Stitch in Snow

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.

'You bet. If big birds annoy Snowking, big birds must pay.'

The orange juice was real, and I sipped appreciatively, beginning to take an interest in details. There was toast, an assortment of danish pastries, marmalade, jelly, a plateful of butter and two covered dishes at each place. I hate eggs first thing in the morning.

'Steak?' I exclaimed, peeking under the lid.

'This hyar is cow country, ma'am, best steaks in the world.'

'For breakfast? This is not Australia.' I lifted the lid higher to see if there were eggs on the meat.

'You need feeding up.'

'Christ, I need a diet!'

'You're an ungrateful wench.'

'I am not. Not really,' I said, moderating my tone because I really did appreciate his thoughtfulness, even the steak. 'It's just that I'm not a big eater, usually.'

'Snacking. That's what you've been doing,' he said in a carping tone, pursing his lips like an irate father. 'Never eating properly; then you don't understand why you're too tired to enjoy life.'

'Oh, not at breakfast… daddy.'

He laughed and I could see where he'd nicked himself shaving, and even missed a few odd hairs on one side of his jaw. Somehow that little detail softened my attitude towards him. He folded up the paper.

'Look at it this way, Jenny. With a good steak under your belt, you don't need to mess with lunch.'

'Oh, in that case…' and I took the lid off the steak and lifted my cutlery.

After the first bite, I began to see the solid sense of a steak for breakfast, particularly good juicy tender tasty steak.

'Feel better?' he asked when we had both finished.

'Indeed I do and I thank you and apologise for my grembling.'

'Grembling?'

'That's a combination of greeting and grumbling. Greeting being the Scots for moaning.'

'Grembling. Very descriptive.' He handed me the paper. 'Not that there's much in it.' He poured more coffee, draining the pot. 'Shall I order more?'

I shook my head. I had an overstuffed feeling since my usual breakfast is five or six cups of coffee.

'Say, how did you get in this morning?'

His eyes danced. 'You are awake now, aren't you?'

I repeated my question.

He shrugged, avoiding my eyes. 'I did order breakfast for two.'

'Then the bellboy…'

'Unlocked the door to admit your breakfast and… me.' He wore an air of injured innocence. 'You are too suspicious by far, Madame. I was only doing me daily good deed.'

I gave a heavy sigh. 'You are gallantry itself, sir. Chivalry is not dead.'

'Not as long as you keep me in my place.' He cocked his head at me, that devil gleam back in his eyes. He was teasing, wasn't he?

The room phone buzzed, startling me, and him. I rose hurriedly, almost knocking the service table over, to answer the phone, feeling oddly guilty. It was the airlines, apologising for the delay and contritely explaining that the runways were clogged with snow, making take-off or landing impossible. I would be kept advised of any changes. Did I wish them to contact anyone at Portland? No? Then I was to enjoy the facilities of the hotel.

I heard Dan moving, saw him head towards the door, gesturing at me that he was going to his room, undoubtedly to receive a similar call. I heard the muted burr of his phone and the rumble of his voice as I set about dressing. I'd even put some things in the basin to wash when the phone rang again, and it was Dan on the line.

'So, now what are we going to do with our day?' he asked.

'I don't know about you but I've…'

'Knitting?'

'I'll reserve that for later.'

'There's a swimming pool here. Have a dip with me?'

'After that steak? I'd sink. So would you.'

'In an hour?'

'Well,… I've no swimming suit.'

'That's no big problem.'

'Tank suits,' I said in clear acid tones, 'are great for the young…' thinking of the sort of emergency equipment likely to be in dressing rooms of hotels.

'You really need to work off that steak, and last night's brandy,' he replied with a tolerant, patient chuckle for my evasion. 'All that standing about yakatting, drinking cocktails, fending off undesirables…'

'That can be exercise, too…'

'Okay.' He rang off.

It struck me that he gave up easily, or maybe I'd been too egregiously disagreeable. He was only being chivalrous. Undoubtedly time would hang heavy in a storm-struck hotel without a pleasant companion, and I had been accessible and considerably more agreeable last night.

