Fire Under Snow (11 page)

“No, I haven't arranged to see him tomorrow. I'm catching the seven o'clock train for Kittiwake Bay.”

Her cheeks were burning. Deception was a game some people played with ease, but not Lorraine. She prayed that he wouldn't ask any awkward questions, such as was she going by prior arrangement or was it a newly reached decision. He was shrewd enough to have realized that although she wasn't lying, neither was she telling the whole truth.

“How long will you be away?”

“A week.”

“I'll call you,” he said.

His tone was disturbingly cool, but at least she wasn't going to be made to talk herself into further trouble, which was what she seemed to do every time she opened her mouth.

She got out of the car, lifted her hand in a goodbye gesture and walked quickly away. He waited until she was safely inside, as he always did, before driving off.

She met with no opposition at work. She was granted a week's holiday leave to commence the following day. She phoned her aunt to let her know of her sudden decision to visit and was warmed by the happiness in Leonora's voice as she said it was the best news she'd had all day and how much she was looking forward to having Lorraine with her.

As she packed the simple things she'd need, taking only the barest necessities, Lorraine knew the feeling was reciprocal. A surge of homesickness had entered her blood, and she couldn't wait to be there.

She was moving at great haste, with not a lot of time to spare, when her doorbell rang. She would have to get rid of whoever was there quickly or she would miss her train.

She couldn't believe it when she opened the door and found Noel standing outside her apartment.

“I can't stop now,” she said in desperation. “I'm in danger of missing my train as it is.”

“Miss it,” he commanded. “That's why I'm here. I'm driving you.”

Driving me crazy, she thought. “Why?” she gasped.

“I could do with a breath of sea air. You're not the only one who needs a break. I can't remember the last time I had a holiday, although I've traveled extensively, taking in all the exotic holiday spots. It's always business first, with a pair of swimming trunks tucked into my suitcase in the vain hope that I might have time to use them.”

“Unless there is an unscheduled heat wave, which is very unlikely, you won't get to use your swimming trunks at Kittiwake Bay. It's the coldest, breeziest bit of English coast there is, although bracing is what my aunt calls it. But why do you want to go there? Or – wait a minute –  perhaps I'm presuming too much. Perhaps you intend to drive me there, drop me off, and then go somewhere else?” she said hopefully.

“No. Kittiwake Bay sounds nice to me.”

“But – why Kittiwake Bay?”

“Because you'll be there.” He laughed into her expressive, scared eyes. “Oh, come on. What can I get up to with your aunt there? I don't intend to impose on her, if that's what's worrying you. I'll book into a hotel.”

“Aunt Leonora is much too hospitable to let you,” she said ungraciously in defeat.

She hadn't masterminded her escape campaign very intelligently. Not only had she made a complete hash of it, but the situation was now ten times worse.

Why was he pursuing her in this relentless fashion, stalking her in a manner that was cruel, almost sadistic? Did he think his tenacity would eventually wear her down? Perhaps it would, she thought, going cold with apprehension. He didn't care what lengths he went to. She wasn't taken in. She knew it would take more than Aunt Leonora's presence to put him off. She was weary of fighting. It even crossed her mind that it might be best to give in – let him have his conquest – and then perhaps he'd leave her alone.

Kittiwake Bay had always been a haven to run to when in trouble or pain. One thing was certain: this time Kittiwake Bay would not be the refuge she had come to expect.

They drove for a while without saying anything, listening in silence to the soothing tones of taped music. When the music finished, however, Noel did not insert another cassette but turned the machine off.

“You're not very talkative,” he said.

“Perhaps I haven't anything to talk about. Anyway, you hate small talk.”

“True. Tell me about Kittiwake Bay.”

