Certainly the size differential between herself and Sven, who must have been six-foot-six, was significant. But Kelly was no child, and she flashed a wild, vivid grin at her host as her feet lost their leadenness and carried her into the rhythm and tempo of the dance.
Sven Jorgensen gave a great whoop of enthusiasm as it ended, bowing outrageously to thank Kelly for her participation. Then he led her back to where Marcel and her father waited, pausing only to reach out one long arm and snare a jug of beer from a table.
‘Hot work,’ he roared, tipping up the beer jug and downing half its contents in what seemed to be a single gulp. Then he dropped a frothy kiss on Kelly’s wrist and shambled his way off’ to seek another dancing partner.
‘Isn’t he amazing?’ laughed Meg Scofield. ‘A real modem Viking, and as genuine as anything. One day I fully expect him to swagger into one of his own parties wearing an iron helmet and waving a broad-axe in one hand and a joint of meat in the other. He’d drink all the beer, fight all the men and make love to all the women before throwing the prettiest one over his shoulder and vanishing into the night.’
‘He’s a little overpowering,’ Kelly admitted, ‘but I rather like him, actually.’
‘Well, he sure likes you,’ her father replied. ‘He’s already offered me four cows for you and says he’ll raise the ante if you’re interested.
‘Only four? Tiens! I myself will offer at least a dozen,’ Marcel cried in mock seriousness. ‘I will even throw in a few sheep and a moose for good measure.’
‘Make it two moose and maybe we can deal,’ Kelly’s father replied with a grin. ‘I’m rather partial to moose- meat’
All of them were laughing at the suggestion when a gravelly voice from behind Kelly interrupted. ‘I’d offer two moose just for a dance,’ said Grey Scofield, but when Kelly turned to face him she found no laughter in his eyes. Instead, they flickered from herself to Marcel with evident hostility and she reacted without even thinking.
‘I’m sorry, but 1 promised this one to Marcel,’ she said coldly, and turned to find the tail French-Canadian thankfully ready to pick up her lead. They whirled away into the throng, but not before Kelly noticed the glowering chill in the gaze that followed them.
She would have shied then at the touch of Marcel’s lips at her ear, but he held her so strongly in his arms that she couldn’t move.
‘Parfait! You have astounded me,’ he breathed gently. Then he whirled her so that his apparent lovemaking couldn’t be missed by any observer on Grey’s side of the room.
‘Do not shy away now. He is looking, I think. Oh yes, and if looks could kill I would be ten years already in the grave. Ah, Kelly, I did not realise you had the makings of such a vixen. You are truly the red fox,’ he whispered, all the time nibbling at her ear as his arms held her close against him. ‘Truly, you should have been a Frenchwoman.’
He held her so close and kept them dancing in such a way that she couldn’t possibly see what Grey’s reaction might be and had to depend upon Marcel’s vivid commentary. Nor could she free herself, which was mildly embarrassing because she could see the reactions of other dancers within her view and realised that to them it must appear as if Marcel was devouring her.
Finally, fortunately, the music stopped, and Marcel released her only enough to grin down with a lecherous smirk on his face. ‘Exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘A classic performance. Come now, and we shall go and see if this Viking’s food is as awful as his home.’
Kelly allowed herself meekly to be led away to the vast smorgasbord tables, which groaned with offerings of fish, fowl, meats and pastries and a host of foods she had never even imagined. She and Marcel toured the display like starving children in a candy store, trying a little of everything.
Kelly’s professional eye was enthralled by the mixture of traditional Scandinavian smorgasbord and traditional Alberta home cooking. Like everything else about Sven Jorgensen and his home, the entire banquet was overdone, but it was done with a flair that she couldn’t ignore, and she barely resisted the urge to sneak into the kitchen for a natter with the chef
The music continued throughout their meal, and it was clear that guests were expected to eat, drink, dance or combine all three if it suited them. Kelly tasted only small portions of the seemingly hundreds of different dishes and sauces, but finally was forced to admit defeat.
