Cotton’s Cove - Chapter One

	The night was darker than usual, a  gloomy mist hanging in the air. It was only
nine o’clock but it seemed like the middle of the night.  Despite this, Megan stepped off
the bus and prepared for the four block walk to her apartment.  During peak transit times
there was a bus that dropped her off directly in front of her building, but that bus didn’t
run this late.  It wasn’t the first time Megan had taken this later bus and walked the four
blocks through what she called the rich district.
	The neighbourhood was a huddle of old and elegant looking houses, mansions
in Megan’s mind, usually with expensive cars in their driveways. She always enjoyed the
walk along the tree lined lane.  Whenever she needed a good walk and fresh air,
especially when her spirits were low, she would come down the lane, and for a brief
moment she was in a different world.  Sometimes she daydreamed about what it would
be like to live in one of those houses, what they might look like inside, and what the
people who lived there would be like.  She seldom saw any of them, but she imagined
they must look refined and high class.  It was almost a disappointment to emerge at the
other end, back to reality.
	On this particular evening however, the houses were all closed in around
themselves.  She wasn’t sure if it was the way the people had shut them up, or if the
weather was playing tricks on her.  The lane was dark and silent.  There were few street
lights, a fact she had never noticed until this dark night, and the ones that were there
were drowned out in most places by the fog.  For the first time, the lane gave her an
eerie feeling.  A feeling of having been transported back in time.  She almost expected
to hear the clack of hooves and see an old horse buggy emerge from the fog with it’s
top-hatted driver sitting perched high above the carriage, his cape drawn around him
against the weather.
	At that thought she clutched at her own jacket and pulled it closer against the
damp air.  She had half expected to look down and see cobblestones in the street, but
the sight of familiar pavement and cement had brought her back to the present.  She
must be moving on. If she stayed too long in this dampness she might wish otherwise in
the morning; she mustn’t dally. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all. She might
have been better off in the taxi Anna had suggested.
	The thought of Anna brought a smile back to her face and for a moment she
forgot to hurry.  Anna was a dear friend.  They had known each other since childhood,
but now Anna lived far away and they seldom saw each other.  When she had called to
say she was in town Megan had been delighted.  Anna’s husband was on a business
trip and she had come along with him.  She wouldn’t have missed a chance to visit with
Megan for anything, she had said.   The two women had spent the whole day together,
and then Bill had joined them for a delightful dinner.  Anna was radiant. She and Bill
were so right for each other.
	Suddenly a sound caught Megan’s ears and brought her out of her daydreaming,
and she stopped to listen.  Of course she was being ridiculous, it was probably a cat off
in a hedge somewhere, she told herself.  The whole aura of the olden days, and Anna’s
concern for her safety were making her jittery. She walked on slowly.  She was about to
scold herself for being stupid when she heard it again.
	Her own breathing was loud in her ears now, and she strained to listen to the
noises behind her.  She was certain she could hear muffled footsteps behind her, but
when she stopped to listen all was silent.  Nervously she glanced back, but could see
nothing in the dense fog.  It seemed as if the fog was getting thicker, or was it just her
nerves?  Determined not to let it bother her, she started walking again, and the steps
returned almost immediately.
	Three times she stopped and listened and looked back.  Each time she heard
nothing, saw nothing, but when she started to move again the sound haunted her. 
Thoughts of cobblestone returned to her mind as she looked at the old street, and with
them the stories of Jack the Ripper.   He had always been pictured striking in the fog, she
thought.  She began to speed up and threw a glance over her shoulder without stopping. 
This time she was sure she caught sight of a shadowy figure behind her.  Her heart
pounded in her chest and she caught her breath.
	“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told herself. “This is a respectable residential
neighbourhood.  Why shouldn’t there be someone else walking on this sidewalk besides
me? He probably lives around here.”  But the thought of this man, for she felt sure it
was the figure of a man in the fog behind her, held something sinister.  She was quite
certain in fact, that he was no ordinary citizen on his way home.  If he was, why had he
stopped and disappeared when she had stopped to listen and look behind her? 
	Nervously she glanced over her shoulder once more, keeping up her quick pace. 
The figure was definitely there, and it seemed to be getting clearer.  Was he gaining on
her, or was the fog lifting?  She wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain in her mind... he
was stalking her.  She became frantic for a place to hide and glanced around the street
quickly.  The houses all seemed in darkness. It was early on a Saturday night, most
people were probably out on the town.
