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'No, it wasn't the children,' she said quietly, horrified at the possibility he might think she was neurotic about children and families after her revelations the night before. 'They were sweet and their mother looked nice.'
'What, then?' he persisted softly. 'Tell me; I want to know.'
'I just don't like Christmas, that's all.'
She made to walk on but he caught her arm as she moved out of the circle of his arms, swinging her back to face him, his brow furrowed with enquiry. 'When I say tell me, I mean tell me,' he said firmly. 'That wasn't an answer. Explain.'
'Hawk, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but why should I?' she said tightly, trying to hide the panic his insistence was causing. 'If I don't like Christmas it's no big deal, is it? Lots of people the world over find it one big headache-it's so commercial.'
'You're not lots of people,' he said softly. 'You're thatched country cottages with roses round the door and big fat tabby cats, you're roasting chestnuts and log fires, you're snowmen, and frosted spider webs and a hundred and one other things I could think of, so…' He paused, his eyes blue light. 'Why don't you like Christmas, Joanne? And don't give me the 'commercial' garbage either.'
She stared at him helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed by the most awful feeling that she wanted to cry. She couldn't, she couldn't, she told herself fiercely. It would embarrass them both and there was no logical reason for it anyway; just because he'd said something nice… If it was nice-perhaps he meant she was predictable and boring? But he hadn't said it that way…
'Well?'
His voice was very gentle, and to combat the emotion that was causing a physical pain in her chest her own was almost harsh as she said, 'Christmas was always a difficult time when I was a child, that's all. The home…the home did its best, but it wasn't like family.'
From the age of nine, after her mother's disastrous second marriage had ended so abruptly, she had resided permanently in the children's Home with no more placements with foster parents, and it had been then that the full significance of her isolation had washed over her.
She had been dispatched back just two weeks before Christmas, confused and heartbroken at her mother's rage towards her, and had cried herself to sleep for the next few nights, longing for even a glimpse of her mother's face.
And then Christmas Eve had come, its mystery and wonder taking hold of her even through the turmoil and pain, and she had been sure, so sure, her mother would visit her. Why she had been so adamant she didn't know, even now, but only her mother could make everything all right, and how could she not come at Christmas? And so she had waited, and waited… And the long day had eventually drawn to a close, and still she had sat at one of the windows looking out into the snow-filled darkness, until one of the home's helpers had persuaded her to go to bed. It had been March before she saw her mother again…
'Don't look like that.' His voice was strained, and it brought her out of the black reverie with a peculiar little jolt, her eyes focusing on his face instead of the small, lost child in her mind.
'Like what?' she asked shakily, her face very pale.
'Crushed, defeated,' he said with a painful grimness. 'We will forget this conversation; I will not allow it to spoil what little we have left of the weekend.'
The tone of his voice stunned her even as she found it impossible to determine exactly how he was feeling, and the next moment he had swept her along the street, his arm about her waist, as they made for the car.
'We are going to have a wonderful meal-I know the very place-and then I am going to fly you back to your apartment in time for you to be tucked up with your cocoa and hot-water bottle before midnight.'
His voice was mocking and light, but as her feet were hardly touching the floor it was some moments before she could gasp, 'Fly? In the air, you mean?'
'Is there another way?'
'But how?' They reached the car and she leant against the smooth bonnet as she repeated, 'How, Hawk? I mean-'
'A friend of mine has a private airfield near here, and I told him we'd be along this evening,' Hawk said calmly, as though he were suggesting they call by and have coffee with someone. 'I do have a pilot's licence if that's what's worrying you.' He raised his eyebrows sardonically, thoroughly enjoying her open-mouthed surprise.
'But what about the car?' she asked weakly.
'It will be collected.'
How the other half lived. She stared at him with wide eyes, not sure of what to think. He clicked his fingers and the world snapped smartly to attention, doffing its cap as it did so. How could she imagine, even in her wildest dreams-and there had been a few of those since she had fallen in love with Hawk-that she could ever mean anything more to him than a passing pleasure?
As he opened the car door she slid inside with a careful smile, even as the pain in her heart caught her breath. The weekend was over. Reality was back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
During the next few weeks Joanne worked very hard, even harder than she had done before Hawk's flying visit. She arrived at the office long before the rest of the staff and was still there for hours after they had vanished into the chill of the winter evenings, often leaving well after nine o'clock when the nights were cold and dark and the moon sailed brightly in a lonely sky.
She welcomed the hard, grinding slog; it was a very necessary opiate against the agony of soul that gripped her if she allowed herself to think of Hawk-in fact she didn't think she could have got through those few weeks leading up to Christmas without it.
He had dropped her at her apartment on the Sunday evening of their weekend together with nothing more adventurous than a brief, but passionate, embrace, and a long, lingering kiss that had brought fire to her cheeks and pain to her heart.
The next morning at the office he had very definitely stepped into business mode, his manner cool and remote and the ruthless side of him to the fore as he had caused a miniature whirlwind of panic and confusion among the rest of the staff, who had spent the day running hither and thither in ever decreasing circles.
