Fire Under Snow (5 page)

Instead of looking perturbed at being slapped down for prying, he turned the tables on her by applying a mocking note of his own. “You're not like your contemporaries. I would say there are more lurid happenings in the average twelve-year-old's reading matter than have occurred in your life. At your age most girls have lost their virginity. I'll wager that yours is still intact.”

“Do you always gamble on long shots?”

“No. I only bet on certainties.”

She refrained from further comment. All he could deduce from the return of color to her cheeks was that once again he had succeeded in embarrassing her. It did not confirm that his judgment was correct.

“Forgive me,” he said, taking pity on her. “You are so delicious to tease and it's such a novelty. It's a rare thing to find a girl who is so easily shocked.”

“I dread to think what kind of girl you usually acquaint yourself with,” she replied pedantically.

“Yes – well –” he said, unabashed. “Perhaps the less said about that the better. Let's make a pact. We won't talk about the women I know, and your past life shall likewise be treated as a taboo subject.”

Although it was half said in jest, it was also in the nature of a commitment; and, even though it was early days, she knew it was one she wouldn't mind taking seriously.

It was probably just a game to him, but his right hand released her left hand and was then reoffered with formal gravity. “Shake on it.” Her right hand went forward, the bargain was sealed and she allowed herself to be directed into the passenger seat of his car.

It was the most luxurious car she had ever been in. The engine made no more than a soothing purr and the suspension smoothed out the bumps so that it was like riding on air. She told herself to make the most of it, because she knew it couldn't last. She was a novelty to him, delicious to tease, a challenge. He couldn't believe that any female was proof against his powers of persuasion, and he was confident that she would succumb. Her resistance would serve as the sweetener that would enhance the taste of victory.

He wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was attracted to her because she was different. At the same time, his intelligent reasoning would tell him it was only a surface difference. Once he got her into bed she would lose her individuality and be like any other girl.

“What are you thinking?” he asked unexpectedly.

Some demon of mischief made her reply with roguish honesty, “I was thinking that, when it gets down to basics, girls are as alike as peas in a pod.”

“With one qualification. Some are greener than others,” he said, matching her mischief with his quick rejoinder.

The talk continued in this light, inconsequential vein. The atmosphere between them was unstrained, so the superficiality of the conversation didn't matter.

She wasn't conscious of the direction they were taking, only that they were moving at great speed in a strange, monochrome world. The moon had trailed her fingers across the earth, draining it of color and painting everything silver. The stretch of motorway was silver, the steep embankment with its cling of stunted trees was silver, his eyes were silver, the smile on his mouth was silver, untarnished by cynicism or mockery – her thoughts were pure gold.

The speed the car attained so effortlessly was symbolic of the speed with which their relationship was developing. Never in the whole of her life could she remember slipping into such easy compatibility with anyone. If only it didn't have to end. If only it could go on like the road, seemingly forever. But even as the thought rested so lightly on her mind, his foot was easing off the accelerator, preparing to turn off at the next exit point.

He parked the car alongside two giant trucks in the car park of a – transport café.

He queried her look of surprise. “Doesn't it appeal? I'd advise you to reserve judgment until after you've eaten the best steak you've ever tasted in your life.”

“Oh, it appeals to me. Very much so. It just doesn't seem to match your lifestyle.”

“No. But it matches my humble beginnings.”

They had left the car and were walking along the short stretch of rough ground toward the brightly lit, one-story brick and timber building. She was caught off-balance by his last remark. She had thought, by his manner of assurance and authority, that he'd always known great wealth. And yet, on reflection, she wondered why she had arrived at that conclusion. He didn't have that cushioned-from-life, “soft” look about him. The impression she had first formed of him was that he had reached his present comfortable position by his own efforts. He saw what he wanted and he had the tenacity and drive, the determination and – yes! – the ruthlessness to get it for himself.

That led straight into another thought, one which her brain didn't absorb too well. He wanted her. That was as plain as the look in his eye, as the excessive familiarity of his hands when he took her in his arms after driving her home from The Black Cat. He had made a fast play for her, but he had gone back into line without argument when he realized she was not an easy pickup. He was now applying other tactics. He was moving with caution and a kind of smoldering subtleness, but, make no mistake, he still had the same end purpose in mind. He wanted to sleep with her.

Her thoughts stalled as she stubbed her toe on a large stone. If she hadn't lost her footing on the uneven ground, her prim soul shuddered to think where further contemplation would have taken her. Her lost footing took her straight into his arms, which automatically reached out to stop her from falling.

His hold steadied her feet but had the reverse effect on her heart. Its quickened beat gave away her awareness of him. The reaction of her own fingers had been to grab his chest for support. The vibrations under her fingertips told her that hers wasn't the only misbehaving heart. His also was giving away secrets.

Verifying that he never missed an opportunity, his hands moved caressingly down her back, closing briefly on her hips before returning sedately to her waist. His mouth tantalized her lips by brushing over them in the motions of a kiss that was not allowed to materialize. She couldn't tell whether he was paying court to convention, because they could be observed should anyone be looking out of the windows of the transport café, or withholding himself .to tease her.

“You can have the rest of that later,” he said wickedly, making her think it was the latter.

“Did you have humble beginnings?” she asked, picking up the conversation that had been left trailing before she stumbled, turning her head to look back at him as he held the door open for her to enter the café.

“Very humble. This table all right for you?” he said, indicating one that was near at hand, although they could have had their pick of the room.

Only two of the other tables were occupied by serious diners; a third table housed three burly men in shirt sleeves who looked up briefly as they came in and then resumed their game of cards.

