Chapter 2/7
***
The flight, if you would pardon the pun, flew by. Sydney and Vaughn talked nonstop, and as the captain announced that they were nearing the Halifax International Airport, both realised they were getting a little hoarse, not to mention tired- it was three o'clock in the morning in Halifax.
"This is great," Sydney rolled her eyes, reaching up to touch her throat, "now how am I supposed to cheer on the Mooseheads, hmm?"
"Rest your voice," Vaughn advised, smiling, as they were instructed to sit back in their seats, and buckle their seat belts, "and tomorrow night you'll be more than ready to scream yourself hoarse again."
"Thanks," she laughed, rolling her eyes and settling down in her seat as the plan began to bank and descend towards the runway. "I think."
The landing was every bit as smooth as the take off, and the only part that bothered her at all about it was not being able to see Vaughn until they reached the hotel- or much of anything, considering how surprisingly dark it was, even for three am.
Still, she wasn't able to dwell on that for long. The second she set foot out of the Halifax International Airport, she was unable to think about anything but how cold it was.
Well- cold for somebody who was wearing a silk tank and linen pants, at any rate.
She quickly shrugged into the blazer she had slung over her arm back in LA when it grew too warm, and blew fiercely on her hands as she waited for the limo to be brought around. When the limo finally arrived, motor purring reassuringly, and headlights slicing two clear, golden beams through the dark, the driver mercifully hopped out to snatch at her luggage so she could slide into the heated leather interior, and breathe a sigh of relief.
"I didn't remember Canada as being this cold," she frowned, once the driver had settled back into his seat. He smiled, and shook his head.
"No, Miss, you're right, it usually isn't at this time of year. In fact, it's about ten degrees below what it should be. We're having something of a cold snap- not too comfortable for any of us. The only good thing is, it's too cold to snow, so the roads are clear."
Sydney smiled, settling back in her seat to watch the darkened world pass by outside her window. She could see, when they passed by street lights, that the hills were dusted generously with snow, and she knew that this, too, was a rare occurrence- snow didn't usually stick around until after December had come and gone. Yet it added just the right Christmas card touch to the whole wintry scene- wrought iron lamp posts glowing placidly in the dark, revealing themselves to be strung with green garlands and red ribbons, and white lights that sparkled in nearly every shop window the limo passed. She could almost picture rosy-cheeked children, bundled up in their holiday best, dragging down on Mummy or Daddy's hand to slow them down long enough to get a really good look at all the treasures inside so they would know just what to ask Santa for when they got home.
Santa brought to mind another question that had been bothering her, and she asked it now.
"Is there supposed to be snow on Christmas Eve?" she wondered aloud. "That's when my return flight is. I don't want to get stuck here."
"I don't blame you," the driver agreed. "Christmas is a time for family, Miss, if you don't mind me saying so. No, from what I hear, it's going to be colder than ever on the twenty-fourth, though my kids are sure hoping it'll warm up overnight, so Santa's sleigh hasn't any trouble getting through."
Sydney laughed, settling back into her seat a bit more.
"So- the Prince George, wasn't it?" her chauffeur verified, and she nodded.
"Yes, thank-you. And if you could hurry even a bit, I'd really appreciate it."
She sucked in her breath, weighing the next words in her head before she spoke them as casually as she could.
"My- husband might start to wonder what's keeping me."
"I'm sure he will," the driver agreed, nodding energetically, and Sydney was relieved that he didn't seem to question that she should have a husband, or that they weren't taking the same limo. "I'll get you there as soon as I can, Miss- sorry about the speed, but it pays to be cautious this late at night. The sort of people who are still be wandering around are those who just might be far gone enough to jump out in front of me, just for the heck of it."
Sydney reassured him that she understood as he went on informatively.
"I'm not sure if they told you at the airport, but because of your round-trip ticket and the special holiday rates, a bonus has been included in your fare, which is the use of this limousine for the duration of your stay in the city. If you and your husband have anywhere you need to go, my number is here," he passed her his card, "and I'll be on call twenty-four seven."
Sydney thanked him, took the card to deposit in her purse, and then occupied herself with digging through her carry-on for the light coat she had stashed in there before leaving.