“What is there to tell? It's a thriving little village, but it never made it as a seaside resort. A lot of plans were put into operation when the railway came through in the mid-eighteen- hundreds – plots of land were laid out, water mains put in, a reservoir built. The railway was supposed to bring in the day-trippers and holiday-makers from the mill and steel towns. It never caught on as a popular resort, probably because even in summer the conditions are wintry on the exposed moorland heights. They do say it's always attracted more legends than visitors. You've got to be hardy to love it.”

“As you do.”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes and saw precipitous chalk cliffs massed with ledges and crannies where kittiwakes and other sea birds built their nests; white boulders, swept from places as far away as Scandinavia by past Ice Ages, strewn along the shore like giant meringues, and her own special weakness: fascinating caves just begging to be explored – only at low tide and not by the squeamish.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I cringe to think what you will make of it. It has one hotel, which provides the only bit of nightlife. The town itself ‘dies' every evening at six o'clock when everything closes up, right down to the last small snack bar and café. You will find it very dull,” she said, with a certain amount of relish.

“On the contrary. It's as though you were describing a piece of heaven. No rush and bustle. Only the clock is wound up – not the people. It placidly ticks out the time of day, and no one is ruled by it. M'm ... bliss.”

She sent him a defensive look. That bland tone was suspect. Was he teasing her? She said tentatively, “There's not much to do except walk.”

“Come now, Lorraine. With just a scrap of imagination, I'm sure we can think of something else to do.”

She plowed on regardless. “The angels are reputed to go barefoot. You're not an angel –”

“Nor likely to be.”

“– so I hope you've had the foresight to pack a strong pair of walking shoes.”

“I have.”

“There's a path across the clifftop to the abbey ruins, which is one of my favorite picnic spots. If you've got a bit of mountain goat in you, it's fun to scramble down the cliff face and walk all the way along the reef that circles the headland.” “You deplorably uninformed girl, I'll have you know that my birth sign is Capricorn. That's the sign of the goat.”

She was not in the least bit surprised. She should have known by his character that he was born under the sun sign ruled by Saturn. He was a typical Capricorn – dark, saturnine, fiercely ambitious, ruthless in his determination to achieve his goal. The type who never gives up.

“If you keep that expression on your face, I shall be reluctant to go anywhere near a clifftop with you. You look as if you're plotting to push me over the edge.”

“You wouldn't be the first to go that way, if legend is to be believed. So don't test your luck; history just might repeat itself,” she said with an involuntary shiver.

It wouldn't make any difference. The stalwart goat can't be pushed down permanently. The other sun signs fall behind as the mountain goat climbs determinedly from crag to crag on his uniquely designed hoofs. The goat always wins.

During the remainder of the journey she told him a little more about her aunt. “She works in the library and sits on several local committees. Her appearance somehow doesn't fit the role. You'll see what I mean when you meet her. She's a lovely person, in looks and disposition. I'm not too sure of her age.”

“Leave it at interesting,” he said gallantly.

“I can't understand why she's never married.”

“Perhaps she hasn't met the right man yet,” he said in stern rebuke, introducing a thought to her mind that hadn't entered it before – that it was early days yet. Aunt Leonora was, after all, only in her forties, and so it was wrong of her to write her off as spinster material for all time. “I always think confirmed bachelors – and that goes for bachelor girls, too – are that way by circumstance rather than inclination,” he continued.

“Do you?” she queried, not without surprise and with a dash of suspicion.

Was he saying that, given the right circumstances, if he met the right girl, he wouldn't regard it as “woman's indulgence at man's expense”? Which was, in her estimation, how he had seemed to view marriage.

She might have received the notion with pleasure had she been anywhere else but in a car, with Aunt Leonora waiting at journey's end. Something had just occurred to her which hadn't struck her before. If it had, she would have sat by Noel's side with much more agitation – but she could have done something about it. She could have asked him to stop at a phone box on the pretext of wanting to let her aunt know that she was bringing a guest, but really to warn her not to say anything about her marriage to Jamie. Too late to phone now – they were practically there. Oh, what a tangled web ... If she didn't handle this carefully, her deception was going to catch up with her.

