Stitch in Snow

Dan ordered coffee for us and inquired after my taste in liqueurs. I hesitated and then shrugged: I'd had only the two bourbons and one liqueur was a fitting end to a good dinner. I also didn't wish to end this pleasant companionship.

The brandy was good but I would have liked an open fire, a deep couch and a chance to put my legs up.

'Trite, I know,' Dan said quietly, 'but I would like a roaring log fire, a comfortable couch and some decent music.'

'Great minds we have,' and I grinned at him as I raised my brandy snifter in a toast.

'Well, they do have the roaring log fire and couches in the lounge…'

I thought of the crowded lounge and snorted. 'That's not what I had in mind.'

'Oh?' Deviltry lurked in the glint of his eyes as he leaned towards me, shifting his position so that the length of his body was against me. 'What did you have in mind, my dear?' he asked in a low, suggestive tone.

'Oh, do be…'

'The woman's blushing. Do be… what?'

'Do be realistic.'

'I am,' he said with an exaggerated sigh. 'There is a fire in the lounge as madam wishes, and a comfortable couch, and…'

I caught myself before I made a blunder. He was not, obviously, propositioning me and I shouldn't assume he was for all the cliche he was rehearsing. What had almost made me betray myself was the fact that I must subconsciously have been thinking of him sexually for he was very attractive, and I'd been a long time without any relief. Simply because some 'types' had made offers didn't mean every man would.

'A crowded couch, my friend, and too many disgruntled fellow-travellers whom I'd prefer to avoid. The dinner, your good self, and the brandy,' I raised the glass again, 'have mellowed my mood and calmed my troubled spirit, and I do not wish the enchantment to be dissipated.'

'Nor do I.' He signalled to the waiter and gestured for two more drinks.

'No, really, this is quite enough…'

'I'd prefer to keep you in a mellow mood, Jenny…'

'I appreciate that, Dan, but I won't be much company. I'm all talked out: I'm afraid I can't rise to the occasion.'

'My dear Jenny, I'm the one who's supposed to rise.' He delivered the line with such a straight face that it took me a moment to react. I covered my mouth to dampen my chortle of surprise. I have the most bawdy laugh at times, an embarrassment to escorts and editors who seem to assume that a children's author is necessarily humourless and obtuse.

'No, please, Dan. I'm not much of a drinker.'

'What you need is a good roaring drunk, my friend, and this is the night…'

'Flying with a hangover is not fun…'

'We're flying nowhere tomorrow by the look of that weather. And one more brandy won't make you drunk but you'll sleep the better for it. And you look as if you need that.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'I do, too.' He said it with such quiet intensity that I relented. Something was bothering him and out of sheer human courtesy, I must respond to that need. I know that I hated to drink by myself and hadn't. The least I could do was keep him company in his need.

So we had two more brandies, and then a third set. It was eleven o'clock of a fine blizzardy night when he signalled for the check. I hadn't a clue what was bothering him but I'd two new jokes that I'd have to remember to tell Mairead when I got back home. When he rose, he bowed to me, extending a hand to raise me from the banquet. I was a lot steadier than I'd thought I'd be after those brandies.

'You see, Jenny, I can judge to a nicety what you're capable of drinking.'

'This once.'

'Anytime. You're a good drinking companion.'

We said goodnight formally at our respective doors and I heard him snap on the night latch at the same moment I turned my own. For some reason that gave me satisfaction. But, as I undressed for bed, I was beset with the reluctant wish that he had pushed his luck with me. The real reason I don't drink much is that liquor makes me amorous. And if there's anyone at all reasonably masculine around, I get smarmy. I don't tolerate that condition in myself any more than I like it in other women. I'd gotten involved twice with unsuitable partners because of this tendency and had one helluva time disentangling myself. It would be all right if I didn't pick such lousy specimens of the male sex: men who looked for the maternal type because they were, essentially, immature and wanted a replacement mother figure. I shook my head, washed my face, brushed my teeth and climbed into bed, hoping that Dan-man had been right about four brandies putting me to sleep.

I hadn't opened the window and the snow was driven like pellets against the panes. I don't think I listened very long.

Chapter 04

'Wakey, wakey, wakey!'

I turned over, trying to isolate the sound and identify it.

'Wakey, wakey! C'mon, Jenny, see the record blizzard blizzing.'

There was a weight by my feet and someone pushing at my hip. I screwed my body around and blurrily recognised that it was Dan sitting on the edge of my bed. Just beyond him was a bellboy, angling a room-service table past Dan.

'Breakfast's served. It's ten o'clock of a miserable day. Rise and shine!'

'You are impossible!'

'Hungover?'

'No,' I said after due consideration. 'But if it's a miserable day, why do I have to have anything to do with it? I could sleep!'

'Ah, but too much sleep is bad for you. Here you are,' he said the last to the bellboy, signing the bill and passing out the tip, 'and besides, I'm awake.'

'Oh, you are all heart.'

'Here!' He threw my robe at me. 'Get dressed!'

'I hate you,' I said, feeling dishevelled, face-creased and bad-mouthed. I hate to be discovered in such a state, even by my own son. I finger-combed my hair as I struggled upright and wriggled out from under the blankets. I wove slightly as I made for the bathroom. 'I hate you.'

'Never at our best in the morning, are we?'

I seized the first thing I could reach, the literature the hotel laid out for its guests, and flung it at him. He laughed, raising his arms to fend off the paper shower. I tried to slam the bathroom door, but the hinges were stiff and all I did was strain my arm muscles. I turned on the water hard, to cover the sound of his laughter. What gall!

I tried to avoid my image in the mirror as I wet the facecloth but I felt compelled to survey the damage. My face was, indeed, creased by the pillowslip, my eyes deeply shadowed, I'd no eyebrows on and no lipstick and I really need the colour. The lines at my eyes and across my cheeks were definitely age-wrinkles, not laughter lines. About the only presentable feature was my hair, which I had had done in St. Louis. I'm only remotely a red-head: the encroaching white threads have turned my hair into a very soft, muted ginger and I keep it cropped short in curls. It's very attractive for hair. I brushed it thoroughly and flicked the curls into place. I put on eyebrows and lipstick. Then, fortified, I buttoned up my robe and went out.

He had seated himself at one of the chairs, reading a newspaper in long folds, his profile outlined against the swirling snow and grey light outside. He had a strong profile but I hadn't noticed the bump on the bridge of his nose before.

'C'mon, Jenny, your breakfast is getting cold.'

'I appreciate the thought but I deplore the timing.'

He eyed me critically as I approached but rose, with a grin, and held the chair for me to be seated. As I spread the napkin, (to cover the knees because gown and robe were shorties), he poured me coffee.

'You'll be pleased to know that the entire northern half of the country is socked in by this blizzard.'

'Hmmm.' I took a sip of coffee, squinted at the huge glass of orange juice. 'I trust this is all on the airlines,' I said, toting up the room service cost against what I had with me in cash. I'd been sending money back to my Dublin bank after every engagement, keeping only enough for current expenses. I sighed.