Freddy began to tremble, but not with the cold, for she was consumed with a burning heat. The firelight played patterns, turning their flesh into a deep red-brown glow. Before Joe's hands were upon her, Freddy knew, remembered, sighed and offered herself to him, leaping ahead with her senses, as a torrent of joy roared through her. She was alive, soaring, singing to his music, caught and enraptured, yet free as a bird and flying; and then, and then, the wonderful fury was spent and she lay, fragile and exhausted against him.
She listened with curious detachment to their combined breathing. A log crackled in the grate, sending orange sparks shooting in all directions, colouring the room briefly. Joe made a movement as if to go and she said huskily, 'Don't!'
'I'm not,' he murmured, and reached out a hand and pulled the eiderdown over them, twitching a cushion from the chair and tucking it under her head to give her some portion of luxury that the hearth rug could not afford. Freddy lifted her eyes to his face and found him gravely watching her. She said, 'Joe...' and his fingers touched her lips, stopping her. He turned her over and wrapped himself against the length of her, ordering quietly, 'Hush, go to sleep, Frederica,' and to her surprise, she did. Freddy woke to find herself alone under the eiderdown. The room was warm, the fire had been recently refuelled, and by the light coming through the curtains she could see that the clock said seven-thirty. She stretched and wriggled her toes and found she was wearing socks, which Joe had evidently pulled on for her. The thought made her smile and she lay in a snug cocoon and reflected sleepily that there was something to be said for living dangerously. What, she wondered, was Joe thinking now? Did he understand that she had come down to him on an impulse, that the motive governing that impulse was not clear to her? That nothing was changed? She heard sounds coming from the kitchen, water gushing from the tap, the chink of a cup against a saucer, and she panicked. She leaped to her feet, grabbed her cast-off clothing, clutched the eiderdown round her and tiptoed hastily upstairs. She dressed quickly, shivering slightly in the cold atmosphere.
When she finally entered the kitchen Joe was pouring out coffee. He passed her a cup, saying calmly, 'Good morning. I've tuned in to the weather, snow is forecast for later in the day, but the morning should be clear. If we take it steady we should be OK.' He rinsed his cup under the tap and put it on the draining board. 'I'd like to get away as quickly as we can. I'm going round to try and start the car.'
'I'll clear up and leave the place tidy,' Freddy responded, grateful for his matter-of-fact tone and glancing at him properly for the first time. He was half-turned away from her, shrugging on the sheepskin coat. Stubble was showing on his chin making him look raffish, roughening his image, so that it was hard to reconcile this man with the one of a few hours ago... soft-voiced, with gentle, persuasive hands, loving. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought, watching him don scarf, ski hat and gloves.
'I won't be long,' Joe said crisply, going to the door. 'Keep your fingers crossed.'
Fifteen minutes later they were ready to leave. When Joe pulled the front door to, testing it with his hand to check that it was firmly secure, Freddy felt as though a door had been shut on more than the cottage. Fate, however, was not finished with them yet. The journey to the hotel was slow and a little tense, and when they pulled into the car park Freddy, for one, heaved a sigh of relief.
'The main roads will be easier,' Joe said, as they left the Renault and went to their separate rooms.
Freddy showered, changed and packed her case. She carried it down to the car and as she approached she saw glass scattered on the surrounding snow. Goming nearer, her heart sinking to her boots, she realised that between parking it and now someone had smashed into the rear end. She dropped her case and stood looking and could have screamed with frustration and anger.
'Good God! What's happened?' Joe, coming up from behind, his footsteps softened by the snow underfoot, walked slowly round the Renault. He took one look at her face and said, 'Come on, no use standing here. Let's go and report it.' He took the case from her unresisting hand and led her back to the hotel.
So that was how Joe came to be sitting opposite Freddy at her parents' dinner table in Boston that evening, when he should have been back in Queensbridge. She glanced across at him and thought again how calmly he had taken the whole incident. His raffish look was gone. He had showered, shaved and changed and was obviously enjoying her mother's cooking.
'I'm sorry Megan was in bed when you arrived,' said Catherine Leigh. 'She tried to keep awake, but in this end had to give in. More apple pie, Mr Corey?'