"I'm going to have to do some shopping," she muttered to herself as she located it, and shrugged her arms deep into further, still welcome warmth, "Either that, or freeze to death."
Her chauffeur, overhearing, reassured her that the Prince George Hotel was connected by a glass walkway above the street, known as the Halifax Link, to a nearby shopping centre, and that anything she wished to buy, she could most likely get there. It was on this warming note that he pulled up to her destination, coming to a halt at the curbside in front of a pair of glass doors shrouded by a snow-covered bonnet, and jumped out to hurry around and hold the door open for her.
No sooner had Sydney stepped out of the car than did Vaughn come tearing through the front doors of the hotel to scoop her up in his arms, and spin her about in a full circle, declaring that he had missed her terribly. After such an affectionate greeting, one might have wondered that he only kissed her on the forehead, so it was probably well that the only other people around were the doorman and Sydney's driver. And thankfully, they were too sleepy and busy with Sydney's luggage, respectively, to notice anything 'off' about the young couple who were now exchanging verbal pleasantries like a normal husband and wife.
By the time the driver had set the weighty suitcase on the ground, a bleary-eyed bellhop was emerging with a wheeled luggage cart to take it, and Vaughn was still speaking solicitously to his 'wife'.
"How was your flight, dear?" he wondered, and Sydney's smile was especially broad so she wouldn't laugh at the unexpected term of endearment- or blush at how well it seemed to sound, coming from his mouth.
"It was fine," she reassured him. "I'm sorry I'm so late getting here- are the rooms all right?"
"Oh, yes, it's a great suite," he smiled. "But I have to confess that, since my train was delayed, I only just got here myself. But look at you- you must be freezing! Come in, out of the cold, all right? I think that the nice lady at the desk said something about there still being some hot chocolate down in the kitchen, if we felt so inclined."
"Mmm, sounds good," Sydney decided, so Vaughn and the bellhop escorted her up to their suite on the third floor, where she was almost too chilled and tired to notice how nice everything was.
Actually, that is not, strictly speaking, true. She glimpsed, through open French doors, a turned-down King-sized bed, and felt her muscles tremble delightedly at the sight.
"Can I skip the hot chocolate?" she asked, pointing to the bed, once Vaughn had tipped the porter to get rid of him, and hauled the suitcase into the bedroom.
"Sure," he smiled. "I know you must be tired- I, at least, got a chance to rest up yesterday before coming here. And you should know that our wake-up call is coming at eight, so we have plenty of time to get ready for the museum benefit tomorrow."
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Sydney frowned. "So I get less than five hours' sleep? That's just wrong."
Vaughn laughed, as he rooted through his own bag - also located in the bedroom, for the sake of appearances - and dug out everything he would need the next morning, so he wouldn't have to burst in on Sydney while she was getting ready.
"Then you had better get started right now," he suggested, and, wishing her a good night, he left the bedroom, carefully closing the doors behind him.
Sydney smiled to herself as she located some pyjamas, and tugged them on, not even caring if they were going on the right way or not. She threw a glance at her toothbrush, but then a yawn overtook her, and, deciding that oral hygiene could be overlooked for one night, tumbled into bed.
She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow, and the only dream she had that night, before waking up to the insistent purr of the telephone next to her ear, was of Vaughn.
***
Before she had to lift the ringing receiver, she heard Vaughn do so in the next room. He mumbled a few indistinct phrases before calling,
"That was the wake-up call. You going to get up now?"
"Five more minutes," she called back, and let her head fall down against the pillow. She heard the door bang shut before she drifted back to sleep to continue her dream. She didn't get too far- it seemed like only seconds before the phone rang once more, and she swiped at it impatiently when it wouldn't stop, mistaking it for her alarm clock at home.
She succeeded in knocking the receiver off the table, and, since the ringing ceased, allowed herself to fall asleep again.
Meanwhile, Vaughn stood in line at the Tim Hortons down the street from their hotel, glaring at the menu as the call he had put through to their room went unanswered. He was about to give up when the ringing ceased, he heard a loud clatter, and his heart jumped. He ran out of the shop, his double double and oatcake remaining behind on the counter.
