Love at the Northern Lights

by Love at the Northern Lights (re

  As she was pondering, the door to the gallery opened and a large man stepped out into the street. Frankie watched as he locked the door then checked his watch before glancing around. She turned quickly and feigned interest in the shop window, appearing to gaze at the clothing inside but actually watching the man’s reflection. He had the keys to her mother’s gallery so perhaps he worked there. He had to be about six foot four with a mane of thick blond hair that fell to his shoulders. A gust of wind lifted it from his face and in profile she saw a thick beard and strong nose. She willed him to turn so she could see his face properly but instead he dropped to one knee to tie a shoelace, then threw a rucksack over his shoulder and marched off along the street.

  Then he was gone and Frankie was left staring at the dark window of the gallery opposite.

  It was possible that the man had gone for lunch but it didn’t look as if there was anyone else inside. She could wait but the idea of hanging around didn’t appeal, so she crossed the road. A sign in the corner of the window informed her that the gallery was ‘Closed for the afternoon’, so there was no point in waiting here. She decided to go for a walk, grab a coffee and some more clothes and decide what to do next.

  But as she wandered along the pavement, she couldn’t help wondering who the man was. Did he work with her mother? Was he a son she’d had after arriving here? Or – the thought that made her chew her lip – was he some sort of boyfriend? What if her mother had taken a younger lover who resembled a Viking? It was perfectly possible; it could happen. Couldn’t it?

  And with that thought in her head, she returned to find the Levi’s shop, keen to get some comfy jeans to keep her warm as winter blew through the streets of Oslo, and doubt and insecurity settled once more in her heart like ice.

  *

  After she’d purchased more clothes, and a warm black padded jacket, Frankie took them back to the hotel and laid them out on the bed. Combined with her initial purchases from the dance boutique, she had sufficient outfits to get her through a week or two.

  She’d grabbed a sandwich and a takeaway coffee for lunch and now had the afternoon stretching out in front of her. A walk around Oslo seemed like a plan; it would be good for her and allow her some time to see the city where her mother had started a new life all those years ago.

  She retraced her footsteps to the square by the train station then looked around. There were several options, including organized tours, but she wanted the freedom to wander as she pleased, so she set off in the direction of the Aker Brygge Wharf. Her new jacket kept the worst of the chill out and she was glad of the goose down quilting inside it. The jacket might not be that fashionable but it was warm and practical. She knew that a few small changes could make it more interesting, like some embroidery on the cuffs and the pockets, and she smiled as she thought about the type of winter range she would design if she had the chance.

  Even though the breeze was chilly, the afternoon sun broke through the clouds and warmed her face, and she pulled her sunglasses from her bag. It might be the start of winter but sunglasses were a must. It was also hard to feel anything but optimistic with the sun on her face and the wind tousling her hair and she hoped it was a good omen.

  The inner harbour area was busy and evidently popular because of its restaurants, shops, apartments and office buildings. There were plenty of places to eat and drink, and Frankie wondered about the location’s history, so she stopped in a quiet spot and pulled out her mobile to find out more. According to the information she found, Aker Brygge was the site of an old shipyard, Akers Mekaniske Verksted, which explained the combination of old and modern architecture. It was no wonder the area was popular, with its wonderful views of the marina and the Oslo Fjord.

  Frankie put her mobile away and wandered around, admiring the scenery and the wharf itself. Everything seemed so clean and fresh and the light bounced off the windows and the water, creating a sense of brightness that lifted Frankie’s spirits and increased her sense of optimism. If Freya had come here all those years ago and felt this same positivity, even though at that time the city might not have been as developed as it now was, then no wonder she had stayed. Frankie loved England and her home but also enjoyed visiting new places and had travelled to many different countries during her lifetime. But there was something different about Oslo. Perhaps it was because she knew that Freya was here and perhaps it was because she’d just walked away from making a huge mistake by marrying Rolo, but she felt lighter than she had done in an age. Whatever happened with Freya, Frankie knew that she’d be glad she came and that she wouldn’t regret not marrying Rolo. Her only regret was not calling things off between them sooner, but then she might not have decided to come to Norway, so in that respect it was surely a good thing.

  She stopped in front of a cafe with tables outside. It seemed like a perfect spot to while away an hour or two, drinking coffee and watching the world go by, so she took a seat and perused the menu.

  Half an hour later, she was enjoying a generous slice of verdens beste, what the menu described as Norway’s National Cake or World’s Best Cake. It was a delicious combination of two thin slices of fluffy sponge sandwiched together with vanilla cream then topped with baked meringue and almonds. Every bite was like a mouthful of heaven and Frankie wondered how she’d managed her whole life without it. She washed it down with a cup of strong black coffee, appreciating being able to enjoy both al fresco with such a beautiful view.

  *

  Frankie was suddenly conscious of a loud snuffling. It seemed to be muffled at first, as if someone was shouting to her from inside a car, but then it became louder and it dragged her awake.

  She opened her eyes and gasped. A huge wolf was staring at her, its furry coat thick and grey and its mouth oozing drool. What had happened? Had she somehow wandered into the wilderness where she’d be eaten by wolves?