	The steps were getting louder behind her and she was sure they were moving
faster, although in her panic she might be imagining it.  She no longer thought of the
beauty of the houses as she searched them, but rather only of escaping her stalker. 
Even the houses began to look threatening, looming above her in the thick fog, dark and
forboding.  She was afraid to run in case this triggered him to lunge for her, and she was
sure that he could outrun her if he wanted to, for his shadow seemed very large.
	She spotted it from the corner of her eye, almost missed it in fact.  A light shining
dimly through the fog from somewhere near the back of the house.  Until now every one
of them had been in darkness and she had been about to lose hope.  She made for it
immediately, thinking only to get off the street.  She hoped there was someone home,
and not just a light left on, but she didn’t let herself think about that.  With a quick glance
at the shadow behind her she almost ran up the walk and rang the bell.  Her heart was
in her throat as she stood waiting for someone to answer.
	The seconds seemed like hours while she stood there, praying for help. She
could hardly stand still.  She could sense now, more than see, the shape nearing the
end of the walk and stopping there, waiting for her in case there was no one home.  If
there was no help here she was trapped.  There was no other way back to the street
and no other way out of the neighbourhood.
	She was about to ring again, fearing that her attacker might even venture up the
walk if he thought there was no one home, when she heard the latch turning.  The relief
was overwhelming and she swung around anxiously, ready to plead her case to
whoever answered the door.
	She was surprised to see a tall man standing in front of her, dressed in casual
pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  He didn’t seem to suit the house, and for a
split second she wondered if she were caught between two evils.  It took only that long
for her panic to bring her words spilling out.
	“May I please come in?” she pleaded breathlessly, her voice catching in her
throat.
	He looked at her almost expressionless.  “Who are you?”
	She thought she heard the shuffle of waiting feet at the end of the walk.  She
gave a quick glance over her shoulder before turning a panic stricken face to the man at
the door.
	“Please, just let me in for a few minutes.  I’m being followed.  I... he’s out there
just waiting to pounce on me if you turn me away.”  Megan silently prayed that this man
believed in some sort of neighbourhood protection plan. 
	He peered over her head in an exaggerated gesture. “I don’t see anyone.”
	Megan clutched at her jacket. “I tell you he’s out there.”
	“Who is he?”
	The humiliation of the conversation was too much for her.  She felt the sting of
tears dangerously close, and shook her head, almost unable to speak.  “How the hell
should I know.  I am not personally acquainted with all the vagrants that stalk the streets
of this city waiting for helpless victims.  I most certainly did not stop and wait for him to
ask him who he is.  I assumed telling me his name was not exactly what he had in mind.
If you would please  just let me come inside till he goes away, I promise I won’t be any
trouble.”
	He shrugged and stepped aside. Megan practically flew inside the door and
leaned up against the wall breathless. The sound of the door closing securely between
her and her stalker lifted a heavy weight from her and she heard herself heave a sigh of
relief.
	“What makes you think he will go away?
	She stared in disbelief. “Pardon me?”
	“Well, he might just wait out there until I throw you out again.  This won’t have
helped at all then will it?”
	She glanced around her new surroundings.  She stood in an extravagantly
decorated foyer, large enough to be a room in itself, filled with lavish ornaments and
furniture.  She could not imagine how the rest of the house would compare.  Obviously
he was not eager to have her intruding in his expensive home for any length of time at
all.
	“I’m sorry.  Perhaps it would be better if I just went out now and handed myself
over to him,” she said, turning back towards the door.  His arm shot out to bar her way
before she had hardly moved.
	“I didn’t mean I was going to throw you out,” he said, looking at her as if he was
amused with her actions, “merely that he might expect it and wait for you.  How much
further do you have to go?” 
	She waved a hand.  “To the apartments on the other side of Corrigan Street.”
	He frowned thoughtfully.  “Any idea who he might be?”
	She glared at him.  “I told you I’m not on personal terms with these people Mr...... 
Sir.”
	He shrugged again, indifferently.  “Just wondering if it might be a spurned lover
out to get his revenge or something?”
	“Most certainly not.”  She was almost certain now that he was laughing at her
under that indifferent gaze, and it unnerved her completely. Uncontrollably she felt a
shiver run through her, and she hugged herself tighter.