The maid came to do the room so I went downstairs to get some stamps. This would be an ideal time to catch up on thank-you notes and answer the fan letters which had been forwarded from my publishers to St. Louis. And I'd have to tell Tim about being blizzarded. I had, after all, several times wished in his presence that I'd see some snow while I was back in the States.

The lobby was full, mostly of disgruntled travellers. While I could appreciate their positions, and supposed that if my lecture dates were being missed, I'd complain, too, I was glad enough to complete my errand and retire to my room. There was a disquieting unease in the lobby…

The maid was just finishing my room when I returned so I settled dutifully at the desk with my paper work. I'd brought my diary up to date, including the meeting with Dan-man, and got as far as addressing an envelope to Tim and heading his letter before I realised that I did not want to write. I stared out at the swirling snow for inspiration and found none. I was reaching for the knitting bag when I heard a knock on the door.

I was so glad to see Dan standing there that my face must have mirrored my relief. His eyebrows went up and his eyes twinkled.

'There's nobody, but nobody in that pool. They're all… what was your word, ah yes,… grembling in the lobby and the bars. The atmosphere is intense.' Then he held up both hands: in one was a woman's black swimming suit and in the other, a man's green trunks. 'As requested, untankstyle. How's about it?' He held the suit out to me.

'How'd you know my size?'

'I asked for a fourteen?' he grimaced against my reaction.

'That should do.'

He grinned with relief. 'Thought so. You're not skinny, you're not fat but you have… ahem… broad shoulders. I took a chance. You're not insulted? Good. Lifeguard says we can change there but bring towels or it's another buck.'

The pool was not in the basement, but at the end of one wing of the ground floor. Snow was piled against the glass surrounding the pool and lay heavy on the winter roofing. We were still the only ones taking advantage of the facility. I wondered about swimming because the pool room was chilly, with steam rising from the water.

I put an exploratory hand in the water and found it suitable.

'To your liking, madam?' asked Dan, and I was glad I was still in my clothes because I suspected he might have unceremoniously dumped me into the water if I had been changed.

'Passable, passable.' I retreated with great dignity to the dressing rooms, his chuckle echoing in the empty chamber.

The fourteen fit but it was only a shade more flattering than a tank suit. There's no escaping the fact that my figure is thickening in the middle. I turned this way and that, sucking in my guts but Esther Williams I am not, even if my legs are still rather good. Ah, who cares?

I jammed a cap over my hair. Vanity! Vanity!

He was cavorting in the water, launching himself up and down, arms extended, bringing them down hard, to splash mightily, the way kids do. It was gratifying to me to notice that he was thickening about the middle, too, though with his breadth of shoulder, his spread wasn't noticeable when he was clothed. He breast-stroked to the side of the pool when he saw me.

'The water's just great. C'mon in.' He made a snatch at my ankle and I neatly dove over his head into the water.

It was cooler than I'd thought but warm after the outside temperature. Still, I wanted to keep moving so I began to swim a lap.

'You in condition?'

'Not for a race,' I replied.

'Shall we see how many laps we can do?' He was challenging me.

'Fair enough.' We'd just see.

He moderated his stroke to mine so we could swim side by side. The first couple of laps weren't too bad. Each one was progressively harder to complete: my legs got leaden, my arms, particularly my shoulders, resisted being forced to function. Then his elbow caught and shoved water right into my open mouth so I had an excuse to stop. I half-choked so that he had to tow me to the side of the pool where I could hold on until I got my wind back in the proper pipe.

'Can't we stop now?' he asked, blowing very hard through his mouth.

'I'd think we'd better.' I was heaving as badly as he. 'I don't think I've swum like that for years…'

'Me either!'

Then we both laughed together at each other.

'Ah, vanity!' He said, starting to hoist himself out of the pool. He fell back into the water with a loud groan.

'Why do they waste youth on the young!' I hand-over-handed myself on the pool's edging to the ladder and found even that hard on my overworked arms.

I dried off and then wrapped up in the towel for the air was chill.

'I'm absolutely jacked,' he said, flopping onto one of the sun loungers.

I lay down, more gracefully I thought, on the adjacent lounger. My body seemed to throb with the exercise.

'You know something, Dan?'

'What?' His eyes were closed but he turned his head in my direction.

'I'm aware I've got blood again.'