Sydney, meanwhile, fell back into her dream. Through a faint white haze, Vaughn looked through a lock of slightly longer hair and smiled, but his eyes went swiftly from happy and kind to glassy and unfamiliar. She screamed as he fell forward, his head landing on her lap. She pulled her hands away from his body, red blood sticky on her hands from a wound she couldn't see.
She bolted up from the pillow just as Vaughn skidded into the room, not coming to a halt until he was kneeling at her bedside, relief and concern intermingled in his expression.
"Syd?" He kneeled before her, his forehead wrinkling up. "I called you, to see if you wanted me to get you something to eat, but all I got was this bang. Are you okay?
"I'm fine- I knocked the phone off the stand, and I just had a bad dream, is all," she reassured him gently, forcing a sleepy, weak smile.
"You scared me," he admitted. "I mean, the clatter was bad enough, but then I came back and I was just walking down the hall when you screamed and I thought . . ."
Syd grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. Francie says I'm rather vocal when I'm dreaming. I remember this one time during my freshman year in collage, her boyfriend Baxter started calling me the Screamer."
She giggled slightly, embarrassed that she was telling the story.
"I even got a few dates out of that one!"
Vaughn felt himself flush. He knew all her vital stats, but almost none of the really important things. Her favorite color, comfort foods, even her favorite song were mysterious, forbidden things he suddenly felt he ought to know.
"Look, since I made you leave our food behind, why don't we go out to breakfast?" Sydney suggested, oblivious to his thoughts. "Then I thought I'd get in some shopping before the museum thing at one . . . Vaughn?"
"Um, yeah that sounds great. I promised Weiss I'd bring him back a snow globe or something anyway. Why don't I let you get showered and dressed, and then we'll leave?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll be out in fifteen minutes."
He doubted - he'd had a girlfriend before - but he nodded as if it were possible.
"Great."
Then, as Sydney gathered up her sponge bag and headed for the bathroom, Vaughn lingered to tidy up his suitcase before going out to dismantle his own makeshift bed.
Hot needles of water pounded into Sydney's skin as her strawberry body wash followed the path of the droplets down the drain at her feet. She massaged the smell of airport out of her hair with shampoo and conditioner, then switched off the water and wrapped a fluffy blue towel around her, stepping out into a strawberry-scented steam. She winced as she looked around the bathroom, noticing that in her haste to reach the bathroom she'd forgotten to bring clothes with her, and not only that, but she had forgotten to close the doors to the living area. Without any clothes on, Vaughn would see quite a bit of her before she managed to close them.
The only other cover available was a short little terrycloth pool robe, even shorter than the bath sheet she had pulled around her, and Sydney grimaced at her lack of foresight. Still, she knew she couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, so she compromised by retaining the towel and adding the pool robe before slipping out of the bathroom to gather more concealing garments.
Vaughn, his head buried in a hockey magazine, couldn't help but glance up as she darted from the bathroom to the French doors. At once embarrassed by what - little - he saw, he forced his eyes away, but his thoughts refused to comply to that same command.
She had the doors banged shut in under a second, and Vaughn let his head clunk against the headboard. This was going to be a lot harder than he had first thought.
***
Breakfast was taken in the hotel café before they asked directions to the Halifax Link, which would take them to the shopping centre across the street.
It may have been early, but already the place was bustling with last-minute Christmas shoppers waiting impatiently for the shop keepers to open their stores.
Sydney and Vaughn, who were pressed for time but not rushed, wandered along examining the exquisite boutiques, men's tailors, and flower shops that were nestled together as shoppers pushed, grumbled and stomped, and the owners called good-natured greetings to each other as they opened their stores.
The women's clothing stores had a particular pull for Sydney, whose dress for the charity function was non-existent. She moved toward the window full of delicate fabrics and elegant dresses. Vaughn followed her, playing the part of an attentive husband, and tried to figure out what such a husband would be thinking in a situation like this. He would probably, Vaughn guessed, try to imagine how the garments would look on her. Or off her.
He shook his head slightly- Took that whole 'in character' thing a little too far, there, Mike, he grimaced.
"Would you like to look around?" Vaughn asked her warmly, settling a hand on her arm.
"I would, only- you're sure you won't be bored?" She cocked her head to the side and stared into his eyes until he felt his knees weakening, and groped for a concealing response.
