That Tender Feeling (10 page)

‘M'm . . . satisfactory, thank you. Have you been all right?'

‘Of course.'

‘Thought I'd better get back. Snow is forecast.'

‘So I heard on the radio.'

‘The Gillybeck Arms is putting on a dinner dance tonight. I tentatively booked a table. If we're not there by eight-thirty, I left instructions for the staff to let it go. What do you say?'

What was this all about? Was there any significance in the fact that he was taking her on a date?

‘The chef is putting on a Christmas dinner. I thought it would save you the bother of cooking this evening, unless you're already mutilating something in the oven, that is? And at the same time, it will ensure that we get one decent festive meal.'

She could cheerfully have hit him. So much for the tender thought that he had returned to court her. As for the implication she'd got on following the thread of that terse conversation—that he had made sure he got back before it snowed because he didn't like to think of her alone here and possibly cut off—well, that was equally ludicrous. That didn't negate the fact that it would be good to put a slinky dress on and have a night of fun and frivolity, and she wasn't going to cut off her nose to spite her face by turning the offer down.

‘Sounds fine by me,' she said in acceptance, carefully keeping the enthusiasm out of her voice as her mind planned ahead what to wear.

Later that day, she considered the two evening gowns that were equally dressy and suitable for the occasion. Her face was pink from soaking in the luxury of a perfumed bath, and still she couldn't decide between the slip of a green dress, which—what little there was of it—molded to her figure, while the metallic thread running through it turned it to silver in certain lights, or the just as lovely, if frigidly demure, ice blue.

The hand of prudence would have come down on the ice blue, but with reckless daring, Ros's fingers finally pulled the slippery green material over her head. What its color did for her burnished hair, the dress did for her figure. It needed little enhancement, and Ros dipped lightly into her jewelry box for a fine silver chain that encircled her throat and emphasized the slashing low cut of her neckline. The dress breathed sensuality, and as a token to decorum, she wound her hair back in a staid coil, even though she remembered that Cliff had once told her he liked it loose best. She was more extravagant with her eye shadow than normal—on the rare occasions she wore it, she preferred just a smear across her lids; and the same abandoned hand splashed on her favorite evening perfume, which gave out a rich and heady fragrance and added just the right wickedly decadent note.

As she walked down the stairs, Cliff stood in the lower hall, his eyes waiting to ambush her. They didn't so much stalk her as absorb every particle of her, her hair, her forehead, her shining, frantically striving to be guarded eyes, the soft pinkness of her mouth, her working throat. And down, concentrating for endless moments on the well-defined hollow of her cleavage and the rising fullness of her breasts, revealed to him by the cut of her dress. It was odd, but there hadn't seemed quite as much of her exposed in her bedroom mirror as there was now as seen through his eyes.

Without lifting his glance, he said: ‘Pity that old-fashioned custom of buying a corsage for a lady has lost its popularity. The difficulty I would have encountered in knowing where to pin it would have been offset by the fun of trying.'

He was rubbing the thumb and forefinger of one hand together. It was a gesture that displayed his own inner tension and was without ulterior motive. He could not know what it did to her. A shiver ran through her as though his thumb were not rotating on his own finger, but on a part of her body that her dress did not bare to him. It was a relief when his gaze slid farther down, going no lower than a faintly protruding hipbone before returning to her by now flushed face.

‘Very lovely. Very elegant. You look taller. The transformation has measured you more up to my size.'

That was not strictly true, although her precariously high heels meant that he didn't have to look as far down to locate her eyes. But of course he wasn't referring to her height at all. He meant that she now measured up to his level of sophistication.

‘Are you ready?'

For what? she wondered as she picked up her evening wrap and nodded in silent consent.