At least, she thought, I’ve compensated for the drinks I’ve had. And she slipped across to the dessert table for just one final helping of an especially light Danish pastry, thankful she had never in her life been forced to think of dieting.
Throughout the meal, Marcel continued his outrageous flirting and gallant lovemaking, but as the rich, abundant food sated her lightheadedness, Kelly found his game increasingly made her ill at ease. She began to feel that everybody was watching them, yet when she looked around the crowded room there was no hint of such watchfulness. Was she imagining it? Or was Grey Scofield’s intense interest sufficient to cut through a crowd of several hundred people? It would have been wonderful, she thought, to be able to believe he was all that interested. It was just too bad she couldn’t share Marcel’s oft-stated conviction that it was so.
She couldn’t even spot Grey, neither among the brightly-attired dancers nor in the small crowds of people standing or sitting as they experimented with the glorious buffet offerings. She spotted her father and Meg Scofield in one corner, and her host in another with a fashionably- dressed, dark-haired woman perched upon his knees. But Grey and Freda were conspicuous by their absence, at least in Kelly’s increasingly sober mind.
Finally she just had to get away by herself for a minute, and she excused herself to take a brief stroll through the huge, two-storied mansion. She said it was only to clear her head and try and shake down the enormous meal she had eaten, but in reality she just had to get away from Marcel’s attentions, which had become increasingly cloying despite his good intentions.
She found, as the combination of alcohol and nerves was steadied by the abundant food, that she didn’t want any more of this charade. What was possible between her and Grey, she was in no position to judge, but whatever it was or was not, there was no place for games like the one Marcel had begun. Grey could not, she felt, be influenced for the good by such a deception. Probably he couldn’t be influenced at all, since his future seemed intricately bound up with Freda Jorgensen and her father.
Kelly strolled without thinking of what she saw, only vaguely aware of the enormous library through which she passed, of another room which contained only an enormous snooker table and accessories. From this, a door led to another, much smaller room, and as she entered it Kelly came face to face with Freda Jorgensen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You have ... lost something, Miss Barnes?’ The blonde girl’s icy exterior was mirrored in her deep blue eyes, eyes that roamed across Kelly’s high-piled hair, taking in the enormous brown eyes, the dress and the figure beneath it with an almost masculine directness.
‘I ... I seem to have lost my bearings,’ Kelly replied too quickly. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’
‘No.’ The statement was accompanied by a small moue that revealed it to have been an automatic response. Freda was obviously thinking very quickly herself.
‘You seem also to have lost your handsome Frenchman,’ she said then, with just a trace of acid in her gentle voice.
‘He is not my Frenchman, as I think you very well know,’ Kelly replied calmly. The other girl’s directness revealed an astonishing lack of subtlety, and perversely lessened Kelly’s automatic fear of a confrontation.
Freda shrugged. ‘As you wish. It is a pity for him, though. He has come a long way for your company.’
‘And he shall go a longer one without it.’ Kelly risked a blunt reply of her own, sensing somehow that this was not only a confrontation, but something far more elemental than that,
‘That leaves you, then ... alone.’ There was a questioning element to the statement,
but Kelly chose to ignore it.
‘I’ve been alone before,’ she replied with a shrug of her own.
Freda Jorgensen stepped back several paces, leaning one succulent hip against the large desk behind her. ‘Loneliness is not such a good thing for a woman,’ she said with a curious expression on her lovely, cool face. ‘But then perhaps you have some other man already in mind.’
Again there was only the hint of questioning. Freda spoke with a calmness that was belied by the brittle quality in her eyes and a tenseness that Kelly could feel across the space between them. Kelly smiled to herself.
‘There are many men in the world,’ she replied with an unexpected chill in her voice. ‘Are you thinking of someone in particular, Miss Jorgensen?’
Freda gave that curious little shrug once again, trying to portray a calmness Kelly knew the blonde beauty didn’t feel, ‘It is none of my business,’ she replied. ‘I have already the man who is important to me.’