"Of course not! I'll be happy to give you my expert opinion," he suggested at last, his tone mock-haughty. Sydney giggled a bit and allowed him to lead her into the shop.
They browsed for almost twenty minutes, fingering the fabrics and examining the cuts, before Sydney had picked out three dresses from among the many to try on in the tiny dressing room at the back of the store. She piled the two spares into her "husband's" arms and swept away to put the third on, emerging a short time later to model it for him.
Her first choice was a floor length midnight blue cocktail dress. It was just provocative enough to make her feel feminine, but not low cut enough to make her freeze in the late December air, or to make her feel guilty if any guy tried to hit on her. Her shoulders were covered, if barely, and the vent on the right side reached only to her knees. Vaughn smiled his approval as she twirled for him.
"You like it?" she wondered, and he nodded.
"I do- especially the style. Classy, and sophisticated, but still feminine. It's you."
"Yeah, I love the style. I'm just not sure navy blue works for me."
"It works," Vaughn said with feeling. "Believe me, it works."
Sydney wrinkled her nose in an amused, little-girlish smile that said she thought his opinion was both biased and incorrect before snatching the second one out of his arms, and disappearing back inside. When she came back out, Vaughn struggled to retain his control over his bottom jaw- and for good reason.
This was a vibrant red creation that dipped all the way down to the small of her back and showed enough cleavage to have any man drooling oceans. She looked seductive as she stuck her lip out in a pout and took advantage of the mid-thigh length slit by extending one leg, the effect diminished only slightly by the winter boot she was wearing.
It wasn't a gown- it was an incitement to riot.
Sydney didn't even have to ask him what he thought- it was written all over his face.
"I thought myself it was a bit much," she said, "even for an evening event, much less a brunch. But if I were to go by your face- is this it, then?" she wondered, almost teasing now, and Vaughn gulped, then shook his head.
"The only person," he said with feeling, "that should see you in that is your husband. Me," he covered quickly, "I mean, me."
He shoved her back into the dressing room and tossed the last dress in after her, banging the door shut to shield her from the eyes of the elderly gentleman clerk, who seemed to have developed a staring problem in the last thirty seconds.
She emerged a few minutes later in her third and final choice. It was a simple white cocktail dress, the vent on the left side acceptably modest for a day time function. This, along with the borderline reasonable cut of the neckline, balanced out the fact that there was really no back to the dress at all. In fact, if the back were cut any lower, the police could find grounds for arresting her on charges of indecent exposure.
Somehow, though, she saved it from becoming inappropriate. Maybe it was the way her eyes were fastened only on him, as if she couldn't care less if the rest of the men in the room spent the entire day staring at her, so long as he would give her even a minute of his time.
Vaughn nodded, and Sydney's eyes lit up.
"This is it, isn't it?" She smoothed the skirt over her hips. "I mean, I know it's a little low in the back for the morning, but I've got a wrap in my suitcase that should cover that up just fine, and- well- I like it. Do you?"
"I love it. You'll turn a lot of heads," he assured her, moving forward to slide an arm around her waist and kiss her forehead. It was an incredibly foreign gesture, and yet it didn't seem strange. And any lingering uncertainties he may have entertained regarding his action were driven from his head by the smell of her hair and skin, and maybe a hint of strawberries.
After all, he rationalized, they were undercover, right?
***
Once the dress had been paid for, Sydney decided they had to be practical.
"I need a winter coat," she announced. "Two- one casual for the hockey game, and walking, and a dressier one for the parties."
"Well- where should we look?" Vaughn wondered, glancing around. "There's a department store over there, and a few more boutiques along here."
"Let's try the boutiques," Sydney suggested, hoping he wouldn't see it as just another excuse to bury herself in the midst of really nice things she'd probably wear only once, if even that, before they got lost in the back of her bizarre wardrobe.
As it turned out, the first boutique they stopped in had a coat in the display window that Sydney fell in love with. It wasn't so much a coat as a warm wrap with buttons tucked discreetly under the fold of the closure, and boasted the elegance required even at small city formal functions. It was black, and would suit both the evening clothes she planned to wear to the party, and the cocktail dress nestled in a bed of tissue paper in the box that Vaughn held for her. When she tried it on it fit her like a glove, and Vaughn nodded.
