Fire Under Snow (6 page)

Perhaps never
, she added under her breath. Although their relationship had taken giant strides – even in her carefree, gregarious days before the fire, she had never known its like before – she didn't know if she would ever be able to tell him the reason she had lost her confidence and why she found it difficult to trust people. She could not tell it without reviving bitterness or reliving the horror of that night and black months following Jamie's defection.

He drew the car next to the curb at the entrance of her apartment building before he posed the question. “When your father died, was there someone else you could turn to?”

Fearing that he suspected there was a man somewhere in the tangle of her torment, she said, a little wearily, “Aunt Leonora.” How much longer could she supply answers without telling him what he really seemed to be asking? “She's a brick. She owns this darling cottage in Kittiwake Bay. It's situated at the end of the town on the edge of the moor; because of its being on higher ground, it has a fantastic view of the sea. I stayed with her when I came out of the hospital. She wanted me to make my home with her permanently – the offer is open any time I care to take it up. It's tempting, but I won't. I had to make my own life, not latch on to hers, and nothing has altered in that respect. We keep in touch by phone and visit each other when we can.”

“I'm glad about that. You've had a rough deal – rougher than you're letting on, I suspect. I'm pleased you weren't on your own.” He put his arms around her. With that uncanny intuition of his, his kiss was light and undemanding, as if he knew how severely drained she was and that her emotions could take no more. “Good night, sleepy-eyes. I'll phone you.”

By unlucky chance he always chose to dial her number when someone else was using the phone. Knowing how much it annoyed him to keep hearing the engaged signal, she was flattered that he persevered until the line was free and he managed to get through to her.

Each time he phoned to ask her out, she accepted the invitation fully expecting it to be the last. It was now four weeks since he'd surprised her by phoning at midnight to take her out for a meal, and he was still surprising her by not losing interest.

He was a wonderful escort, knowing exactly the kind of place she liked to be taken to; but this evening he was mixing business with pleasure. He had booked a table at the Cabana. The cabaret spot featured Toni Carr, an up-and-coming singer he was considering putting under contract.

She decided to wear the white dress, the one she had worn the evening they met. She hadn't worn it since, and, as she took it out of its protective covering and hung it on the outside of her wardrobe, she looked at the dress with a certain fondness. It had marked a turning point in her life.

She applied her makeup with her usual light but caring hand, shading and blending with subtle expertise to create the natural look which suited her best and did not detract from the loveliness of her green eyes and the delicate shape of her face. She believed that beauty aids should aid beauty and never be allowed to dominate or overpower. She had seen too many girls whose stunning looks were marred by overdoing the makeup. She coiled her hair into a simple chignon, twisting a lock to fall forward onto her forehead from force of habit; there was no longer anything to conceal. Sometimes it was difficult to believe she had been so badly scarred in the fire. Her skin's own natural healing process, plus the skill of a brilliant surgeon, had restored her to her former self. If Jamie saw her now he would have no cause to cringe away from her in horror. She clenched her fingers tightly together and, with effort, put the unhappy memory from her.

Noel was late. That was unlike him. He was always punctual, arriving one minute before the appointed time as though, unlike ordinary mortals, he was above traffic jams or any of the other delaying frustrations that most people have to endure from time to time.

When her doorbell rang she raced to answer it, picking up her coat and evening purse on the way. Opening the door to him, she said, “I was just beginning to wonder what had –” And stopped. To begin with she had to lower her eyes a considerable distance. Even in her highest heels she still had to look up at Noel. But she wasn't looking into Noel's gray eyes. These eyes, not much higher than her own, were a friendly light brown in color.

“Hello, Mr. Peters,” she said, recognizing Shane Peters, the compère at The Black Cat.

“Good evening, Miss Marshall.”

“Where is Noel?”

“Unavoidably delayed. No cause for alarm. He tried to contact you himself, but apparently your telephone has a peculiar habit of being engaged; he phoned me instead and asked me to relay the message on his behalf.”

“I see.”

