Frozen Enchantment

by Jessica Steele

  'In a better humour?' he queried as she opened the door to him, and immediately she was having to grasp for self-control. One of these days...she thought as without a word she left him to follow her to the sitting-room-cum-office. 'You've been Susy, I see,' he commented as he glanced at the table and saw her neatly stacked typed-back pages.

  Jolene disdained to feel warmed that he had noticed, and stared past him at the alluring picture outside her window. 'Some of us have worked all afternoon,' she told him aloofly, and discovered that either he did not like her tone, or her, or both, when he rapped aggressively,

  'Accept my apologies. I'm afraid it escaped me completely that you regard this as your annual holiday!'

  'That's most unfair!' Jolene dropped her aloof manner to fire up angrily. 'I've worked hard for you virtually since our plane landed in Moscow. I saw nothing of Moscow because your work had to come first, and I accept that. I saw nothing of Irkutsk either, for that matter...'

  'But you would have done, regardless that Viktor Sekirkin has a wife. But I forget, you have a preference for married men, don't you, Miss Draper?' he snarled hostilely. 'You don't care—'

  'I do not have a preference for married men!' Jolene almost yelled, so beside herself did this man make her. Desperately she fought for some control in what was degenerating into full-scale warfare. She gained control of her voice in so much as she was no longer yelling, but in doing so she sacrificed control of her tongue as she pitched the battle straight into his camp, saying stonily, 'Though of course we all know where your preference lies.'

  'What the hell do you mean by that?' Cheyne snarled.

  'What would I mean,' Jolene refused to back down, 'but that while everything's sweetness and light when you're talking to the PA you prefer, I, who am merely an acting PA, get the taciturn grumpy end? What would I mean,' she went on, any control she thought she had again getting away from her as she once more grew furious that he could so accuse her, 'but that you're hating it like blazes that Gillian Frampton isn't here with you now?'

  'Gillian Frampton, for your information, is the best PA I've ever had,' he told her icily. 'For your further information, Miss Draper, she'd have whistled through the work which you've been hard at all afternoon, and anything else I had for her to do—and all,' he barked shortly, 'without complaint.'

  'Well, she would, wouldn't she!' Jolene snapped, feeling stung, and even while part of her was urging that she was going too far, she did not seem to be able to stop herself going further. 'How sad that she couldn't come with you to Listvyanka, as you originally planned!'

  'You seemed to have learned a lot in a short time,' he gritted. 'Did Gillian tell...'

  'She didn't have to tell me! I'm not so stupid that I don't know that but for some—some hiccup, she'd have been with you here today. And that,' she charged furiously, 'is why you're ready to shoot me down any chance you can. Gillian Frampton couldn't come after all for some reason and, with your plans for a pleasant stay in Listvyanka gone up in smoke, you decided to take it out on...' her voice faded when she saw a glint of steel come to his eyes. Indeed, she was starting to wonder at her own temerity when Cheyne moved a furious pace nearer to her and stared with those steely eyes down into her sparking green ones.

  'The reason why Gillian Frampton could not come on this very important trip,' he clipped, making no attempt to disguise that it was as Jolene suspected and that everything had been set originally for Gillian to be the fourth member of the party, 'is that she's pregnant.'

  'Pregnant?' Jolene echoed, and as she felt the most dreadful feeling of inner disquiet at what she was hearing, she could no more refrain from asking the question that sprang into her mind than she could refrain from drawing her next breath. 'By you?' she charged, and as his hands suddenly clenched down by his sides, she was all at once doubting that she would be drawing another breath.

  But although he took another angry pace nearer, Cheyne did not strangle her, as had looked likely, but, showing marked restraint, 'By her husband!' he snarled from between clenched teeth.

  'Her husband?' echoed Jolene, completely stunned. 'I didn't know she was married!'

  'There's quite a lot you don't know but which you prefer to guess at,' Cheyne erupted shortly. 'Gillian Frampton has been happily married for a number of years. And I—unlike you,' he fired, 'leave the opposite sex of the married kind alone!'

