Natasha's Dream Read Online Free PDF Page A

does that mean?’ asked Mr Gibson.
    ‘Nothing. Nothing.’ Natasha shook her head. ‘Oh, that is terrible, isn’t it, to think someone would want to do that?’
    ‘Might the man have been a Bolshevik agent?’ asked Mr Gibson gently. ‘Do they still want to do away with you, Natasha? If so, why?’
    Natasha shivered. ‘No, no, he must have given up by now,’ she said.
    ‘He?’
    ‘The commissar.’ Her eyes were looking inwards. ‘No, it must have been—’ She stopped. ‘I must find a corner in another house.’
    ‘Why?’ Mr Gibson was worried for her and very curious about her. ‘Do you think the man knew where you slept at night and was waiting for you on your way there?’
    ‘Dear sir,’ she said earnestly, ‘you have many questions and I have only a few answers. When I am not quite so poor as I am now, I shall light a candle to your goodness, and ask the priest to say a blessing for you.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Mr Gibson gravely. The faultlessness of her English added to his curiosity. He felt, however, that he had asked more than enough questions for the moment. ‘But first things first, I think. To start with, may I suggest you sleep here tonight?’
    Her pale face showed sudden pink spots, and her eyes showed alarm. ‘You must see that asI am, I could not be a pleasure to a man,’ she stammered, ‘and it is wrong to think I would be, in any case. It is not what I would ever do in exchange for food and help.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Mr Gibson. A smile flickered. ‘Shame on you, young lady, to think I’d ever ask you to. Very bad form, I assure you.’
    ‘Bad form?’
    ‘It’s not the thing, Natasha, to make improper suggestions to a young lady down on her luck.’ Mr Gibson smiled, and relief flooded her. ‘But you simply aren’t well enough to go looking for cold corners at this time of night. You shall have a warm bed, all to yourself. And a hot bath. The amenities here are excellent. So they should be, for the rent’s scandalous. There’s plenty of hot water.’
    Again a delighted smile transfigured her. ‘Hot water? Oh, how good you are.’
    ‘And when you’ve had your bath and are in bed, I’ll bring you some hot milk laced with a little more cognac. You’ll enjoy a sound sleep then.’
    He felt he could do no less for her. He showed her the bathroom. He ran the bath for her, and while it ran, he introduced her to a bedroom that promised bliss to her tired body. He gaveher a pair of pyjamas. Her eyes became moistly luminous.
    ‘Why do you do all this for me?’ she whispered emotionally.
    ‘Because you are not very old, Natasha, you are still very young, and because it’s time someone made the world a little more pleasant for you.’
    The hot bath and the cake of soap were pure bliss. The pyjamas, of fine, striped flannel, were ridiculous. They enveloped her. She laughed at herself in the mirror. She stopped laughing when the mirror told her how drawn and thin her face was. Her eyes looked terrible. She was clean, yes, but so unlovely. Mr Gibson must think her the most unappealing creature he had ever met. He brought her the promised hot milk when she was finally in bed. She sat up, the pyjama jacket capaciously loose around her. Sensitive because she had no looks, she flushed as he smiled at her. She looked very much better, he thought, her face warm with colour. Her hair, which she had washed vigorously and towelled just as vigorously, even though it hurt her aching head, hung in lustrous black waves. But how thin she was. The open neck of the pyjama jacket revealed thrusting collarbones.However, her appearance was no longer wretched. The deep blue of her eyes seemed a warm violet in the light of the bedside lamp.
    ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, receiving the glass of milk with gratitude. ‘I am ashamed of how dirty I was. Kindest sir, the bath was close to the wonders of heaven. You do not know how good it is to feel so clean after being so miserably dirty.’
    ‘Yes, I