Frozen Enchantment

by Jessica Steele

  But, the laws of cussedness being what they were, no sooner had she determined to stay awake than in no time her eyelids were drooping.

  The next time she awoke it was because she was jolted awake. 'What...!' she began as something fell over her bed.

  But she was immediately reassured by Cheyne, who swiftly told her, 'Don't be alarmed, Jolene. The driver suddenly put the brakes on and...'

  'I'm not alarmed,' she was quick to reassure him in return, realising as sleep started to go from her that he must have been out of his bunk looking out of the windows at the night sky or something when the train had come to an abrupt and unexpected stop, and had jolted him off his feet.

  There followed a few seconds in which Cheyne moved from a semi-recumbent position over her to sit up. Then, when for no reason Jolene decided to sit up too, suddenly, as Cheyne went to stand, they both leaned forward at the same time, and touched—and that touch was electric!

  Quite how it happened Jolene could never afterwards have said, but just the feel of Cheyne's chest against hers was enough to send wild yearning surging through her. Who reached for whom she neither knew nor cared; all she knew in those moments of Cheyne's arms coming round her, and her arms going around him, was that in his arms was where she wanted to be—and that it seemed so right.

  Then Cheyne's mouth was over hers, his lips parting her lips, and as he held her firmly to him and kissed her, willingly Jolene returned his kiss. Then again and again he kissed her, and she never wanted him to stop.

  'Oh, Jolene!' he cried once, and the next moment he was pushing her back against her mattress, and moving her bed covers away in order to get closer to her.

  'Oh, Cheyne,' she breathed, and gloried in this closeness, as his hands caressed her shoulders and her back, then with his hands on her hips he half lay with her, pulling her yet closer to him. 'Cheyne!' she breathed again as a fire shot to life in her and he awakened feelings in her that were totally new.

  His body was warm against hers, and she wanted to know more of him. And it was as if he was aware of how she felt, for suddenly he was untying the belt of her robe and pushing the folds of the cotton aside.

  Again she wanted to call his name, and she was not sure, as his hands caressed her breasts and she clutched convulsively at him, that his name did not leave her on . a moan of wanting.

  But if she wanted him, then Cheyne telling her, 'Sweet Jolene, I want you,' was all she needed to hear. A groan escaped him when his body moved against hers, and she arched her body to get nearer still.

  The masculine feel of him as he pressed down on her was exquisite torment, and when his warm, seeking fingers moved the shoulder-straps of her nightdress to one side, and his mouth traced tiny kisses over her naked breasts, she began to tremble.

  Tormented beyond enduring when his kisses on her breasts were mingled with tantalising fingers which gently caressed her swollen globes and the throbbing peaks he had created, Jolene again cried out his name.

  Then several things happened all at once, and all within the next couple of seconds, it was ended. For in the same moment of Cheyne huskily groaning, 'Joley, sweet, sweet virgin!' the train—which she later realised had been standing in a station—suddenly jerked into life. And in that instant Cheyne's words suddenly reminded her of that other man who had wanted to take her virginity, and she momentarily panicked. In her panic she was not certain that she did not hear Cheyne croak hoarsely, 'Oh—my stars!' because panic was making her deaf, and she was pushing him away from her.

  She afterwards realised that she must have gained extra strength from somewhere, for suddenly Cheyne had left her. And all in one movement, or so it seemed to her distressed eyes, he had left her, found the door handle in the light from the station, and swiftly, before she could call him back, he had put himself on the other side of the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THERE had been no chance of Jolene going back to sleep after Cheyne had so hurriedly left the compartment, but with the coming of daylight common sense began to rear its ugly head, and she was never more glad that she had not called him back.

  He had not returned since he had left in the dark hours, and she had no way of knowing where he was. But when at about six-thirty she left her bunk, took some fresh clothing from her case, and grabbed hold of her toilet bag, far from wanting to know where he was, Jolene was wishing she might never have to see him again.