What did she see? The end? She had always known she was too tame, too unspectacular, too uncooperative, to hold Noel's interest for long. Was he bored with her? Had a better prospect turned up and was she being gently set aside?

“It's kind of you to come out of your way to bring the message, Mr. Peters. Thank you for not leaving me in the dark.”

“Hang on. You haven't let me finish. It's not kind of me at all; it's my pleasure, even though I am only carrying out the boss's orders. I've been instructed to take you to the club and keep you ... er ... suitably entertained until Mr. Britton arrives.”

His audacious grin told her that was not quite what Noel had said. “Suitably entertained, Mr. Peters?” she couldn't help teasing.

“All right. His actual wording was, ‘Keep your lecherous hands off her. Remember who she is.' ”

With a small return of her confidence, she said, “Perhaps I'll just wait quietly here by myself until Mr. Britton can find time to collect me.”

“Perhaps you won't. Please, lady. I like my job. You wouldn't have it on your conscience that you'd put me in the unemployment office?”

“Don't tempt me. It might save some other poor, petrified girl from being dragged up onto the stage against her will, as I was.”

“Your friends set you up, not me. And don't think too unkindly of them; most girls enjoy the attention. You were the exception and quite the worst case of shyness I've ever seen. I'm sorry for putting you through it.” His cheeky smile returned to lighten his eyes. “Anyway, I didn't know you were special to the boss then.”

“I wasn't.” She wasn't sure she was special to him now. “But for that we probably wouldn't have met. So see what you've got on your conscience.”

Flattering as Noel's attention was, it could only end in one way for her – in sorrow. Beneath the sophisticated, figure-hugging white dress beat the crazy, mixed-up heart of a very scared, immature girl. How could she have reached the magical age of twenty-three and feel sixteen in experience and ability to cope?

Some, if not all, of this must have shown on her face, because Shane Peters chuckled richly. “You shouldn't believe all you hear. Sure, the guy's sowed a few wild oats. He's normal, isn't he? But he'd need to be Superman to keep up with all the reports about him.”

“You are very loyal, Mr. Peters.”

His eyes riveted on her in open admiration. “Shane, if you don't mind. You should be crowing over the conquest, not probing his past as if he were the one on trial and not the –”

He pulled himself up sharply and she took up the sentence for him. “And not the other way around. You think I'm on trial, don't you, Shane?”

“I don't know what to think. Do you mind if we make a move? I might be parked in an illegal area.”

He hadn't sidestepped the issue. He honestly didn't know. His first hasty assessment was under review. She didn't know quite how she knew this, since nothing specific in his manner had betrayed him, but he was no longer questioning why Noel was attracted to her, even though she was vastly different from his usual choice of female companion. There had been no shortage of informants to acquaint her with the fact that Noel was reputed to have a rapid turnover of girlfriends. He tended to go for brunettes – tall, sultry, sophisticated yes-girls. Just how long would the novelty of a petite, blonde no-girl last?

At the club, Shane Peters wanted to seat her at the table that was permanently reserved for Noel.

“Please, I'd rather not. Most of the regulars know it's Mr. Britton's table and I'd feel conspicuous. Could you find me a quiet hideaway somewhere?”

“A girl sitting on her own and one with your looks ... you'd cause a stir wherever I put you. You could wait for Mr. Britton in his office, if you wish.”

“I do,” she said gratefully. Apart from the privacy it would grant her, she was curious to see where Noel spent his working day.

“I'll get someone to rustle up a cup of tea for you. Unless you'd prefer something more –”

“Tea would be lovely,” she cut in. “If it's no trouble.”

Shane escorted her to Noel's office and then went to order the tea.

Noel's domain was more opulent than any office she had ever known, in a discreet and expensively tasteful way. Her heels sank into the rich pile of the carpet. Her eyes ran appreciatively over the deep leather armchairs and matching sofa, the oyster-color walls hung with pictures of famous recording artists. Her glance dropped to fix on the leather swivel chair that Noel would occupy when he sat at the wide executive desk with its imposing bank of telephones and a single photo frame containing a picture of ...