'Oh?' He frowned in brief consideration. 'Yeah. I have, too.'

My blood was pounding through leaden limbs, my heart ought to have been audible to him from the sound of it against my rib cage. Then the inner tumult quietened and I was aware of the hiss of the snow against the glass behind me. I slewed around, trying to peer beyond the swirls. I sensed rather than saw buildings beyond, the regular bumps of parked snow-covered cars, the looming pyramids of the evergreens, their snow-burdened branches drooping.

A groan from Dan roused me and I saw him sitting up on the edge of the sun-lounger. He was flexing his shoulder muscles and stretching his arms out.

'Christ, am I out of condition!'

'Smoking too many cigarettes? No, you don't smoke.'

'Care for another… slow… lap to loosen up?'

I groaned inadvertently as I swayed to an upright position. 'Will it do any good?'

'Can't do us any more harm.'

I could feel the stress in my legs and staggered to the side of the pool. I did manage a graceful dive but then, I hadn't overdone that. I couldn't swim overarm so I sort of frogged it down to the further end. He splashed as energetically, if unscientifically, beside me. But the water was relaxing, even if all it did was hold up the muscles. We lay, flat out, flapping our hands to keep flotation, occasionally drifting together.

'This is the daftest way to spend a snow-bound morning,' said Dan, a ripple of amusement in his voice.

'Isn't it?'

'By rights, we should be out there, snowshoeing, or skating or skiing. Making use of the opportunity. Lord, I haven't had the time to ski in so long.'

'I haven't had the opportunity although someone started an artificial snow slope in Dublin.'

'In Dublin?' He roared at the notion and I wondered if I should look hurt and defend my adopted city. 'Well, we're in Denver now, and Aspen is the winter ski capital…'

'And I'm not up to any more exercise today!'

'Neither am I.' He grimaced ruefully. 'Know any good two-handed card games? Excluding poker!'

'Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I picked up a three volume set of games of patience in Dublin…'

'I hadn't noticed the Irish were noted for their patience!'

'Don't be snide. Whatever else could the poor women do while waiting for their men to come back from whatever revolution they were fighting?'

'Match point!' He got to the ladder first but waved me up before him.

As well we had finished with the pool because a group of children and three adults plowed into the room, their noisy conversation reverberating through the empty, marble-tiled space. Dan and I locked eyes, nodded and made for our towels and respective dressing rooms. He was waiting for me when I emerged and I disliked him. His hair was neatly combed and reasonably dry. Mine was still straggly damp and I did not look my best. I was feeling chilly after all my exercise.

'You're blue in the lips.'

'You've no tact, Dan. Besides, blue is the very latest fashion shade… see my nails?'

He gave my back a rough rubbing; to restore circulation, he told me as we made our way to the elevator.

'It's my lips as is blue,' I reminded him, straightening my back away from his not too gentle knuckles.

'Look, you go up to your room. I'll meet you there. Wrap yourself in a blanket. I want to get cards.'

'I've got a pack.'

'Just go along to your room, will you?' He gestured me to the elevator.

I obeyed, almost too cold to move. I had no sweaters in my suitcase: no one had predicted the damned blizzard. I knew the hotel room had felt overly warm to me after years in Irish rooms, but now it didn't seem warm at all. Swimming during a snowstorm was the daftest notion! I put my cloak on first and then the spare blanket and was still fighting the shivers. The door got knocked on.

'You squaw, me Indian brave,' Dan said in the doorway. 'Me got fire-water,' and he displayed a fifth of bourbon and a six pack of soda.

'I thought it was cards you needed.'

He jerked his chin at his shirt pocket. 'Not much choice but at least I know you can't have marked the deck.'

'I never cheat!' And then I winced at the coy floral design on the biliously coloured decks.

'Pink for you, blue for me,' said Dan, shoving me back into the room so he could close the door.

My comment was an unspellable sound.

He got glasses from the bathroom and splashed bourbon into one.

'Knock this back while I get the ice.'

The bourbon warmed pleasantly all the way down. I gave a convulsive shudder but immediately felt better.

'Now for a proper drink,' Dan said, returning with the icebucket.