	“Pardon me,” he said, more seriously now.  Apparently toying with her no longer
amused him.  “Usually I’m a decent host.  You’re cold and I’ve kept you standing out
here in the hall.  Come in by the fire, it will warm you in no time.”  
	Megan opened her mouth to object but he was gone.  Quickly she followed after
him so as not to get lost.  The room she found herself in made her catch her breath.  It
was not overly large, but bigger than her apartment livingroom.  There were several
chairs and a settee, covered in brocades and velvets, and velvet curtains on the
windows.  She could see a newspaper tossed down beside one of the chairs and
wondered if this was the room she had seen the light from, if this was where he had
been when she had appeared on his doorstep.
	The fireplace was large, made of brick flanked with polished wood.  The flames
flickered invitingly and she was instinctively drawn to it, holding out her hands to the
warmth.  It was silent for a long time, and she thought that he must have left the room,
but when she turned around she was face to face with him across the room.  He was
studying her, and she felt instantly uncomfortable under his gaze.  He didn’t take his
eyes off her, even though she was sure he could tell she was nervous.
	“How did you happen to choose my doorbell to ring, pray tell?” he asked finally.
	She shrugged. “It was the first house I saw with a light on.”
	“And you assumed you’d find help on the other side of the door?”
	She shrugged again.  “I’m here.”
	“Ah.” He raised a finger in the air.  “But are you safe?”  His eyes held hers
unwaveringly.  “Did it ever occur to you that a fate worse than the one you escaped
might await you on the other side of that door?” 
	She looked astonished. She was almost positive he was teasing her, trying to
unnerve her, but all the same there was a touch of truth in what he had said.  She
sighed and shook her head.
	“I didn’t think, I just acted.  It was the first thing I could think of... getting off the
street. It seemed the best thing to do in the circumstances.” 
	For the first time he smiled at her and she was surprised by the change in him
that simple act made.  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve been a little rough on you.  Of course it
was the only thing to do.  I assure you, you are quite safe here, I definitely have no
intentions of being anything but a perfect gentleman.  Could I get you a drink? Coffee, or
tea, to warm you perhaps?”
	When he spoke to her like that he seemed like a nice person and she felt guilty
intruding on his privacy.  She looked around the room again, thinking how he must have
better things to be doing. 
	“I don’t know... I...”
	“It’s no trouble if that’s what’s worrying you. In fact I was about to brew some tea
for myself when you rang.”
	“Oh” The word was weak and made her sound almost helpless.  She quickly
straightened her back trying not to look helpless. “Well, in that case tea sounds
delightful. Thank You.” 
	He grinned and bowed slightly as a servant might do, which made her laugh
despite herself.  She just couldn’t imagine him being anyone’s servant.  She had only
just met him, and he wasn’t dressed up anything special, but there was something in the
strong lines of his face that made her feel certain that whoever he was, he would take no
orders from anyone.  
	She realized she was still staring at the empty doorway. He was gone, and she
shook her thoughts away from him.   She looked around the room thoughtfully.  He was
obviously a rich man.  The furnishings were breathtaking.  She couldn’t bring herself to sit
on any of the velvet chairs, but she didn’t think he would expect her to remain standing
either.  She looked once more at the scattered newspaper.  He must have been sitting
there, he must sit on these chairs, she decided, so she carefully perched herself on the
edge of one.  Almost immediately she heard him return and instinctively she sprang from
the chair as if she was a child caught stealing candy. 
	He laughed at her. “Don’t worry. I told you I’m a decent host. Sit.  Make yourself
comfortable.  Don’t worry about the chairs.”  He handed her a teacup, and sat back in
one of the chairs himself, leaning back in it, his arms draped easily over the sides, as if
he always relaxed this way in these precious antiques.  With a deep breath she took his
lead, this time sitting well back in the chair, but still nervous about breaking anything.
	“Name’s Murdoch,“ he said.  “Jonathan Murdoch.”  He looked at her expectantly.
	“Megan Winters,” she said meekly.
	“Quaint.”
	She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take that. Quaint was a word she
usually used when talking about cottages in the woods or something.
	“So what are you doing in this area?”
	She blushed a little.  “I like this neighbourhood.  I often walk through the lane.  It
usually give me a sense of ... peace.  It always seems so tranquil and perfect through
here. Tonight I didn’t realize the fog was so thick and... well, I didn’t expect what
happened.”
