Melting Ms Frost (25 page)

Certain that something catastrophic was going on, that the aircraft was about to plummet back to earth, she cast frantic looks at her fellow passengers, only to find them in various states of relaxation – some reading, some chatting, some even snoozing. No one, it seemed, was paying the slightest bit of attention to the rough ride, or her panic-stricken fidgeting.

No one apart from Aidan, that was, who she found looking at her out of the corner of his eye with interest as she turned back around to resettle in her seat.

‘All right?’ he asked, the twitch at the side of his mouth telling her that, plainly, he didn’t think she was.

For once she didn’t care if he was making fun of her. She was too damned scared. ‘I don’t know. Am I?’

His expression changed to a frown at the starkness of her tone, all traces of amusement disappearing. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I’ve got no idea if any of this is right. I’ve never flown before.’

He blinked at her in astonishment. ‘Why didn’t you say something? I thought you seemed unduly fascinated by the crew safety demo.’

‘And that’s not helping,’ she yelped as the plane gave another jump. ‘Where did they all go? Why have they disappeared?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ he assured her. ‘The crew have to be seated for takeoff the same as everybody else. We’re going through the cloud layer at the moment and the slight change in air density can make it a bit bumpy. We’ll be out the top end in no time and things will smooth out then.’

Even as he said it, the plane emerged from the impenetrable grey mist into a sky of endless blue and sunshine.

‘See? Look how beautiful it is,’ Aidan coaxed, leaning forward to look out of the window beside her. ‘So much nicer than the drizzle we left down below.’

But after only a quick glance, she turned away, preferring to keep her eyes trained on the solid bulk of the fuselage around her. No matter how beautiful the scenery, there was too much –
nothingness
out there for her liking.

‘Once the seatbelt sign goes off we can swap seats if you like,’ Aidan offered as he continued to regard her carefully.

She liked. The second the illuminated sign above their heads pinged off, she scrambled as far away from that window as possible, but didn’t manage to relax at all.

She was only glad that none of Aidan’s friends were travelling with them to witness her make a fool out of herself. By the time they were due to meet at a pre-arranged dinner tonight she was sure she’d be back in control.

When a member of the cabin crew appeared beside them pushing a trolley, Aidan tried to convince her to have a drink, a ‘small one, just to take the edge off’, but all she could manage was a glass of water. Ordering a Bloody Mary for himself, he waited until the trolley moved away down the aisle, then decided to pry: ‘So where do you usually go on your holidays, Ms Frost, if you don’t fly?’

‘Nowhere.’ Noticing that she was squeezing her plastic tumbler to the point where it might snap, she released it, resting her clenched fist on the little pull-out tray instead.

‘Sorry, I don’t follow you.’

‘I mean I don’t go on holiday.’

‘Never?’ Aidan sounded disbelieving.

She shook her head. ‘Not for a long time.’

‘Where was your last?’

‘A weekend on the south coast. Brighton.’

‘Great party town. Were you there for the clubs?’

‘Hardly. I was nine.’

‘Ah. That would have been a little young,’ he laughed. ‘So, that was with your family, then?’

She gave him an aggravated look and shifted in her seat, growing uncomfortable with the personal line of questioning.

As usual, he was quick to read her body language, and as usual he seemed determined to use it to his advantage, to push for maximum discomfort. ‘We don’t have to keep chatting if you don’t want, Annabel. All things considered, I thought you might appreciate the distraction but –’ he shrugged and let his head drop back against the seat, closing his eyes ‘– you can simply sit there and enjoy the flight if you prefer.’

She felt her own eyes narrow. He really was ruthless, but she had to grudgingly accept that he did have a point. ‘Our family summer holiday,’ she said. ‘My parents’ business meant they never had time for much more than a few days away.’

‘Running your own place takes huge commitment and dedication,’ he said, head up again and eyes regarding her intently. ‘Obviously their work ethic rubbed off on you.’

She thought. ‘The inn never seemed like work. Not to me, and I don’t really think to them. It was – just our way of life.’ Her bedroom had been in the eaves of the antiquated coaching inn, above the public rooms. She remembered lying in bed at night with the sound of laughter and conversation floating up through the old floorboards, her father’s deep tones – sounds of happiness and security. Sounds that had wrapped around her like a blanket offering comfort and safety, offering the promise that everything in her world was all right. How wrong she’d been, how cold and uncertain a place her world had so quickly become.

