She was hardly likely to find out, she reflected, as she pulled on her robe and padded over to the window.
Outside the sky was a pure pale blue. Frost sparkled crisply on the snow, a pale lemon sun struggling to add an illusion of warmth to the winter scene. Down below Chelsea saw Slade trudging back from the garage. Despite the icy cold as evidenced by his breath, he was bareheaded, his boots leaving deep tracks in the thick snow. He paused suddenly and glanced upwards, causing Chelsea to duck away from the window, not wanting him to see her.
Limping into her bathroom, she examined herself. Apart from a slightly swollen ankle she seemed to have suffered remarkably few after-effects from her exposure. Mainly thanks to Slade, she was forced to acknowledge, a hazy recollection of hot water and her own protests surfacing briefly.
How long would it be before the snow melted? She dressed quickly in cords and a thick sweater. The central heating appeared to be on, but she had no idea how reliable it would be under the present conditions.
In the kitchen she busied herself preparing breakfast. It was apparent from the clinical tidiness that Slade had not eaten, and telling herself that there was nothing to be gained from exacerbating their position, Chelsea opened the fridge and removed several rashers of the bacon Mrs Rudge always served him for breakfast, and several eggs.
He came in as she was filling the kettle, and stopped on the threshold, obviously surprised to see her up.
‘I’m just making breakfast,’ she told him calmly, glad that the necessity of filling the kettle meant that she could keep her back to him. ‘It won’t be long.’
He made no comment and for a moment Chelsea thought he was simply going to ignore her, but when she eventually turned round he was removing his boots and then he went across to fiddle with the radio on top of one of the units.
‘Might as well hear the weather forecast,’ he told her, ‘although I don’t suppose it will be good. There was a sharp frost last night—I thought we might be able to get the car out, but there’s simply no way.’
‘At least we’re warm and comfortable,’ Chelsea murmured, avoiding his eyes, her skin flushing as she recalled just how warm and comfortable she had felt in the night, sharing his bed.
She had always enjoyed cooking and moved deftly in the immaculate kitchen. There was a strange expression in Slade’s eyes when she eventually placed his breakfast in front of him, which deepened when he took a tentative bite and pronounced as though it surprised him. ‘It’s good!’
Chelsea said nothing, simply pouring him the cup of tea she knew he preferred in the morning.
‘But of course I suppose breakfasts are your forte,’ he said smoothly when she didn’t speak. ‘You’ve probably had a lot of practice at making them.’
Typical of a man! she thought wrathfully as she turned away. It was all right for them to be sexually experienced and liberated, but when it was a woman they were full of outraged masculine pride and nasty innuendoes.
‘What business is it of yours if I have?’ she demanded sweetly, ‘You’re enjoying the results, aren’t you?’
With an abruptness that startled her he pushed his half eaten breakfast away.
‘I was,’ he agreed bitingly, ‘but suddenly I’ve lost the taste for it. I’m going to my study—to work,’ he added as though underlining that he wanted to keep away from her.
He was gone before Chelsea had any opportunity to ask him why he hadn’t gone to New York as he had planned. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, she realised with a start, suddenly overwhelmed by loneliness and a longing to be with her family.
It was very tempting to pick up the phone and ring Ann, but she daren’t trust herself not to betray to her sister that something was wrong, and it would be both selfish and unfair to spoil things for her, simply because she was suffering from a bout of homesickness.
But it wasn’t simply ‘homesickness’, she acknowledged as she rescued what she could of Slade’s breakfast for the birds and started to wash up; there was heartsickness as well, and that couldn’t be as easily assuaged.
Her head started to ache during the morning, and by mid-afternoon her whole body seemed to be one aching, shivering mass. It didn’t need Slade’s curt pronouncement over dinner to tell her what was wrong with her and she prayed that all she had was simply a bad cold and not the beginnings of ‘flu.
She didn’t think she could remember a more dismal Christmas, Chelsea reflected the following morning as she sneezed and shivered her way downstairs, and that included the year her parents had died. At least then there had been Ann, who had tried to make something of the day for her younger sister.
She couldn’t face breakfast; there was no sign of Slade apart from the crockery draining by the sink. He was obviously up and had eaten—another sign that her company was neither required nor needed? she wondered wryly, wondering why the knowledge should cause her so much pain when she already knew in full depth his contempt for her.
Dinner the previous night had been a ni
ghtmare of cold silence punctuated by her own stilted attempts at conversation. Apart from warning her that she was not well, Slade had said nothing. He hadn’t looked particularly healthy himself, Chelsea remembered. There had been a tension about him that was unusual; a set expression in his eyes which had said very loudly and plainly ‘Keep out.’
She was dosing herself with some cold remedy she had found in the medicine cabinet when she first became aware of the sound of an engine. At first she thought that Slade had actually started the car, even though common sense told her that he wouldn’t get very far in it, but it was a battered Land Rover that materialised out of the snowy lane, chugging determinedly towards them.
Forgetting her mental vow not to address Slade again until he spoke to her, Chelsea ran into the study, calling out to him, but Slade was already standing by the window watching the progress of the Land Rover.
When it came to a standstill and Tom’s burly figure climbed out Chelsea bit her lip, remembering their last meeting.
‘Cavalry to the rescue,’ Slade said sardonically. ‘Something tells me he’s going to have a shock when he discovers I’m here with you.’
If he was shocked, Tom hid it very well. His smile for Chelsea was as it had been when they first met, friendly and open, just a tinge of embarrassment in his eyes as they met hers.
To Chelsea’s surprise he wasn’t alone in the Land Rover. Sandy was with him.
‘Ma insisted we come down to make sure you were all right,’ he explained.
Chelsea sneezed, and instantly Sandy was all professional, frowning and reaching for her wrist to take her pulse.
‘You’ve got ‘flu,’ she pronounced unnecessarily when they were back in the house. ‘You should be in bed.’