"It's perfect," he said firmly, and then wondered why, exactly, it was. It wasn't something he would have picked as suitable for Sydney, and yet the whole appearance created by the wrap was exactly right. Maybe it was because the wrap didn't show itself off, the way the dresses had. Rather, it took a backseat, as if its sole purpose was to showcase the beautiful woman who wore it.
Falling in soft folds from her shoulders to her wrists, the deep black of the wool made her skin look almost as white as the snow that sugared the bonnet above the main doors of the Prince George. Her cheeks held only the faintest flush of peach to suggest that she was something other than a perfectly-moulded china doll, and the smile that played over her lips was borne of a woman's confidence in knowing she looks quite fantastic. She looked too perfect to be real, and suddenly Vaughn was afraid to touch her. He ducked his head abruptly, and wondered,
"Going to look for the casual one now?"
"Mm-hm," she twinkled, not at all fooled by the change of subject, "I am. Want to help?"
He did, and they managed to find it- a simple forest green peacoat, and a beige and green striped scarf to match. They paid for both coats and left the shop, business completed.
"Now," Sydney said, "I want to go walking."
"You do?" Vaughn looked down uncertainly at the parcels he held, and Sydney hastened to reassure him.
"Oh, I want to take these back to the hotel first. I'll need to cut the tags off my coat so I can wear it, anyway- I don't want to freeze outside. But when we are walking, where do you want to go? I mean, the public gardens won't exactly be breathtaking this time of year."
"No," Vaughn agreed, pondering carefully as they made their way back to the hotel by means of the glassed-in walkway, traffic speeding by underneath their feet, "they wouldn't. But- hey," he turned to her, interest suddenly
lighting his eyes, "do you like to skate?"
That was how they ended up in the Halifax arena, lacing up rented skates.
"It's been years since I even went rollerblading," Sydney said nervously, getting uncertainly to her feet, "and these are not rollerblades."
"No," Vaughn agreed, reaching out quickly to grab at her waist and steady her, "they aren't. They're much better. Now, do you want to hang on to my shoulder until we get to the ice?"
"I want," Sydney said grimly, "to hang onto your shoulder until we get off the ice. Otherwise I'll fall flat on my face."
"Oh, no you won't," he smiled reassuringly, "I won't let you."
He was as good as his word. He held her hand the whole time they were on the ice, and every time her skates started to wobble, or her feet started to shoot out from under her - as they did embarrassingly frequently - his hands flew to catch her. By the time the whistle blew for everybody to get off the ice, several people had shot amused glances at what were, to all appearances, a devoted husband and wife.
"That," Sydney grumbled as they passed in their skates and laced up their boots, "was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Did I, or did I not, almost fall thirty-two times?"
"Well," Vaughn said consolingly, "I think we can round it down to thirty, can't we? And you really didn't do that badly, considering how long it's been since you skated last."
Sydney did not appear to be overly mollified, but at least she slipped her hand into his as they left the arena together, and headed back to the hotel.
It was all Vaughn could do to remind himself that she was just doing it to make them fit their cover, and all he could do to convince himself that he was looking at her so often, with such devotion, for the same reason.
"How much time do we have?" Sydney wanted to know when they reached the hotel room, and she headed for her purchases.
"Uh- a little over half an hour. Should I call a cab?"
"No, don't bother. The limo driver from last night said he was on call for us the whole time we're here- some sort of holiday bonus courtesy thing, or something. If we're going to pose as influential people, we might as well act the part, right?"
"Right," Vaughn agreed. "Now, did I hang my blazer up, or is it still in my suitcase?"
"You better hope you hung it up," came Sydney's muffled voice from the bedroom. "Otherwise, you'll never get the wrinkles out in time."
Fortunately for Vaughn and the hotel laundry service, the Armani blazer was located in his closet, along with the shirt and tie that he had brought to go with it.
"I hope we'll match," he said suddenly, as he slipped into the shirt. "I mean- you're wearing white. I'd match you if I were wearing a tux, but it's only one o'clock, so if I turned up in a tux, they'd know something was strange about us."
Sydney's answering giggle was one of pure amusement.
"When I was twelve years old, Dad sent me to three months of etiquette lessons so I'd become a proper lady, and he could get rid of me for the summer," she announced. "That's how I know what you said was true, but what's your excuse for knowing what you shouldn't wear to a fundraiser brunch?"
