Fire Beneath the Ice

by Helen Brooks

  Wolf let him into the lounge and watched silently while his friend examined her head and established the facts.

  "Nothing to worry about, but I'd like you to take it easy for the next day or two." The good-looking, warm- eyed man smiled down at her gently.

  "You're going to feel a trifle sore in the morning, with a head that will be worse than any hang-over you've ever had."

  "I've never had one," she replied honestly.

  "Is that so?" The professional smile faltered just a little and then recovered magnificently.

  "I wish I could say the same. I'd rather there was someone around for the next twenty-four hours to keep an eye on you. Is there someone?"

  "I'll sort it, Andrew," Wolf had cut in before she could open her mouth.

  "She won't be alone."

  "Right." Andrew smiled at her again before leaving the room with Wolf, and she heard the two of them talking quietly in the tiny hall before the front door opened and closed.

  "I hope that sofa is comfortable." As he re-entered the room she saw he had pulled his tie loose again, and despised herself for the way the fact registered hot and warm in her lower stomach.

  "What?" She stared at him bewilderedly.

  "The sofa." He smiled slowly.

  "If I'm going to spend the night on it I'd prefer a bit of comfort."

  "You can't." The reply was instinctive, and as his face closed against her she desperately tried to take away the sharpness in her reaction.

  "Please, we have to phone my mother," she gabbled quickly.

  "She would never forgive me if I didn't let her know the situation.

  Wolf, believe me, and she's used to sleeping over the odd night. “He couldn't sleep here, he just couldn't; the idea was somehow totally immoral.

  "You don't think it would be kinder to let her have a good night's sleep and phone in the morning?" His voice was expressionless and cool, his eyes hooded.

  "No." She was quite unaware of how frightened her voice sounded.

  "If you could ring her and explain? I know she'd want to come over."

  "The number?" His voice was curt, but softened considerably as he talked with her mother for a few moments, his tone reassuring.

  "I'll stay until she arrives." She didn't want him to but didn't dare object, and as he walked over to the chair opposite her and seated himself comfortably in its depths, crossing one muscled leg over the other as he leant back and surveyed her through narrowed eyes, she felt her nerves jump painfully.

  "Is it true you've never had a hang-over?" he asked suddenly, his voice quiet. He could believe it, he thought tightly. That air of shy vulnerability, the almost tangible innocence-- He caught himself abruptly.

  But she wasn't, was she? There was living proof upstairs of the fact that she was a married woman who knew the facts of life, and that day in the lift.

  He felt the hardening in his loins that always accompanied the memory, despite his _efforts to erase it. She had melted for him. And Mike Wilson.

  Exactly how well did she know him? And was it merely coincidence that she had arrived in his office or? -- He stopped his thoughts grimly.

  Hell, this wouldn't do him any good, he'd better get out of here as soon as he could. "I don't drink." She looked tired and bruised and he didn't like the way it touched him.

  "I don't like the taste," she admitted quietly, her voice soft and shaky.

  "You don't?" He adjusted his position in the chair and noticed the way her body tensed. He made her nervous. Or was it that she was frightened of men in general? Had this husband of hers abused her? He was surprised at the murderous rage the thought provoked. He definitely needed to get out of here. "You'd better get to bed," he said abruptly as he rose and took the two empty cups into the kitchen.

  "Your mother will be here in a couple of minutes or so. I'll let her in and then disappear. Can you manage the stairs or shall I help you?" His voice was suddenly brusque and distant.

  "I'll be fine," she said quietly.

  "OK. Goodnight, Lydia." It was a clear dismissal.

  Now what? she thought, as hurt mingled with anger. Suddenly he was the ice-man again, infinitely cold. She rose slowly and walked hesitantly to the kitchen where he was rinsing the cups under the tap.

  "Thank you, Wolf."

  "For what?" He turned, his big body taut and his face cool, and she shrugged helplessly, finding words difficult.

  "For coming round, for helping."

  "Forget it." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

  "I'd do the same for anyone. Take a couple of days off and _I'll see you next week, OK?" He turned away, his body tense.

  She stared at him a moment longer and then nodded quietly before turning and leaving the room, but the big body didn't move until he heard her footsteps upstairs, and then he leant against the sink with his arms outstretched as he forced his body to relax. Dammit, he didn't need this. If there was one thing he didn't need it was this.

  It was some minutes later when Lydia heard the sound of her mother's key in the lock and then her voice talking with Wolf briefly, and again her stomach clenched with nerves.

  As she heard the front door quietly close and then the sound of his car starting in the street below Lydia twisted miserably in the big bed. Her head was pounding in spite of the pills the doctor had given her and her whole body felt as though a herd of cows had been trampling on it, but the weight of her conscience made the physical afflictions unimportant. She should have told him. She curled up into a small ball as her mind ground on.