	“Of course not,” he frowned again and glanced towards a window.  “That sort of
thing doesn’t usually happen here, I assure you.  Like you said, it’s usually a peaceful
place.  It would have been very disturbing to have read about you in the morning
newspaper.”
	She shuddered at the thought and was suddenly eager to change the subject.
“You live here alone?” she asked, looking around the wonderful room. She was
beginning to feel comfortable here.  She hadn’t thought it was possible!
	“I live here with my mother. She’s away on holiday at the moment.”
	“It’s very nice.” She felt it was an understatement.
	He smiled wryly at her.  “I remember when my father first bought it. There was
nothing on the other side, where the apartments are now.  It was wide open space, trees
and parks. The city has closed in on us.”
	“I’m sorry,” she said, as if she were personally responsible.
	“Don’t be,” he laughed at her.  “It wasn’t your fault. You probably weren’t even
around. My father must have bought this place twenty-five years ago.  I’d say those
buildings went up about five years after that.”
	She looked at him accusingly.  “Then it depends what you mean when you say I
probably wasn’t around.  I wasn’t around here, but if you’re insinuating that I wasn’t even
born yet, I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted at how young you think I am.”
	“You look... young.”  She wondered what he had been going to say instead.
	“I’m twenty-four.”
	He raised his eyebrows but said nothing more on the matter. Instead he turned
the conversation back to the house.
	“I can tell you like it here very much.”
	“It’s beautiful.  Like a story book.”
	He laughed at her again, a deep, hearty laugh, and his eyes lit up.  “That’s the
first time I’ve heard it described that way.”
	“I’m sorry.” She lowered her eyes and felt strangely like a child who has said the
wrong thing at the wrong time. Almost as soon as she spoke she scolded herself for
apologizing every second breath. Immediately his expression softened.
	“Don’t be.  I liked it. I think it described the character of this place perfectly. 
Come on, let me show you around the rest of it.”
	She hesitated.  She would love to see the rest of this beautiful house, but surely
he wasn’t really interested in showing it to  her.  She was a total stranger after all.  But he
was waiting for her, and he looked like he was enjoying himself, so she followed him
from room to room.  They started on the main floor.  Other than the room they had been
in, which he told her was the fireside room for obvious reasons, there was a formal living
room.  If she had thought the fireside room was wonderful, the living room outdid it by
far.  There was what seemed like miles and miles of velvet curtains, trimmed with gold,
and the carpet was so thick she almost toppled off her feet.  She had the urge to bury
her toes in the softness of it, but thought better of it.  There was a grand piano centered
at one end of the room, and a very old, very expensive looking sofa and chairs at the
other.  She saw delicate figurines and precious vases everywhere she looked.
	“We hardly ever use this room,” he said.
	“I should be afraid to!” she said breathlessly, and he chuckled.
	The dining room was large and filled with the most delightful looking wood she
had ever seen.  The sheen on the table and sidewall sets was bright enough to make
her squint, and the beautiful brocade on the chair seats looked as if it had been hand
done.  An elaborate gold candlestick stood in the middle of the table, and an enormous
painting hung on the wall.
	They went on to the kitchen before she could totally catch her breath.  There she
felt a little more at ease.  It was large and airy and had all the modern conveniences. 
There were sliding glass doors leading out onto the lawn from the breakfast nook, and
she thought she could see a pool shimmering in the darkness.  It would not surprise her
if there was one.  She looked around the room again and smiled.
	“This is more like it.  I don’t feel so suffocated in here, so much like I shouldn’t
breath for fear something might break.”
	He smiled at her.  “The kitchen was originally designed for the staff, although
today we do most things ourselves.  Mother has a daily who comes in and cleans and
sometimes does meals, but no large staff like Father had.”
	She wondered if that had been meant to explain her comfort in the kitchen, that
she was of the same class as the staff who had once worked here.  Was he trying to tell
her he was better than she was?  She looked at him as he stood in the bright room. 
Somehow he looked not the least bit out of place here himself, so maybe he meant
nothing by it.
	There was a large pantry off the kitchen and also the basement, which he told
her housed a cold room and an extensive wine cellar. He did not take her down, but
rather upstairs instead, and once again she gasped at the beauty of the rooms.  They
walked through a long paneled hall that overlooked the foyer below, its one wall lined
with paintings.  Off the hall were three bedrooms, a nursery, and a study.
