Fire Beneath The Ice. HELEN BROOKS

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       CHAPTER TWO

      LYDIA awoke very early the next morning, aware that she had been dreaming but unable to remember what about But it had been a disturbing dream. She flicked her long blonde hair out of her eyes and glanced at the tiny alarm next to the bed. Five o’clock. Even Hannah wasn’t stirring yet. She padded through to the small bedroom next to hers and stared down at the delicate baby face of her tiny daughter. She had been asleep when Lydia had got home the night before. She said a quick mental prayer for staunch grandmothers who insisted baby-sitting was a joy, but she had missed the night-time routine of bath and then story in bed with Hannah. She wished she could see more of Matthew in the minute features, but they were all her own. Everyone commented on the remarkable likeness between mother and daughter.

      Within an hour, the instant Hannah opened huge, liquid brown eyes, in fact, the small house was a hive of activity, the normal morning routine of breakfast, shower and dressing taking all Lydia’s concentration.

      ‘You didn’t kiss me night-night, Mummy.’ Hannah’s face was reproachful as she spooned cornflakes into her rosebud mouth. ‘Gamma told the story all wrong.’

      ‘Did she, darling?’ Lydia stroked the top of the silky blonde head lovingly. ‘You didn’t tell her that, did you?’

      ‘Course not.’ Hannah was a true diplomat even at three. ‘Are you going to pick me up from nursery today?’

      ‘I doubt it, sweetheart.’ Lydia knelt down by the breakfast stool and cupped the heart-shaped face in her hands. ‘Did Grandma tell you about my job?’

      ‘Uh-huh.’ Hannah was distinctly disenchanted. ‘But I want you to pick me up.’

      ‘Well, this job is a bit different from my usual ones,’ Lydia said carefully. ‘The man I work for needs me to work much longer hours sometimes, but he is going to give me a lot of money if I do that. How about if we think of a new bedroom for you? You could choose the curtains and quilt and everything, even a new carpet if you want.’

      ‘Really?’ Hannah planted a swift milky kiss on her cheek. ‘Can I have Pretty Pony, Mummy? Sophie has.’ Sophie was her best friend at nursery and the two were inseparable most of the time.

      ‘I should think so.’ Lydia rose to look down at the small face smilingly. ‘But you must promise to be good for Grandma when she picks you up and brings you home, even if I’m very late. I’ve only got the job for a little while, so we need to get as much money as we can for your room, don’t we?’

      ‘Yep.’ Hannah obviously realised she was on to a good thing. ‘Gamma says I’m her little angel,’ she continued, fishing for praise which Lydia dutifully gave. ‘Little angel’ was pushing things a bit far, but then she had never wanted a placid child anyway.

      She was in her office at just before nine after dropping Hannah off at the nursery, which unfortunately was in the opposite direction to the Strade office-block, and found Wolf was already at his desk, his black head bent over a long report as she tapped nervously at the inter-connecting door. ‘Come in, Lydia, don’t stand on ceremony.’ He didn’t raise his head as he spoke and she wondered for an instant if he was telepathic as well. ‘You can get straight on with that dictation from yesterday,’ he said, after making a few notes in the margin before raising his head. ‘I have an appointment at the other end of the city in an hour, so you should have a relatively undisturbed day.’ He didn’t smile.

      The fine silk shirt he wore exactly matched the clear sapphire-blue of his eyes, she thought inconsequentially as she smiled and nodded her reply before leaving the room, and his aftershave——She caught her thoughts abruptly, annoyed at the way they were heading. His aftershave was aftershave, that was all, she told herself sharply as she sat down at her desk and pulled out her notebook. He had probably paid a fortune to get the sort of reaction her senses had made when the sensual, intoxicatingly masculine fragrance had reached her nose.

      She worked steadily for the next half-hour, pausing as he left to take a note of where he could be reached, her face bland and polite as he rapped out the telephone number and name of the firm, his face preoccupied and his voice remote.

      There were several interruptions during the morning, but none she couldn’t handle, and after snatching a quick meal in the canteen at lunchtime she continued to work her way through the pages of dictation until three, when a courteous knock at her outer door interrupted her as she had almost completed the notes.

      ‘Come in.’ The polite smile on her face widened as the tall, good-looking man who had poked his head round the door spoke her name in surprise.

      ‘Lydia? What on earth are you doing here?’

      ‘Mike!’ She felt inordinately pleased to see a friendly face in the huge, overwhelmingly decorous estab-lishment. ‘How nice to see you. I’d completely forgotten you work here.’

      ‘You’re not working for Wolf, are you?’ He came fully into the room and walked over to her desk, his eyes bright with interest. Mike Wilson was the husband of one of her oldest friends, Anna, who had been a tower of strength to her when Matthew died, often arriving unannounced when she was feeling at her lowest pitch to whisk her out to lunch and provide a rock-like shoulder to cry on. Lydia didn’t know Mike that well—usually the two women met during the day when the agency didn’t have any work for Lydia, or at the weekend when Mike was playing СКАЧАТЬ