How determined she was to create a safe place for herself again, one that no one could take away.

‘Why don’t you have holidays now?’

‘I don’t need them. To be honest, I don’t even really think about them. I’m working towards something more important.’

‘Your plans for your own place?’

She didn’t answer. But yes, everything she did was towards that. The saving, the crippling mortgage to give her a credit rating, the perfect employment record, anything and everything she could do to present a loan-worthy prospect to the banks when she went looking for her start-up investment.

‘You do realise that once that happens you’ll likely be back to the no holiday option. Don’t you want to see the wonders of the world?’

‘Of course. But I want security more. And, frankly, if flying is the best way of getting around then I’m happy to stick with virtual travels through the internet and TV holiday shows.’

A little later into the flight, Aidan tried to sway her views by encouraging her to take advantage of the clear conditions and look out onto what the captain announced as the ‘dramatic scene’ of the snow-covered Alps. Intrigued despite herself, she took a peek out of the window, but quickly looked away again when her stomach somersaulted at the sight of how small and insignificant the majestic mountain range looked from this height.

Their descent into Vienna, which for Annabel couldn’t come soon enough, brought a whole new set of challenges for her to panic about including the changing pitch in the engine noises, and the weird pressure in her ears, but at least there was no cloud layer for them to bump through, as the blue sky and sunshine stayed with them all the way down to the snow covered ground.

Bright though the afternoon was, there was nothing warm about the minus zero temperature that greeted them when they stepped outside the terminal.

Relieved to find herself back on solid ground but left shaken by the flight and feeling totally out of her depth, Annabel was more than grateful to hand over the reins and let someone else organise her for once. And Aidan Flynn was very adept at it. Before long they were ensconced in the heated comfort of a dark limousine heading right to the historic heart of Austria’s capital.

Drinking in the sights as they swept along wide boulevards lined with grand mansions and museums it was easy to see why Vienna was classed among Europe’s great cities. Seat of the powerful Habsburg Empire for centuries and a renowned centre for culture and music, it still retained much of the glory and grandeur of its imperial past. And dressed for the festive season as it currently was, it also offered the most perfect storybook representation of a traditional winter that she’d ever seen – with its scenes of pristine snow-covered parks and squares dominated by Christmas trees swathed in multi-coloured lights. In front of the magnificent gothic style town hall, an outdoor skating rink held more magical appeal than any equivalent set up in rain-drenched London could hope to. And everywhere she looked, there were decorations – even the trams trundling along the roads had their rooflines bedecked with ribbons and bows and baubles. As if she needed it, the whole experience gave her even more of a sense of being on a fairytale adventure.

As the car slowed to take a turn, Aidan pointed out the opera house, a beautiful Renaissance-style building fronted by two tiers of classical arches, where the ball was due to be held the following evening. Rounding the building, the driver pulled to a stop at the entrance to a pedestrianised shopping street which was flanked on each side by imposing Neoclassical-designed buildings housing five-star hotels. One, she noticed from the monogrammed burgundy canopies over its windows, was the Hotel Sacher, home of the famous Sacher-Torte, arguably the best chocolate cake in the world. The other – an equally grand-looking place – sported canopies of duck-egg blue with gold-printed lettering identifying it as Haus, their hotel for the next two nights. With its five-storey ivory-rendered façade embellished with snow-dusted pediments and each of the balustraded balconies decorated with a large tied bow of the same delicate blue to match the canopies, the place looked like a very large, very luxurious Christmas present.

Leaving the driver to deal with their luggage, Aidan guided Annabel toward the entrance beside which two seven-foot high white Christmas trees stood sentry, adorned with silver bells and smaller velvet versions of the large blue bows.

Stepping into a hushed haven of refinement which continued the external colour theme of ivory and duck-egg blue, Annabel registered the sort of tastefully-understated, yet highly-finished décor that was the reserve of only the very finest of establishments and had to admit she was getting worried about the cost of this trip. Although the figure Aidan had quoted her for her share amounted to a large chunk of her Christmas bonus, she’d been adamant about paying for herself, keeping a level of autonomy, safeguarding her independence. But with the premium seats at the front of the plane, the chauffeur-driven car, the rarified opulence of the hotel, she was wondering how his calculations could possibly be right.

