by Helen Brooks
But what a girlfriend! The thought was painful. And it wasn't exactly that he had a girlfriend that was bothering her, but the way he had looked at
Elda. She hadn't seen that gentle, soft look on his face before and it had hurt her. Why, she didn't know.
Their working routine had settled down into a pattern that, despite the odd panic here and there, was relatively straightforward, although she certainly couldn't have called Wolf Strade an easy man to work for. He was blunt to the point of rudeness on occasion but, she had to admit, the social standing of the recipient didn't affect his brusqueness at all. He was simply a man who suffered fools badly, be they kings or paupers.
The buzzer on her desk interrupted her train of _thought.
"Lydia? Could you arrange some coffee, please?" Wolf asked pleasantly.
"Certainly."
She normally phoned down such requests but today she took the lift to the canteen herself. Somehow she didn't want to be in the office and, as she carried the tray in to Wolf ten minutes later, she knew why.
There was something too cosy in his acceptance of Elda's easy intrusion.
"Cut along now, Lydia, and I hope all goes well with the kitten." As Wolf gave one of his rare smiles Lydia saw Elda's blue eyes narrow in sudden sharp scrutiny.
"I'll just finish the last page of that report first." She smiled with what she hoped was cool composure, nodded to Elda, who had now seated herself in the large easy chair opposite Wolf's desk, and walked quietly from the room, more shaken than she cared to admit. It was nothing to her who he saw in his private life, she told herself fiercely as she finished the report to the sound of occasional laughter from the connecting room, nothing at all.
Did he make long, passionate love to Elda? She didn't know where the thought came from, but it was enough to jerk her out of her seat as though she had been pricked with a pin. Of course he would, she answered herself irritably as she slipped into her jacket, her eyes stormy and her mouth unconsciously tight. A man like him didn't get to thirty-eight and remain single without perfecting his technique.
And it would be some technique! She shut her eyes briefly and men resolutely turned her mind away from the dangerous path it was following. She was as bad as her predecessors. What had he called them? Oh, yes, empty-headed little bimbos. The chauvinistic phrase still had the power to make her mad.
And _that was the sort of man he was; she'd better remember it. He'd made it perfectly clear over the last few weeks that he viewed her in the same way as the office furniture, and it suited her just fine, just fine. Involvement with him, with any man, just wasn't on the cards.
"That's some frown."
"What?" She hadn't heard him come into the room, but now she saw the connecting door was closed as he stood just in front of it, his eyes quizzical and his mouth straight.
"Is something wrong?" He leant against the doorjamb as he spoke, crossing his arms as he viewed her through narrowed eyes.
"You seem... disturbed."
"Disturbed?" She was acutely aware of Elda in the next room and the sudden desire to hit him hard was as shocking as it was irrational.
"Lydia..." He paused as though he found it difficult to continue, but his voice was quite expressionless when he spoke.
"Is everything all right at home? I mean, are there any domestic difficulties that are worrying you, any problems?"
"Of course there aren't." Her relief at his misinterpretation of her agitation was overwhelming.
"Everything's fine." She dropped her eyes for a moment, her face flushing.
"Yes, it would be." He stared at her for a long moment with expressionless eyes.
"He wouldn't be such a fool--' He stopped abruptly and moved to her desk, picking up the report she had finished.
"Goodnight, Lydia." His voice was cold and abrupt and she stared at him for a moment, nonplussed by his coolness.
What had she done now? He turned and re-entered his office without looking at her again, a small muscle jumping in his jaw that convinced her she was right. She had _done something to annoy him, but what? Suddenly she had the crazy impulse to fling open his door, march up to his desk and demand an explanation, but then a soft husky giggle from the inner room swamped her with cold reason. What was she thinking of, for goodness' sake?
He hadn't said or done anything wrong, in fact he had shown concern, albeit frostily, that something was bothering her. And there was. She frowned helplessly at the shut door. But she couldn't put a name to it. All she knew was that from that moment in the lift she just couldn't view him in quite the same light. The incident had revealed a wildly passionate, sensual side to him that didn't fit in with the cold, intimidatingly intelligent individual of office hours and she wanted-- She cut her thoughts abruptly.
She didn't know what she wanted! Yes, she did--the safe, comfortable, ordinary existence she had always known without disturbing nighttime dreams that made her feel shamefully wanton if she recalled even a part of them.
She rubbed her hand across her hot face and took a deep breath as she buttoned her jacket and checked the word processor was switched off.
She should never have worked for him in the first place, never have got embroiled in the lie that had seemed to stretch and grow in the last few weeks. Wolf never referred directly to her private life but there had been one or two instances when a negative reaction, a reiteration of her husband's place in her life, more by what she had not said than what she had, had proved itself necessary.