“Yes, perfect.”

“T-bone and all the trimmings?”

“Yes, please.”

She hoped her thoughts hadn't robbed her of her appetite and wished she'd asked to be let off with just a cup of coffee. She felt too strung up to eat, too conscious of the fact that her life was touching another turning point, too aware that her emotions weren't in the control of her own hands but on strings that were being jerked by this disturbing man. He even seemed to be directing her thoughts.

The waitress came to take their order and then disappeared through the ranch-type swing-door into the kitchen.

Backtracking again, Noel said, not boastfully but without false modesty, “I've got the kind of lifestyle I've always wanted. I've acquired it the hard but satisfying way – by working for it. And yet – want to know something? – the things my parents handed down to me are without price and they are what I value most. Good health, a quick and appreciative eye and a keen brain.”

The waitress returned to set two laden oval steak plates before them, another containing chunks of bread, roughly buttered, and thick beakers of strong coffee.

Picking up her knife and fork, she said, “You inherited something more from your parents. You have two very valuable senses: a sense of humor and a sense of proportion.”

“I'll go along with that.” He reached for the mustard jar and transferred a generous amount to his plate. “They're what keep me on course. The one holds me down to earth, the other stops me from going around the bend.”

She pierced a mushroom on the end of her fork. “Your parents – are you lucky enough to – I mean, where are they? Are you a dutiful son and do you keep in touch?”

His eyes took on a shrewd and thoughtful look. “They both enjoy good health and I visit them as often as possible, which perhaps isn't as often as I should. I gather, from your tone, that you are less fortunate?”

“I was still at school when my mother died. I lost my father over three years ago.”

“I'm sorry.”

“They're reunited now. When my mother died, I think my father was only marking time until he could join her, although he made an effort to pick up the threads of his life for my sake. It must have been difficult for him. All their married life they occupied their own little world to the exclusion of everyone else, and yet they never shut me out, if that makes sense. Somehow my mother saw to it that I was included in their love. It was special. My mother's cool exterior was for the world at large. Her warmth was reserved exclusively for my father; the fire under the snow burned just for him, and he reciprocated her fidelity. I had always leaned toward my mother. When she died, it was inevitable that my father and I became closer.” Her expression stilled with reflection. “Life inflicts some bitter blows, but it provides the salve to ease the pain.” Her words had a profound ring, the more surprising because of her comparatively young age.

He didn't offer to interrupt, and the compassion of his silence warmed her. It was as though he recognized this as being an extremely rare moment, as, indeed, it was. The death of her parents was something she didn't talk about, and he valued her revelations accordingly.

“Losing my father, after finding him, was especially painful. I had always been a little in awe of him. It took me a long time to realize that he wasn't a godlike being without human flaws, but a man capable of error, a man of great physical and moral strength, and weakness, as demonstrated in the odd lapses when his temper flared out of control –” She stopped abruptly, regaining her own slipping control. “I'm sorry. I can't think what came over me. I didn't mean to sound maudlin. It seems that I have been the one to break our contract, not you. By talking about my past,” she explained.

“I'm honored that you could confide in me. You should take the cork out more often. It doesn't do to bottle things up.” His grin was wry. “I know it's easier said than done.”

She pushed her plate away. “I'm sorry. I can't eat any more. And it is late. I'm going to have great difficulty in getting up for work in the morning.”

Without argument he signaled to the waitress that he wanted to pay and took out his wallet. “What kind of work do you do?”

“Office work. Mainly typing.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because I usually pay for my own breakfast.”

He handed some notes to the waitress and shook her hand away when she went to her pocket for the change. “Keep it.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night and safe driving,” she said, including Lorraine in her wide smile.

As they walked out into the night, his fingers reached out to interlace with hers. “There's more to it, isn't there, Lorraine?”

“Isn't there always,” she said grimly. “I was trained as a beauty consultant. I loved my job. I won't be modest about this. I got it initially because of my looks, but I kept it because I was good at it. I was highly thought of by the firm and I was beginning to make a name for myself when –”

She was discovering something nice about Noel. He knew when to remain silent. He didn't put pressure on her to continue. He had the patience to wait for her to take it up in her own time.

“I was in a fire,” she said in a voice that stated the bald fact and expressed no emotion. “I was burned rather badly. My hands came off worst. You wouldn't believe how much one's hands are on show. I don't blame a beauty-conscious client for not wanting to buy an expensive cosmetic item that is offered by someone with scarred hands. My employers were very nice about it.

They offered to find me something else. I decided I didn't want to be tucked out of sight by them. I preferred to find the job my own obscurity. I searched around and found it in my present people.”

“I knew there was something. I'm forced to ask – what scars? You have lovely hands.”

“The scars have gone now, or almost. My hands were badly flawed then. I had to go back to the hospital a great many times. I'm not complaining about that. I was lucky in the surgeon I had. He is a brilliant man. He said the scars would fade, and they have. He gave me his promise that, in time, I would be without blemish.”

“There's something inhuman about a person without blemish. It's the little quirks – the faults, if you like – that make a person more endearing. I hope so, anyway, having more faults than most.”

“I wouldn't dream of arguing with that,” she said emphatically.

“I shall take that as a compliment. Having more faults than most men, I must be proportionately more endearing.”

“And conceited, too.”

“But not easily sidetracked.” They had arrived at his car. He fitted the key in the door lock but did not offer to twist it. “Have all the scars faded, Lorraine? What about the inner ones? Have they gone?”

“Please, I don't want to talk about that. Not yet.”