When they arrived a short time later, she left Noel to bring in the suitcases and raced on ahead into the cottage. Leonora jumped up from her chair and crossed the room to kiss her niece's cheek in greeting. “Where's the fire?” Self-disgust and dismay stamped itself on her face. “Figure of speech. I must stop saying that. How could I? To you, of all people. You caught me off guard by racing in as though you hadn't a second to spare. I'm so sorry.”

“It's all right, Aunt Leonora. I –”

“It should be all right. You ought to have got over that nonsense ages ago. I suppose it was reading about him in the newspaper that brought it all back.” The eyes, set above the high cheekbones Lorraine had also inherited from her mother's side of the family, were full of frustrated concern. “You sounded calm enough when I spoke to you over the phone, but I wasn't deceived. I knew you were bound to feel something.”

“I don't feel anything about Jamie. That's not what I –”

“Have I jumped to the wrong conclusion? I hope I have. I was positive that Jamie had something to do with your sudden decision to visit.”

“Only very indirectly.” She wished her aunt would keep silent long enough for her to explain. Noel couldn't be far behind. “I've brought a friend with me and I want you to be sure not to –”

“Flap?” As she again anticipated wrongly, Leonora looked down her delicately turned nose and expressed haughtiness in her spread-eagled fingers.

“Aunt Leonora, please
listen
to me.”

“Of course I will, dear. When you've satisfied my curiosity on this point. Your friend, is it anyone I know ...” The words trailed off and her glance was now directed beyond Lorraine's shoulder. The smile in her voice dimpled her cheeks. “You don't have to answer that. I can see for myself it isn't. I'm wondering why.” Speculation narrowed her eyes without touching the warmth of her greeting as she said to Noel, “I mean, why don't I know about you?”

With a sinking heart, Lorraine set about remedying that omission. “Aunt Leonora, this is Noel Britton. Noel, my aunt, Leonora Craig.”

Leonora was charmed by Noel. From the first compliment he saw to that. “I see now where Lorraine gets her good looks.” He went on to comment on the prettiness and delightful location of the cottage, although cottage was something of a misnomer. Leonora's spacious home was low and rambling, with rooms on several different levels.

On the tour of inspection both Lorraine and her aunt found themselves continually warning, “Mind your head!” Or, “Watch that step!”

“I'm afraid these ceilings weren't built to accommodate someone of your height,” Leonora informed Noel as they sat in the blue and white parlor drinking tea and eating scones. “To keep you from starving until I can get a meal ready,” as Leonora said.

At first Lorraine was on edge, controlling her qualms with difficulty, but gradually her anxiety lessened and she wondered why she had thought it inevitable that her aunt would blurt out some reference to Jamie. Was it because she was used to everything always going wrong? Or was it because she felt guilty at withholding the truth from Noel? It was no use – she didn't want to tell him, but she would have to. If only it could be later. Back home. She didn't want to do anything to spoil her aunt's pleasure at having them there, and she didn't know what Noel's reaction would be when she told him.

And Noel – what had got into him? He was a different man. Going out of his way to be pleasant, displaying a sunny side to his nature that she'd never seen before. She had never guessed he could be like this, and her heart twisted with pride.

In a whispered aside, which he must have heard despite his deadpan expression, her aunt said, “He's a humdinger, Lorraine.” She was forced to agree, but not without a small repining sigh. Why hadn't he shown himself in this praiseworthy light in Sir William's company?

Noel was most insistent that he could not impose himself as a house guest at such short notice. He said he would be perfectly happy to book a room at the hotel. He had reckoned without Leonora. Most people – and, for all his astuteness, Noel was no exception – were deceived by her gentle expression and slender build. She looked as fragile as the first snowdrop. Perhaps, at that, it was an apt description, because a snowdrop can push its way through even a deep frost. With much the same indomitable determination, she melted Noel's resistance and finally walked out on his noticeably weaker protests to go upstairs to make up the bed in the guest room.