Stitch in Snow

Relieved, I made my way out of the crowded bar. The calves of my legs were aching by the time I got to my room so that I decided to take a bath, as hot as the water would come out of the taps. I soaked and soaked. I'd used muscles today, in the spirit of the exercise, that hadn't been called on for years. I couldn't recall the last bad blizzard we'd had while I was still in Massachusetts.

It was rather nice to be alone, too. I told myself that as an insurance buffer. I tried to mean it. Furthermore, I would not sit around in my room waiting for Dan to shake free of old Hearty. I'd noticed a snack-bar/coffee shop place by the side entrance. I wasn't hungry for a big meal or the frustration of bad service.

The coffee shop was not well patronised and the waitress absently rattled off the numerous items they could no longer supply from the menu. I was quite pleased to settle for thick bean soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I also ordered some roast beef and ham sandwiches to take back to my room.

And who was waiting for the elevator when I got there but Dan. With old Hearty beating him soundly about the head and ears in farewell.

'You could always bring the young lady with you, Jerry,' he said. 'Fran and I wouldn't mind a bit.'

'I know your parties of old, Fred, but if there's any chance the weather'll clear, I've got to leave tomorrow. Take it easy on the way home, will you? Thanks again for the drinks.'

Dan was so eager to get on the elevator he damned near ran down the people getting off.

'You better take it easy, too, Jerry!' said Fred with a boisterous guffaw. 'You better slow down! You'll live longer that way.'

I moved into the car, ignoring Dan who was ignoring me. We could both hear the hearty chuckle as the heavy door shut. Dan winced, relaxing as the elevator whisked the two of us up to the ninth floor.

'Maybe I shouldn't have refused the invitation, Jen. He doesn't live that far away. Came over in his Land Rover. His wife's a good person and it would have been nicer for you than dossing about in this hotel.'

'Me?' I'd been thinking he was only explaining why he hadn't gone with Hearty.

'You're the only lady I know here. Of course, I'd've brought you with me.'

'I don't think I'd've gone, Dan. His old hearty-har-har type of host is the lowest on my list. He's a loud-mouth, back-thumping, hard-nosed bigot and if he'd done the shoulder-slapping bit with me, he'd've got a frostbitten hand.'

'He wouldn't have slapped your shoulder…'

'No, he wouldn't've. He'd've slipped an arm about my waist as soon as possible and done the squeeze bit, inching his hand up higher and higher till he squeezed something that'd get him a slap in the face or an elbow in that beer gut of his. He's just the sort that gets you away from the other guests, alone in a room and tries to slobber you with kisses.'

I was wound up and didn't stop until I jammed the key into my door-lock. Dan had gone from amazed to surprised amusement to outright laughter.

'I don't think you like Fred,' he said, completely straight-faced, as he unlocked his door.

'You might indeed suspect that. Though I've never really met the man and I could be wrong.' I had entered my room, closed the hall door, and opened our connecting doors as I spoke so that Dan lost nothing of my comments.

'You aren't,' he said, leaning against the door jamb. 'He's an underhanded, snide-cracking, double-dealing fool because he isn't subtle enough to keep from being caught out. Used to be a sheriff till he got caught taking a bribe.' Dan brushed fingers through his hair as if to rid himself of old Hearty. 'I need a drink. A peaceful drink. Join me?' He reached for the bottle, splashing bourbon in the two glasses. 'Damn! You didn't get your hot toddy!'

I laid my hand on his arm, reassuringly, and our eyes met. His were angry, an anger that was reflected in the set of his mouth and jaw: a deep anger, not just concerned with having to put up with the society of an unwelcome character. He was disturbed and uncertain.

'The least of my worries. I had lovely hot soup in the coffee shop. I'm not much of a drinker, though I'll certainly join you and it's my turn to get the ice.'

He was nursing his drink in the chair by the window when I got back. I put ice and soda in mine, added them to his and sat down in the other chair. He wasn't brooding: he was thinking, hard and deep and his ruminations were no longer uncertain. I felt he had made some decision in that short time I'd been out of the room.

'Well, there's nothing I can do about it tonight,' he said with a long sigh. 'Or do you approve of avoiding issues?'

'Depends on the issue, I think. Would an impartial second opinion help? I'm not prying.'

'I know,' and he gripped my hand tightly for a moment. 'Your very good health, Jenny!'

Which is a tactful way to change a subject. So I raised my glass and drank his good health. He was evidently determined to put his problem firmly out of his mind because now he stretched out his long legs and settled himself, turning with a slight smile to ask if I'd recovered from the hike.

'After a hot bath to unknot those muscles I didn't remember having, yes. Between swimming the Hellespont and rediscovering Little America, I've racked up a rare quota of exercise for a snow-bound soul. But I needed it.'

'No exercise in podium-pounding?'

'Just stamina.'

'Tell me, do you enjoy that sort of thing?'

'Yes, in smaller doses. This is the first time I'd had an extended tour.'

'How many engagements?'

'Twenty-five. I've done twelve. I've got Portland, four in San Francisco plus Easter off, then Los Angeles, Houston, Dallas and Tulsa.'

'So far so good. You appear relatively unscathed.'

'I don't know about that,' I said with considerable feeling. 'I was a bit scathed when I got on that plane in Milwaukee.'

'Isn't that why you knit? The ravelled sleeve of care? What's that a quote from?'

I groaned. 'Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act II. Scene 2, but you've used it in the wrong context.'

'Good God!'

'The rewards of a literary education.'

He clicked his tongue at my haughty tone. 'Lo, the poor engineer!' As emphasis to his self-deprecation, the snow slashed at the window. He sat upright, glancing at his watch. 'The news! May I?' He was already turning on the TV set.

We got the tail end of the 7:00 news, including the weather analysis which was bad. The country was blanketed in snow down to the Texas panhandle with Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama fighting the lowest temperatures in years. Satellite observation indicated that clearer weather was slowly moving eastward from the Pacific and we could expect the storm to blow itself out within the next thirty-six hours.

'Great!' Dan brought his hands down hard on his knees. I wasn't sure if he was being facetious or pleased. His expression gave me no clue. His actions did. He poured himself another hefty drink with only an excuse of a splash of soda.

The announcer began extolling the praises of the feature film.

'Gunga Din!'

Dan regarded me with surprise. 'You want to see it?'

'I haven't seen it in years, but I met Douglas Fairbanks once in London and he's such a charming man. He must be in his sixties but he's got charisma or… I guess you'd call it… a very cultured animal magnetism because he couldn't have been nicer. My agent knew him and he came over to our table… we were lunching in London at a marvellous place in Jermyn Street… What's the matter?'

'I was just watching the way your face lights up. No, don't close down. It's a relief to see someone unafraid of showing enthusiasm.'

'Even about another man?'

'He's some man. My idol as a boy!' Dan's expression was brighter, too. 'Swashbuckling derring-do,' and he cut an intricate swath in the air with imaginary sword.