Hannah was thrilled with the kitten, a tiny scrap of fur and eyes that she immediately named Tiger because of its markings, and Lydia let her stay up later than usual after tea, watching them both through the open kitchen _door as she made up a little basket for the animal and arranged a Utter-tray in an alcove near the back door. She had just ventured up the somewhat rickety stepladder to reach a small dish on top of one of the kitchen cupboards that was just right for such a tiny scrap when the phone rang, making her jump.
Whether she leant over too far or the step-ladder slipped she was never quite sure, but the next moment she was clutching frantically at thin air as she fell, landing with a bone-jarring thud on the kitchen floor as the step-ladder caught her a stunning blow across the head as it collapsed at her side.
"Mummy! Mummy!" Hannah's voice was shrill with panic as she ran into the kitchen, the kitten disappearing under a chair, its back arched in fright.
"It's all right, Hannah." She wanted to be sick, desperately, but she fought it along with the rising tide of blackness that was threatening to take her over. She couldn't pass out, not when- Hannah was alone like this. "Answer the phone quickly, darling," she mumbled through numb lips, 'it's. probably
Grandma. Tell her I've fallen down and need some help. "
"Oh, Mummy..." As large tears welled up in Hannah's big brown eyes, Lydia used all her strength to speak again.
"Answer the phone, Hannah, quickly." It was their lifeline. Wow, darling.
“And then the rushing in her ears became like an express train and darkness closed in, shutting out Hannah's sobs and her own frantic desperation.
She could only have lost consciousness for a few minutes, and as she struggled back out of the roaring blackness her first thought was for Hannah.
She must have spoken her daughter's name because a little voice answered immediately by her side.
"Yes, Mummy?"
_"Don't worry, darling." As her eyes focused on the small face she lay for a few seconds, willing the faintness away, and then moved gingerly, pulling herself into a sitting position with her back against the line of cupboards.
"I'm all right, Hannah, I promise."
Hannah nodded tearfully but looked far from convinced, and as Lydia opened her arms dived into them like a tiny, frightened rabbit.
"Did you answer the phone?" Lydia asked weakly, relaxing again as the little head nodded an affirmative. Thank goodness. Help was on the way.
As she sat with Hannah in her arms she tes
ted each part of her body slowly and was relieved to find nothing seemed to be broken, although everything was hurting. How could she have been so stupid? She shut her eyes helplessly.
She was usually so careful, so cautious.
After a few minutes Tiger's striped head peered warily round the kitchen door, only to disappear abruptly again as the front doorbell rang stridently.
"That will be Grandma." Why hadn't her mother used her key? she thought wearily as she struggled painfully to her feet, Hannah trotting along by her side like a scared puppy.
She could feel each step in her head as she walked slowly to the door, and the short journey took all her concentration. She hadn't been aware her head had bled, but just as she reached the door she saw her white blouse was smudged with red, and as she raised her hand to her brow it came away sticky.
Great, just great. If her mother hadn't panicked already she would throw a blue fit at the sight of blood. But it wasn't her mother who faced her as she opened the door: "What the hell...?"
The shock of seeing Wolf on her doorstep was almost too much, and as she swayed he caught her arm firmly before bending slightly and whisking her up into his _arms. It was only a step through the minute hall into the small but cosy lounge, and the open door at the far end which led into the kitchen was wide open, the stepladder bearing evidence of the accident.
"I'm all right, really...” she murmured faintly as he deposited her with startling gentleness into the depths of the sofa.
The expression on his face told her how stupid her words had sounded in the circumstances, and he knelt down at her side before turning to speak to
Hannah who was standing just behind them, her eyes wide and her face tear-smudged.
"Are you OK, sweet-pea?" She had never heard him speak in that tender tone of voice before and it did something to her heart that was almost painful.
As Hannah nodded uncertainly he reached out an arm and drew the small child close, hugging her reassuringly before speaking again.
"Your mummy is going to be fine.
She's just bumped her head a little, like you bump your knees if you fall over. Understand? “The small nod carried more assurance this time.
"That is all you've-done?" He turned back to Lydia suddenly.
"No broken bones, no sprains?"
"I don't think so." She tried to smile but the effort was too much.
"I've just got this awful headache."
"How awful?" he asked grimly as his gaze took in her cloudy eyes and trembling mouth.
"Did you pass out?"
She nodded, but the action caused such excruciating pain that she gasped out loud, the whiteness of her face standing out in stark contrast to the blood on her forehead.
"Where's your husband? Matthew, isn't it?"
As Hannah opened her mouth Lydia jumped in first, her voice high with strain.
"Hannah, go and get ready for bed, darling. Just pop into your nightie, we'll have a wash in the morning." The kitten made a cautious reappearance as she spoke, its bright green eyes enormous in the delicate face.
"I'll bring Tiger in to stay goodnight when you're in bed."
That did the trick, and as Hannah's feet disappeared up the stairs Wolf stood up slowly, his eyes concerned as he quietly glanced round the room.