'Thank you, no, that was delicious,' replied Joe.
'Do call him Joe, Mother,' urged Freddy.
'I shall do nothing of the kind,' reproved Catherine. 'I shall call him Joseph,'
and she turned and gave him a smile.
'It's good of you to put me up like this, Mrs Leigh,' began Joe.
'Nonsense,' said Edmund. 'The least we can do. It was extremely good of you to bring Freddy home.It would have been a tedious journey for her by train, trying to cope with presents and luggage.'
'Let's go into the sitting-room, shall we?' suggested Catherine, rising from the table. 'I shall be making coffee, and tea for my husband, Joseph. Which do you prefer?'
'Coffee, please,' replied Joe, holding the door open for her to pass through.
'What a good thing you were with Freddy when that child was born,'
Catherine stated fervently. 'No doubt you would have managed on your own, darling, but it must have been reassuring to have Joseph there.'
'You can say that again,' joked Freddy, bringing in a tray of coffee things, and putting it on a low table near to where Joe was standing. She shot him a challenging glance as she added, 'But Marion wouldn't have been having her baby if Joe hadn't been with me.'
'My dear, what do you mean?' Catherine turned from her daughter's deadpan face to Joe's amused one in bewilderment.
'She means that I attract trouble,' Joe explained, 'but, in fact, it's the other way around, Mrs Leigh. My life is quite ordinary and free of incidents until I'm with Fred, and then anything can happen.'
'I see.' Catherine stilled, studying him intently, as if for the first time really seeing him. She nodded slightly and then recollected her manners. 'Do sit down, Joseph, unless you'd rather not after all that driving. Freddy, dear, where is your father?'
'I heard him say something about his pipe,' Freddy replied, and her mother left the room. She began to arrange the cups and saucers on the tray. It was strange, seeing Joe here in her parents' house, the house of her childhood. It was built of Lincolnshire stone, the house, and she loved it. The furniture was old and inherited from her father's people; good solid oak and mahogany, large sofas, ginger jars in Chinese blue and white, Chelsea and Worcester vases and plates, a grandfather clock that chimed the hour—all lovingly polished and cleaned.
'Do you know this area?' she asked, lifting her eyes to find Joe regarding her thoughtfully.
'I know Lincoln,' he replied, and Freddy sat back on her heels and chatted about her home county, Boston and its surroundings in particular. It was a subject she loved and knew well so it was easy for her. As she spoke she was thinking how futile it was to make plans. Right now, if she had had her way, Joe would have been back in Queensbridge, getting on with spending this pre-Christmas evening the way he wanted to, in the company of who knows? Instead of which he was here, with her.
'Are you sure it's convenient for me to stay overnight?' Joe asked suddenly.
'I can quite easily find an hotel. Do you want me to do that, Frederica?'
'Why should I?' she replied as calmly as she could, dropping spoons into saucers. 'And in any event, you won't be allowed to go.' She straightened as her father walked in. 'Daddy, if you're going to offer Joe a brandy, shall I get the glasses?'
Edmund, slightly distracted, nodded, patting his pockets. 'Your mother said—ah, here they are!' He set aside the curtain at the bay window and spied pipe and tobacco
on the ledge. 'How am I expected to know that's where I'd left them when they're hidden?' he complained good-naturedly.
'Shouldn't, of course,' he added conspiratorially to Joe, who was watching him with amusement, 'but I only indulge at this time of the day. Do you mind?' When Joe shook his head, smiling, Edmund busied himself with pipe and pouch. 'You were lucky the mother was healthy and the birth a normal one. She was lucky, too.'
Freddy sank down in an armchair and wondered if Joe was getting fed up with the subject.
'Mind, that's how births should be, but things can go wrong. You, Freddy, were a contrary creature and caused a great deal of trouble.'
'Would you say I'd changed much, Dad?' teased Freddy, and her father smiled.
'Shall you keep in touch?' he asked, lifting his eyes above the flame of a match as he puffed at the pipe.
'They've asked us to be godparents,' explained Freddy. 'We paid them a quick visit in hospital before we left and found ourselves minor celebrities!