  Somehow this thing seemed to have snowballed and it was all her fault. Hot tears pricked against the back of her eyes and she sniffed disconsolately.

  He had been so kind in spite of the fact that he had obviously wanted to be elsewhere.

  She remembered his stony face in the kitchen and sighed wretchedly.

  She'd ruined his evening. Had he been going to see Elda? The thought brought her abruptly upwards in the bed and a flash of hot pain speared her brain as her mother tapped carefully on the bedroom door.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "More embarrassed than anything at causing such a fuss," Lydia replied quietly.

  "Thanks for coming. Mum."

  _They talked for a few moments before her mother went downstairs to make herself a cup of cocoa, and then she was alone with her thoughts again, thoughts she just couldn't control. Thoughts that cent red around the feel of his body as he had carded her close to him, his strong muscled arms and broad chest. She closed her eyes tightly and prayed for control, but it was difficult with the smell of his aftershave still clinging to her hair where she had rested her head against his face. And he was probably with Elda now.

  At that thought the tears that had been held at bay by sheer will-power began to trickle from beneath her closed eyelids, soon to become a flood and then the flood a torrent. She should never have gone to work for him, it just wasn't working out. He had been so strange tonight: helping her, taking care of things, but overall that sense of cool aloofness, of cold reserve was what she remembered most, despite his gentleness. He had helped her because it had been the right thing to do in his eyes, that was all. She felt suddenly that he didn't even like her very much. And if she told him Matthew had been dead for three years? That she had deliberately misled him in order to secure the job as his secretary? She cringed mentally.

  He'd be absolutely livid and rightly so. Her mouth twisted in self-contempt.

  What was that ditty she'd learnt at Hannah's age?

  "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive." She hadn't known how true it was, she reflected miserably.

  She pictured his face, eyes blazing and mouth tight with rage, and knew she didn't have the courage to tell him the truth. It was her last coherent thought before sleep overcame her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'Lydia? “As she heard Wolfs deep voice on the other end of the phone she forced herself to take a steadying breath before she att
empted to reply.

  "Yes?" She didn't acknowledge that she recognised his voice; she couldn't, somehow.

  "It's Wolf." The tone was pleasant and cool, with just the right amount of polite concern that was fitting for an employer to an employee.

  "I trust you're feeling considerably better this morning? I expected your mother to answer the phone."

  "I'm fine, thank you." She didn't mention she had persuaded her mother to leave once breakfast was over. Wolf was the type of man to whom twenty-four hours meant twenty-four hours, and she had the feeling he wouldn't be too pleased at her flouting the doctor's advice, but years ago, just after

  Matthew's death, the two women had decided that if their close relationship was going to hold fast it was necessary that each understood, they had to lead totally independent lives while still being available for each other when the need arose. Today was her mother's bridge morning and there was no good reason why she should miss a little event she looked forward to all week.

  "It was good of you to help out last night," she added carefully. - "No problem." There was a brief pause.

  "I'll see you on Monday morning, then."

  "I could come in tomorrow if you like, there's no--' " Monday morning. “His voice was abrupt, and for an instant she pictured him at his desk, hard blue eyes narrowed and mouth straight. Her heart did a strange little somersault and she bit on her lower lip hard. The man seemed to get under her skin with no effort and it was most disconcerting, especially as she didn't affect him at all.

  "There is absolutely no point in you pushing yourself when it isn't necessary," he continued calmly.

  "It might mean you have to have more time off in the long run."

  "I suppose so," she agreed quietly.

  "It's just that there are one or two important items of correspondence I was going to do first thing.

  That addition to the report, for instance--' "It's already been dealt with."

  His tone was not unkind but it brought home to her how little he really needed her. Anyone would do.

  Any reasonably capable secretary. She felt her heart thud painfully.

  For goodness' sake pull yourself together and stop being so pathetic, Lydia, she told herself angrily.

  "Is there?" -- He stopped abruptly and then continued in an almost expressionless voice.

  "Is there anything you need over the weekend?

  Anything you'd like me to drop in? "

  If only he was offering because he cared in some way rather than through a sense of duty, she thought painfully. But he had made it perfectly clear the last few minutes he was in the house that she was at best an irritation, at worst a burden. She wouldn't ask him for a thing.

  "No, thank you." She tried to sound as impersonal and brisk as she could, considering the sound of his voice was sending her insides whirling.

  "Everything's under control."

  _"I'm sure it is." His voice was dry now and very distant.

  "You are a very independent lady, aren't you?"

  "Am I?" There was a note of surprise in her voice.

  "I suppose I am," she added quietly, unsure of how to react.

