by Helen Brooks
"I'll never forget that."
"Of course you won't." His voice had stiffened but she didn't notice as she reached for her handbag. As she turned to him again he gestured towards a large framed photograph of herself and Matthew that she kept on a small coffee-table under the window at one end of the room. She had felt in the early days that it was important for Hannah to see and recognise her father as much as possible as she would never see him again, and the idea had worked well. When asked by another child at nursery why her Daddy never came to pick her up, Hannah answered quite cheerfully and without a moment's hesitation that her Daddy was in heaven and liked toast and marmalade for breakfast.
"Where did she get that last bit from?" the teacher who had reported the children's conversation had asked Lydia when she had arrived to pick Hannah up in the evening.
"That's her favourite breakfast," Lydia had replied quietly, her eyes warm as she had watched her small daughter playing with a group of friends. She was secure and happy and contented. Matthew couldn't have wished for more. She hadn't failed him.
"Lydia?" She was brought back to the present with a jolt as she realised
Wolf was looking straight at her, his mouth tight.
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Seen him...?" The suddenness of the question flummoxed her completely.
"Matthew? No..."
"And is there any chance of the two of you getting back together again?" he asked, still in the strange, blank, hard voice as he watched her tightly through cool blue eyes.
"Wolf--' " Just answer yes or no, Lydia. “His eyes were totally expressionless and as blue as a summer sky.
"Is there a chance?"
"No." She took a deep breath.
"But--' " We've got to go. “He picked up the suitcase and strode to the door, waiting for her to precede him. “We’re going to cut it fine and we need to be on that flight. "
He had known she was going to talk about Matthew and he hadn't wanted her to, but why not? Lydia asked herself bemusedly as she walked out into the street to see a taxi-cab waiting patiently. Why ask her about him like that if he didn't want her to explain? But then he wouldn't want to get involved, would he? His earlier _words about relationships flooded her mind. If he could ascertain that his temporary secretary wasn't likely to have any difficult emotional outbursts that might affect her capability, if he could be reasonably sure that the estranged husband wasn't likely to cause problems with his efficient machine. That was all he was interested in, after all.
The grey day outside suddenly seemed a shade greyer.
But why had he kissed her? Once seated in the taxi Wolf sat staring silently out of the window and she glanced at the hard profile under her lashes. He was an enigma. She felt a moment of deep and painful confusion. She had never met anyone she understood less.
Once the formalities were completed they were settled comfortably on the plane and she couldn't fault Wolf’s courtesy in the way he treated her but. it was so cold. Chillingly so.
And in the taxi, the departure lounge, and now here on the plane, he was so very careful not to touch her, to make sure that not a part of his body came into contact with hers.
"Wolf?" She touched his arm to get his attention and felt powerful muscles tense under her hand.
"Have I done something to annoy you?
Recently, that is. “She smiled carefully as she kept her voice light.
Observation of this man over the last few weeks had shown her that any display of emotion, however slight, was met with an expressionless mask.
"Annoy?" He turned to her, his face cool and hard and his mouth cynical as he prepared to make an easy rejoinder, but as he did so blue eyes met soft, velvety brown ones and the words seemed to die in his throat as their gaze joined and held. She could feel herself be-gin to drown in the silver-blue sea of his eyes as time _hung suspended in a sapphire mist, the thud of her heart and pounding of the blood through her veins the only things that convinced her this was happening. And then his face came slowly closer, as though something outside himself had control over his actions, and his warm lips brushed tantalisingly over her half-open mouth, their touch provocative.
"So soft and beautiful..." She could barely hear the murmured words, and the next instant he had settled back into his own seat, his eyes shadowed and unfathomable.
"You haven't annoyed me, Lydia." She had forgotten her original question and blinked at him in surprise before she pulled herself together. He was dangerous. Oh, he was so, so dangerous.
"Good." She smiled brightly and forced herself to reach forward and select a magazine from the pile the efficient blonde stewardess had brought her a few minutes before.
"That's all right, then." She hoped me trembling that had spread into every fibre of her body wasn't visible to those sharp, ice-blue eyes but as she glanced at him, the brittle smile held in place by sheer will-power, she saw he was reaching for his briefcase, his face distant and preoccupied as though he had forgotten her already. She knew a moment's deep and humiliating chagrin at how easily he dismissed her, before a fierce flare of pride brought her chin upwards. The light caress didn't mean anything to her either, it didn 't. She wouldn't let it.
They were met at the airport by Wolf’s general manager of the Scottish branch, a tall, good-looking man called Douglas Webb, who immediately began to apologise, once introductions were over, for the imminent catastrophe.