  Wait… what wilderness? She was in the city of Oslo and… still sitting outside the harbour front cafe.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The noise, now distinguishable as a voice speaking English laced with Norwegian inflection, attracted her attention and she raised her gaze to find the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen burning into hers.

  She opened her mouth to answer but couldn’t find any words.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  She watched as the full pink lips set between a golden beard and moustache moved again.

  ‘Miss? Can I get you help?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. I’m fine, thank you. Except for the wolf.’

  The huge man nodded then stepped backwards, taking the wolf – who Frankie could now see was on a lead – with him.

  ‘You were sleeping at the table.’

  ‘Was I?’

  ‘People… I… was worried that you were ill.’

  ‘How did you know I was English?’

  ‘I didn’t but I tried several different languages and that was the one that woke you up.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you need to see a doctor?’

  ‘No. I’m all right. I’m just… tired, I guess.’

  Had she been so tired that she’d dozed off in a public place? She remembered drinking a coffee and eating that amazing cake while people-watching, then checking Facebook on her mobile and seeing… some photographs on Lorna’s page of her and Rolo snorkelling in crystal-clear waters, but she’d been feeling fine. A bit peeved that one of her friends and her ex-fiancé were evidently having such a great time, but still relieved that she wasn’t there with Rolo herself.

  Perhaps she was still suffering the effects of months of stress and worry. It had all built up and now her body and mind were trying to recover by resting. She just hoped that it wasn’t stress-induced narcolepsy that would seize her randomly, rendering her unconscious, as that would be rather difficult to manage. A girl at boarding school had suffered from it when they’d been studying for their A levels and the poor sixth former had often snored through lessons and library tim
e.

  ‘Go to bed earlier, perhaps?’ the man suggested, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Ha! Yes, good idea. I will do. Thanks.’

  ‘And it’s not a wolf. Luna is a husky.’

  Frankie looked down at the beast sitting in front of her, its head tilted as it observed her, its blue eyes so light they were almost transparent. The unblinking and intelligent stare unnerved her, as if it could see right into her heart. And when she looked up again, it wasn’t much better looking into the stranger’s eyes, because his were just as… knowing… and familiar?

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, realizing that she recognized him with his shoulder-length blond hair and impressively broad frame.

  He shook his head. ‘You’re mistaking me for someone off TV. Some people do. It’s a bit… embarrassing.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I mean… what could I have watched that you might be in?’

  ‘Thor?’ he suggested.

  Frankie stared at him. He could be mistaken for Chris Hemsworth; he was about the right height and build.

  ‘Or that actor who plays Ragnar Lothbrok.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘In Vikings.’ Above his beard his cheeks flushed. ‘See what I mean? It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve watched that series but why is it embarrassing?’

  ‘I get stopped, and people ask for selfies and signatures.’

  ‘Signatures?’ She frowned. ‘Oh, autographs!’

  ‘Yes. I’d prefer not to, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ She realized what he’d said. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want your autograph.’

  ‘Good. I am relieved. And even more embarrassed now. Are you here for long?’ he asked. ‘With your… family, husband or boyfriend?’

  ‘No. None of those. But I’m not sure how long I’m staying.’

  ‘You are here on business then?’

  ‘Yes. Kind of.’

  ‘And… you’re sure you are OK?’

  ‘I am and thanks again.’ She stood up and held out her hand.

  ‘Good.’ He shook her hand and she suddenly felt tiny, her fingers lost in his grip. He towered over her, creating the strangest feeling inside her… it was unusual in a way that she had never experienced before. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, in fact, it made her skin tingle and when she looked up, she found him gazing at her curiously.

  Then she realized where she’d seen him before and she released his hand as if it had burnt her and stepped backwards. He was the man from Freya’s gallery, the one she’d seen locking the door. No wonder he’d made her feel a bit funny; he must know her mother. He frowned for a moment then shrugged.

  ‘Take care now and enjoy Oslo!’

  ‘I will. Goodbye.’

  She lowered herself into the chair, aware that her legs were shaking, and watched as the man disappeared into the crowds, his dog jogging along beside him. She realized that although she’d shaken his hand, she’d been too distracted by his touch to tell him her name or to get his.

  As she raised her hand to request another coffee from the waitress, she found herself hoping that he wasn’t actually Freya’s son or younger lover, but she dismissed the thought because she wasn’t here to admire the locals or to interfere in her mother’s love life. She was here to find out the truth.

  Chapter 9

  Jonas walked briskly along the promenade. It was a beautiful afternoon and he was out with Luna, his two-year-old husky. He’d been to the gallery in the morning and closed up at lunchtime for Freya, as she’d had a lunch appointment with a buyer and had left early. He slowed his pace and led Luna towards a bench where he sat down. Luna sat on the ground in front of him gazing out at the birds swooping into the water, her ears pricked and her tail curled around her legs. Her high prey drive kept her constantly alert when they were out and about, and Jonas kept a tight hold on her leash, not wanting to see her launch herself into the water.