"My mother," Vaughn sighed, "as you know, is French. She devoured every society magazine she could get her hands on since the second she entered this country, so she would be sure not to embarrass my father at social functions. She inflicted upon me the fruits of her study. That is my excuse. Now, come out here so we can see if we match or not."
"Coming."
Sydney emerged wearing the dress and a soft violet pashmina. Her hair was combed sedately over her forehead, then brushed back and twisted up on the crown of her head. Thanks to the violet wrap, she matched Vaughn. His shirt and tie had rich, dark plum hues and lighter blue ones, respectively, to counteract the formality of his dark blazer, and the khaki pants he wore with them dressed him down to an acceptable level.
"We," Sydney decided, after they surveyed their reflection in the dresser mirror, "look like we belong together."
"Yeah," Vaughn said quietly, slipping his hand into the crook of her elbow, "we do. Now, let's just hope we can convince everybody else of the fact as well."
***
The flight, if you would pardon the pun, flew by. Sydney and Vaughn talked nonstop, and as the captain announced that they were nearing the Halifax International Airport, both realised they were getting a little hoarse, not to mention tired- it was three o'clock in the morning in Halifax.
"This is great," Sydney rolled her eyes, reaching up to touch her throat, "now how am I supposed to cheer on the Mooseheads, hmm?"
"Rest your voice," Vaughn advised, smiling, as they were instructed to sit back in their seats, and buckle their seat belts, "and tomorrow night you'll be more than ready to scream yourself hoarse again."
"Thanks," she laughed, rolling her eyes and settling down in her seat as the plan began to bank and descend towards the runway. "I think."
The landing was every bit as smooth as the take off, and the only part that bothered her at all about it was not being able to see Vaughn until they reached the hotel- or much of anything, considering how surprisingly dark it was, even for three am.
Still, she wasn't able to dwell on that for long. The second she set foot out of the Halifax International Airport, she was unable to think about anything but how cold it was.
Well- cold for somebody who was wearing a silk tank and linen pants, at any rate.
She quickly shrugged into the blazer she had slung over her arm back in LA when it grew too warm, and blew fiercely on her hands as she waited for the limo to be brought around. When the limo finally arrived, motor purring reassuringly, and headlights slicing two clear, golden beams through the dark, the driver mercifully hopped out to snatch at her luggage so she could slide into the heated leather interior, and breathe a sigh of relief.
"I didn't remember Canada as being this cold," she frowned, once the driver had settled back into his seat. He smiled, and shook his head.
"No, Miss, you're right, it usually isn't at this time of year. In fact, it's about ten degrees below what it should be. We're having something of a cold snap- not too comfortable for any of us. The only good thing is, it's too cold to snow, so the roads are clear."
Sydney smiled, settling back in her seat to watch the darkened world pass by outside her window. She could see, when they passed by street lights, that the hills were dusted generously with snow, and she knew that this, too, was a rare occurrence- snow didn't usually stick around until after December had come and gone. Yet it added just the right Christmas card touch to the whole wintry scene- wrought iron lamp posts glowing placidly in the dark, revealing themselves to be strung with green garlands and red ribbons, and white lights that sparkled in nearly every shop window the limo passed. She could almost picture rosy-cheeked children, bundled up in their holiday best, dragging down on Mummy or Daddy's hand to slow them down long enough to get a really good look at all the treasures inside so they would know just what to ask Santa for when they got home.
Santa brought to mind another question that had been bothering her, and she asked it now.
"Is there supposed to be snow on Christmas Eve?" she wondered aloud. "That's when my return flight is. I don't want to get stuck here."
"I don't blame you," the driver agreed. "Christmas is a time for family, Miss, if you don't mind me saying so. No, from what I hear, it's going to be colder than ever on the twenty-fourth, though my kids are sure hoping it'll warm up overnight, so Santa's sleigh hasn't any trouble getting through."
Sydney laughed, settling back into her seat a bit more.
"So- the Prince George, wasn't it?" her chauffeur verified, and she nodded.
"Yes, thank-you. And if you could hurry even a bit, I'd really appreciate it."
She sucked in her breath, weighing the next words in her head before she spoke them as casually as she could.