  Quite what it was that made her do it, Jolene was not sure. But having been goaded off and on by him ever since she had met him, she decided that he had repeated that accusation once too often. Although at the time she was not thinking so clearly as to have a view of any kind, but, at his insistence that she was some married man-mad harpy, the slap which had been on its way to him for all that day suddenly got delivered.

  In actual fact, she barely knew that she had hit him. For one moment he was standing over her with his jaw jutting at an aggressive angle, and the next moment her palm was stinging, and a split moment after that, he was reaching for her.

  Unafraid, Jolene still refused to back down. She felt his iron hands grip her upper arms, and saw from the look in his eyes that he had it in mind to shake her until her teeth rattled.

  Then suddenly, even as his grip on her tightened, the look in his eyes changed. And swiftly Jolene went from being unafraid to being... she knew not what. 'No!' she cried, but Cheyne was past listening to anything she had to say. All too clearly as his head began to come down, he had heard more than enough from her, and had just thought of a very effective way of shutting her up.

  Jolene did not have a chance to utter another word. For no sooner had that 'No!' left her than Cheyne's warm and attractive mouth was over hers.

  For about two seconds she was stunned into not doing anything. But when in the next two seconds his hands left her arms and his arms came fully about her, she came out fighting—that or, as his kiss began to do crazy things to her, be sunk without trace.

  Though, in truth, she did not have much of a fight on her hands. And she guessed that Cheyne was already regretting his action, for as she started to push him furiously away, he dropped his arms from about her and took a step back.

  Some of the ice had gone from his look, though, for all his voice was cold, when, referring to the slap she had just served him, 'That,' he ground out, 'is not the way to get promotion!'

  'Well, I sure as Henry am not going to go to bed with you to get it!' she retaliated furiously.

  'You should get the chance!' he told her arrogantly. The next sound she heard was the door of the suite being slammed, as he strode out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HAD she really hit the chairman of Templeton's? Had the chairman really kissed her? Jolene vividly remembered the feel of Cheyne Templeton's mouth over hers, and she knew there was nothing imaginary about the kiss. Nor, try to deny it though she might, was there anything imaginary about the memory of the crazy, abandoned way she had begun to feel inside, before she had found some will-power to push him away.

  Needing something to do if she were to get him, and his kiss, out of her head, Jolene went and bathed and changed, then returned to the sitting-room to wonder why she had bothered. She was not going to go down to dinner, that was for sure—she had seen quite enough of that man for one day!

  Wretched man! she was still fuming an hour later. She had only gone down to lunch out of a determination to show him that she was not the tiniest bit interested in him—all she'd got for her trouble was the feeling that as far as he was concerned, she did not exist. Let him dine by himself if he felt like that!

  Damn him! she thought, and although she was not sure why she should be damning him she was quite sure she did not care a jot that, apart from her being his acting PA slave, he was otherwise unaware of her existence.

  A minute or so later Jolene was having another attempt at analysing what it was about the brute of a man that he should so quickly bring out the worst in her. That slap she had served him had been on its way to him for some time, she accepte
d. Though perhaps it had been the sting of hearing him praise Gillian Frampton and her 'whistle through the work' efficiency that had goaded her beyond control.

  All at once, as her thoughts went along the avenue of—good grief, I'm not jealous of Gillian Frampton's efficiency, for pity's sake—and wondering if she had been jealous of her in other respects, Jolene suddenly found that she was shying away from such ridiculous thoughts.

  Instead she sent her thoughts back to how stunned she had been to learn that Gillian Frampton was not only pregnant but married! And, according to Cheyne, happily married, and had been so for a number of years.

  Going into the bedroom across the hall, Jolene rummaged in her case for the paperback she had brought with her to read, but had not so much as had the time to pick up. Reflecting that she supposed it was not unknown for a married career woman to prefer being referred to as Miss—and she remembered that Cheyne had so referred to her on one occasion—Jolene again rummaged through her belongings. Finding the packet of biscuits she had brought with her 'just in case', she returned to the sitting-room and had just settled herself down when someone knocked at her door.