We played cards for the rest of the afternoon: Russian bank, Chinese patience, what he insisted on calling Swedish Canfield to keep the games international in flavour and educational in experience, and Brazilian canasta. It was more fun than I've had in a long while: genuine, unstrained, relaxing fun.

Abruptly I folded, what with the bourbon, the exercise and, I suppose, the residual fatigue of my trip.

'Hey, I'm winning,' Dan protested.

'Hmmm. I'm sleepy.' With no more apology, I crept from the chair to the bed, and curled up. I do remember that he tugged the blanket down to cover my feet.

It was hard to struggle out of the pit of sleep but I felt an obligation to do so. The mind roused more quickly than the body, however. My eyes declined the first commands to open. I was on my left side, bundled in a beautifully warm cocoon, my hands tucked under my chin, my fore-head against something warm. I took note of the assorted odours, clean shirt, aftershave, male.

My eyes finally obeyed and there was a pool of light just beyond me. The warmth came from a male body.

I groaned. I hate to be seen with a sleep-creased face: it makes me look so elderly.

'Ah, the dead arose and was seen by many.'

'Any is too much.'

Dan chuckled and I kept my head down, hoping that he'd have the grace to turn away and let me dive to the bathroom unobserved.

'Feel rested?'

'I can't move. Go away.'

'Is that gratitude for my solicitous guardianship?'

'Oh, have the natives been restless? Are we under attack from palefaces?'

'None,' and laughter rippled in his voice, 'these past four hours or more.'

Lord, I'd never get to sleep tonight. 'What time is it?'

'Exactly…' I could feel him moving as he consulted his watch, 'ten twenty-two, to the sound of the tone.' And he hummed.

'Jaysus.' I moved, but not very far: the blanket was strangling me. 'What did you put on me? A strait jacket?' I punched at the restraint.

He helped me and as he loosened the blanket, looked me full in the face. I averted my head.

'What's the matter?'

'Nothing…' I said it sharply because my vanity was bruised and it was all very stupid of me and I knew it.

'What is the matter. Jenny?' And damn him, he got his hand on my chin and jerked my face around, his eyes searching mine.

And like a stupid fool I wanted to cry. The stupidity being why did it matter how he saw me. But it did. There's that much of the romantic still left in me. Or was I fooling myself about that, too, and all I had left was my precious idiotic vanity?

'Your face is all creased,' he said, 'like a sleepy child's.' There was no distaste in his voice and he rubbed at my left cheek as if to iron it smooth. There was also no flattery in his observation. He couldn't have picked a neater way to devastate me. Which is why, when he bent to brush lips with me, the way one does a sleepy child, the contact was charged.

'My God,' he said, staring down at me with amazement and then he kissed me again, in no way how one kisses a sleepy child. His moustache was soft against my lips but a couple of the bristles pricked my nose so that I squirmed to get in a more comfortable position. His arms clamped down on me as if he thought I was trying to evade him and his kiss became more determined.

I couldn't recall a single kiss so emotionally charged and I cooperated wholeheartedly. Which seemed to encourage his efforts. And he knew how, hands and lips, and the pressure of his body against mine.

I could have cried out in protest when he drew away. He gave me a little shake and my eyes opened involuntarily. His face was so close that I couldn't distinguish his features, only the blur of the moustache, the darkness of his eyes, the silver of his hair outlined against the bedside light.

'Shall we, Jenny?' he asked softly.

I'd been of half a mind to try and laugh off that kiss, a major feat, but 'shall we' defeated my intention.

'Yes, please!'

He laughed, low, and if it was not a smug laugh, it had a very self-satisfied ring to it. He began to kiss and caress me again in the most leisurely, expert fashion.

'I'm trapped in the damned blanket,' I said, getting my mouth free.

He chuckled. 'I know. I'll free you in my own good time.'

Which he did. And freed me of some other things, too. Like my dignity, my vanity, and a few unnecessary inhibitions. By the time he had finished with me - no, by the time we had satisfied each other - because this was, above all else, a mutual effort, we both drifted off to sleep, completely relaxed.

