café was to open for dinner service. Mary Margaret stood with the other young women and men on the staff in the Gambling Room, waiting for a final inspection right before they opened. Mr. Nick, dressed again in a dark suit, leaning on his cane, looked them each up and down, straightening a collar here, adjusting a pocket handkerchief there. When he reached the young women, he seemed to give them each special regard.

"Tina," he spoke to the young woman of mixed racial blood, some African, some, well something else. "Agréable, comme d'habitude,"

"Merci, Monsieur," she gave him a big smile and a small courtesy.

"Arry, lovely as always." He complimented the petite red-headed girl.

"Thank you, sir," the young woman grinned at him.

"Ruby." He actually looked up at Ruby. She was tall, dressed in a form-fitting red dress, and with the high high heels she wore, she was able to look down at him. "Excellent," he smiled at her.

"Thanks Boss," Ruby also smiled at the man.

"Katy, mooie."

The tall blonde, Dutch? Mary Margaret had guessed, was dressed in shades of gold and ivory. She blushed and cast her eyes down.

He now stood before Jesse, dressed in exotic flowing silks, in blues and purples.

"Exquisite," he closely examined her, having her turn for him. "Gamila," he told her.

"Shukran," Jesse replied, dropping her eyes, but then shyly peeking up at him, a slight mischievous look in her eyes.

"How has it gone?" he nodded towards Mary Margaret.

"Very well sir. I chose white to put her in. I hope you find it acceptable."

He looked Mary Margaret over closely. "You have cleaned up very nicely, Miss Blanchard. I hope you are able to manage the job. Jesse has explained everything to you?"

"Yes," then she stammered, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Up until that moment she had been comfortable in the simple white dress Jesse had put her into. It hugged her figure but covered everything. But as Mr. Nick had looked her over, it had abruptly occurred to her the very simplicity of the dress called attention to her figure. She was feeling on display.

"Very good," he smiled, almost gently at her.

He turned back to the staff and addressed them all, "Capitaine Swan has alerted me that we are likely to see some special activity here tonight. Everyone, concentrate on doing your job. Stay out of the way of the police and the Germans."

Everyone nodded. They all seemed to relax when Mr. Nick slowly limped back to a chair behind a work table that he'd had set up on a dais in the corner of the Gambling Room and they were able to clear out of his presence.

Mary Margaret shadowed Jesse that evening. The occupants in the café restaurant were varied. There were Europeans in dinner jackets. Moroccans in silk robes. Turks in fezzes. Levantines in striped robes. Naval officers. German officers. Members of the Foreign Legion, distinguished by their kepis. Members of the French military. Many of the women were beautifully dressed, wearing rich gowns and bedecked in costly jewels. As she moved across the floor, assisting in taking orders, keeping water glasses filled, she was surprised at the conversations she was picking up in the café.

There were two men sitting at a table. They were on their third bottle of wine. One of the men was muttering, "Waiting, waiting, waiting. I'll never get out of here. I'll die in Casa d'Ora."

That hit close to home for Mary Margaret.

At another table a well-dressed woman was showing a man a bracelet. She was saying, "But can't you please make it a little more?"

"Diamonds, diamonds are a glut on the market. Everybody is selling diamonds. There are diamonds everywhere."

Mary Margaret had long since sold off what little jewelry she had. The last of it had gone in Oran.

At another table two men were conspiring. "The truck is ready, the men are waiting. Everything is. . . " They stopped talking as she walked by. Free French, no doubt.

"It's the fishing boat, Santiago. It leaves at one tomorrow night. Here at the end of the marina, third boat from the end," one man was talking with a young couple.

The woman had tears in her eyes, "Thank you, thank you."

"Bring fifteen thousand francs in cash. Remember, in cash."

Getting out without an exit visa. What a risk. The fishing boat captain could just as well take their money and leave them on the docks. Or worse, take them out to open water and dump them.

"Pardon," It was Arry. "Mr. Nick wants Mary Margaret to bring him his supper."

She panicked a little. Was there a problem already? Was he going to fire her after a single evening? She thought she had done all right, rapidly memorizing the menu. Jesse had even let her take down a few orders. There had even been several moments that her knowledge of Russian, German and Spanish had helped out. She hadn't had any arguments with the customers or with any of the other staff.

"Relax, he just probably wants to check in with you to see how it's going," Jesse tried to calm her. "You haven't done anything that he will find fault with."

Mary Margaret gave her a tight smile and took the supper tray from Arry. "He's in the Gambling Room at his table," she directed her.

Mary Margaret passed the bar with Mademoiselle Tina standing behind it. She made her way up to the door guarded by the formidable Leroy, an ex-bare knuckles fighter, a small, but powerful man. He looked her over.

"You're the new girl, right? Supper for Monsieur Nick?"

She nodded. She had been in this roomlast night. Leroy opened the door and held it for her. She stepped into the smoky, dimly lit area. There were several tables, including a large one that held the roulette wheel. There was already a crowd gathered around Ruby as she competently called the numbers and colors, directing people to "place their bets." At several tables there were people playing cards.

She looked around the room. As she'd been told, he was sitting at his worktable opposite the door, with his back to the wall. She could see that this table being on a raised platform allowed him to better monitor what was happening in the room. He was dealing from a deck of cards. Solitaire? He did not look up.

Mary Margaret spotted Mr. Nolen. He is doing a quick walk around the facility. He saw her and gave her a comforting smile.

One of the glittering woman guests, playing cards, stopped Nolen as he started over to Mary Margaret. "Captain, will you ask Monsieur Nick if he will have a drink with us."

Nolen smiled and shook his head, "Madame, I'm sorry, but he never drinks with customers. I have never seen him. Sorry."

"What makes a saloon keeper so snobbish?" she asked him, disappointed.

"He has strict rules about fraternization with customers. For us and for himself," Nolen responded, still smiling. "He's afraid, no doubt, that he wouldn't be able to resist the charms of many of the beautiful ladies who come here."

The woman seemed mollified and went back to her game.

Mary Margaret had made her way across to Nick.

He didn't look up at her, "Put it down," he motioned to a corner of the table. She complied. She wasn't sure if she needed to wait to be dismissed, so she stood awkwardly.

"How many languages do you speak?" he asked her abruptly.

"About four well and some of about three others."

"You had a good education, then." He stated it as a fact.

"In Switzerland, then in England, then in Paris. Yes sir, I've had a good education."

"You seem to be doing well your first evening," he told her.

"Thank you, sir."

He had finally looked up at her and gave her a thin, crooked, closed-mouthed smile.

NEXT: Nick accepts an envelope

Nick gets an offer

Nick gets a friendly warning