  See him again, though, she did, and before she was ready, too. Because as she slid back the compartment door and took a step into the corridor, Cheyne turned from the rail where he had been watching the landscape go by, and, his face unsmiling, he looked at her gravely.

  With her face suddenly aflame with colour, Jolene turned a speedy sharp right away from him and headed blindly for the small stainless steel compartment at the end of the coach.

  Locking herself in, she methodically set about getting washed and dressed, but the whole while her-thoughts were going off at a tangent. She still loved him, she knew that for a fact—her quick glance at him before she had spun away had shown her that. She had felt a softness, a gentleness in her for him. He had been dressed in what appeared to be pyjama bottoms and, from the brief glimpse she saw through the openings of his short robe, no pyjama top. With a dark stubble on his chin, he seemed more endearing than he had ever been.

  Whether he would have said anything to her, had she given him half a chance, she had left it too late to find out. What she had found out, though, was that she was regretting, more than she had regretted anything in her life, that she had for a moment responded to him so eagerly—not only those few short hours ago, but back at Lake Baikal.

  Wondering where her natural reserve had gone when it came to giving displays of affection, Jolene realised that, loving Cheyne the way she did, her reserve hadn't stood a chance up against him and his expertise. What would have happened had she not panicked momentarily she could only guess at, but she thanked her lucky stars that she had panicked and thrust him away from her. Plainly, he was another who had a 'penchant for virgins', though seeing that she must have represented some sort of a challenge to him, it puzzled her briefly why he had left the compartment so entirely without argument.

  A moment later Jolene had decided that Cheyne Templeton did not like things made too easy. As she'd suspected, he liked a challenge. Quite clearly, he was prepared to bide his time. With something of a shock, Jolene at that point suddenly had to give credence to the thought that his only reason for offering her Gillian Frampton's job when she left to have her baby was his intention to, at some future time, have one Jolene Draper in his bed.

  She was ready to go back to the compartment, though, when all at once it occurred to her that she had better keep a guard on her tongue. For, feeling mentally battered and bruised and as though she had just been through the wringer, she suddenly realised that, with his astuteness, any unthought word of hurt from her could give him something to think about.

  Jolene left the small room at the end of the corridor knowing that her pride would never survive should Cheyne glean so much as half an idea of how desperately in love with him she was.

  Her heart did a wayward flip, nevertheless, when she saw that, although he was now trousers and shirt-clad, Cheyne was standing by that same rail as though he had never moved.

  By the time she reached him, however, she had herself under the strictest control. This time, too, she had no intention of doing a disappearing act before giving him a chance to say anything he intended to.

  To her mind, though, his manner, for one who she had just reasoned was determined to have her in his bed at some future time, was a bit on the casual side when he found the energy to enquire, 'Everything all right?'

  'Fine,' she smiled at him brightly. And whether he was enquiring after her welfare or—as she spotted the leather wash bag in his hand—the ablutions, 'The water's lovely and hot,' she told him, and then, as casual as he, she strolled into their compartment.

  Looking around, she
saw that he had been busy stowing away mattresses and blankets and generally making the compartment look less like a bedroom. She did not thank him for attending to her bedding for her— to her way of thinking, there was something very final about his actions.

  With nothing left for her to do but to return her things to her suitcase and strap it up ready for when they reached Novosibirsk, Jolene was soon finished and with plenty of time left in which to think. She was aware that she was probably over-sensitive where Cheyne. was concerned, but, bearing in mind how she had thought there was something very final about his actions, notwithstanding his casual tone just now, she could not help wondering, had she really got it right? Did Cheyne still want her in his bed? Or was it that maybe that had been the case, but he had now gone off the idea?

  The latter seemed to be very much more likely, she discovered. For the next time she saw him he was cleanshaven, had his leather wash-bag under one arm, and two glasses of tea in their metal holders in his hands.

  'Tea up,' he said easily, and in a tone even a person with the most vivid imagination could not have called amorous.

