Temporary Boss, Permanent Mistress. Kate Hardy

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ that was it: he was divorced, and his ex had made access to his children impossible—maybe by moving away.

      Not that it was any of her business.

      But she made a mental note to be tactful in future.

      Jake took her to a toyshop and let her choose various craft gifts, which she insisted on paying for. ‘I’m a guest, too, and, as you’ve already bought wine and flowers, I’m buying these. No arguments.’

      He inclined his head and allowed her to pay.

      Back at the hotel, Lydia had enough time to shower and change into a simple black dress and low-heeled court shoes before the taxi arrived.

      ‘You look nice,’ Jake said approvingly when she opened the door to him.

      ‘Thank you. So do you.’ Though that was an understatement. His blue shirt really brought out the colour of his eyes. He’d clearly just shaved, too, and for a mad moment she found her hand lifting to touch his face, feel how soft his skin was.

      She just about managed to stop herself, and was glad she had when he said coolly, ‘The taxi should be waiting for us downstairs.’

      They arrived at the Pedersens’ at two minutes to six, and Nils welcomed them warmly, introducing them to his wife Elisabet. The two children peeped shyly from behind Elisabet’s skirts.

      Jake crouched down to their level and held out his hand, speaking gently in Norwegian, and the little boy shook his hand solemnly, followed by his little sister.

      Lydia followed his lead. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Beklager, I don’t speak much Norwegian. I’m English.’

      Elisabet translated rapidly for the children, then smiled at Lydia. ‘This is Morten.’

      ‘Hello,’ the little boy said, and shook her hand.

      ‘And this is Kristin.’

      ‘Hello,’ the little girl said shyly, copying her brother. Jake straightened up. ‘Thank you for inviting us over. It’s very kind of you,’ he said, handing the flowers to Elisabet and the wine to Nils.

      ‘And we thought the children might like these,’ Lydia said, indicating the bag she was carrying, ‘but if I give them to you, Mrs Pedersen, you can let the children have them at a better time. It’s pencils and stickers and paper, that sort of thing.’

      ‘Call me Elisabet. And tusen takk for the gift—thank you so much. How lovely. They adore drawing,’ Elisabet said with a smile. ‘They’re off to bed soon, but they’d enjoy making a picture now, if you’d like to give them the presents yourself?’

      Lydia glanced at Jake, who nodded and said something swiftly in the children’s own language.

      Shyly, Morten accepted the bag; and although Lydia couldn’t understand more than takk from the little boy’s excited babble, she could see the pleasure on both children’s faces.

      ‘Come through. I will get you a drink,’ Nils said.

      ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘You can join me in the kitchen, if you like.’ Elisabet scooped up her daughter. ‘Where I can finish preparing dinner and keep an eye on these two.’

      ‘You can probably get Lydia to draw them something,’ Jake said. ‘She’s good at art.’

      Lydia’s heart skipped a beat. How did he know? Had he seen her sketching on the plane? She only hoped that he’d seen her sketches of the clouds, not the portrait she’d drawn of him. A quick glance at his face left her none the wiser; his expression was completely unreadable.

      ‘Come through,’ Elisabet said, leading the way to the kitchen. She helped Kristin onto a stool by the breakfast bar and watched as Morten climbed up next to her; within seconds, the children had the pencils and paper spread across the work surface and were busy drawing patterns.

      ‘Takk for translating for me,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m sorry, I only knew I was coming to Norway yesterday afternoon. I haven’t had time to learn more than please, thank you and hello.’

      ‘It’s good that you’ve learned that much,’ Elisabet said. ‘Though most Norwegians speak English.’

      ‘Are those the children’s drawings from school?’ She gestured to the pictures held on the fridge with magnets. ‘They’re very good.’

      ‘Thank you. And Jake said you’re good at art?’

      ‘I sketch a bit,’ Lydia said diffidently. ‘Maybe I could teach the children to draw something? A cat for Morten and a butterfly for Kristin to colour, maybe?’

      ‘That would be lovely.’ Elisabet translated rapidly for the children, who beamed. ‘I think that’s a yes,’ she said with a smile.

      ‘Shouldn’t I help you with something, first?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘You already are. You’re keeping the children happy,’ Elisabet said.

      Lydia took a piece of paper, then drew the outline of a butterfly for Kristin. She picked up a pink pencil and drew a simple curved shape inside the outline, colouring it in, then offered the pencil to the little girl. Kristin took it shyly, and drew a shape herself; once Lydia was sure that the little girl was happy, she showed Morten how to draw a simple outline of a cat. The little boy copied it haltingly.

      ‘Very good,’ she said, clapping.

      He beamed at her, and drew a second cat, this time with more confidence, then a third; he called out to his mother, who came to inspect it and praised him.

      ‘I envy you. I’m not so good at art—I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler,’ Elisabet confessed. ‘I hate it if they sign me up to do arty things for Julemessa—the nursery fundraising Christmas fair.’

      ‘But you,’ Lydia said, gesturing to the beautiful ring cake filled with fruit and cream that stood on the worktop, ‘can make wonderful cakes. Which I can’t. They go flat as a pancake—so I cheat and buy them at the baker’s.’

      ‘Just like I cheat and make Nils do the painting,’ Elisabet confided with a smile.

      ‘Would you like me to sketch the children for you?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘Very much,’ Elisabet said.

      Lydia needed no second invitation. She took her pencils and sketchbook from her handbag, and began to draw.

      Jake had followed Nils into the kitchen from the door at the other end of the room, and stood there in silence, watching Lydia as she sketched; she looked completely at home, chatting to Elisabet and stopping what she was doing every so often to help one of the children.

      He could imagine her like that with children of her own, kind and patient and supportive, and the hollow in his stomach filled with bile. Yet another reason why he had no right to start any kind of relationship with Lydia: children were absolutely not on his agenda, not any more.

      And how hard it was, to smile and СКАЧАТЬ