* * *

A tall, heavily branched Scotch pine tree dominated the entrance hall. Another stood in the corner of the room where the dinner dance was being held, its towering branches laden with baubles and blazing with Christmas lights. Crackling logs shot flames up the wide chimney of a fireplace that was huge enough to walk into, and a three-piece orchestra was playing Christmas carols. Silver garlands looped above their heads, and streamers and other party novelties decorated each table. The one the head waiter led them to was at the far end of the room on the edge of the dance floor.

Ros gulped on laughter as she feasted her eyes on the blazing gaiety of the room. Her happiness overflowed and showed in the exuberance of her smile. As the last notes of a popular carol faded away, Ros put her hands together and clapped louder than anyone else, but whether she was paying homage to the musicians or clapping for the sheer joy of being there with Cliff was difficult to tell.

There were variations on the menu, but both she and Cliff stuck to the traditional Christmas fare. Couples had taken to the floor between courses, but so far they hadn't joined them. It wasn't until twin glasses of brandy sat alongside the coffee cups that Cliff asked her if she would care to dance. She nodded and went into his arms on a blissful sigh of contentment. They'd had little to drink, just a glass of wine with the meal and then a few sips of brandy, but the people around them had imbibed freely; and streamers whirled in the air with cast-off inhibitions.

Gathering her closer, he did not talk, and both of those things suited Ros. She wanted to imprint the lovely evening on her memory for all time. Oddly, in the midst of her enjoyment, a thread of unease ran through her mind. There was an inexplicable bittersweet quality about everything. Later, she was to ask herself if, by some uncanny instinct, she had perceived some inkling of what was in store for her.

Normally, her head would have rested against the steel wall of his chest; but her higher heels enabled it to fit in the curve of his neck. The hand on her back rested just above the line where her dress ended. The trespassing tip of his little finger strayed possessively beneath the material, while on the higher level, his stroking thumb shivered over her bare skin. His other hand clasped hers and was crushed between their bodies. The back of his hand rested on her breast, again just slightly to the side of where her dress ended, so that his knuckles burned like a branding iron on her sensitized flesh. She never, never, never wanted the music to end. She wanted to stay forever in his arms, held so cherishingly close.

They stayed until the delicious end, not leaving until the early hours of December the twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve morning was just two hours old, and feathers of snow touched their faces as, arms linked round waists, they walked to the car.

‘I hope it comes down thick and fast and everywhere is covered by snow in the morning,' Ros declared.

‘Not too densely covered, I hope. There are things to be done. Holly to be collected and a tree to be brought in.'

‘I got the trimmings when I went shopping for the food,' Ros volunteered happily.

They entered Holly Cottage, and their feet pointed of one accord to the kitchen. Ros abandoned her wrap and tipped milk into a saucepan, to be heated on the stove for a hot bedtime drink. Cliff leaned against the counter and watched her. The strange brooding look on his face did not fit in with the atmosphere of the evening. Inevitably, the milk boiled over.

They cleaned up the mess together and decided not to bother with a bedtime drink. Cliff put his hands up to her hair, and two deft flicks brought its brightness tumbling over his fingers. Was that why she'd worn it in that style, not to ‘cool' the look of her dress but to tempt Cliff to remove the restraining pins, as he had once before?

He cupped her face in his hands, and he kissed her not urgently on the lips, although his expression was still strange. Then he turned her round and bade her a firm good night.

She went up to her room, not altogether knowing why she had been sent away, yet knowing that it was right for him not to rush things between them. The pace, at first, had been too hectic, but now it was right for it to slow down and take its own course.

If only she knew the reason for this funny little pain under her heart. She had the oddest feeling that the price she was going to be asked to pay for her happiness would be too cruel to bear. It was uncanny how she knew that it was soon to be partnered by a sorrow that would drag her down into depths of misery and torment that, in her wildest fears, she had never thought to experience.

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, Ros's eyes opened to a dazzling brightness, and she knew that her wish had been granted. She flew to the window and saw that it had snowed through the night. Not only was the landscape a different color, but it was also a different shape. White trees took on odd dimensions. The sun had come out as though marking its approval, and the blue-white glare of the rolling hills sparkled in the grip of a million dancing sunbeams.

