Hot Ice Read Online Free Page A

plain heat are all over the top as London sweats under the Azores High, an uninvited guest which has movedin and won’t leave. In the courtroom, they are mopping their foreheads and flapping notebooks in front of their faces. Occasional thunder and lightning interrupt the dry voice of the opposition barrister as he cross-questions Chris’ client. Is it malice, or the storm’s sulphurous ozone release that hammers at her temples. There stands her client, wiggling like a snake on a stick, spitting venom in all directions and lying through her teeth. Her fourth ex-husband to be, eyes narrowed with fury, is jotting denials in quick stabbing movements, while his barrister, cunning and patient, spins his web of words. It’s only a matter of time before her client blunders into it, despite her warnings.
    ‘Shit!’ Chris mutters. ‘I’m getting out of this business.’ Suddenly she’s had enough.
    Her barrister hears and glares at Chris. Fortunately the judge is suffering, too. The trial is adjourned.
    The storm has moved east, Chris notices when she hurries outside. The sky is an ominous yellowish-grey, but strips of pale turquoise lie along the western horizon. Caught in the sun’s rays, the buildings lining the Thames appear gilt-edged, while the still water shines like molten brass. The tube is half empty and she’s home by five p.m.
    ‘Hello Mum, I’m back,’ she calls, dropping her briefcase on the hall table.
    Mum emerges from the top of the stairs. Unbelievably she’s fumbling with blouse buttons,her hair and her skirt, and wearing a coy expression.
    ‘Chris, darling, you’re early.’ Her tone implies that Chris is at fault here.
    ‘The case was adjourned and I have a headache, so I came home.’
    A middle-aged man appears in the doorway behind her mother. He smoothes back his longish, grey hair and makes an obvious effort to stand tall and straighten his shoulders. After a few moments of dazed incredulity the scene begins to make sense and it’s all Chris can do not to laugh. She doesn’t much like the look of him, but he’s not her boyfriend. He’s Mum’s. No one speaks as she looks questioningly from one to the other.
    ‘Well, hello Chris,’ comes a deep, Shropshire rumble at last. ‘I’ve been longing to meet you. I’m Bertram Loveday. I expect your mother has told you about me.’
    Clearly he doesn’t know Mum very well.
    ‘Major Bertram Loveday,’ Mum adds.
    ‘But you must call me Bert. Everyone else does,’ he says too heartily. He smiles, but his eyes look apprehensive. Chris wonders why.
    ‘Not quite everyone,’ her mother interrupts him.
    No, Mum wouldn’t call him Bert, would she.
    ‘We’re going to get married…’ Mum says happily and Chris smiles, too. She longs for her mother to be happy, but she can’t help worrying about Bert’s nervousness. 
    ‘Eventually,’ Bert corrects her. ‘But in the meantime…’
    In the meantime, Chris learns a few days later, Bert is moving in.
     
    For Mum’s sake, Chris does her best to cope, but as the days pass, the reason for Bert’s uneasiness becomes apparent: she is keeping both him and Mum. Mum has no income of her own, so five years back she bought a house large enough for both of them, but the high mortgage takes much of her income.
    Chris moves her desk and laptop from the living room to her bedroom. She reminds herself that she’s glad for Mum several times a day. Her mother has been so lonely. So why does part of her feel lost, like a buoy that has broken loose from its mooring. She’s accustomed to resenting her ties to her mother. Unexpectedly she’s free, but it’s hard to get to grips with all this freedom.
    ‘I need to get a life,’ she tells herself sternly each time she feels like exploding. ‘Get a life, Chris! Get a life!’
    The following morning Chris calls Ben Searle.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Searle. Chris Winters here. Mother has found a boyfriend and he’s moved in.’
    ‘Mazaltov! And thank you for