Fire Under Snow by Dorothy Vernon Page A

one way for her – in sorrow. Beneath the sophisticated, figure-hugging white dress beat the crazy, mixed-up heart of a very scared, immature girl. How could she have reached the magical age of twenty-three and feel sixteen in experience and ability to cope?
    Some, if not all, of this must have shown on her face, because Shane Peters chuckled richly. “You shouldn’t believe all you hear. Sure, the guy’s sowed a few wild oats. He’s normal, isn’t he? But he’d need to be Superman to keep up with all the reports about him.”
    â€œYou are very loyal, Mr. Peters.”
    His eyes riveted on her in open admiration. “Shane, if you don’t mind. You should be crowing over the conquest, not probing his past as if he were the one on trial and not the –”
    He pulled himself up sharply and she took up the sentence for him. “And not the other way around. You think I’m on trial, don’t you, Shane?”
    â€œI don’t know what to think. Do you mind if we make a move? I might be parked in an illegal area.”
    He hadn’t sidestepped the issue. He honestly didn’t know. His first hasty assessment was under review. She didn’t know quite how she knew this, since nothing specific in his manner had betrayed him, but he was no longer questioning why Noel was attracted to her, even though she was vastly different from his usual choice of female companion. There had been no shortage of informants to acquaint her with the fact that Noel was reputed to have a rapid turnover of girlfriends. He tended to go for brunettes – tall, sultry, sophisticated yes-girls. Just how long would the novelty of a petite, blonde no-girl last?
    At the club, Shane Peters wanted to seat her at the table that was permanently reserved for Noel.
    â€œPlease, I’d rather not. Most of the regulars know it’s Mr. Britton’s table and I’d feel conspicuous. Could you find me a quiet hideaway somewhere?”
    â€œA girl sitting on her own and one with your looks ... you’d cause a stir wherever I put you. You could wait for Mr. Britton in his office, if you wish.”
    â€œI do,” she said gratefully. Apart from the privacy it would grant her, she was curious to see where Noel spent his working day.
    â€œI’ll get someone to rustle up a cup of tea for you. Unless you’d prefer something more –”
    â€œTea would be lovely,” she cut in. “If it’s no trouble.”
    Shane escorted her to Noel’s office and then went to order the tea.
    Noel’s domain was more opulent than any office she had ever known, in a discreet and expensively tasteful way. Her heels sank into the rich pile of the carpet. Her eyes ran appreciatively over the deep leather armchairs and matching sofa, the oyster-color walls hung with pictures of famous recording artists. Her glance dropped to fix on the leather swivel chair that Noel would occupy when he sat at the wide executive desk with its imposing bank of telephones and a single photo frame containing a picture of ...
    Before she could satisfy her curiosity, Shane returned carrying a tea tray set for one.
    â€œWill you be all right on your own?” he inquired, placing the tray on a small table. “Mr. Britton shouldn’t be delayed much longer, and it’s almost time for me to open the show.”
    â€œOf course. Thank you for the tea.”
    â€œIf you’re quite sure, I’ll leave you to pour it yourself. If the boss still hasn’t got back, I’ll pop in again when I’ve set things in motion.”
    Instead of reaching for the silver teapot when he’d gone, she decided to appease her curiosity before her thirst and went around to Noel’s side of the desk to look at the photograph. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about the identity of the couple. The man had a tender smile on his face as he looked at the woman. The woman’s features were