  'Thanks,' she replied in friendly vein, and while she composed herself to make affable conversation he set down the tea on the table, and stowed his wash-bag away. Then, just to show how much he was panting after her, he picked up one of the glasses of tea and took it with him out into the corridor. The view, that had changed little over the miles, had far more appeal for him, apparently, than she had.

  When Cheyne came to tell her casually that it was time to go to breakfast, Jolene had done enough thinking to be heartily glad that she had suffered that moment of panic that had caused her to push him from her. Because it was painfully clear that he would have acted just as casually to her now, had she given herself to him— their lovemaking would have meant nothing to him.

  She was much relieved too, as they went from coach to coach, that today, unlike yesterday, he appeared to think her fleet enough of foot not to come to grief if he did not offer her a steadying hand. Jolene was past thanking him for anything when he waited but a step away as though to be on hand should his 'steadying hand' services become necessary.

  All of which made it most surprising to her that when she was going through a real hate session against him, she could, for pride's sake, make a pleasant remark as they sat down at their table. 'This dark-coloured bread's delicious, isn't it?' she smiled, and then, for all the world as if she was starving, though -she felt as though any crumb she chewed might choke her, she took hold of a piece of bread and buttered it, then reached for some cheese to go with it.

  When after breakfast she returned to the compartment, she caught hold of her paperback as though nothing would do but that she must finish it before they got off the train. By then it did not surprise her that Cheyne had found some other part of the train to hold some interest for him. Her only surprise was that when lunchtime arrived he remembered her for long enough to come and tell her, 'We'll have lunch now, Jolene,' and his manner was as easy as before when she looked up. 'I've someone to see this afternoon—there may not be a chance to snatch a bite again before dinner.'

  Having scotched any disclaimer that she was hungry before she could make it, Jolene could do nothing but smile, and give the general impression that she couldn't wait to start eating.

  Curiosity, however, began to stir in her so that, when once more seated in the restaurant, she thought she would be on fairly safe ground if any topic of conversation she entered into centred solely on work. 'Shall I need my notepad this afternoon?' she enquired as, knife and fork in hand, she prepared to tackle her starter.

  'Notepad?' queried Cheyne, and realising what she was talking about, 'Oh, I shan't need you this afternoon,' he told her blandly. 'Lyuda and I will be able to manage quite well, I'm sure.' Gripping her knife and fork as if they were some life-support machine, as for the first time in her life jealousy struck, Jolene was damned if she would ask him who Lyuda was. To her chagrin, Cheyne did not offer to enlighten her either, but with a cool smile he told her, 'You can have the afternoon off.'

  About to give him a snappy 'Gee, thanks', Jolene checked to remind herself that she must not give him the tiniest clue to the hurt she was feeling inside. 'Lovely,' she said, and even had a smile on her face as she told him, 'A Saturday afternoon in Novosibirsk has to be different from a Saturday afternoon at home. Now...'

  'And what would Jolene Draper be doing on a Saturday afternoon back in England?' Cheyne interrupted her as though on impulse and as though he was really interested.

  But Jolene had seen sufficient of his lack of interest that morning to know that this show of interest was not sincere. Though, since he seemed to be doing his best to get things back to normal after giving in to his masculine urges during the early hours, she made an effort to answer him just as though she truly believed he was hanging on to her every word with bated breath.

  'At this time of year, I'd probably be trying to do something in the garden to clear up the ravages of winter,' she replied, and discovered that she had not fully bored him out of his skull when he came back,

  'You help your father in his garden?'

  She shook her head. 'I've my own garden,' she told him, and explained, 'I don't live at home. I inherited my grandmother's bungalow when she died, and decided, rather than sell it, to move in.'

  'Alone?' he questioned abruptly, and realising that she had been boring him to death, she answered abruptly, though possibly more snappily than abruptly, when she tossed back,

  'The men I know always have to go home to their wives at night!'

  Cheyne threw her an acerbic look. It signalled the end of his making any attempt to get matters back to normal between them.

