Knight and Stay

by Kitty French

  "Sophie?"

  Sophie turned at the sound of a female voice and found Kate, one of the girls from the reception desk, behind her.

  "Kate, hi," she said, trying to disguise her lacklustre tone.

  "It's good to see you back. Are you feeling better?"

  "Um, yes... thank you." Sophie smiled carefully as her mind played catch up. She wondered exactly what Lucien had told his staff about her sudden departure. She added the snippet to her list of questions, if she ever caught up with him.

  "I was looking for Lucien?"

  Kate's eyes widened. "Oh... of course, you won't have heard." She arranged her features into a sorrowful expression and pure fear threatened to take Sophie's legs from beneath her. Oh God. Had something happened to him?

  "He isn't around at the moment, he's back in Norway." Kate glanced behind her, and then leaned in a little for confidentiality. "Family troubles. I've been filling in for you while you've been ill. I opened an email... from his father's solicitor I think?" She shrugged defensively at Sophie's frown. "It was an accident. Anyway, seems his dad's in hospital." She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. "Pneumonia. Alcoholic, apparently."

  Sophie stared blankly at the other woman. His dad? Lucien had told her that his father was dead.

  "Are you sure?"

  Kate nodded. "He got a call a couple of days back and flew straight out."

  "Do you know when he's coming back?"

  Kate shook her head. "I don't. He's handling all of his calls and emails from Norway, and asked me to cancel his meetings. He's been a bit weird lately, but then I suppose you would be if your father had just been read his last rites, wouldn't you?"

  There was the sound of a trilling phone from the reception desk. Kate shrugged apologetically and clicked briskly back to reception to take the call, leaving Sophie alone and frowning outside Lucien's office.

  He'd definitely told her that his father had died, but Kate had seemed pretty certain of her facts just now. Had he lied? And why? Sophie made her way out slowly out of the building, but she didn't turn towards home. She turned the other way instead and headed towards the string of shops further along the road, towards the little travel agents she'd often walked past on her way to lunch.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lucien kicked the snow from his heavy black boots as he stood outside his father's attorney's office. The streets of Tromso looked impossibly festive, snow-capped wooden buildings housing cosily lit shop interiors, glossy fir garlands draped with illuminated red hearts strung from building to building as far as the eye could see. It was a far cry from the sophisticated gloss of Christmas in London. Not that he was especially fond of Christmas wherever he happened to be in the world. It was a time for families, and for children, and for people who could suspend disbelief and enjoy the childish magic of a fairy tale for a little while. He'd spent his last few Christmas days alone at work, and he'd prefer to spend the time there again this year rather than here. He'd rather be anywhere but Norway at Christmas.

  He pushed open the old, half-glassed door, not looking forward to seeing the elderly man who waited beyond it. He'd been here as a child, tagging along with his father, but never as a grown man.

  The middle-aged receptionist glanced up as he approached the small, old-fashioned window hatch, ducking slightly to make eye contact with her.

  "I have an appointment." The Norwegian words came naturally to him; it was his mother tongue, even though his slightly rusty accent probably marked him out as a stranger in Tromso nowadays.

  She nodded, wide eyed. "Just a moment."

  Lucien eyed the small, empty waiting room and paced to stand by the window. She clearly knew who he was and who he was here to see, but that didn't come as much of a surprise. The woman reappeared a moment later, smoothing her hand over her short curly hair. "This way please."

  Olaf Karlsen stood as Lucien entered his office, much older and more weathered than the robust man who hovered amongst Lucien's childhood memories. His handshake was reserved but firm as he gestured for Lucien to take a seat opposite him at his desk.

  "It's been some years, Lucien."

  Lucien's mouth twisted a little. "Yes."

  "May I ask if you've visited your father since you've arrived home?"

  "Not yet." He regarded the older man levelly across the table. He was here in this office at Olaf Karlsen's request, just as he was in Norway at Olaf Karlsen's request.

