Frozen Enchantment

by Jessica Steele

  'Lovely,' she told him, wide-eyed and innocent.

  'Then you shall have mine too,' he offered gallantly, and suddenly they were both grinning. As cakes went, Jolene thought, she had tasted better.

  After coffee, they left the dining-room and began to walk back up the stairs. Jolene was remembering how Cheyne had decreed that tomorrow be a rest day, and she had her thoughts on how she would take full advantage of that to do more than just look out from her balcony when she realised that he had never answered her question, 'Will we be staying in Listvyanka for very long?'

  'What happens the day after tomorrow?' she suddenly asked him out of the blue, then felt bound to qualify, 'I seem to have only the barest outline of the itinerary you spoke of. I know we're going to Leningrad at some time, but...'

  'I'm sorry,' he apologised handsomely. 'Gillian, as you can imagine, as well as keeping her eye on a few things for me in my absence, had a hundred and one other things on her mind before we left. You'll have to forgive her if she's overlooked a few other matters here and there, she...'

  'I'm not carping or complaining,' Jolene assured him quickly. That Gillian had forgotten the small item of letting her have a copy of their itinerary was as nothing compared to the work the woman—sickly into the bargain—must have done in getting them flights and hotels and visas.

  'I didn't think you were,' Cheyne assured her, and went on to fill in some of the blanks. 'The day after tomorrow we'll return to Irkutsk to see if Edwards and Shaw are having any problems I should know about. From there, you and I will make for Novosibirsk, where...'

  That they were going to some place called Novosibirsk registered with Jolene, but what registered more particularly was what he had said before that. 'You and I?' she cut in to query. 'Aren't Keith and Alec coming with us?'

  'At one time they were,' he replied. 'I've since then decided that their time will be more profitably spent if they extend their stay in Irkutsk. We're now re-scheduled to meet up with them in Moscow.'

  'What about Leningrad?' she enquired. 'Do we all fly from Moscow there, and from there home?'

  'You're in a hurry to get home for some, reason?' he questioned sharply.

  'Not at all!' Jolene answered crisply, wondering where his good humour had so abruptly disappeared to. 'I merely put the question,' she added stiffly, 'because you know where we're going, and I don't.'

  'Of course,' he replied, and had such an assumed air of apology about him that Jolene nearly burst out laughing again, her equilibrium restored when he went on to enlighten her, 'Edwards and Shaw have no business in Leningrad, so you and I will go there first, then fly to Moscow, and from there the four of us will return to England.'

  'But, before any of that, you have business in Novosibirsk,' she checked back, the stiffness gone from her voice as he escorted her to the door of her suite.

  'Correct,' he confirmed.

  'Will we be touring another factory there?' she asked, trying hard to look as though the idea filled her with enthusiasm.

  But Cheyne was already shaking his head, and there was a definite gleam of good humour in his eyes, she thought, when he told her, 'You'll be relieved to know that we'll be in Novosibirsk attending a two-day conference;' and tacked on drolly, 'If you're very good, I'll let you take notes.'

  Knowing full well that there would be blood on the moon—hers—if she did not take notes—the whole purpose of his taking her to Novosibirsk with him— Jolene turned, trying to hide her smile. She inserted her key in her door lock, and owned that she had never felt more light-hearted.

  She was unsure, though, as she turned back to him, whether he intended to come into the 'office' for anything. But, since she had an apology outstanding to be made, she thought that right then was as good a time as any.

  'I owe you an apology,' she told him prettily, as she looked up into his dark grey eyes. 'I was very much out of order to even think what I did about your—er—relationship with Gillian Frampton outside the office, let alone say it.' Her eyes were large and luminous as, sincerely, she told him, 'I'm sorry.'

  Cheyne kept his eyes on hers, and the serious way he looked at her did the most peculiar things to her insides. Yet, although they now seemed to be sailing through calmer waters, he still had the most uncanny knack of making her usually serene self volatile, when he murmured, 'With charm like that, it's no wonder that you're always in trouble!'