Before she could satisfy her curiosity, Shane returned carrying a tea tray set for one.

“Will you be all right on your own?” he inquired, placing the tray on a small table. “Mr. Britton shouldn't be delayed much longer, and it's almost time for me to open the show.”

“Of course. Thank you for the tea.”

“If you're quite sure, I'll leave you to pour it yourself. If the boss still hasn't got back, I'll pop in again when I've set things in motion.”

Instead of reaching for the silver teapot when he'd gone, she decided to appease her curiosity before her thirst and went around to Noel's side of the desk to look at the photograph. There wasn't a doubt in her mind about the identity of the couple. The man had a tender smile on his face as he looked at the woman. The woman's features were almost a duplication of Noel's in a softer, feminine form. They just had to be his parents. She restored the photo frame to its original position, smiling softly to herself.

There were two more doors apart from the one she'd entered by. One door would undoubtedly give access to his secretary's office, the kindly sounding Miss Judith Brown whom she'd spoken to when she phoned in to try to find out where Jamie was staying. What was behind the other door had her guessing. A private washroom, probably, because there would be occasions when it would be necessary for him to change and freshen up after work before going on somewhere else. She resisted the temptation to find out and poured her tea.

She was finishing her second cup when Noel arrived via one of the mystery doors. He wasn't wearing a jacket and his shirt was immaculate, as if he'd just changed it. His hair was damp and unruly at the front, as if he'd just refreshed himself with a quick wash, more or less confirming that she was right in her surmise.

“Goodness, girl! What are you hiding in here for? Wouldn't you have been happier in the club with some life around you?”

At one time, before she was scarred in the fire, the answer would have been yes. She would have fitted in admirably with the convivial crowd, enjoying their speculation as. to how importantly she figured in Noel's life, just as she would have enjoyed being pulled up onto the stage to take part in the birthday celebration spot, which she knew was one of the club's most popular features. In the old days she had reveled in being in the limelight and had mixed easily with people. She hadn't known what it was to be shy, to want to hide oneself away out of sight. The scars had disappeared; there was no need to scuttle into a corner. She remembered the words of the surgeon who had operated on her: “One day you'll walk out of the shadows. You'll find your lost confidence.” In time she hoped to prove him right.

She managed to smile up at Noel as she said, “Mr. Peters suggested I sit at your table, but I preferred to wait in here. You've got a lovely office.”

“It's a suite, actually, with a mini-flat attached. It isn't as large or as grand as my apartment, but it's sometimes more convenient. I'll take you on a conducted tour,” he said, pulling her to her feet and leading her across the room to the door, which he flung open to reveal a smaller office. “This is where my secretary sits.”

“I thought that might be Miss Brown's office,” she said carelessly, letting the name slip out, her concentration absorbed by the caressing thumb on the tender inside of her wrist.

“How do you know that my secretary is called Miss Brown?”

It was a lightly aired query, and she made more of it by blushing furiously. “You said her name, didn't you?”

“I most assuredly did not.”

“Then Shane must have mentioned her name.”

“Oh – Shane, is it? Did Shane take you on a conducted tour of these rooms?” he inquired, his eyes narrowing in displeased speculation.

“No, of course not. It wouldn't be his place to do so. He said I could wait in your office and very kindly brought me some tea. Why are you looking at me like that? And why are you cross- examining me?”

“I'm looking at you like this because you are a very beautiful woman. And I'm cross-examining you for the same reason. Shane took a shine to you on the night you went up on stage. Oh, I know he always makes a play for the girls in the birthday spot – that's part of the show. It's expected of him and it gets a laugh. But if I were to find out that he'd repeated his on-stage performance with you, I'd break his neck.”

“He was a perfect gentleman. His manner was impeccable. Yours is insulting. Even if he had tried anything, don't you think I would have slapped him down? I'm not attracted to him in that way, and anyway, he's too old for me.”