She was almost relieved to discover upon check-in that they’d been booked into a two-bedroom suite, which she supposed might help keep the costs down.

Or not.

The top-floor suite, when they were shown up to it, was enormous – taking up an entire corner of the building and offering views over the snow-blanketed rooftops and gothic spires of the old imperial centre. When Aidan offered her first choice of the bedrooms, she figured she may as well go for the whole fairytale and picked the one dominated by a spectacular carved four-poster bed.

With swift efficiency, the porter deposited their luggage and departed, pulling the door closed with a soft click behind him. And suddenly, finally, they were alone, and issues such as flying and finances no longer mattered. With no more distractions, the sexual tension that had been lying muted during their journey surged to the fore, charging the atmosphere as she looked across the room and met Aidan’s eyes.

There was possession in the gaze he ran over her. Voracious, triumphant possession. Annabel’s pulse set up a pounding in her ears as she watched his lips part to start forming the words she could hardly wait to hear.

But rather than suggest anything remotely along the lines of ‘let’s get naked’, what he actually said was, ‘Before you start getting any ideas, the answer is no – not yet.’

Before her mouth even had time to drop open, he continued. ‘For one thing, you must be starving, you didn’t eat anything on the flight.’ Well no, she hadn’t. She’d felt too sick to even try the light lunch that had been served, but … ‘For another,’ Aidan went on, crossing the space with a fluid prowl and stopping close to look down at her. ‘There’s no way I’m going to start something I won’t have time to properly finish before we’re due at the Reiser’s in a couple of hours.’

Ah, yes, dinner, she vaguely recalled, helplessly caught by the intensity of that penetrating silvery gaze. ‘Remind me who they are again?’

‘Friends of the friend who invited us. I’ve met Karl before but not his wife Astrid. It’s she who’s on the fundraising committee for the charity that the ball’s in aid of.’

‘And remind me why we have to go to their dinner party tonight instead of staying here?’ The piercing clarity of those eyes turned a little smoky as his stare dropped to her mouth, locking onto the hint of a pout she felt pulling at her lower lip.

‘Because we said we would,’ he said, with a definite note of regret in the words. ‘And it’ll give you the opportunity to meet some of the people we’ll be attending the ball with tomorrow night.’

It was obvious to Annabel that they had a wildly differing set of priorities. While she was intrigued to find out what sort of people Aidan Flynn called friends, she wasn’t so interested that she couldn’t wait until tomorrow night. As thoughtful as it was that he was thinking of setting her at ease, years of dealing with customers from all walks in the restaurant trade meant she was more than capable of easing her way through most social situations.

‘Having waited this long for you, Annabel, I don’t intend to rush,’ he said next, in a tone of absolute certainty and with a firm set to his jaw that blew out any idea she had of trying to make him do just that. ‘For now, order something from room service, have a hot bath to soak away the stress of the journey, relax.’

Knowing it wouldn’t get her anywhere, she didn’t see the point in trying to argue with him. Especially when, if she was honest, the alternative he was offering didn’t sound too bad at all. With the possible exception of improving on one point. ‘Actually, instead of room service I’d love to go across the road for a slice of Sacher-Torte. It’s my favourite cake.’

His gaze sharpened, dropping to her mouth again. ‘Remembering how much I enjoyed watching your reaction to Anton’s desserts, that sounds like the perfect foreplay, Ms Frost. Get your coat.’

Back in her room a while later, with her sweet tooth satiated and her queasy stomach calmed by coffee and, yes, very possibly the best chocolate cake in the world – which she may have consumed with a barely concealed rapture that had left Aidan shifting in his chair – Annabel flipped open the leather-bound guest folder as she waited for the bath to run, hoping to find some clue as to how much this little exercise in madness was going to set her back. She almost wished she hadn’t looked when she spotted the small print at the bottom of the information sheet which proclaimed Haus as ‘Part of the Harcourt Group of Hotels’ – which was code for pricey. Too pricey for a bartender that was for sure. Even one who lived in a very swish apartment and used to work in the world of finance.