Joe's namesake is very sweet.' She ran fingers through her hair, shaking her head in wonderment. 'We very nearly didn't go past their cottage. Do you know, the more I think about it, the more horrified I become.'
'That's often the case,' observed her mother, coming in and overhearing. 'It's been known for people to perform marvellous feats of courage with great calmness and then go completely to pieces afterwards.' She set the tea tray next to her husband and began to pour. She handed his cup to him and turned her attention to the coffee tray. 'Freddy, darling, two spoons in the saucer?'
she commented drily, and removed one to its proper place. She then turned to Joe and asked, 'You haven't explained exactly what happened to the Renault.'
Joe shrugged. 'No one actually witnessed anything, but we suspect it was a brewery lorry on delivery that morning. It's possible the driver didn't know he'd done it, but that I personally doubt. He'd surely have heard the breaking glass.'
'We parked it in the hotel car park,' Freddy explained, 'and went to shower and change and pack. When I went out an hour later to load the car I found it smashed.'
Freddy sneaked a glance at Joe. He looked remarkably at ease in these surroundings, and was taking the change in his plans very much in his stride. He had driven her to Boston without any sign of impatience or irritation. She had protested loudly that it was too much of an imposition for him to drive her home, that it was miles out of his way, and Joe had merely stood and waited until she had run out of steam. Finally, she had lamely accepted his offer, although what she had really wanted to do was to fall on his neck in gratitude, but matter-of-fact coolness seemed to be the order of the day so she had restrained herself. Their journey, amazingly, had been quite tame. She had begun to think that they were marked down in some malevolent jester's book!
'Of course, Boston in Massachusetts came from our Lincolnshire Boston,'
her mother was now saying. 'Some of the Pilgrim Fathers from the May-flower settled there and remembered their home town. It's an interesting place. When you have more time for a visit Freddy must take you round.' Catherine drained her cup and then looked at Joe, tilting her head reflectively. 'I'm sure I recognise Joseph's name from somewhere, and I don't mean from his books.'
Catherine's remark brought Freddy's eyes from Joe to her mother.
'Probably from way back, Mother,' she offered quickly, rising to her feet and making for the coffee pot. She raised her brows at Joe, asking silently if he wanted a refill. He held out his cup and she took it, looking him full in the face and finding amusement in the depths of his brown eyes, though his face was solemn enough.
'I was one of Fred's tutors, for my pains, during her training,' he offered with a drawl, and Freddy glared at him, wishing he'd kept quiet.
'Do tell me how you became involved in television,' asked Catherine. While Joe obliged, Freddy wondered if her mother had finally recalled where she remembered Joe's name. Eight years was a long time and Freddy had been reticent about the whole affair, hugging it to her almost as if she had known it wouldn't last. Catherine had known she was involved with someone, of course, but when she had come to London the few times during that period, she had stayed at the small family hotel the Leighs always used on such occasions, and for some quite genuine reason had never met up with Joe. She had certainly known that her daughter was in love, really in love, for the first time. Would she connect that long-ago lover with Joe? Freddy hoped desperately that she wouldn't.
'Are you married, Joseph?' Catherine enquired and her husband murmured,
'You can always object to my wife's catechism, Joseph!'
But Joe replied, smilingly, 'I shouldn't dream of doing so, sir. Mrs Leigh has, I'm sure, the purest of motives.'
Freddy nearly choked on her coffee.
'Joseph and I understand each other,' reproved Catherine comfortably.
'I haven't managed to find anyone who could put up with me for very long, Mrs Leigh,' Joe admitted with dry humour. 'I've been told I'm not an easy person to live with,' and his eyes drifted over to Freddy, a sardonic gleam in their depths.
Freddy ignored him.
'You don't sound as though you've had the time,' joked Edmund, 'but after thirty-five years of married life, I can recommend it.' He smiled at his wife, who leaned over and patted his arm tenderly.
Freddy changed her mind and looked at Joe. He caught her eye, but his face told her nothing.
She joined her mother in the kitchen, leaving the two men talking, the brandy bottle between them.
'He's an interesting young man,' asserted Catherine pensively. 'Has a spiky mind.'
'Young man, indeed!' Freddy grinned. 'He'll be flattered. He's coming up for thirty-seven by my reckoning.'