  Because it might be her employer, and because, since he might want to check over the report she had typed, she might have to invite him in, Jolene went and dropped the biscuits back in her case before she opened the door.

  Her heart did funny things inside her as she looked at the tall man on the other side of the door, then looked up into his cool dark grey eyes. The reason for her heart behaving so, though, she quite well knew, was that it was not every day that she took a swipe at the chairman, and it was not every day that he kissed her to shut her up—this being the first time she had seen him since then.

  She swallowed, and, unsure whether to offer a sarcastic 'To what do I owe the pleasure?' or whether to simply turn and leave him to follow her to the 'office', Jolene discovered he was not giving her time to do either when, with his voice as cool as his look, he enquired, 'Sulking, or eating?'

  Sulking! There he went again! What was it about this man...? Jolene fought hard for control, and then, 'I'm starving,' she replied sweetly. With a murmured, 'I'll just get my bag,' she ducked along the hall to collect it, though not before Cheyne had turned away—turned away, if she was not mistaken, smiling. Had she again amused the awful man?

  He was not smiling when she joined him and secured her door. But the fact that she thought she had glimpsed a smile on his. face somehow lightened her own mood.

  He seemed in a pleasant enough humour, at any event, as they chose to walk down to the basement restaurant. Guessing, though, that since they had about another ten days to get through before they returned to England he was perhaps doing his part to get their working relationship on a more amicable footing, Jolene decided that, in that case, she could be as big as him.

  Though they were tucking into their first course of a quaint mixture of Russian salad, hard-boiled egg with cream and some sort of nondescript stalks with onions and gravy before she had got herself on an even enough plateau to enquire, politely, 'Will we be staying in Listvyanka for very long, Mr Templeton?'

  Hoping she had got it right and that they had signed an unofficial truce, she was nevertheless ready for him if he replied with some sort of sarcastic offering on the lines of—why did she want to know, had she got some married man lined up in her sights at Listvyanka?

  But to her relief, not to say pleasure, her employer's voice was not sarcastic but even and, dared she believe it, a shade friendly, when he replied, 'Make it Cheyne, Jolene,' and, while she was getting over that, 'You've worked like a Trojan this past week...'

  'I've...' Jolene interrupted him, staggered. 'You've noticed I've worked my fingers down to stumps!'

  'Didn't I say?' he queried, and because he was so blatant, when he knew jolly well that not one crumb of praise had he tossed her way, she could do no other than burst out laughing.

  She saw his eyes rest on the curving smile of her mouth, but she felt happy suddenly. His eyes went from her mouth to her merriment-filled eyes, and as he smiled too, as if he liked what he saw, Jolene was again glad she had been the one selected to take Gillian Frampton's place.

  'Perhaps I didn't,' he drawled, and returned to the matter previously under discussion. 'But had I not been impressed with the way you've coped, then I believe I might not have forgotten to mention that.'

  There was no 'believe' about it. Jolene knew it. Had the work she had done for him not been up to scratch, then without a doubt she would have heard about it.

  Glowing under what she felt was a compliment, she felt honour-bound at that moment to mention how unceasingly he had put all his efforts into seeing that the meetings they had had progressed smoothly. 'But you've worked hard too,' she told him, realising only then that aside from being forever on the alert, he had worked doubly hard, because when all the talking was done, what did he do but return to the hotel and give her hours of dictation?

  'That's true,' he agreed immodestly, and suddenly he was laughing, and Jolene was realising how she liked to see him laugh. It made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and made his strong firm mouth seem, sensitive somehow. 'Which is why,' he sobered to resume, 'I've decided to proclaim tomorrow a rest day.'

  'A rest day?' she echoed, loving the sound of it. All at once, however, she suddenly realised that she was getting to know a little about this man. The word 'rest' she would have thought was not in his vocabulary. ' You decided to have a rest day?' she queried, and again she liked it when he looked amused.