  This was a typical afternoon for him when he was in Oslo – he’d walk Luna to burn off some of her excess energy and they’d often enjoy a stroll along the front – but today something was different. He breathed deeply and tried to enjoy the sensation of fresh air and sunshine on his skin but something had unsettled him. Well, not exactly something, but that English woman he’d found sleeping in front of the cafe.

  Of course, it wasn’t every day that he found someone sleeping on the harbour front, but something about that woman had troubled him. She’d seemed exhausted, sad and vulnerable. Jonas hated to see anything suffering, whether human or animal, and he knew he had a soft spot for wounded creatures. His mother had teased him enough about it growing up and told him it was because he was so intuitive and in tune with nature.

  But it was more than that. He filled his lungs with air, counting each exhalation out slowly as he allowed his mind a few moments to mull it over.

  What had it been about that woman?

  She was strikingly beautiful. He’d noticed that immediately, it had been obvious even when she was slouching at the table, her head turned towards the sun. Her silky brown hair had fallen over her shoulder, strands of it deep red and golden brown as they caught the sunlight. Her skin was clear and free from make-up and her dark lashes had fluttered on her cheeks as she slept. And then… when he’d finally managed to wake her, he’d seen her eyes, as green as the northern lights and just as rousing.

  He shook his head and smiled. Sometimes he sounded almost poetic but he knew it was the artist in him. When he saw something beautiful, whether scenery, animal or person, he wanted to capture that beauty in a photograph, to preserve it for ever, and that was what he had felt when the woman had sat up and met his gaze. He’d almost asked if he could take her photo, but she’d likely have become suspicious about his motives and he hadn’t wanted to do that to her. She was probably in Oslo on some kind of business trip and he didn’t want to ruin that for her by making her wary of the locals.

  But she was beautiful…

  And strangely, she also seemed familiar. There was something about the shape of her eyes and the tilt of her chin, a sense of pride and independence he felt sure he’d seen before. Perhaps it was just an English thing and she reminded him of an actress or celebrity. After all, he had accused her of mistaking him for Thor or that Vikings actor, so it could be the same for her.

  What did it matter?

  Jonas came across many beautiful women in his line of work and many interesting tourists, but that was all they would ever be. He loved his life, his freedom and his job, and no woman was ever going to change that for him.

  His mother had warned him that one day a woman would come along and steal his heart but he was thirty-two and it hadn’t happened yet. He couldn’t see that changing.

  And that was just fine with him.

  *

  ‘Dad?’ Frankie answered her phone.

  ‘Frankie, darling?’

  Emotion welled in Frankie’s throat and she swallowed hard.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes… I’m fine, Dad, thanks.’

  ‘Jolly good. I’m so glad.’

  ‘I’m in—’

  ‘No, it’s OK, Frances, don’t tell me.’

  ‘Why, will Grandma torture you to get the information?’

  Her father gave a small laugh at the other end of the line.

  ‘Well… perhaps not torture but she does have the ability to make my life hell.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Frankie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘I know. I should have moved out years ago but I hated the thought of leaving her alone.’

  ‘She’s tougher than you think.’

  He didn’t reply and Frankie knew better than to push him on this. Her father was so gentle and kind-hearted and he’d always put her feelings and Grandma’s before his own. Whenever Frankie had tried to get him to stand up to his mother, he’d always explained that Grandma was getting older and that she wasn’t as tough as
she seemed. She’d been devastated when her husband had died when Hugo was just fifteen, and it seemed to Frankie that, ever since then, she’d relied on her son more than was healthy for either of them. It wasn’t that she thought her father was a wimp – because he was a strong and successful businessman – more that he was too considerate of his mother’s feelings and never wanted to upset her by standing up to her. But it was something Frankie had tried and failed to get her father to change, so she knew better than to push the subject now.

  ‘How are you anyway, Dad?’

  ‘Missing you madly, but glad you did the right thing for you.’

  ‘But not for Grandma? Did she tell you that I saw her as I was leaving the Bellamy estate?’

  ‘She did say that you’d had words.’

  ‘She had words. I bit my tongue… as usual.’

  ‘She’ll survive, darling. It’s given her a bit of a mission actually… which is why I want you to be careful who you tell about where you are.’

  ‘She is looking for me then?’

  ‘Uh…’

  ‘I had visions of her employing fifty of her private investigators to track me down.’

  ‘I’ve asked her to leave you alone so you can have some time out, and I explained that you felt you and Rolo rushed the whole wedding thing.’

  ‘How’d she take that?’

  ‘Not well but what can you do? She’ll be fine.’

  ‘I wish you’d had more children then it wouldn’t have all fallen on me… Oh… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. It just came out.’

  Frankie winced, as she knew it wasn’t her father’s fault that she had no brothers or sisters. He’d never fallen in love after Freya had gone. Besides, he’d told her he couldn’t bear for her to feel replaced or overshadowed by any other children he might have had from a subsequent marriage, so he’d preferred not to get involved again.

  ‘I understand. I know that some siblings would have taken the pressure off you a tad.’

  ‘As it would have done for you.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Anyway, Grandma will get over it in time. I’ll come back in about ten years, shall I?’