I must have turned so that the bedside light was shining in my eyes for light woke me. I lay there, Dan's head buried on my shoulder, several other appendages draped heavily on my right side. I moved and his hand gripped me possessively as he muttered in his sleep against my shoulder. I was hungry: I needed to go to the bathroom and the light would prevent me from going back to sleep but I couldn't reach the switch with him all over me. I didn't really want to move because it was so incredibly good to be sleeping next to a man - particularly one who did not snore. I tried to reason with my body. My stomach growled and the pressure on my bladder was something I couldn't ignore much longer in comfort.

I eased myself free of his legs, gently removed his arm and by depressing my shoulder into the pillow, managed to winkle out from under his head. I was sliding from the bed when his hand caught my arm.

'Don't go.'

'I'd better or I will.'

'Oh,' was his sleepy groan and he flopped over.

I sped to the bathroom. Then I looked at my face which wasn't sleep-creased but very smug. I washed it in cold water to make it behave, brushed on new brows, rinsed my mouth.

'Hey, don't hog the place,' he called cheerfully.

Hmm. Yes. My robe was on the door and, let's face it, at my age, things begin to sag a bit. I didn't want the magic to go because the frog-princess still looked like a frog when the kissing stopped.

Sometimes when you meet your partner after sex, there's a bit of strain. He passed me on the way to the bathroom with a broad grin on his face and a quick caress.

'Help yourself to the sandwiches but don't eat 'em all,' he said just as I spotted the room service table by the window.

When had that materialised? Well, if there were to be frog princesses, there could also be djinns in the middle of storm-bound Denver.

The covered dishes exposed enough sandwiches for four - roast beef and turkey, a tasteful array of salad greens with dressing on the side, butter and rolls, two generous portions of lemon meringue pie and coffee, still reasonably steamy in its vacuum container.

I was eating with relish and speed when he joined me, dressed in shirt and trousers. Some men look sexier with an open shirt exposing their masculinely hairy chests and he was one of them.

'When did you conjure all this?' I asked with my mouth full.

'When you corked off the first time.'

'Good thinking! And thanks!' I glanced at my watch. 'One thirty? Whee. Very good thinking.'

'Plan ahead!' He was grinning broadly and the sparkle in his eyes was infuriating.

'Plan ahead, huh?' and I waved at the rumpled bed.

'Well,' and he scratched the back of his head,' it did occur to me last night…'

'Ergo, all the brandy?'

'Well?' And his eyes mocked me with laughter. 'Should I have pushed my luck?'

It was a challenge and, because I have always prided myself on a disastrous honesty, I didn't hesitate. 'You could have. But I'm glad you didn't.' His hand, warm and strong, covered mine and his eyes were kinder less wary. 'This…'and I inclined my head towards the bed'… turned out rather…'

'Rather special. Thank you. Jenny.'

We were both a trifle embarrassed by such mutual honesty and began to eat.

'I don't remember when I've been so ravenous,' I said, tossing the napkin to the disarrayed table. We'd cleared it of all edibles.

'It's been a long time since your breakfast steak,' he reminded me with a mildly lecherous arching of his eyebrows.

'That's very true.'

A sudden rattle against the curtained windows drew me to rise and look out. I shivered, staring at the stormy night.

' I said it once too often.'

'Said what?' he asked, standing behind me and parting the curtain farther.

'I said I wanted to see snow while I was in the States.'

Puzzled, he looked down at me. 'Aren't you American?'

'Yes, but I live in Ireland.'

'Why?' He was genuinely surprised.

'Tax exemption.'

'Oh, yes, you did mention you're a writer.' The wind dashed a slurry against the window and instinctively I yielded back. He caught my shoulders because I also stepped on his toes.

'Sorry.'

'Not a fit night for man, beast or machine.'

'Will it blow itself out by tomorrow?' I asked, sort of hoping it couldn't although perhaps it would be better if we were released from the snow thrall.

'I doubt it.' He preferred that it continue. He wrapped both arms around me and pressed me back against him, kissing the side of my neck, just where I happen to be very sensitive. 'This is a real three-day howler.'

'How can you be sure?'

'I grew up in Colorado. I know that note in the wind.'

His hands dropped to where I was also sensitive.

'It's two o'clock in the morning and all's well. Shall we?' The last two words came out in a husky, compelling invitation, reinforced by an especially clever kiss. I nodded.

While the storm continued, so would the spell, so why not?