"Calm yourself, Doug." Wolfs attitude surprised Lydia. She had expected tight rage or the icy-cold, biting _condemnation he was so good at, but as the three of them walked towards the waiting car his face was cool but friendly, his voice even.
"It's not a fait accompli yet, by a long way."
"If you want my resignation--' " Of course I don't want your resignation,"
Wolf responded with his usual acerbity.
"What I want is for the two of us to work together and get out of this mess.
I had copies of the co stings and production dates too, Doug, and I didn't pick it up either, although the way the facts were buried it isn't surprising. You trusted Mike Wilson to give you the correct data--hell, / trusted him! It looks like we've all been had," he finished grimly, his mouth hard.
"I heard you got rid of him." The other man's voice was almost faint with relief. Lydia guessed he had not expected his chairman to be so reasonable.
"A little too late, by the look of it." Wolf slanted a sideways look at
Lydia's face as they reached the car, and as their eyes met she flushed slightly, remembering her earlier protestations that he was being too hard on
Mike. If this important deal was lost through Mike Wilson's dishonesty, even a prison sentence didn't seem too severe.
She still found it hard to take in that Anna's husband was little more than a crook.
"Why did he do it?" Doug Webb asked.
"I mean, he had everything going for him--' " Filthy lucre. “Wolf’s voice was grim.
"He got greedy."
They drove straight to the office and spent several hours there, and by seven o'clock in the evening Lydia was again reflecting that Wolf Strade was an extraordinary man. In spite of practically no sleep in _the last forty-eight hours, his mind was still razor-sharp, the intimidating intelligence and hard practical business acumen unaffected.
The air had become electric as soon as he had walked through the door of
Strade Engineering Scotland, his employees almost falling over themselves to be helpful, although Lydia noticed that one or two of the younger females seemed to have more than work on their minds if their furtive, hungry glances were anything to go by. Several frankly envious and one or two downright hostile pairs of eyes had met hers through the course of the afternoon, although Wolf seemed totally unaware of the admiration coming his way, his whole concentration fixed on the job in hand. He had sent Doug, and the remnants of his staff who were still around, home just before seven with his customary authority, sweeping aside their offers to st
ay still later and ordering a management meeting for eight o'clock the next morning.
At half-past seven he threw a sheaf of papers he had been reading on to his desk and stretched noisily.
"Right, that's it for tonight.
Food, I think? "
"Is there a chance I could wash and change first?" Lydia asked carefully.
"Yes, there's a chance you could wash and change first," he mimicked mockingly, his deep voice taking on her wary, careful tone.
"You don't have to tread on eggshells, Lydia, despite the circumstances.
I'm a big boy now. I can take adversity in my stride. "
"You couldn't this morning." She had answered before she had time to think.
"You nearly bit my head off."
"Ah, well, this morning..." He settled back in his chair, the big powerful body stretching slightly and causing her heartbeat to race a little faster.
"This morning I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I should have noticed this mess arriving weeks ago."
"But you couldn't have, no one could--' she began in surprise, only to come to an abmpt halt as he interrupted her, his voice wry.
"I didn't get where I am today without doing just that," he said slowly, his eyes wandering lazily over her flushed face and the silky tendrils of hair that had worked loose to curl about her face during the course of the afternoon.
"But unfortunately I have had other things on my mind the last few weeks. A distraction," he added enigmatically.
"Oh, I see." Elda, no doubt, she thought testily as she wrenched her gaze from his and began to tidy her desk in a corner of the room.
Distraction was a novel way of putting it.
"I doubt it." She didn't look up as he spoke but continued to put the desk in order, switching off the lamp and pushing her chair into place as she stood up.
"I doubt it very much. You really are as innocent as you seem aren't you,
Lydia?" he added suddenly.
"What?" Now her gaze did meet his, her eyes wide with shock. She wasn't innocent, there was Hannah-- "I've met sixteen-year-old schoolgirls who were more worldly-wise than you," he said softly, 'm fact, one or two of my friends have teenage daughters who are worrying them to death. But you.
You're just too vulnerable for your own good. "
"Vulnerable?" She reared up as though he had just hit her, and to her it seemed as though he had, at least verbally. He was telling her she was naive, unable to cope with life, was that it? She stared at him, hurt beyond measure. He thought she was some pathetic creature who was utterly gullible and simple, bare of any sophistication or elegance at all? Not like Elda.
Oh, no, she thought painfully.
Definitely not like Elda.
"I hardly _think so," she said stiffly.
"I do have a daughter. Wolf, and I'm a very good mother."
"I'm sure you are," he agreed immediately, 'but that doesn't even touch on what we're talking about. How long did you go out with Matthew before you married him? “he asked abruptly, his eyes searching her flushed face.