  "Very independent and very single-minded," the sardonic voice continued.

  "A formidable combination, if I may say so. Goodbye, Lydia."

  "Goodbye," she said quietly, unaware of the forlorn note in her soft voice.

  There was a split second of hesitation and then the phone was replaced at the other end, leaving her with a monotonous buzz to say the call had ended.

  The weekend dragged by on leaden feet, but then it seemed as though Monday morning had arrived too fast as she got ready for work, her stomach churning.

  She pulled a few strands of her hair forward, cutting it in a soft fringe to hide the cut on her forehead, and outwardly at least no sign of the accident was showing as she walked into the office later. Inwardly the whole incident, or more correctly Wolf’s part in it, had affected her far more than she cared to admit.

  Hannah had plagued her all weekend with requests to see 'the nice man' again, and in the finish she had had to be uncharacteristically sharp with her small daughter to get her to stop, which had then resulted in a massive guilt session.

  All in all, everything seems wrong, she thought silently as she hung her coat carefully in the corner of the room, but for no good reason.

  Or nothing she cared to explore, anyway.

  "Good morning." She hadn't heard the connecting door open, but now as she swung round it was to find Wolf framed in the doorway of his room, a polite smile stitched on an otherwise cold face.

  "Fully recovered?" he asked coolly.

  _"Yes, thank you," she nodded quickly, annoyed to find she had blushed scarlet and that her pulses had leapt so violently at the sight of him that her heart had run away like an express train.

  "Is there anything urgent you'd like me to attend to first?"

  "Plenty." He nodded drily towards her in-tray in which several tapes lay, before turning into his own office and shutting the door. She stared after him as a little curl of angry irritation snaked a path into her mind. So.

  That was how things stood: no softening of the rigid ice-cool image, nothing approaching even the mildest form of friendship. Fine, just fine. She wasn't here to make friends, after all, she was here to do a job. And she'd make sure he found no fault with her work.

  The thought carried her furiously through the day on such a burst of adrenalin that she accomplished an exorbitant amount of work before replacing the cover on her word processor just ^after five. Wolf had spoken, when necessary, in polite monosyllables which she had answered in like vein,-and it wasn't until she was waiting for the tube among a crowd of London commuters that she realised a tension headache was drumming away at the back of her eyes.

  "Is it worth it?" she murmured faintly to herself as she rubbed a tired hand across her eyes, opening them to find a portly, well-dressed businessman surveying her with distinct apprehension before edging away down the platform a little. Talking to herself out loud! This was all she needed. But perhaps tomorrow would be better.

  It wasn't, nor the next day, nor the next. For some reason the cool, careful formality with which Wolf had always treated her had turned into a cold abruptness that she was at a loss to understand. She hadn't meant to fall off the dam ladder! She found herself gnawing at the _thought in her lunch-hour on the Friday as she did some shopping, wandering round the large supermarket close to Wolf’s office-block without seeing the well-stocked shelves in front of her. Was he mad because she'd interfered with his precious work schedule? But she'd caught up that first day, or very nearly.

  And she would have come in before Monday if he hadn't vetoed it so firmly.

  He had to be the most impossible, awkward, intractable man. She returned to the office with an empty shopping- basket and a deep frown to find Wolfs door firmly shut and that unmistakable throaty giggle deep inside. Elda. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that went hand in hand with the name did an immediate nosedive. The elegant brunette had already rung twice this week.

  What on earth did she want, anyway? As if you didn't know, she told herself grimly as she started work again, tapping the silent computer keys with unnecessary vigour. As if you didn't know. "Lydia, I'm just popping out for a quick lunch-- Are you all right?"

  Wolf stopped dead in the middle of her office with Elda hanging on his arm, and she hastily tried to school her features into something approaching normality. But somehow, as they had left his room, she'd had the strangest feeling that someone had punched her hard in the stomach.

  "Of course." She smiled stiffly but it was the best she could do.

  "Have a good lunch."

  "Elda, I'll be down in a moment." As Wolf disentangled himself from Elda's grasp Lydia saw the beautiful brunette's fine, pencil-thin eyebrows raise themselves a fraction, the blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully before she walked out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind her.
/>   _"Something's happened, hasn't it? Is it Matthew?" Wolf moved to stand just in front of her and for a moment the desire to stand up and hit him hard across the face was so strong she could actually taste it.

  How dared he stand there and pretend he had any interest in her situation one way or the other? How dared he! One minute he had Elda hanging on his arm like a limpet and the next-- The flood of unreasonable, unjust rage was immediately swamped by cold hard reason. He was her boss, for goodness' sake. Of course he would care that she might be less than the perfectly efficient, one hundred percent operational machine he was used to. The thought didn't help.