  Jolene told herself that she did not give a hoot anyway as they returned to their compartment. The thrill for her had disappeared. The excitement of this Russian trip had gone. As far as she was concerned, she would far rather be going home this Saturday than next. Roll on next Saturday, was the best she could wish for as the train pulled into Novosibirsk.

  She was of the opinion, as she and Cheyne alighted, that nothing could happen to make her feel more down than she was feeling just then. She had reckoned, however, without a most attractive-looking woman of about thirty who at that instant suddenly spotted them and came and launched herself at her tall employer.

  'Cheyne—darlink!' she trilled, and as Jolene looked on with jealousy turning a knife, Cheyne and the woman made a meal—so Jolene thought—of kissing each other on both cheeks.

  Thoroughly fed up suddenly, Jolene's spirits were not lifted at all when Cheyne all at once seemed to remember that he had a secretary somewhere—albeit only an acting secretary—and brought the attractive-looking woman over to her. 'Jolene, I'd like you to meet Lyudmila Antipova,' he smiled. 'Lyuda,' he said, and while Jolene was rebelliously thinking it no wonder that he'd said 'I shan't need you' and was certain herself that they would manage quite well without her, Cheyne completed the introduction.

  Lyudmila Antipova went with them to their hotel, and from what Jolene could make out she was some sort of floating liaison officer connected with the conference which was to begin on Monday. It was apparently her lot to help to see to it that the conference ran smoothly, and to time. She and Cheyne were to spend the afternoon together, with Lyudmila Antipova giving him a rundown of the conference schedule and dealing with any queries he might have. To Jolene's mind, Lyudmila Antipova enjoyed her work.

  Feeling decidedly out of sorts, Jolene took herself off for a walk around the locality as soon as the formalities of checking into their hotel were completed. She was glad to have the afternoon off, she told herself determinedly as she found herself in Red Avenue and looked about. She hoped both Lyudmila Antipova and 'Cheyne—darlink' enjoyed their 'business' afternoon.

  Jealousy, she realised as she crossed the wide, wide avenue to study a giant statue of Lenin, was truly a dreadful scourge. She left her contemplation of the statue and recrossed the
wide avenue by subway, and tried to rid herself of her jealousy.

  She went into a bookshop and was having an idle look round when, attempting to think logically, she saw that there was no logic to love—or jealousy. Had she not been so painfully caught up in both, she realised, she would have quite liked the attractive and friendly Lyudmila Antipova.

  Like her or not, Jolene was to see a lot of the Russian woman over the next few days. She dined with them that night, and the next day she arranged a visit to Akademgorodok, where they toured an institute of Geology and Geophysics. But while Cheyne showed a deep interest in the various samples of minerals on display, Jolene's eyes were drawn again and again to the large map of the USSR on the wall, and to the crescent-shaped Lake Baikal. She had been happy there.

  By the time Monday morning arrived she was still doing her utmost not to show by word or look how she felt about Cheyne. She was aware by then, though, that an air of strain was there between them. She did not think it was just her imagination, either. For although in front of Lyuda, as she too now called her, he was always unfailingly polite, no sooner were they on their own than his words to her would be clipped and verging more on the hostile than the polite.

  She supposed she must be grateful that the times she saw him alone without Lyuda being there were very few. Indeed, Lyuda was even there with them at breakfast that Monday morning, and leaving nothing to chance, apparently, as she breezed in, sat down with them, and declared, 'I have decided, Cheyne, that as you are so special, I will come with you to take you to the conference centre.'

  Jolene saw his mouth curve upwards, and jealousy took another stab at her. It seemed light years since she herself had been able to bring that look of being amused to his face. She kept her expression bland, however, when, with Lyuda under some strain too that morning, it seemed, Cheyne saw through her remark and commented lightly, 'You decided, if I'm not mistaken, Lyuda, that rather than risk my getting to the conference late, you'd come and make sure I'd be on time.'