  "This is delicate, Lucien." Olaf looked down and withdrew a letter from the drawer of his desk. "Your father gave me this several years ago. He instructed me to give it to you in the event of his death." He pushed the pale envelope across the desk slowly.

  Lucien made no move to pick it up.

  "He isn't dead yet."

  "No." Olaf stroked his short grey beard. "No, he isn't. But he's very unwell, and unlikely to pull through."

  Lucien didn't want to hear any of this.

  "Keep it."

  The attorney fixed Lucien with his pale, steady gaze.

  "Off the record... I have remained friends with your father over the years, and given his failing health I feel certain that he would wish you to have this sooner rather than later."

  Something about the older man’s demeanour left Lucien feeling seven years old again. If he refused the letter a second time, he sensed that the attorney would accept it. There was a small but undeniable part of him that wanted to know what lay inside the envelope. There was nothing his father could say that would change or influence things, yet he still didn't push it back across the desk.

  It had been Olaf who'd called him a few days earlier to alert him to the fact that his father's condition had worsened significantly, and Olaf who'd suggested that he held something in his office that would be of interest to him. The attorney had leaned on his seniority and family connection to appeal to Lucien, with the added lure of the mysterious something waiting for him.

  In truth, Lucien would have come just on the plain statement of fact, without any of the other inducements. His father was actually dying. He seemed to have been half way there for as long as Lucien could remember, but it had always felt like more of a vague possibility than something that would actually happen. And in every way that counted, he had been dead to Lucien for years.

  He hadn't set foot inside the hospital since his arrival in Norway, but he'd called. He'd called twice a day to check on him, but as far as he could tell his father was so heavily sedated now that he would barely be aware of his presence anyway. Not that this was a bad thing. There was nothing left to be said as far as Lucien was concerned.

  He nodded once at Olaf Karlsen and picked up the letter, shoving it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  He'd take it, but that didn't mean that he had to read it.

  Sophie had never experienced such immense cold as when she stepped out of the airport, wheeling her suitcase behind her. She'd anticipated it of course, and dressed as appropriately as her wardrobe allowed; jeans, thermal layers and her cherry red coat, but her London winter attire was insufficient protection against the freezing bite of Tromso in December. She cast envious glances at the people milling around her, all far more suitably dressed in padded, waterproof jackets and snow boots. Her own fur boots would offer little protection once they became sodden. She'd flung most of her other warm clothes into her suitcase the day before, not really knowing how long she'd be gone for nor how her arrival would be received. No matter. Lucien was here alone, dealing with his father's illness, his death, even, and the single thought in Sophie's mind was to get to him. She'd been so focused on reaching him that she hadn't permitted herself to stop and wonder if he would want her there. It was only as she settled gratefully into the warmth of the back of a taxi that she allowed herself to consider in detail how he might react. Would he be glad to see her? Or would he be outraged? He was the most infuriatingly self-contained person on the planet; she didn't expect him to welcome her with open arms. She was acting on instinct.
If Lucien had taught her one thing, it was to take a risk, not to wait for permission or instruction. And the thought of coming to Norway to be there, to be whatever he might need, for an hour or a day or a week, had come so effortlessly into her mind that she hadn't doubted herself.

  Outside the windows of the cab, the scenery was very different compared with what she’d seen on her autumn visit to Norway. The bright, crisp days she'd experienced back then had given way to long polar winter nights. It was barely midday, yet it seemed like twilight. Purple-pink skies hung low over buildings prickled with brightly lit windows; offices and industrial buildings that gave way to prettily illuminated shops and cafes as they drove into the heart of the city.

  Sophie couldn't help but be swept away by the Christmas card perfection of the place. It looked like a scene straight out of a romantic movie, akin to being captured inside the world’s prettiest snow globe. If a reindeer-pulled sleigh had drawn up alongside them she wouldn't have been surprised; it was that magical. Hope seeped into her bones. This amazing place was Lucien's homeland.