Kelly thought of Grey Scofield, seeing in her mind again the strange dream she had had so soon after meeting him, and seeing with her eyes the attempt at confidence which the beautiful Freda couldn’t quite bring off. Freda was frightened, and Kelly suddenly knew why. Freda was not at all confident of her ability to hold Grey, if indeed she even had him within holding distance in the first place. Brown eyes met chilled blue ones, but Kelly held her tongue, forcing the other woman to continue the strange, tension-fraught conversation.
‘You know of course that Grey and my father are ... very close in business,’ Freda said suddenly. ‘That is why he was here early tonight, to discuss several very important projects of … mutual ... benefit.’
There was a deliberate message there, but one which Freda was desperately trying to cover in cautious words. Kelly felt a sudden surge of something within her, some inner strength or weakness ... she didn’t know quite what. But it told her that she, not Freda, was now in charge of this conversation.
‘Not my business,’ she responded calmly. ‘I have my own business to run.’
‘Your father’s business. And when he takes in Marcel Leduc as a full partner? What place for you then?’
That statement was unexpected, and the question even worse. Was her father seriously considering Marcel as a partner? Worse, was he perhaps thinking of Kelly herself as more than just a business partner for the tall French-Canadian? Kelly shook her head in disbelief, unaware that it was a visible, physical gesture. No! Her father wasn’t the type to consider things in such a light. But what about Sven Jorgensen? Could the huge oilman see business logic in an alliance between Grey Scofield and his daughter? Worse, would he go so far as to manipulate it?
‘My father doesn’t have to buy my men,’ Kelly said flatly, and rejoiced at the flicker of cold blue eyes. That shot had struck home, and Kelly’s stomach churned with the sudden realisation that she had struck a nerve in an almost mortal blow.
‘I do not like your implication.’ The blue eyes were angry now, but the anger wasn’t enough to cover up the truth. And there was a haughty flash of something else in Freda’s eyes ... something akin to victory but not quite so blatant. Perhaps ...
‘Hasn’t the deal been signed yet?’ Kelly suddenly blazed forth, allowing her slow-building anger to rise in flames. ‘Perhaps the price isn’t high enough, Miss Jorgensen,’ she snapped. ‘Or perhaps there simply isn’t a price high enough. It might surprise you that some men can’t be bought.’
‘He will be bought or he will be sold ... broken.’ The words came out in a furious, wolf-like snarl, and Kelly saw again the fiery eyes of the blonde wolf of her dreams. Her stomach revolted in disgust and she bit on her tongue to keep from being sick. A part of her mind screamed at her to get out of this room, to find Grey and in some fashion warn him. Another cried equally loudly her faith in his character and his strength. But a third heralded the chilling truth. He had been bought; bought and paid for and wrapped up for delivery to this frozen ice-maiden with her beauty and her money and her father’s power. Why else would Grey have spent half the evening closeted with his host, leaving his own guests early to come at the beck and call of a man whose power could buy his daughter anything?
Kelly fought back an inexplicable urge to reach out with her hands and close them around that slender ivory throat, to choke off the words even as they thundered into her brain.
‘... He is mine!’ The words echoed over and over as Kelly turned, fighting back the sickness as it rose to her throat, and stumbled through the door into the billiards room. From there she moved unsteadily back towards the brilliance of the main hall, seeing nothing and hearing nothing ... only that hateful, triumphant voice.
As she reached the edge of the crowd, her vision swam back into a semblance of focus, but not enough to scan the mining throng and find her father. She must find him, she thought. Find him and somehow get herself away from this place. Away from the blonde she-wolf, away from this horrible, awful house, and most of all away from Grey Scofield and everything to do with him.
