show you a bit of the city in the evenings. If it dries up,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s not far to Nils’s office, but it’s bucketing down outside so I’ve booked us a taxi.’
Nils Pedersen’s office was in Aker Brygge Wharf. ‘It used to be a shipyard,’ Jake explained on the way there, ‘but it’s been developed as a business and tourist centre. It’s really pretty in the summer. My grandfather says that when he was a boy, in the winter the fjord would freeze and they’d make roads with sledges on the ice, and as spring came they’d cut channels in the ice. Of course, winters are milder now.’
‘You really love Norway, don’t you?’ she asked.
‘Of course. It’s my home, where my father’s family live.’ He smiled. ‘I guess I’m greedy, because England’s home, too. My mother’s English.’
At the office, they were shown into a conference room; Jake introduced Lydia to the people who were already sitting at the table.
‘God ettermiddag,’ she said, and her effort was rewarded with a beaming smile from everyone who shook her hand.
She wasn’t surprised that the meeting was brisk and efficient, cutting through the personal niceties and sticking strictly to business—she could definitely see where Jake got that from. But when the meeting ended at four-thirty, she raised an eyebrow.
‘Normal office hours in Norway are eight till four,’ he explained as they left. ‘Pedersen’s have already accommodated us by working later tonight. And dinner’s early in Norway, too—we eat at six rather than eight. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve accepted Nils’s invitation to dine with him and his family tonight.’
‘No worries. I wasn’t expecting you to look after me every minute of the day. I’ll order something from room service.’
‘That isn’t what I meant. The invitation’s for both of us,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t be selfish enough to abandon you in a country you’d never been to before.’
‘Oh.’ She flushed. ‘Well, just let me know the dress code. And any points of etiquette that aren’t the same as in England.’
‘Smart casual, nothing too glittery. All you need to remember is that we won’t talk business tonight—in Norway, we keep business and home separate. Oh, and take your shoes off at the door. Otherwise, just be yourself.’ He smiled. ‘Nils was impressed that you’d taken the trouble to learn some Norwegian—especially when I told him I’d only drafted you in yesterday. Elisabet—his wife—speaks English, so there will be no problem tonight.’
They went back to the hotel via the main shopping street, where Jake chose a good bottle of white wine and some bright pink gerberas.
‘Do Nils and Elisabet have children?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a boy and a girl. They’re both at nursery.’
‘We should take them something, too. Could I buy them some art stuff?’
Jake looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. ‘Better than taking them sweets. If you think they’ll like them, that is.’
‘My best friend’s a primary school teacher. According to her, all kids love art stuff.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
Jake’s face was completely unreadable, but Lydia had the distinct feeling that she’d just trampled over a sore spot. And it was pretty fair to assume now that Jake was definitely single with no kids. Or maybe that was it: he was divorced, and his ex had made access to his children impossible—maybe by moving away.
Not that it was any of her business.
But she made a mental note to be tactful in future.
Jake took her to a toyshop and let her choose various craft gifts, which she insisted on paying for. ‘I’m a guest, too, and, as you’ve already bought wine and flowers, I’m buying these. No arguments.’
He inclined his head and allowed her to pay.
Back at the hotel, Lydia had enough time to shower and change into a simple black dress and low-heeled court shoes before the taxi arrived.
‘You look nice,’ Jake said approvingly when she opened the door to him.
‘Thank you. So do you.’ Though that was an understatement. His blue shirt really brought out the colour of his eyes. He’d clearly just shaved, too, and for a mad moment she found her hand lifting to touch his face, feel how soft his skin was.
She just about managed to stop herself, and was glad she had when he said coolly, ‘The taxi should be waiting for us downstairs.’
They arrived at the Pedersens’ at two minutes to six, and Nils welcomed them warmly, introducing them to his wife Elisabet. The two children peeped shyly from behind Elisabet’s skirts.
Jake crouched down to their level and held out his hand, speaking gently in Norwegian, and the little boy shook his hand solemnly, followed by his little sister.
Lydia followed his lead. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Beklager, I don’t speak much Norwegian. I’m English.’
Elisabet translated rapidly for the children, then smiled at Lydia. ‘This is Morten.’
‘Hello,’ the little boy said, and shook her hand.
‘And this is Kristin.’
‘Hello,’ the little girl said shyly, copying her brother. Jake straightened up. ‘Thank you for inviting us over. It’s very kind of you,’ he said, handing the flowers to Elisabet and the wine to Nils.
‘And we thought the children might like these,’ Lydia said, indicating the bag she was carrying, ‘but if I give them to you, Mrs Pedersen, you can let the children have them at a better time. It’s pencils and stickers and paper, that sort of thing.’
‘Call me Elisabet. And tusen takk for the gift—thank you so much. How lovely. They adore drawing,’ Elisabet said with a smile. ‘They’re off to bed soon, but they’d enjoy making a picture now, if you’d like to give them the presents yourself?’
Lydia glanced at Jake, who nodded and said something swiftly in the children’s own language.
Shyly, Morten accepted the bag; and although Lydia couldn’t understand more than takk from the little boy’s excited babble, she could see the pleasure on both children’s faces.
‘Come through. I will get you a drink,’ Nils said.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Lydia asked.
‘You can join me in the kitchen, if you like.’ Elisabet scooped up her daughter. ‘Where I can finish preparing dinner and keep an eye on these two.’
‘You can probably get Lydia to draw them something,’ Jake said. ‘She’s good at art.’
Lydia’s heart skipped a beat. How did he know? Had he seen her sketching on the plane? She only hoped that he’d seen her sketches of the clouds, not the portrait she’d drawn of him. A quick glance at his face left her none the wiser; his expression was completely unreadable.
‘Come through,’ Elisabet said, leading the way to the kitchen. She helped Kristin onto a stool by the breakfast bar and watched as Morten climbed up next to her; within seconds, the children had the pencils and paper spread across the work surface and were busy drawing patterns.
‘Takk for translating for me,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m sorry, I only knew I was coming to Norway yesterday afternoon. I haven’t had time to learn more than please, thank you and hello.’
‘It’s good that you’ve learned that much,’ Elisabet said. ‘Though most Norwegians speak English.’
‘Are those the children’s drawings from school?’ She gestured to the pictures held on the fridge with magnets. ‘They’re