	His own room and the study, which she presumed was his, he pointed out but did
not show her.  His mother’s room was elegantly furnished and gave the impression that
the woman who used it must also be elegant.  The guest bedroom was more old
fashioned, with a large oak four poster bed, and wide windows that could be thrown
open to let the warm summers breeze in if one wished.  The nursery was both bed and
play room for the tots who had used it, and she assumed he once had, though she had
no idea how old he was. 
	There was also a very luxurious bathroom, and he told her each bedroom had
their own bathing facilities attached.  She was impressed, to say the least.  As he led her
back towards the stairs she scanned the long line of beautiful paintings once again,
admiring them as they approached the stairs.  She ran her hand over the polished wood
of the banister, enjoying the feel of it and the atmosphere of the house.
	“It’s like turning back the clock, walking through history.” She sighed, and she
sensed more than saw him smile. Almost without realizing it, she moved her foot, and
suddenly she was slipping off the top step.  Her other leg gave way and in no time she
was collapsing over the wide staircase.  She clutched at the banister but it was too wide
and too polished for her to grip, and she felt herself heading for the bottom.
	Moving like lightning he scooped her into his arms and she leaned against him,
eyes closed, breathing heavily. He held her protectively and she began to feel
comfortable there against his broad shoulders.  Slowly she dared to glance behind her
and saw the fall that might have been.  Gulping, she quickly hid her face against his
chest.  Had he not been there, close enough to catch her, she would be sprawled on the
floor at the bottom of the stairs. She shuddered to think of it, and took a deep, shaky
breath.
	Suddenly the shock of the near fall melded with the terror of her earlier escape
and the tension broke within her.  She felt tears finally running down her face and knew
she should not try to stop until the fear had finally been washed away.
	He held her for a long time, and she felt lost in another world. Locked in the
safety of his arms her tears ceased.  Still she didn’t move, not able to think of any other
place she would rather be. Then reality struck her and she remembered where she
actually was, and attempted to straighten herself and pull away from him.
	“Excuse me,” she said awkwardly, trying not to look at him.  Instead she fidgeted
with her blouse, smoothing it with far more attention than it needed.  He grinned at her
and she didn’t like it at all.
	“My pleasure,” he said, and she didn’t like the way he said it either. She knew he
was laughing at her for staying in his arms so long.  She had felt safe there.  She had
liked the feel of his strong arms holding her, and the smell of him so close. She felt a little
embarrassed that she had liked it so much and hadn’t wanted to move.
	“Thank you,” she attempted, “for everything.  I think perhaps I’ve stayed too
long. I really should be going now.”
	She started to turn and could see his frown.
	“Tired of me?” he asked.
	“No! Not at all,” she said. More like afraid of the affect he was having on her, she
thought. So unsettling.  He was attractive, she admitted, very attractive, and very
masculine.  She liked being held by him more than she wanted to admit. “But surely I’ve
overstayed my welcome. After all, I was an uninvited guest.”
	“Nonsense! I merely did my public duty. This is supposed to be a safe
neighbourhood.  As for you being welcome... you can stay as long as you like.  In fact, I
was about to offer you the guest room for the night.”
	“Oh I couldn’t!” she gasped.
	“Why not? The fog hasn’t let up any yet, and it’s already after eleven.  I’d feel
terrible letting you go out on a night like this unprotected.  You’re much safer in here than
out there.”
	“I could call a cab,” she suggested.
	“And a taxi is safer than my home?” He almost looked as if she had insulted him. 
He was taking everything the wrong way, she thought.
	“It’s just that I am so close to home. It seems ridiculous to stay and impose on
you.”
	“Well if that’s all that’s bothering you, it’s settled. You’re not imposing.  Besides, I
probably saved your life, if not just your virtue, and I feel responsible for you.  I’d take
you home myself but Mother has my car with her.  It will be much safer in the morning in
the daylight.”
	She still protested. “But I don’t even know you.”
	He smiled at her.  “You’ve been in my house for over two hours.  I haven’t
harmed you and I can tell you I have no intention of doing so.  If Mother were here she
would definitely insist on your staying.  Tomorrow is Sunday, you have no plans?”  It was
more of a statement than a question, but she had to admit there was nothing urgent to
rush home for.