A touch at her arm brought her round in a fearful gesture that was only partially soothed by Marcel’s soft accent. ‘Come,’ he said, sliding his arms around her and insinuating them into the slow-moving horde of dancers. Kelly wanted to resist, tried to resist, but could not. Marcel was safe, she thought, and she allowed her body to slump against him as the music soothed at the vibrant, ragged endings of her nerves.
He said nothing more as they danced, but used his body as a buffer to protect her from the touch of the other dancers, and his shoulder against her ear as a buffer against the harshness of the noise in the room. Kelly floated along with him, no longer totally in control of herself, no longer worried about her father, or about leaving the party. She didn’t have to think, and so she did not.
The soothing of the music and the physical action of following Marcel in the dance gradually brought her out of her mental confusion, and the slow, steady music helped her to regain a measure of composure. The music didn’t stop, luckily, but slid from one slow number to another without allowing a pause.
‘I think this dance is mine,’ said a familiar voice at her shoulder, and as Marcel smoothly relinquished Kelly into her father’s arms, it seemed as if he took her composure with him upon leaving the dance-floor.
‘Oh ... Dad ... she stammered, trying desperately to hold back the tears as her father gathered her close and let them spill on to his shoulder. She cried only briefly, taking refuge in her father’s arms as she hadn’t quite been able to do with Marcel, and gradually Geoff Barnes eased them off the dance floor and into a narrow, dim-lit hallway.
‘It’s Grey, isn’t it?’ he asked without preamble, and Kelly could only nod her assent. How he could make that assessment after taking her from Marcel’s arms, she neither knew nor cared; all she required was his calming touch and his love and understanding.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not here; not now,’ she whispered. ‘I just want to get away."
‘Right!’ Geoff Barnes showed no sign of his earlier illness. Given the need, he was prepared to assume command despite the lines of tiredness on his face and the slow, painful movements he couldn’t hide. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to our host.’
He left Kelly standing in the subdued light of the hallway, promising to return for her as soon as he had bade his farewells and given Meg Scofield some sort of explanation. Kelly seated herself on the edge of a low bench and wearily closed her eyes. Her father would handle what had to be done tonight, she thought, and tomorrow would have to be handled when it came. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the seat, only to rear forward with a start as her wrist was suddenly grasped in a strong yet gentle grip.
‘I think we’d better have a bit of a chat,’ growled the low voice of Grey Scofield, and without waiting for her assent he began leading her away down the hall.
Kelly yanked back against his grip, but it was if he was holding a frenzied horse. His fingers merely closed more tightly
about her wrist and she was dragged along despite her protests.
‘But ... my father...’ she began.
‘He can wait. I want to talk to you now!’ The voice was calm, yet alive with a tension that transmitted itself through his grip, and Kelly fell silent as he dragged her down the hall, around several corners and finally out through a narrow side door and into the garden.
In the pale moonlight, Grey’s hair seemed to sparkle like fine silver wires, and his eyes shone out of a dark visage that was grim with determination and ... anger? Or was it something else? Kelly couldn’t tell in the dim light.
‘Why have you been avoiding me all night?’
‘I would have thought it was the other way round,’ she countered in a low voice, hoping her emotions didn’t show.
‘I was tied up with business earlier on.’ Grey stood like a statue, staring down at her. Then, almost absently, he released her wrist and reached into his pocket to extract a cigarette and his lighter. ‘Do you want one?’
‘No, thank you,’ she replied grimly. ‘I would prefer to just leave, if you don’t mind.’
But she had waited too long. No longer occupied with lighting the cigarette, he was able to reach out and snare her wrist again just as she turned away.
‘I’m glad to see you look my advice about the dress, anyway,’ he said, and she fancied she saw the glimmer of a mocking grin.
‘I took my own advice, thank you very much,’ she snarled, struggling vainly to free her wrist. ‘I don’t need your advice on how to dress.’
‘Could have fooled me.’
‘It wouldn’t be hard,’ she snapped, and when she still couldn’t free her wrist she turned to flail at him with her free hand, fingers distended like claws. To no avail; he merely reached up and caught that hand as well.
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