"What's going on, Lydia?" She stared up at him, quite unable to speak.
"He's not living here, is he?" It was a statement rather than a question, and with the sick pounding in her head a lowering of her eyes was all she could manage. She ought to explain, she told herself weakly, now was the perfect opportunity and he wouldn't be too mad, would he? Not with her like this? But somehow, as he stood in front of her, his face uncharacteristically gentle and his eyes warm, she couldn't bring herself to speak, to see his expression change from one of tender concern to hard condemnation of her deceit.
"I thought something was wrong for the last week or two," he said almost to himself.
"I should have guessed, especially with the kitten. That was to take
Hannah's mind off it?" She stared at him, frozen in mind and body as she realised he thought Matthew had just recently left her.
She couldn't let this continue, it was too awful, but as she opened her mouth to explain he knelt at her side again, his face rueful.
"Hell, there couldn't be a worse time for twenty questions, could there?
Just relax, Lydia, I'm going to phone a doctor to check out that bump on your head--' “No! “She caught hold of his arm.
"I'm OK, really, I don't want any fuss. Please, Wolf--' “Lydia, you are going to see a doctor. “His eyes lingered on the gash on her forehead again.
"It's just a surface wound, but you may have concussion--' " My mother will be here shortly and she'll stay the night. “She was gabbling, but she had to get him out of here before her mother arrived or Hannah came back and said something that would betray her.
"She knows?" he asked quietly, indicating her head. "She phoned just as it happened. Hannah told her."
"I think that was me." He stared at her with brooding eyes.
"I was ringing to ask if you could come in a few minutes early to do a short prefix on that report. When Hannah answered the phone and said you'd fallen and needed help, I came straight here. Fortunately I hadn't left the office, so I was on the doorstep, so to speak." He leant forward and stroked a strand of hair off her face as he spoke, his flesh warm and firm. She felt the contact in every nerve of her body.
"You were very quick," she managed faintly. "Tell me about it." He smiled a crooked smile that would have made her weak at the knees if she wasn't already.
"Fortunately I didn't -meet a police car on the way."
Was this the icy, distant individual she knew? she asked herself unbelievingly. The aloof, cold tycoon who had everyone jumping through hoops at the office, including her?
"Now, first things first." He eyed her consideringly as he stood up, shrugging his big black overcoat off his shoulders and slinging it on a nearby chair as he strode into her small, gleaming kitchen and lifted the stepladder off the floor.
"I'm going to clean you up a bit and then ring my own doctor--' As she made an exclamation of protest he raised an authoritative hand.
"He's an old friend too and won't mind taking a look at you as a personal favour. Then, if we need to contact your mother, we will, otherwise..." He glanced across at her as he filled a basin with warm water as though he administered first aid to con cussed secretaries every day.
_"You can ring her in the morning," he finished quietly. "I guess she has been pretty upset by.. what's happened, too?" The brief pause made her blush scarlet. She had to say something, she had to, even if he was furious-- "Mummeee." Hannah's voice was a plaintive wail, and as Lydia made to rise Wolf gestured her back on the sofa sharply.
"Lie there and don't move," he said firmly. "Where's the damn cat?" As he whisked Tiger up in the palm of one hand Lydia struggled into a sitting position despite his ferocious glare.
"I need to say goodnight to her, reassure her." She gulped deep in her throat as the room waved and spun. "Please, Wolf, she'll be awake all night--' " I'll carry you and the moggy, then. “He plonked Tiger in her arms and, as before, picked her up as though she weighed no more than a feather. It was a bit of a struggle up the narrow stairs, but she was oblivious to his careful maneuvering . She could feel his heart beating steadily through his shirt, his jacket having been discarded along with his coat, could feel his arms strong and hard as they cradled her to him, see his dark face inches from her own and the smell of him... It was all around her, making her dizzy with an intoxicating delight that was more dangerous than any concussion.
I don't believe this is happening, she thought helplessly as he carried her into Hannah's small bedroom, depositing her and the kitten on the side of the bed, and waiting in silence while she cuddled her daughter and settled her down.
"Mummy needs a rest now, sweet-pea." She rose as he spoke; she didn't thin
k she could stand a repeat journey in his arms, but he frowned at her grimly before indicating Tiger.
"Hold that." She did as she was told, and the next moment was being carried from the bedroom despite murmured protests.
"Shut up, Lydia." He felt, rather than saw, his way downstairs and once in the lounge proceeded to bathe her head, very gently, before phoning the doctor. That accomplished, he disappeared into the kitchen again and reemerged with two cups of strong sweet tea.
She was mesmerised by the unusual and dangerously sweet feeling of being looked after for once, and petrified that he would begin to ask questions about Matthew now they were alone. He didn't. He talked softly and inconsequentially about a hundred and one things until the doctor arrived.