	“Good then,” he said, leading her back towards the guest room, and she felt her
heartbeat slowing as they left the staircase behind them where she had nearly fallen.
“Mother keeps everything ready at all times.  No more nonsense about being an
intruder, you’re my guest now. I hope you’ll find everything as comfortable as it is
elegant.”
	With that he left her, a tiny mock bow before heading off down the hallway
towards the door that was his study. For a long time she sat on the edge of the bed
looking around.  She ran her fingers over the satiny bedspread.  She felt the fluffy
pillows.  She felt decidedly out of place!  Finally she stood up, feeling the plush carpet
under her feet.
	She discovered the adjoining bathroom and was surprised by the size of it. 
There was a tub with a large mirror on the opposite wall, and a sink.  The tiles looked like
marble and the faucets were brass.  It looked so luxurious that she couldn’t resist and
poured a warm bath for herself.  She added a lavish amount of the bubble bath from the
jar at the side of the tub and slipped in.  The water was so soothing that she lay her head
back and relaxed, closing her eyes and letting the calmness wash over her.
	She didn’t even attempt to keep track of time.  She lay back enjoying the luxury
of the bath, and came very near to falling asleep,  Finally, when the water began to cool,
she looked around for a towel.  There were none.  How silly of her not to notice before. 
There was a little statue holding a filigree tray, which she presumed must be for towels,
but there was not one in sight.
	“Now look at the mess you’re in,” she scolded herself.  What was she to do? She
couldn’t go out into the beautiful bedroom dripping water all over the expensive carpet,
nor could she slip under the fancy sheets like this, and she would freeze waiting for the
air to dry her.  She was contemplating her predicament when she heard a knock on the
bedroom door.
	“Megan?” he called when his first knock received no reply.
	“I... I’m in the bath,” she said, a little shakily.  She heard the bedroom door open 
and soon his voice was just on the other side of the bathroom door.
	“Are you alright? It’s ages since I heard the bath running.”
	“Oh I’m fine!” she said, scowling at the silliness she could hear in her own voice. 
Even with the door closed between them she felt embarrassingly naked.  Especially since
she had left her clothes in the bedroom.
	“You don’t sound alright,” he said.  She ought to have known her voice would
give her away.
	"It’s nothing, really,” she insisted.
	She heard him catch his breath in an impatient gesture. “What’s the matter?”
	“Well, I... It’s silly really.  It seems there is no towel and I forgot to check for one
before I got in the tub.”
	There was silence, then she could have sworn she heard him laugh, but his
voice was stern when he spoke. “You mean you’re in there in the tub because you
haven’t got a towel? Do you plan to stay there all night?”
	“Of course not!” she said, then more slowly, “Actually I just got ready to get out
and looked around for the towel. I was just trying to think what to do when you knocked.”
	“Thinking will get you nowhere, except maybe sick with pneumonia,” he said,
and she heard him moving around outside, then returning to the door.  She panicked
when she heard the door handle turning.
	“No!” she exclaimed, shocked. “Don’t come in here!”
	“And how do you expect me to give you a towel?”
	She sunk back in the tub and pouted. “Leave it and I’ll get it after you go.”
	She could hear the impatience in his voice now. “You’re probably already ready
to freeze.  Delay won’t help matters."
	She felt the goosebumps rising on her arms, as if taking their cue from him, and
grumbled to herself. Why hadn’t she checked for a towel before?
	“Well then don’t argue,” he was saying, as if he had actually replied to himself. 
The door swung open  and he stood there staring at her. In seconds he was laughing at
her, shaking his head.
	“Women!” he exclaimed. “Now what are you afraid of? You’re covered to the
earlobes with those bubbles, what do you expect me to see?”
	She looked down.  He was right, and it was impossible to keep from laughing
with him.  Finally he tossed the towel onto the statue’s little tray and turned to leave,
looking back over his shoulder.
	“I must admit though, it does look inviting.”
	“Oh!” she exclaimed, but the door was closed between them before she could
speak.  Immediately, for fear he might return, she stepped out into the large soft towel
he had brought, and wrapped it tightly around her.  She half expected him to be waiting
for her outside but the bedroom was empty. Quickly she slipped between the sheets and
drifted off to sleep in no time, feeling like Cinderella at the ball.