Fire in the Wind (13 page)

"Someday I'll take you to Jasper," he had said when they were on the ground again, warming their chilled hands over a cup of coffee deep inside the building. "Right in the heart of the Rockies. That is truly something to see." And then he had said the words Jake had just quoted....

"The Rockies do rise above the tree line," Jake was saying. "These are more like very distant foothills of the Rockies."

"Could I fly to Jasper?" she asked.

"I imagine there's a flight by one of the small airlines," Jake mused. "You might get there and back tomorrow and have a few hours in Jasper. It's a pity you're leaving Saturday. I could take you up on the weekend in the company plane."

"Could you?" she breathed, suddenly desperately wanting to see what Jace had wanted to show her.

A dark flame leapt in Jake's eyes, and he pulled her irresistibly to him and bent to kiss her. In the cold air his lips were warm against hers, and she surrendered completely to the kiss. His mouth was gentle and she was hungry for the indescribable comfort it gave her.

After a long still moment, Jake drew back and touched a gloved finger to her pink cheek. "Stay the weekend, Vanessa," he said softly.

But she knew what he was really asking, and she wasn't prepared to make that commitment, especially not when her brain was so fuddled by his kiss that she wanted to shout, "Yes!" and hear it echoing down the valley.

She drew out of his arms. "I can't," she said. He smiled at her as though she were a charming coward, and she added defensively, "You're wrong."

His eyes were black. "What am I wrong about?"

She faltered. "You think I want to become your lover and I'm too afr—"

His eyes darkened and he pulled her back into his arms. "You do," he said. "Don't try to deny it, Vanessa. It's in your eyes, every time you look at me. It has been right from the beginning."

"No," she said levelly.

He gave a crack of laughter. "No?" he asked, his eyes blazing at her. "You think not? Then you don't know yourself, lady. Because if I started to kiss you now we'd be making love in that snowdrift behind you in five minutes. And believe me, you would make no protest."

She gasped in a breath of cold air and tried to step back. "Let me go," she demanded.

He didn't move. "If I'm wrong," he suggested softly, "kiss me now. Let me kiss you the way you need to be kissed, and then, if you want me to, I'll let you go."

Hypnotised by his eyes, by his seductive voice, she swallowed.

"Kiss me," he repeated in a whisper, and there was black flame behind his eyes and she knew if she made the smallest move toward those chiselled lips he would let loose the passion she saw in him....She closed her eyes against the pleasure the thought gave her, then turned her head to the large snowdrift behind her that cut them off from the view of the lodge and the few tourists in the distance.

He was watching every thought play across her face. "I do not want to kiss you," she said flatly. "Let go of me."

With only the briefest convulsive tightening of his arms around her, he complied. The dark flame left his eyes. "Let's go get a meal," said Jake. "That's one appetite you don't deny, isn't it?"

Over the adequate but by no means ideal lunch they were served in the lodge's main dining room, Jake talked lightly about a variety of things. He was as calm as if he had forgotten what had just happened between them, and Vanessa fought for a similar degree of calm.

She asked him about Canada's political background, and he explained to her the difference between Canada's parliamentary democracy and the American democratic republic.

Jake was obviously well-read and he explained things clearly and understandably. But he was politically cynical, and he could not help imparting his idea of things along with the recital of facts she had requested. Although he did not care which of the three major political parties formed the government, he did not like the present prime minister, and he was passionate on the subject of police powers and the erosion of civil liberties in the country that seemed to her as free as her own.

"The laws are there," he told her. "If the police invoked all the laws half the country could be in prison tomorrow."

Vanessa could neither believe what he said nor believe that he was lying. "Well," she said consideringly, thinking of the locks on the door of her mid-Manhattan apartment, "I know
I
feel freer here, Jake. I mean, think how free we were in Stanley Park the other night."

He shrugged. "True. No doubt I'm biased at the moment because the government ruled a couple of weeks ago that if Conrad Corporation went through with a takeover of Carvers Cartage it would have to divest itself of Conrad Trucking. As well as losing a sizeable chunk of money on the deal I now have to sit back and watch a takeover of Carvers by a foreign firm."

"The reverse takeover you were looking at last night," she queried, "was that a Canadian company or a foreign one?"

"A British Columbia firm, as it happens," Jake said. "Fraser Valley Helicopter has the largest fleet of helicopters in the world. They do everything from helicopter logging to ferrying workers to offshore oil rigs."

"Does that mean I should run out and buy shares in Fraser Valley Helicopter?" she asked lightly.

Jake smiled crookedly. "You should buy shares in Conrad Corporation," he said, and his eyes locked with hers, and Vanessa's heart skipped a beat.

At the foot of Grouse Mountain it was possible to rent a helicopter for a five-minute over-flight of the mountain and the city, and as they crossed the parking lot after leaving the cable car on the downward trip, Vanessa stopped and gazed across at the helicopter landing pad and the sign announcing the ride.

"I'd like to do that, I think," she said to Jake.

"Do what? Oh." He followed the direction of her gaze. "You won't get much of a thrill in five minutes," he said. "If you're free tomorrow morning I'll take you up in the company helicopter instead. All right?"

As it happened she was free all day Friday. The showing of accessories—bags, shoes and hats—was scheduled for the afternoon, and that was the last show. The evening was given over to another cocktail party that would close the week's events.

"I'd enjoy that very much." Vanessa smiled, moving again in the direction of the car. "If it's not going to be too much trouble." Jake had been spending a lot of time with her, and he must be a very busy man.

