The Yuletide Child

Dylan froze, staring—who on earth was she? Someone very sophisticated, with blonde hair the colour of a new-hatched chick and a figure with more curves than a switchback ride. Her high, round breasts were shown off by a tight white sweater which clung to every seductive inch, her slim waist was cinched by a black leather belt, and she had very long legs in tight jeans.
Ross turned to smile, his manner unworried and confident. ‘Dylan, this is Suzy Hale. She’s Alan’s wife—I’ve told you about him, one of my colleagues and a very good friend of mine—they live ten miles off. She’scome along to introduce herself and invite us both over for dinner, next week. Isn’t that nice of her?’
Dylan barely heard half he said. She was too busy noticing the smear of bright red lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Did he always kiss his best friend’s wife on the lips?
Somehow, though, she managed a smile and murmured, ‘That would be lovely.’
The blonde slid out of Ross’s grasp and came towards her, holding out her hand, the fingers tipped with bright red nail varnish that matched her lipstick.
‘Hi, Dylan, welcome to the back of beyond!’ Her fingers were firm and warm and her smile was so friendly Dylan couldn’t help smiling back.
‘That’s a London accent, isn’t it?’
The other woman laughed, her head flung back. ‘Well spotted! I was born in Finchley, lived there for years. Bit of a culture shock, this place, isn’t it, to a Londoner? How is the old place? I bet you’re missing it already! I know I do. I rarely get a chance to go there since my family moved to Wales. My brother got a job in a hospital in Cardiff; he’s a physiotherapist. Our parents decided to go, too. My father came from Cardiff originally, so they were keen to go back there. Now I have to stay in a hotel if I go to London, and, as you know only too well, London hotels cost an arm and a leg. But then everything in London is expensive, and on Alan’s salary we can’t afford to spend money like a drunken sailor.’ Dylan was dazed by the speed at which the other woman talked. Scarcely drawing breath, Suzy went on, ‘Ross says you were a ballet dancer—I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never ever seen ballet. The only dancing I ever did was at a rave. I’m not an intellectual, I’m afraid.’ She turned a laughing face at Ross. ‘And 1 can’t believe Rosswent to the ballet! Buy the ticket by mistake, did you, Ross? Thought you’d be seeing something like the Folies Bergère?’
Ross seemed very amused by her—did he enjoy her bubbly personality and headlong chatter? Dylan wished she was an extrovert, could talk as easily, but she found it impossible to shed her inhibitions.
Dancing was a physical art; she never needed to talk. She could express herself eloquently in gesture and movement, so she was never self-conscious on a stage, but faced with other people she felt herself tighten up, unable to relax.
‘Actually, I bought a ticket because I saw a big blown-up photo of Dylan outside the theatre,’ Ross said, and Dylan did a double-take. He had never told her that. He glanced at her, dark grey eyes teasing.
‘I knew it! You didn’t go in to see a ballet, you went to see more of Dylan. Did she look sexy in a tutu?’ Suzy roared with laughter.
‘I’m sure she would—but in the photo it looked as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all,’ Ross drawled. ‘She looked totally naked, but when she appeared on stage I realised she was actually wearing a body-stocking.’
Dylan went pink. Was that really why he had come to the ballet that first night? In the hope of seeing her dance in the nude?
‘I bet that was a disappointment!’ Suzy mocked, and he grinned at her.
‘You’ve got a wicked mind!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, Dylan, I have an hour to spare. I’ve finished all the work I need to do this morning, so I popped home to see how you were getting on. I thought maybe we could have an early lunch? Sandwiches and coffee? Thatwon’t take you long, will it? Suzy, you’ll stay, won’t you?’
Politely Dylan said, ‘Yes, please stay, Suzy. It won’t take me a minute to make some sandwiches, or would you rather have pasta? I could make a quick spaghetti with tomato and basil sauce.’
‘Don’t tempt me!’ Suzy groaned. ‘Could you make me a salad sandwich with no butter in it? I’m dieting.’
‘Me, too,’ Dylan said ruefully. ‘How about you, Ross?’
‘Cheese, onion and tomato sandwich for me, darling.’
‘Okay, I won’t be long.’ She went off to the kitchen while Ross showed Suzy into the sitting room. While she cut bread, made the salad filling, sliced Ross’s favourite Cheddar cheese, she kept thinking about that lipstick on Ross’s mouth.
Had that kiss meant anything? But there had been no trace of self-consciousness or secrecy in their behaviour when she appeared. Suzy was just the type who kissed her friends, male or female.
Dylan hoped so. Jealousy was new to her; she never wanted to feel it again, the stab of agony that had pierced her when she first saw the blonde woman in Ross’s arms.
When she carried the tray of sandwiches and coffee through she found Ross and Suzy sitting close together on a couch. For a second Dylan felt the sting of jealousy again, then she saw that they were glancing through an album of wedding photos which Dylan’s sister had made and sent to them.
‘They’re quite alike, aren’t they, Dylan and her sister? ’ Suzy was saying.
‘There is a resemblance,’ Ross agreed. ‘But Dylan’s beautiful and Jenny is only attractive.’
Dylan’s heart turned over—did he really think she wasbeautiful? Oh, he had said it to her, when they were making love, but this was the first time she had ever heard him say it to someone else.
Her hands trembled; the china rattled