  'Are you being funny?' she bridled in a second, knowing at once that he was either referring to her trouble with Tony Welsh, or Viktor Sekirkin, or for that matter, any married man who came near her.

  But, as instantly as he could make her temper soar, so it seemed that he could as instantly make her feel light-hearted again. 'Pax!' he grinned suddenly, and his eyes had gone to her mouth when, because she simply could not help it, she just had to break into a grin herself. Cheyne took a step back, and settled the issue of whether or not he intended to do some work that night when he bade her quietly, 'Goodnight, Jolene.'

  'Goodnight—Cheyne,' she replied, and she entered her room with a dreamy smile on her face, and with the knowledge in her heart that he had charm too—when he cared to use it.

  That night Jolene had the best night's sleep she had had since she had been in the Soviet Union. She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and happy. And as she gazed out of her window she could barely wait to get bathed and dressed, because today she was not going to merely look and yearn to be out there, she was actually going to go and use her rest day in having a look outside.

  Quickly she completed her ablutions and then, because common sense decreed that though she might be thermally clad, to eat a good breakfast might keep her insides warm, in what had to be a good deal colder than twenty below out there, she went to eat.

  She went down to the ground floor in the lift, and because it seemed that -that was as far as that particular lift went, she stepped from the lift and was walking across the hotel lobby when, from nowhere, it seemed, Cheyne Templeton appeared.

  'Good morning.' His greeting was friendly and the charm she had attributed to him last night was still there.

  'Good morning,' she replied lightly, and her inner happiness moved on to a higher plane when his hand came to her elbow and clearly making for the restaurant too, he guided her to the basement staircase.

  'I should eat plenty,' he instructed, as he handed her a plate of cheese slices. 'It's bitter out there.'

  'You've been out?' Jolene enquired, as she accepted the cheese and passed him the plate of tasty dark brown bread.

  'Only to test the temperature,' he replied. 'I thought of taking a walk after breakfast.' He paused to accept a slice of bread from the plate and then, looking across at her, 'Care to come?' he invited.

  'Yes, please,' she replied without hesitation, and they both got busy with bread, butter and cheese, and with bits of 'shop' and bits of 'weather' thrown in, they went on to eat delicious frankfurter sausage, filling the last remaining corner with some bread and jam.

  Once they had drunk their coffee, it was by mutual consent that they left the restaurant to return to the floor on which they had their rooms. Ten minutes later Jolene, trousered and sheepskin-clad, was meeting Cheyne again. She was too taken with how terrific her employer looked dressed for the outdoors to be aware of the very attractive picture she herself made with the white collar of her jacket complementing her skin, while the classic style of her sheepskin hat gave her a certain chic.

  'Are you sure you've enough layers on?' Cheyne queried before they set off.

  'Quite sure,' Jolene told him, itching to be off.

  The hotel lay high in the hills, and fresh snow fallen during the night was all around as she and Cheyne left the hotel and followed a downward path. Trees abounded everywhere, and in the clean crisp air it was like nowhere she had ever been.

  'No need to ask if you're enjoying this,' Cheyne smiled to her at one point as they progressed on their walk. Jolene realised then that her face must have been fairly expressi
ve, but, with that feeling of happiness that had awakened with her still there, she could do nothing to hide the fact that she was enjoying every moment of this, her rest day.

  Whether it was that she was so happy, or so interested in all that there was to see, or if something else was responsible, Jolene could not have said, but that morning simply flew by.

  In the late morning they looked round a harbour filled with huge tankers and merchant ships which were packed in by solid ice. Nothing was moving, she saw, and minute upon swiftly flying minute went by as Cheyne helped her on to the ice, and they went to take a close look at the giant ships in their iced-in harbour.

  A short way from the ships Jolene spotted a kiosk selling postcards and a few other oddments. 'Won't be a moment,' she told Cheyne, and because she wanted a memento of this visit she went and bought a picture postcard and also a plastic comb.