  'To be more accurate, perhaps, it was Gillian's idea,' he conceded, and to her surprise, went on to explain, 'We were in the middle of mapping out the itinerary for this tour when I realised that, rather than have my engineers feel I was breathing down their necks, it might be better if I got out of the way while they got down to doing the work they specialise in.'

  'Gillian Frampton suggested Listvyanka?.' Jolene put in.

  'She did,' Cheyne agreed, and as their first course dishes were cleared away and they were served their main course, he told her, 'Though I've an idea she spent the weekend leafing through some travel guides before she came to me and said she'd found what seemed a very nice spot to catch one's breath.'

  Feeling more free than she ever had to discuss absolutely anything with him, Jolene questioned 'And you— agreed?'

  'I may have mentioned that they don't come any smarter than Gillian at her job,' he murmured drily. 'Aside from the way she's worked long, hard, and for the most part without complaint for me this last five years, to agree to her suggestion when I knew she'd be— er—to quote "working her fingers down to the stumps" on this undertaking seemed no more than only fair.'

  Feeling good inside to have him quote her remarks back with a smile, Jolene no longer felt a whit jealous of Gillian Frampton's professional ability. Besides, she was still glowing from hearing how Cheyne was impressed with the way she had coped.

  So it was entirely without professional jealousy that after a moment or two she said, 'I expect Gillian was hating it like anything that, having arranged everything for this mission, she then couldn't come herself.'

  'Not a bit of it,' Cheyne replied easily. 'Given that she's having a sickly time of it at present, she's wanted to become pregnant for so long that when it looked as though her dearest wish might come true, she didn't hesitate to take the action she did.'

  'I'm sorry about her being poorly, but how lovely for her,' Jolene smiled, a gentle smile, and then, seeing the droll way Cheyne was looking, as though to say that women going ga-ga over babies or the expected arrival of one did not do very much for him, she mentally shook herself and shared with him, 'Because I did Russian at school, I was selected to stand by, but I was beginning to think I'd dreamt it all when an age went by and I never heard another word about it.'

  'She regretted that,' Cheyne told her. 'But what with me being away, and Gillian not wanting to confide in anyone her hope that she was pregnant in case she was disappoint
ed again, all she knew for sure at that stage was that by no chance was she going to take the risk of flying. Flying and early pregnancy don't mix, apparently,' he informed her.

  'Don't they?' Jolene questioned, and discovered that he knew as little as her about the subject, seemingly, when he shrugged.

  'So Gillian tells me. Anyhow, she knew that there was quite a lot of flying involved, so, since she's an efficient soul and since she also knew that I insisted, out of courtesy to our Russian friends, that each member of my party should have some degree of Russian, she arranged in my absence to have a Russian-speaking secretary put on standby. Because she was in a state of nerves about her was-she, wasn't-she condition, though, she didn't tell Personnel any of the whys and wherefores, but insisted they gave you only minimal information in case her hopes were again dashed and she herself would be on the Moscow flight.'

  With her sympathy going out to the PA whose efficient and capable exterior must have covered a good deal of inner anguish after her setbacks in. her desire to have a child, Jolene was silent for a moment or two.

  Then, 'Like Alec and Keith, Gillian took a course in Russian too, didn't she?' she thought to ask.

  Cheyne nodded in confirmation, and said, 'As you might expect, she proved herself a brilliant pupil too.'

  'Naturally,' Jolene smiled, but there was not a scrap of animosity in her heart. Some people, she knew, were born gifted. By the sound of it, Gillian Frampton was one. Most definitely, Cheyne Templeton was another. Put the gifts he was born with together with his ability to work ceaselessly, and what had you got but a formula for success.

  They finished their main course of veal, potatoes and beetroot, and Jolene caught Cheyne eyeing the cake that was to follow as if to wonder whether he'd rather remain still slightly hollow inside or whether to sacrifice himself.

  'What's it taste like?' he asked as she cut into hers and took a trial bite.