Travelling Light. Sandra Field
hands caressed her back, bared by her dress; with the other he clasped her waist, pulling her closer. And still his mouth clung to hers, their tongues dancing, their breaths mingling.
Kristine’s knee was doubled under her on the car seat; as pain shot through it, she made a small sound of protest, trying to straighten it in front of her. She was trembling very lightly all over, and wanted nothing more than to haul her dress over her head and make love to Lars in the back seat of the car.
He said unsteadily, ‘On at least one level you’re after me.’
What was the use of denying it? In a jerky, graceless movement she backed away from him, pulling her skirt over her legs. ‘I want to go home,’ she said, and had no idea whether she meant Oslo or Ontario.
Lars put the car in gear and surged down the driveway, gravel spitting from behind the tyres. Trees flicked past, dark statues under a sky brilliant with stars. Kristine sat very still, hugging her chest, knowing that with one kiss she had crossed an invisible barrier and could never go back. Innocence had been lost. She now knew in her blood and her bones what it meant to crave the joining of a man’s body to her own.
The lights of the city spangled the night like fallen stars. Lars drove down Harald’s street, parked the car, and said with an urgency that in no way surprised her, ‘I want to make love to you, Kristine. Now. Tonight. I know we only met two days ago and that this isn’t the way either of us normally behaves. But I have to know this is real—that you’re real. That I can trust in—hell, I don’t even know what I’m saying.’
He raked his fingers through his hair. In the dimly lit car she gazed over at him, seeing the shadowed, deep-set eyes and the mouth that had seared its way into her soul. But on the drive from Asgard the turmoil in her blood had subsided a little, and her brain had started to work. She said quietly, ‘I can’t, Lars—you must know I can’t. We come from different worlds, you and I, and once I leave here we’ll never see each other again—I’ll never forget you but I won’t make love with you.’
‘I won’t allow you to vanish from my life!’
‘You won’t have any choice.’
‘I make my own choices, Kristine. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, and I’m not going to let you slip through my fingers. Two people can travel light—together.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ she said with deep conviction.
‘Then I’ll have to prove you wrong. What time can I meet you tomorrow?’
‘We’re not going to meet!’
‘Yes, we are. I’ll camp on the doorstep all night if that’s what it takes.’
He was entirely capable of doing so. Feeling besieged and frightened, Kristine repeated, ‘We’re not going to meet and we’re not going to make love—you must leave me alone, Lars.’
Drumming his fingers on the wheel, he changed tactics. ‘My grandmother is a difficult and cantankerous old woman. But despite her money and her beloved Asgard she has had more than her share of tragedy...and I love her. She doesn’t respect Sigrid—as I’m sure she respects you.’
‘It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me,’ Kristine cried. ‘Don’t you understand that?’
‘I’m refusing to,’ Lars said grimly. ‘I’m sure you’ve had more than enough of her right now—but, by one of those coincidences that I could do without, tomorrow is her birthday and I’m taking her out for dinner...I want you to join us.’
Kristine didn’t even hesitate. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow’s Friday and Harald will be back.’
He bit off the words. ‘So Harald has more of a claim on you than I?’
‘He’s my first cousin and the first member of my family that I’m to meet...it’s important to me,’ she said rebelliously.
Knuckles tight around the wheel, Lars said, ‘Then I’ll phone you tomorrow morning.’
She opened her door, said breathlessly, ‘I won’t answer,’ and ran for the front steps of Harald’s building. If she’d only stayed on Karl Johansgate the night before last, she thought sickly, none of this would have happened. And tomorrow morning would she really be capable of letting the phone ring unanswered?
The lift creaked its way upwards, slowly enough for her to decide that what she very much wanted to do was put her head on the pillow and have a good cry. Pulling out her key, she unlocked the door to the flat.
A light was shining in Harald’s bedroom.
CHAPTER THREE
STANDING in the hall, Kristine called uncertainly, ‘Hello...Harald?’
‘Kristine—is that you? I got back early.’
A young man swathed in one of the black bathroom towels came into the foyer. He had a shock of wet brown hair and a cheerful grin, and the hug he gave her was as brotherly as she could have wished. Kissing her on both cheeks Harald said, ‘This calls for champagne, this meeting of cousins after so many years. And how pretty a cousin you are,’ he finished gallantly.
No undercurrents in Harald, Kristine thought. She could travel anywhere with him and be quite safe. To her horror her eyes flooded with tears.
In quick concern he said, ‘You have a bruise on your cheek—has something happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said shakily.
‘I love stories and I love champagne. Let me put on some clothes and then you must tell me everything.’
Under the influence of champagne on top of all the wine she had drunk Kristine told Harald a great deal, although not quite everything. He said decisively, ‘I’ll take you out for dinner and dancing tomorrow night; you don’t need another evening of grandmothers. You’re sure you’re not falling in love with the grandson, though? That would be very romantic.’
Kristine sneezed as the bubbles of champagne tickled her nose. ‘Sex and romance aren’t the same thing at all,’ she announced, just as if she knew what she was talking about.
‘Combined they are irresistible, though,’ said Harald, raising his glass in a toast.
She and her cousin seemed to find quite a lot of things to toast as the night progressed. It was three a.m. when they went to bed, and at nine-thirty Kristine woke up with a hangover. Probably the most expensive hangover she’d ever had, she decided, stepping into the shower and turning on the water full blast, a treatment that did not appear to help.
When she went into the kitchen, Harald took one look at her face and said briskly, ‘A light breakfast at an outdoor café, that will make you feel better.’
It did not seem to be the time to assert her financial independence. ‘All right,’ she said meekly.
They walked out into the sunshine, which was blindingly bright. ‘Ouch,’ said Kristine, staggering a little.
Harald put his arm around her, dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of aviator’s dark glasses, and positioned them on her nose. Then he steered her across the street. The man who had been seated on the stone wall watching all this got up and said tightly, ‘Good morning, Kristine.’
The glasses made everything a surreal shade of blue and the man was Lars. Camped on her doorstep as he had threatened. Groping for her manners, Kristine said, ‘My cousin Harald...Lars Bronstad.’
Lars gave Harald a curt nod, then reached out and removed the glasses. ‘What the devil have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Champagne on top of wine,’ she said, blinking into the light and keeping a firm hold on Harald’s arm. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have to go to Lillehammer on business today. Spend