  He was here. Just knowing that he was close by made her heart beat faster inside her ribcage, and the idea of him being here alone and grieving almost broke it in two.

  Hold on, my beautiful man. I'm coming.

  Lucien left Olaf Karlsen's office, his head bent against the freshly falling snow as he crossed the road behind an oncoming taxi. The girl in the back had her face turned away from the window, but he glimpsed a cherry red coat and a swish of blonde hair, so that for the briefest of moments she stole his breath because she reminded him so acutely of Sophie.

  And then she was gone, and he was left kicking himself into touch for the millionth time since he'd walked away from Sophie Black.

  It had become his daily battle; fighting the almost violent need to call her, imagining that he saw her on every street corner, not letting himself get lost in the memory of how she felt in his arms. She came to him every night as he slept, enveloping him with her lush curves and her easy laughter, bathing him in her warmth and her light. The crushing, bittersweet moments between sleep and wakefulness were the worst of all: clammy, grey seconds when she melted away and he realised he was alone.

  Lucien Knight was a man on the edge. On the edge of becoming an orphan, and on the edge of falling in love.

  Sophie dropped onto the neatly made bed of her small, functional hotel room overlooking the harbour. She'd nodded along with the travel agent as he'd extolled the virtues of the hotel a couple of days before. She'd have booked into a shack if it meant she could fly to Tromso, but all the same she appreciated the fact that he'd found her somewhere central and comfortable. Much as she hoped that Lucien would welcome her arrival here in Norway, it had felt necessary to ensure she had somewhere concrete to travel to.

  Up to that point she'd given little consideration to the fact that she was travelling overseas alone for the first time in her life, and she allowed herself a small glow of satisfaction at the fact that she'd arrived safely without any hitches. It had been undeniably strange being alone on the aeroplane surrounded by families heading to Norway to spend Christmas in the snow. She'd closed her eyes and thought only of Lucien, every passing minute bringing her closer to him. She still hadn't contacted him. Her fingers had itched to call him as soon as she'd spoken with Kate at Knight Inc., but she'd held off. If he was going to reject her, he'd have to do it face to face here in Norway.

  And if he did, then she would accept it.

  She hadn't come here to beg for his love. She'd come to be with him because he was going through something that no man should go through alone.

  All the rest could wait until later.

  She settled back on the bed and glanced at her watch. She could rest for an hour or so and then she had a bus to catch.

  Lucien shed his winter gear as he entered the lodge later that day, feeling for his father’s unopened letter as he hung up his coat. It lay heavy and hot in his palm as he made his way through the quiet rooms towards the master suite. He was beyond relieved to be home, to close the door on the craziness of the world for a while. He tossed the letter onto his bedside table. There would be time for that later. Or maybe never.

  A glance inside confirmed that the saunarium had been prepared as he'd requested. "Thank you," he murmured into the silence, shucking off the rest of his clothes and opening the door. The welcoming heat hit him as he dropped down onto the planked bench, and he laid his head back and huffed the air out of his chest.

  Even for him, the load felt heavy today. He was fortunate that his business was staffed by good people who could manage things without him for a little while, but he was accustomed to his working life being his be all and end all. He'd lived and breathed his career for as long as he could remember, yet over the last few months he knew he'd taken his eye off the ball. He'd had no choice, because his eyes had been on Sophie Black.

  A small smile touched his lips as he lay back and let himself remember the last time they'd used the saunarium together. He'd never forget the way Sophie had looked when he'd opened the door. Relaxed. Naked. Touching herself, her legs parted and her eyes closed. His hand moved instinctively to his cock, already hard at the thought of Sophie, despite his exhaustion. He flung his other arm across his eyes as he stroked himself, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his head full of images of the only woman who could make him forget about the unopened letter on his bedside table, and the dying man in the city hospital.

