There was no way to know, though, because Clara wasn’t pregnant. She was alone. In this room, her bedroom in Snow Pine Lodge, Clara was alone. When she went upstairs and joined the others, her closest friends, she would be alone. In the most crowded of spaces, Clara would be alone. Watching the bird of prey from the top of the mountain had crystallised the realisation. It had been her revelation, her moment of clarity.
She twisted the lipstick, watching the vibrant plum colour disappear into its silver housing. Slotting the top into place, she dropped the whole thing into the bin.
Upstairs in the main living area, Rose stared through the picture window, the swirling snow on the other side of the glass not dissimilar to the thoughts inside her mind. Clara had given her the perfect opportunity to tell her how she felt about Madeleine, had almost sounded as though she already knew. So why hadn’t Rose just told her, got the whole thing out into the open?
The door opened and then slammed closed two flights down and Rose’s shoulders tightened. Lysander was back, and that only made her swirl of emotions more complicated. Unmoving, she stared blankly out as she heard Madeleine sigh then take herself across to the hub of activity, where Tom had pulled a tray from the oven and was transferring its contents onto a serving dish with the shuffled scraping of a spatula.
Rose didn’t acknowledge Clara, who appeared moments later and began to rifle through one of the lodge’s cupboards, built into the space where the eaves dipped low enough in the dining area to make it impossible to stand upright.
She didn’t react when Clara pulled a box from the cupboard and set it down on the table, then asked Tom if she could set an extra couple of places for dinner. For Lysander and Gull, Rose presumed.
She stayed put, eyes on the whirlwind of snow outside, brain elsewhere entirely. This was it. This evening was the evening when Rose needed to face up to things, to stop hiding from who she was. This was the evening when she had to find a way to tell everyone the truth. She owed Madeleine that much. She’d wasted so much time wondering, and Madeleine had been so patient, so understanding. She’d repeatedly told Rose how it was her move to make when she was completely ready. But while Rose didn’t feel like she’d ever be completely ready, she wondered for how long Madeleine really would be content to be a secret, their true emotions only expressed behind closed doors, or in the dark. Especially after some of the things Madeleine had said this week. And the possibility of losing Madeleine didn’t bear thinking about.
It was as if Rose’s mind was finally catching up with her body, which had never had any doubts. Her body had made its feelings known in no uncertain terms, left no room for discussion. She wanted Madeleine, with a fierceness that left her staring through this window, unsure she was capable of mastering the strength of that emotion.
Clara was right, she’d squandered enough time.
Once she’d gained back her breath, Tania slipped out of the bed. She was hot and sticky, and the after-effects of passion still roared through her. A glance back at Gull, the sheet pulled loosely across his frame as he steadied his own breathing, told her she wasn’t completely satiated; that if there were a way to remain physically attached to him, then she would take it.
She also knew he was bound to ask more questions if she stayed in bed with him.
‘I think I’ll grab a shower,’ she said, padding across the floor.
‘Can I join you?’ he said, the lightning grin flashing across his face, but this time it mellowed and stayed put.
‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’ A smile to match his settled on her own face as he threw back the sheet and crossed the room to join her.
Afterwards, Tania dressed quickly. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting jumper, then slipped her feet into a pair of pumps. Gull dressed with equal speed. Still naked from the waist up, and with an amused expression on his face, he ran a hand through his wet, tousled curls. Both stayed far enough apart to be unable to touch. It felt to Tania, as if now the genie of intimacy had been let out of the bottle, there would be no way to shove it back in. That it would be impossible for her to be physically close to him without wanting to touch him. Without being aroused by him.
‘I don’t know where my fleece is.’ He glanced around the room.
Nor did she. She scanned the space, too. With a burst of heat in her cheeks she remembered they’d left some items of clothing in the kitchen.
She cleared her throat. ‘I think it might still be upstairs.’ The edges of her lips creased in amusement. ‘I’ll go and fetch it.’ Chances were the others would be up there, in the living area. Chances were she might have to run the gauntlet of the others’ curiosity when she fetched it. She didn’t mind that, particularly. But she knew she was running out of time, running out of having Gull completely and purely to herself. And she did mind that. Because she was also running out of ways to avoid him discovering who she was.
‘Thank you,’ he said, bathing her in another of his lightning smiles, which she’d worked out were partly him expressing embarrassment, partly relief.
‘No problem,’ she said, opening her door. She didn’t have to go far. A pile of clothes, including Gull’s jersey and topped by her mobile, rested on the floorboards outside. If she had to make a bet, she’d put money on it having been Madeleine who’d delivered them. Picking them up, she retreated into the room, wondering if she would manage to control her grin as she thanked her; wondering how deeply her cheeks would colour with the embarrassment of having left clothes strewn about the place for others to find, then thinking how much she wanted to feel the heat of that moment with him, in the kitchen, all over again.
Gull pulled the soft jersey top over his head. ‘Will I do?’ he said. He hadn’t got clothes to change into, so wore the loose underlayers from his skiing outfit.
Tania slotted herself against him, breathing in deeply. ‘You will do very nicely indeed, Mr Thornton,’ she murmured.
‘I haven’t even got any shoes,’ he said, the words reverberating through his chest and into the ear she rested against him.
‘Part of my cunning plan,’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘You can’t run away, can you? If you’ve got no shoes.’
‘Why would I want to run away?’ he said.
‘Scrabble,’ Clara said, with an edge of triumph to her voice.
Madeleine looked at her sideways. ‘You want to play Scrabble?’
‘After dinner,’ Clara said. ‘Why not?’