"How long?" She stared at him with wide eyes as she struggled to keep the hurt and humiliation from showing. "It wasn't like that, not with Matthew and me. I'd always known him, you see, we grew up together--' “But from when you became sexually aware of each other," he insisted softly.
"How long?"
Sexually aware? she thought faintly as she blushed hotly, her eyes dropping from his. How could she answer that? Had she ever been sexually aware of
Matthew? She remembered her wedding-night and their confused fumblings, and the warmth in her cheeks burnt hotter. She hadn't liked that side of married life at first, but Matthew had been gentle and undemanding, and although their lovemaking had been infrequent she hadn't found it disagreeable. But she had never found him sexually attractive. The sudden knowledge was the worst sort of betrayal of his memory, and she closed her eyes tightly against it before she opened them to face Wolf again. She would have to think about this later. It was too much to absorb now with Wolf watching her with those piercingly intuitive eyes.
"We got engaged when I was eighteen and married on my twenty-first birthday," she said flatly, 'and I don't want to discuss this any more. " She faced him tensely, unaware that the play of emotion across her sensitive, expressive face had intrigued the man in front of her more than he would have thought possible.
He caught himself abmptly. What the hell was he doing asking her personal questions, anyway? He was too old and too wise, far, far too wise, to play with fire.
"Neither do I." He smiled coolly, a remote, imperturbable expression settling on the hard features that suggested they had been discussing something of no more interest than the weather.
"But I am hungry. How about if we make for the hotel, have a wash and brush-up and use their excellent restaurant? Sound good?" he asked lightly.
"It sounds lovely." She used all her reserves of willpower and smiled with polite enthusiasm.
She'd got some guts. He stared at her for one more moment before rising and collecting both their coats from the coat-stand in the corner of the room.
Something had bothered her more than a little, for a few seconds there she had looked devastated, and yet she was handling it with the sort of bravery he suspected was an integral part of the woman. Damn! He closed his mind off with ruthless determination. She was just a female like any other. Like any other.
The company car that Wolf was using during his visit ate up the twenty or so miles to the hotel with consummate ease, but Lydia was so tense she wouldn't have noticed if they had been bumping along in an old jalopy. She tried to keep her mind from returning to the conversation with Wolf, but it was no good. She had to face it, she thought suddenly. Had to accept that what she had thought was a perfect marriage hadn't been. I'm sorry, Matthew. She closed her eyes against the darkness outside the windows that reflected the void in her heart. But she had loved him, she had. She hugged the thought fiercely to her. He had been so gentle, so kind, protecting her from anything that might harm her. She sat up suddenly as her mind travelled ruthlessly on. More like an older brother. And he had treated her most of the time like a beloved little sister, spoiling her, preventing any contact from the outside world that might disturb her. They had loved each other, genuinely, but. a vital ingredient that she had seen in some other relationships had definitely been missing. Physical attraction, desire, lust, call it what you would. They hadn't had it. She hadn't even had a personal knowledge of that emotion until until this man seated next to her with the ice-cold eyes and even colder heart had swept into her life. But she was aware of it now. And she wished with all her heart she wasn't. It was making her exactly what he had accused her of being vulnerable.
"Here we are." As they drew into a wide, tree-lined drive she saw a blaze of lights in the distance and saw what appeared to be a small castle, complete with turrets and lit with powerful floodlights.
"Our hotel."
"This is our hotel?" She turned to the hard profile in amazement.
"But it's absolutely beautiful."
He smiled as he drew the car to a halt in the car-park to one side of the wide stone steps.
"There are plenty of buildings in Scotland like this, but it is impressive, isn't it?" he agreed lazily.
"The food's excellent."
She stared at him for a spilt second, noting the easy careless smile and cool composure. He had turned her world upside-down, brought things to light he had had no right to reveal, insinuated she was naive and pathetic among other things and. And he had the nerve to be totally untouched. She hated him.
She really hated him. She turned and stared out of the window in despair.
She had been a fool to come.
"Don't you like it?" The deep male voice next to her had a note of almost comical amazement.
"What?" She turned to look into his dark face.
"The hotel." He gestured towards the building as she turned to him.
"You're glaring at it as though it's Wormwood Scrubs," he added sarcastically, his voice dry.
"I've never seen Wormwood Scrubs, or any other prison for that matter," she said haughtily.
"And of course I like it. It's absolutely beautiful." She glared at him angrily.
"Then why the ferocious frown?" he asked wryly.
"Wolf, you have the right to object if I'm not concentrating at work, you even think you have the right to " suggest" how I wear my hair in the office," she continued coldly, 'but one thing you do not have the right to is my thoughts. They, at least, are all my own and I have no intention of sharing them with you or anyone else. “She stared at him crossly.