  In the shower a little while later he reached behind his expensive toiletries for the bottle of apple shampoo Sophie had left behind on her last visit. He flipped the lid and inhaled the fresh scent, his eyes screwed shut as the all too familiar smell filled the shower enclosure. Sophie. Jesus, he missed her, and he hated himself for not being able to stop the almost physical pain that came with thinking about her. He scrubbed his hair unnecessarily roughly and cut his shower short to crawl straight into bed, even though it was barely six in the evening.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sophie pulled on her mittens as she sat in the back of yet another warm taxi, sickly nervous now that she was on the last leg of her journey. She couldn't quite believe that she had successfully negotiated Tromso's public transport system and then managed to find a taxi to bring her out to the lodge, but she had, and the driver had just let her know that their destination lay just up ahead. What if he wasn't there? She swallowed hard and put the thought out of her head. He would be there. He had to be.

  Presently the familiar long, low outline of Lucien's home swung into view, welcoming lights aglow at the windows confirming that it was indeed inhabited. Sophie didn't know whether she felt relieved or even more nervous, but she was here at last.

  Out of the warm confines of the car it was incredibly cold and incredibly beautiful, a still, crystalline winter wonderland. The skies overhead held no trace of the aurora tonight, there was only inky velvet studded with diamonds. She raised her hand to tap on the door, but it started to open before her hand even made contact with the wood.

  Sophie's heart stopped beating, and then thudded again hard at the sight of Lucien's efficient, smiling housekeeper. Her taxi melted away into the darkness as soon as the driver could see that she was safe, leaving her with no other option but to walk straight into the warmth of Lucien's lodge, through the door held unquestioningly open for her. Well, that was a good start.

  "Sophie, come in. Lucien didn't warn me to expect you."

  Her English was perfect, as always, lightly and warmly accented. Sophie smiled at the older woman, glad to be remembered and racking her brain to recall her name.

  "He doesn't know I'm coming. It's sort of a surprise," she said, pulling off her mittens. Surprise didn't feel like the right word given the circumstances; it made her sound as if she were leaping out of a giant cake.

  "Is he here?" The million-dollar question left her lips as she unwound her scarf and shrugged out of her coat. She hoped she didn't betray in her voice how mu
ch rested on the answer to that question.

  Lucien's housekeeper nodded, and gestured to Sophie to take her boots off too.

  "He's sleeping."

  The unexpected answer made Sophie frown anxiously.

  "Has his father...?" She trailed off, not able to articulate the question.

  The housekeeper shook her head and laid a hand on Sophie's forearm.

  "Not yet, but I don't think it will be long." Her gentle eyes were full of concern. "I'm very glad you're here Sophie. Lucien needs you."

  "You really think so?" Sophie asked quietly, surprised by the older woman's words.

  The housekeeper smiled and shook her head, as if there was so much she could say but chose not to. "Go on through. You know the way."

  At the bedroom door, Sophie paused. It had only been a couple of days since she'd stood similarly braced outside Lucien's office, and she'd been running on adrenaline ever since. From the highs of anticipation to the crushing low of finding him absent, from the tense journey across Europe to find him, to here and now, breathless and anxious outside a different door. Sophie raised her hand to knock and then faltered. Was Lucien's housekeeper right? Did he need her? Or would her presence just make a difficult situation worse?

  Stop it. You're here now. Just knock on the damn door.

  Pep talk over, Sophie tapped gently against the pale wood. She listened closely, and when she heard no movement in the room beyond, she turned the handle and pushed it cautiously open.

  He was here. Sophie sagged against the doorframe with relief, gladdened beyond words just to lay eyes on him. Her hand settled over her throat as she drank him in, feasting her hungry eyes on every feature of his face, on the contours of his chest revealed by the pushed down quilt in the warm room. He lay on his back, one arm splayed off the bed, and the soft glow from the bedside lamp bathed his skin amber. Sophie could have stood and looked at him for a lifetime.