Reappearing from the depths of the pantry carrying the Christmas cake, Catherine replied, 'When he was born I'd just met your father—that's young for me.' She put the cake on the work surface and opened cupboards for icing sugar and eggs. 'He has a well shaped head,' she offered irrelevantly,
'and nice ears. The shape of a person's ears can tell you a lot.' She paused and added, 'I told him I liked his writing, but not his views. He's too cynical for his own good.'
Freddy laughed, delighted. 'And what did Joseph say to that?'
Catherine separated the yolks from the whites and dropped the whites into the icing sugar. 'He said I shouldn't mix up the writing with the man, that they were separate, but he hasn't convinced me. I shouldn't have thought he was the self-destructive type, though.'
'No!' exclaimed Freddy, sardonically. 'Strong-willed and too bloody sure of himself is Joseph Corey.'
Catherine murmured, 'Language,' and a moment later added thoughtfully,
'No one can be totally invincible.'
Freddy made no comment. She wasn't sure of anything any more.
CHAPTER SIX
FREDDY surfaced the next morning and lay in that hazy land of not being fully awake; she was snug and warm, smiling sleepily as she heard Megan chattering away, her voice revoltingly bright and cheerful. Two seconds later Freddy leaped out of bed, and dashed across the landing to stop on the threshold of the guest-room. The door was ajar.
Megan was sitting on the end of the bed in the lotus position. She was wearing pyjamas that were a little too short in the arms and legs—she was growing fast, thought Freddy in some surprise—and her hair stuck out at all angles. She was asking in a serious tone what Joe had put in his letter to Father Christmas.
The recipient of this question was sitting propped up by two pillows, arms folded across a bare chest. His eyes were fixed on Megan, but the movement at the door attracted his attention momentarily, and on seeing Freddy his brow quirked slightly, but he ignored her and replied gravely, 'I guess when you reach my age you have to take what's left over in the way of presents. Not much use writing.'
'Oh, but you must write,' Megan told him earnestly. 'Mummy always writes, we send our letters together. Mummy asked for a holiday in Florence—she's always wanted to go there—with
Harrison Ford.' She hesitated briefly, explaining patiently, 'Indiana Jones,' and leaning forward, eyes narrowing, she added with growing interest. 'You look a bit like him.'
'I'm much better-looking than Indiana Jones,' objected Joe in a pained voice.
'I admit he might be in better shape.'
'Meganl' interrupted Freddy, wanting to laugh. 'What are you doing in here?'
Megan turned her head, undismayed. 'I wanted to see what he looked like.'
'But you're not supposed to disturb...'
'His name's Joseph,' supplied Megan, returning her gaze to Joe, 'like Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus, and he can't get out of bed because he hasn't any pyjamas on.'
Joe covered his eyes with one hand and Freddy controlled her mouth.
'And he hasn't written to Father Christmas.' The awfulness of this showed plainly in Megan's voice and on her solemn little face. 'Is it too late, do you think, Mummy? He comes tonight, doesn't he?'
Before Freddy could answer, Joe removed his hand and opened his eyes, saying simply, 'I don't think it would be much good, Megan. You see, I really need a Fairy Godmother. I don't think Father Christmas could manage what I want.'
'Joseph,' Megan whispered, hitching a few inches forward, 'what is it?'
'If you tell what you want, then you don't get it,' broke in Freddy hastily, not liking the glint in Joe's eyes. She walked across to the bed and plucked her daughter from it. 'We have to decorate the tree this morning, have you forgotten?'
'Hooray!' Megan beamed at the thought, ran to the door and then stopped.
'You can help, Joseph,' she told him kindly, and was gone. There was silence for a moment while Freddy watched her daughter's comical form run down the landing to her own room. She then turned her attention to Joe and found he was smiling.
She said, 'I'm awfully sorry, Joe. Did she wake you?'
'No, I was about to make a move.' The smile deepened. 'She's a honey.'
Freddy found she was incredibly pleased. 'Yes, she is, isn't she?' She suddenly remembered she was wearing a shortie nightshirt and felt too exposed. She began to move to the door, glancing back innocently to ask,
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