To Dream of Snow by Rosalind Laker Page B

can’t see the door from here.’
    She lowered the hood of her cloak and fussed with her hair, which Marguerite had dressed specially for her that morning. Although she had tried to look her best, adding a little rouge to her cheeks, she could not disguise the gauntness of her face or the dark circles under her eyes.
    Marguerite ordered tea while they were waiting and it was served from a samovar into little drinking bowls. They had just finished it when suddenly Marguerite saw that a tall man, wearing a Cossack-style fur hat and a thick greatcoat, had entered, snowflakes whirling about him as he shook them away. He had a fierce, dramatic-looking face with a strong nose and chin, his dark-browed, deep-lidded eyes scanning intensely the crowded scene before him. As he pulled off his fur-lined gauntlets his expression showed his impatience to find the person he sought.
    â€˜I think Tom has arrived!’ Marguerite exclaimed, measuring the newcomer against Sarah’s description given early on in their friendship.
    Swiftly she left her chair and began threading her way through the tables towards him. She thought he looked a man of passionate, uncertain temperament, but she knew from all she had heard from Sarah that he was an exceptionally kind and devoted husband. No wonder he was anxious to find his wife immediately.
    He had not noticed Marguerite approaching, for he had turned his searching gaze in the direction of an archway that led into another taproom. Just as he was about to move in its direction she caught his sleeve, happy to be the bearer of good news. ‘Wait! No need to go in there!’ She threw out her hands expressively. ‘Your wife is here!’
    He turned his head sharply and his penetrating greenish-grey gaze pierced into her for a matter of seconds before amusement reached his narrowed grey eyes and a smile tugged at his mouth. He answered her, low-voiced, in French, his intimate tone deeper and far warmer than it should have been.
    â€˜You’re a very lovely woman, mam’selle.’ He seemed to breathe his appreciation of her. ‘Unfortunately I’m not looking for a wife at the moment. Another time perhaps?’
    Embarrassed, she stepped back quickly. ‘My apologies! I thought you were someone else.’
    â€˜So I guessed,’ he replied, still amused. ‘Now if you excuse me I can see my search is over. My brother has come to find me.’
    He had caught sight of Hendrick, who was rushing towards him from the other room. They greeted each other exuberantly.
    â€˜Jan, you devil!’ Hendrick exclaimed, not noticing Marguerite, who had drawn away. ‘How are you?’
    â€˜Fine! What sort of journey have you had? No trouble with the paintings, I hope? Did you get the Rubens for me?’
    Together they went into the other taproom. Marguerite paused to look after them for a few moments before she returned to give Sarah an account of what had happened. ‘He turned out to be Hendrick’s brother!’
    Sarah hid her disappointment that her waiting was not over yet. ‘What is he like?’
    Marguerite thought for a moment, recalling those striking good looks and wickedly amused eyes. ‘He fitted your description of Tom by being tall, good-looking and dark-haired. It’s no wonder I made a mistake in identifying him. In my opinion, Jan van Deventer would be both entertaining and dangerous company.’ Her sense of humour surfaced. ‘But,’ she joked in mock regret, ‘as I told you, he turned me away!’
    â€˜That was surely the greatest mistake he has ever made!’ Sarah declared, laughing with her. Then she saw Marguerite’s expression change as if she had been suddenly hypnotized, stiffening in her chair, her gaze fixed across the room.
    â€˜Someone else has just come in.’ Marguerite spoke in a curiously tight voice.
    â€˜Is it my husband now?’ Sarah leaned forward and caught at her