"My- husband might start to wonder what's keeping me."
"I'm sure he will," the driver agreed, nodding energetically, and Sydney was relieved that he didn't seem to question that she should have a husband, or that they weren't taking the same limo. "I'll get you there as soon as I can, Miss- sorry about the speed, but it pays to be cautious this late at night. The sort of people who are still be wandering around are those who just might be far gone enough to jump out in front of me, just for the heck of it."
Sydney reassured him that she understood as he went on informatively.
"I'm not sure if they told you at the airport, but because of your round-trip ticket and the special holiday rates, a bonus has been included in your fare, which is the use of this limousine for the duration of your stay in the city. If you and your husband have anywhere you need to go, my number is here," he passed her his card, "and I'll be on call twenty-four seven."
Sydney thanked him, took the card to deposit in her purse, and then occupied herself with digging through her carry-on for the light coat she had stashed in there before leaving.
"I'm going to have to do some shopping," she muttered to herself as she located it, and shrugged her arms deep into further, still welcome warmth, "Either that, or freeze to death."
Her chauffeur, overhearing, reassured her that the Prince George Hotel was connected by a glass walkway above the street, known as the Halifax Link, to a nearby shopping centre, and that anything she wished to buy, she could most likely get there. It was on this warming note that he pulled up to her destination, coming to a halt at the curbside in front of a pair of glass doors shrouded by a snow-covered bonnet, and jumped out to hurry around and hold the door open for her.
No sooner had Sydney stepped out of the car than did Vaughn come tearing through the front doors of the hotel to scoop her up in his arms, and spin her about in a full circle, declaring that he had missed her terribly. After such an affectionate greeting, one might have wondered that he only kissed her on the forehead, so it was probably well that the only other people around were the doorman and Sydney's driver. And thankfully, they were too sleepy and busy with Sydney's luggage, respectively, to notice anything 'off' about the young couple who were now exchanging verbal pleasantries like a normal husband and wife.
By the time the driver had set the weighty suitcase on the ground, a bleary-eyed bellhop was emerging with a wheeled luggage cart to take it, and Vaughn was still speaking solicitously to his 'wife'.
"How was your flight, dear?" he wondered, and Sydney's smile was especially broad so she wouldn't laugh at the unexpected term of endearment- or blush at how well it seemed to sound, coming from his mouth.
"It was fine," she reassured him. "I'm sorry I'm so late getting here- are the rooms all right?"
"Oh, yes, it's a great suite," he smiled. "But I have to confess that, since my train was delayed, I only just got here myself. But look at you- you must be freezing! Come in, out of the cold, all right? I think that the nice lady at the desk said something about there still being some hot chocolate down in the kitchen, if we felt so inclined."
"Mmm, sounds good," Sydney decided, so Vaughn and the bellhop escorted her up to their suite on the third floor, where she was almost too chilled and tired to notice how nice everything was.
Actually, that is not, strictly speaking, true. She glimpsed, through open French doors, a turned-down King-sized bed, and felt her muscles tremble delightedly at the sight.
"Can I skip the hot chocolate?" she asked, pointing to the bed, once Vaughn had tipped the porter to get rid of him, and hauled the suitcase into the bedroom.
"Sure," he smiled. "I know you must be tired- I, at least, got a chance to rest up yesterday before coming here. And you should know that our wake-up call is coming at eight, so we have plenty of time to get ready for the museum benefit tomorrow."
"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Sydney frowned. "So I get less than five hours' sleep? That's just wrong."
Vaughn laughed, as he rooted through his own bag - also located in the bedroom, for the sake of appearances - and dug out everything he would need the next morning, so he wouldn't have to burst in on Sydney while she was getting ready.
"Then you had better get started right now," he suggested, and, wishing her a good night, he left the bedroom, carefully closing the doors behind him.
Sydney smiled to herself as she located some pyjamas, and tugged them on, not even caring if they were going on the right way or not. She threw a glance at her toothbrush, but then a yawn overtook her, and, deciding that oral hygiene could be overlooked for one night, tumbled into bed.
She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow, and the only dream she had that night, before waking up to the insistent purr of the telephone next to her ear, was of Vaughn.