  'Ready to make our way back?' asked Cheyne when she walked back to him with her purchases. And then, when although she was aware that by then it must be nearly lunchtime she would willingly have missed her lunch, he made her day by adding, 'Since today's a holiday, we could go for another walk this afternoon.'

  'Seems like a sound scheme,' she murmured, and with her heart singing she had no space or wish to query— would she be enjoying this day so much, if she were there with someone other than Cheyne?

  Lunch was a filling meal that began with raw fish, hard-boiled eggs and potato salad, followed by soup, then a mouth-watering veal, cheese and onion concoction which was served with an 'entertaining' version of chips, and beetroot.

  By unspoken mutual consent, they took a short break after lunch, but just when Jolene was starting to get anxious that if they did not start out on their walk soon the light would be fading before they got very far, Cheyne came and knocked at the door of her suite. Having forgotten to take her camera with her that morning, she paused only to grab hold of it, then went to the door.

  Again they took the road that led downwards. And again time sped by as, in between absorbing everything that there was to be seen, they discussed books, music and paintings, and talked in general on any subject that came up.

  Then they came across a whole village of little wooden bungalows nestling at the foot of huge forest-covered hills, and suddenly Jolene was awestruck. Gazing in enchantment, she saw where each self-contained dwelling was individually fenced off and had its own garden, which at that time of the year was covered under a blanket of snow. Some gardens had tall trees growing in them, she observed, and while almost every house had a television aerial and there were telegraph poles and telephone wires to be seen, the whole area seemed not of this world, but magical and from another time.

  So much so that even though Jolene knew that she was in Siberia, and knew that Lake Baikal must be but within stone-throwing distance, as too must be Listvyanka, she just had to ask, a hushed note in her voice, 'Where is this place?'

  'I think it's called the village of St Nicholas,' Cheyne answered, and as he looked down into her enraptured face, 'If my attempt at Russian conversation didn't go badly awry just after lunch, I believe we'll find the church of St Nicholas at the top of this street. Would you like to try it?'

  'Please,' Jolene said simply, and had plenty to occupy her both mentally and physically as she and Cheyne began to walk over what appeared to be a pavementless street.

  Realising that while she was up in her suite after lunch he must have been occupied in making enquiries regarding the locality, Jolene was also realising just why he had phrased his suggestion in the terms he had. For as they walked on through what she had thought was the main street of the village, she soon began to have second thoughts about that. Because as the street began to widen out, it became her firm view that they must be walking over what must be a Russian version of the village pond.

  'It's sheer ice underneath this snow!' she exclaimed when, but for Cheyne taking a quick hold of her arm when her feet started to go from under her, she felt sure she would have executed a very inelegant pas de basque with a splits finish.

  'I know,'-he murmured, and there was laughter in his eyes as, keeping a firm hold on her arm, he steered her over the ice for quite some distance, until they reached the picket fencing that surrounded the church and its grounds.

  'I must take a picture!' Jolene exclaimed, taking her camera from around her neck, and, careless that Cheyne might think her 'touristy', she focused on the small natural wood church with its snowy top and green spire. When she pressed the shutter button, though, nothing happened, and when another two times she pressed it and still nothing happened, 'It worked perfectly all right the last time I used it,' she told Cheyne.

  'That's because you weren't in Siberia and it wasn't the month of March,' he replied, and when she looked at him as though to ask what that had got to do with the price of haddock, 'Quite obviously your camera's frozen up,' he told her.

  'Obviously,' Jolene replied, when the only thing that clicked was that she should have thought of that possibility for herself. But, seeing that there was an amused look in his eyes, she added, 'How did you get to be so clever?'

  'Some have brilliance thrust upon them,' he murmured, trying to look modest, and failing—blatantly. Jolene grinned.

  Her inner happiness was overflowing when he helped her negotiate a most treacherous-looking icy spot by the church gate. No sooner were they through the gate, however, than they saw a well wrapped up woman coming from an adjacent house to enquire if they wished to see inside of the church.

  'May we?' Jolene asked Cheyne.