"It's not going to be too much trouble," Jake said, smiling down into her eyes, and just then there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—some depth of purpose far beyond anything she could have imagined him feeling—so intense and so brief that in the moment she opened her lips in a gasp, it was already gone.

* * *

Vanessa stayed backstage for the skirt and slacks showing that night. Although she had managed to get a replacement for Louisa, who had worked the show for a lingerie manufacturer and who was therefore probably experienced, she didn't feel confident enough to sit in the audience.

In the dressing room an extra pair of hands was usually welcome, though with four models working, no one was very rushed. Vanessa became indispensable, however, by virtue of being there. So she brushed lint off skirts and adjusted clasps on earrings and handed the models their accessories and inspected make-up, on command. And when Alison put a large run in her pantyhose and a panicky search around the dressing room did not bring to light the box of spares, Vanessa sat down and calmly stripped off her own and passed them over.

After the show she went around to the TopMarx hospitality suite, where the buyers had a chance to look at the garments again and place their orders.

Tom was sitting alone, looking glum. "You know," he said, "I've been wondering why we didn't book to go home tomorrow. We may as well have. I was nickeled and dimed to death this morning. The big orders come in after the show or not at all." Vanessa recognized this as a disguise for the worry he felt after every show that there would be no orders.

She said, "They're just having a drink, Tom. They'll be along." She moved over to the racks to straighten a few of the model garments.

"Speaking of flying home," she said abruptly after a moment, "I'm staying in Vancouver over the weekend and flying back Monday. I'll be back in the office Tuesday." Inwardly she was amazed and apprehensive. When had she decided on this, she wondered—and what other decision might she have made without knowing it?

"Yeah? Why?" Tom asked. He seemed taken aback by her directness and Vanessa felt a little thrill of power. Why on earth hadn't she taken this assertive attitude with him ages ago, instead of asking for permission all the time like a junior filing clerk?

"This is a very beautiful country, Tom. I want to see something of it, now that I'm here."

"Yeah?" Tom shuddered. "I wish you luck." Tom hated everything foreign and didn't care who knew it.

But Vanessa didn't intend to argue with him. Instead she asked, "What are the orders like?"

Tom pulled out a notebook in which he had noted down style numbers and running totals. They were good without being overwhelming and after she had looked them over Vanessa picked up the folder of the actual order forms and glanced quickly but expertly through them.

There was absolutely no doubt that the Canadian buyers went for the beiges, browns, soft pinks, russets and reds. In some cases, she noted, Tom had taken large orders for items in colours that he hadn't planned on offering at all. Vanessa flipped back and forth through the orders, calculating.

"You realize we haven't got any wool-mix tweed in russet on order for the bomber suit?" she asked. "And what's this order for 6703 in the dusty-rose wool blend? We've only ordered that for the 5203 skirt and the jacket trim. And the same—"

It was the same for half a dozen fabrics in colours that Tom had refused to believe would sell. Tom had the grace to look uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, that can be fixed."

Vanessa looked back through the file. "You've got some pretty early delivery dates for some of these large orders. Aren't you worried about not getting the fabric on time?" If the fabric manufacturers didn't have on hand the colours Tom hadn't previously ordered there might be a long delay while they made them up.

"Ah, we'll be okay," said Tom with a dismissive wave of his hand.

It was obvious that the orders vindicated her on the issue of colour, and only a little less on style. The items that Tom had included in the fall line only because of Vanessa's arguments had gone down well with many of the large buyers—and almost without exception with the small buyers, she noted with wry amusement. Tom would not be exactly thrilled over that, but Vanessa was. The small stores had to compete very hard to survive beside the large chain stores. Every item in stock had to be chosen with an eye to its power to take away a sale from the chain stores.

In her room shortly afterwards Vanessa took her airline ticket out of her purse and stood a long time looking down at the phone.

It's only a simple decision
, she told herself.
It doesn't mean anything except what I told Tom—that I want to see some of the country before I go back.
But as she reached for the receiver she could hear Jake's cynical voice saying,
little hypocrite
.

Tom would not be happy to be left to fly home alone. Air Canada was the only airline that flew between Vancouver and New York without a change of planes, and she had induced him to fly on the country's national carrier much against his will. Tom was as unadventurous in travel as he was in business and he was afraid of things foreign. But Vanessa had wanted to experience as much as she could of the country that had so nearly been her adopted home, and so they had flown on the big red-black-and-white Air Canada jet.

"What the hell is that?" Tom had demanded irritably when, after the stewardess had welcomed them in English over the public-address system, she obviously began to say the same thing in another language.

"Oh, Tom, it's French," Vanessa had said, suddenly thrilling to the strangeness of it. She had been on many business trips with Tom, but all of them had been in the continental United States. Although she was greatly attracted to the thought of foreign travel, her marriage to Larry and his long demanding illness had prevented her doing anything about it. They had honeymooned in Puerto Rico and that was her one and only trip abroad. Until this one.

"French?
What the hell are they speaking French for?" Tom had looked threatened, as though he expected to be pounced on at any minute. "It's an English country, isn't it? Besides, we're still in New York!"

"Tom, it's a bilingual country," she'd said. "They speak French, too. Haven't you ever heard of Quebec?"

"Yes, I've heard of it," Tom said. "I still don't know why they want to speak French. English is a perfectly good language. What do they need with two?"

Since Vanessa hadn't known the answer to this she'd fallen silent and then become aware that the man on the other side of her in the aisle seat was laughing silently.

Sitting on her bed beside the phone remembering now, Vanessa laughed, too. They must have sounded like a comedy duo, she and Tom. "Who's on third?"

"No, Who's on first."

"I dunno...."