As she surveyed the frosty, bejeweled scene, a white wonderland, her gloom of the previous day completely disappeared. It was a day to lift one's face up to in bright optimism. Every moment was too precious to squander on despondent fears that lurked in, and were the product of, some dark and obscure pocket of the imagination and had no substance.

She pulled on trousers and a thick sweater, knowing that with those tucked under her sheepskin coat, she would be cozy and warm when they went out after breakfast in search of a tree and boughs of evergreen. It was unthinkable not to have holly in Holly Cottage at Christmas. And . . . perhaps . . . mistletoe.

Similarly muffled to his chin, Cliff had started on the breakfast. Despite his opinion of her cooking, he made no demur when she waded in to help. When the washing up was done, they put on coats and scarfs, and Ros dug out a woolly cap with a pompon that matched her scarf, and out they went.

They didn't hang about but marched at a brisk pace. Cliff, who had been on many a similar mission in years past, knew exactly where to look, and it wasn't long before they were dragging their spoils back and dumping them by the kitchen door.

Ros was kicking the snow off her boots by the door in preparation for entering when a snowball glanced by her cheek. She immediately retaliated, and for the next half hour they indulged in a boisterous snowball fight. Cliff's aim might have been the better, but he was the kinder, and so his person was spattered with more white blobs than hers. Her cheeks burned with the cold and the exhilaration, and when they did eventually fall through the kitchen door, they brought ravenous appetites with them. She had made a casserole the day before that only needed heating up. It was more than just good, it was excellent, but Cliff wolfed his plateful down without comment. It's an annoying trait in people, but when something is right, it's taken for granted that it should be and passes without attracting attention. It's only when it's wrong that it gets noticed.

She made mince pies, and again these were up to her usual standard. This time Cliff did comment. On tasting one, he asked by what fluke she had managed it.

‘Could it be that you weren't watching me?' she said sweetly.

He had been busy potting the tree and festooning the living room with holly and the sprig of mistletoe she'd seen him collect. As yet, she had no idea where it lurked, but when she found out, she had every intention of standing under it.

She brought out the silver garlands and the tree ornaments she had purchased, and their joint efforts soon had the tree dressed in the Christmas spirit. The star that she had saved for the top defeated her. She expected Cliff to take it from her fingers and his long reach to achieve what she couldn't; instead, he placed a hand on either side of her waist and lifted her up. She strained over his shoulder and fixed the star in place and was then brought back down to her feet. The descent was slow and fraught with tense excitement as she slithered the length of his long frame. There was a febrile pause in the procedure as their eyes drew level. The brooding intensity her eyes read in his clogged her throat. It had been a fun day, sparkling with joy and ecstasy, but throughout she had caught passing glimpses of much the same look that was on his face now. She knew that he wanted to kiss her, wanted to do more than kiss her. It was there, a torment straining his features and clenching his jaw. But he denied himself the opportunity, just as he had been ignoring opportunity all day, and set her unkissed on her feet.

As his hands left her waist, her eyes dropped to the floor, and she saw two gift-wrapped packages, both bearing her name, under the tree. She put the mystery of why Cliff was acting as he was behind her and concentrated on the dismaying fact that she still hadn't gotten a present for him. Her eyes raced to the clock. There was still time. If she got a move on, she would get into Gillybeck before the shops shut. Shops were limited, and so choice would be, too. She hoped that one of the two shops that specialized in gifts and souvenirs would have something suitable.

She would have to take her car, because it was too far to walk, even though driving conditions might be precarious because of ice and the possibility of snowdrifts.

‘I've just remembered something I want from the village,' she explained to Cliff as she went to retrieve her boots from the corner of the kitchen where she'd stepped out of them.

‘Whatever it is, can't it wait?'

‘No, it can't.'

‘If it's that urgent, I'll fetch it for you.'