  'I think we've just time,, if we're to get back to the hotel while the light holds,' he replied, and as he addressed the woman, who Jolene thought must be the caretaker, the little church of St Nicholas was being opened up for them.

  Before they went inside, though, Cheyne took hold of a brush made from twigs, about two feet long, which stood in the entrance. First he brushed the snow from Jolene's boots, then he attended to his own, then they went inside the tiny church, that had no pews except for a couple of benches along the back wall, which Jolene guessed must be for the aged and the infirm.

  Jolene felt good inside, calm, and still very happy as she thanked the woman for opening up and Cheyne offered a donation, then they left the church.

  Outside she looked down the way they had come and the way they must return, and again the magic of the place crept over her.

  Cheyne's hand was once more beneath her elbow as they negotiated the treacherous ice by the gate, and walked on to negotiate the rest of the way which, for all it seemed less treacherous, was nevertheless still ice.

  Suddenly, though, when they were about half-way down the street-cum-frozen pond, Jolene felt as though she had to say something—anything. Quite what was the matter with her she had no clue, but when a companionable sort of silence had fallen between them, all at once she found herself breaking out into panicky speech.

  'I wonder...' Her voice faded, but, getting herself more together, having broken the silence, she had to find something to say that might appear sensible. 'Did you explore this way yesterday afternoon?' she pulled out of thin air, some part of her subconscious recognising that Cheyne was too active a man to sit doing nothing in his hotel room if he was not working.

  'Yesterday afternoon, like you, I worked,' he told her as they skirted another patch of waiting-for-victims ice.

  'You worked!' she exclaimed in some surprise. To date it had been her lot to get the backlash of any work which Cheyne did outside of a meeting, but she had seen nothing of yesterday's efforts.

  'I thought I'd better formulate a few ideas on to paper if I'm not to drone my audience to sleep.' Ever a man to astonish, he did it again.

  'What audience?' Jolene questioned, stopping dead in her tracks.

  With his steadying hand still on her arm, Cheyne came to a halt too. 'Didn't I say?' he queried, and when he could see from her expression that he had not, 'I'm one of the speakers at the conference in Novosibirsk,' he sa
id casually.

  He might well have moved on then, but Jolene was standing as though rooted. This man was so full of surprises. There was so much that she did not know about him. And suddenly, as she looked at him, she knew that she wanted to know more about him—much, much more, because, suddenly, she knew exactly why she had felt so happy all day. Suddenly, too, she knew that that knowledge trying to break through was the reason for her panic a short while ago.

  Feeling stunned, and winded, she stared at him from saucer-round serious green eyes. And then, as Cheyne looked seriously back at her, he smiled a gentle smile as though to say he was enjoying her company. Then all at once they had moved a step nearer to each other, and who reached for whom she had no idea, but she was suddenly in his arms, and his wonderful mouth was over hers in a warm and gentle kiss.

  Then, when her heart was full to bursting, he was breaking that kiss, taking a step back from her. And while Jolene was floundering in an emotion of which she had no prior experience, she unconsciously made a shaky involuntary movement. Then he was bringing her back to earth by calmly reminding her that they were in a village in Siberia, and that they were standing on snow-covered ice.

  'Steady, Jolene,' he murmured, as with his hand again on her elbow, he turned her in the direction they should go, 'we can't have you falling.'

  Automatically, Jolene moved one foot after the other, but his warning had come too late. She had already fallen—in love with him!

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOLENE sat in the bedroom of her hotel suite early that evening, and no longer wondered why it was that Cheyne Templeton could cause her to react so against the nature of the person she had thought herself to be. She was in love with him—and, she had realised, it must have been coming on ever since they had met. He had stirred emotion in her from the very first, at any rate.

  Wishing she had a more extensive wardrobe with her, she selected the red two-piece as the best she had brought to do duty at dinner that evening. Because by then the time was going on, she had a hurried bath and, having quickly dried and dressed, she bemoaned the fact that her thick blonde hair, which had looked perfectly all right before she had known herself in love, looked anything but all right now.