***
Before she had to lift the ringing receiver, she heard Vaughn do so in the next room. He mumbled a few indistinct phrases before calling,
"That was the wake-up call. You going to get up now?"
"Five more minutes," she called back, and let her head fall down against the pillow. She heard the door bang shut before she drifted back to sleep to continue her dream. She didn't get too far- it seemed like only seconds before the phone rang once more, and she swiped at it impatiently when it wouldn't stop, mistaking it for her alarm clock at home.
She succeeded in knocking the receiver off the table, and, since the ringing ceased, allowed herself to fall asleep again.
Meanwhile, Vaughn stood in line at the Tim Hortons down the street from their hotel, glaring at the menu as the call he had put through to their room went unanswered. He was about to give up when the ringing ceased, he heard a loud clatter, and his heart jumped. He ran out of the shop, his double double and oatcake remaining behind on the counter.
Sydney, meanwhile, fell back into her dream. Through a faint white haze, Vaughn looked through a lock of slightly longer hair and smiled, but his eyes went swiftly from happy and kind to glassy and unfamiliar. She screamed as he fell forward, his head landing on her lap. She pulled her hands away from his body, red blood sticky on her hands from a wound she couldn't see.
She bolted up from the pillow just as Vaughn skidded into the room, not coming to a halt until he was kneeling at her bedside, relief and concern intermingled in his expression.
"Syd?" He kneeled before her, his forehead wrinkling up. "I called you, to see if you wanted me to get you something to eat, but all I got was this bang. Are you okay?
"I'm fine- I knocked the phone off the stand, and I just had a bad dream, is all," she reassured him gently, forcing a sleepy, weak smile.
"You scared me," he admitted. "I mean, the clatter was bad enough, but then I came back and I was just walking down the hall when you screamed and I thought . . ."
Syd grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. Francie says I'm rather vocal when I'm dreaming. I remember this one time during my freshman year in collage, her boyfriend Baxter started calling me the Screamer."
She giggled slightly, embarrassed that she was telling the story.
"I even got a few dates out of that one!"
Vaughn felt himself flush. He knew all her vital stats, but almost none of the really important things. Her favorite color, comfort foods, even her favorite song were mysterious, forbidden things he suddenly felt he ought to know.
"Look, since I made you leave our food behind, why don't we go out to breakfast?" Sydney suggested, oblivious to his thoughts. "Then I thought I'd get in some shopping before the museum thing at one . . . Vaughn?"
"Um, yeah that sounds great. I promised Weiss I'd bring him back a snow globe or something anyway. Why don't I let you get showered and dressed, and then we'll leave?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll be out in fifteen minutes."
He doubted - he'd had a girlfriend before - but he nodded as if it were possible.
"Great."
Then, as Sydney gathered up her sponge bag and headed for the bathroom, Vaughn lingered to tidy up his suitcase before going out to dismantle his own makeshift bed.
Hot needles of water pounded into Sydney's skin as her strawberry body wash followed the path of the droplets down the drain at her feet. She massaged the smell of airport out of her hair with shampoo and conditioner, then switched off the water and wrapped a fluffy blue towel around her, stepping out into a strawberry-scented steam. She winced as she looked around the bathroom, noticing that in her haste to reach the bathroom she'd forgotten to bring clothes with her, and not only that, but she had forgotten to close the doors to the living area. Without any clothes on, Vaughn would see quite a bit of her before she managed to close them.
The only other cover available was a short little terrycloth pool robe, even shorter than the bath sheet she had pulled around her, and Sydney grimaced at her lack of foresight. Still, she knew she couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, so she compromised by retaining the towel and adding the pool robe before slipping out of the bathroom to gather more concealing garments.
Vaughn, his head buried in a hockey magazine, couldn't help but glance up as she darted from the bathroom to the French doors. At once embarrassed by what - little - he saw, he forced his eyes away, but his thoughts refused to comply to that same command.
She had the doors banged shut in under a second, and Vaughn let his head clunk against the headboard. This was going to be a lot harder than he had first thought.
***
Breakfast was taken in the hotel café before they asked directions to the Halifax Link, which would take them to the shopping centre across the street.
It may have been early, but already the place was bustling with last-minute Christmas shoppers waiting impatiently for the shop keepers to open their stores.
Sydney and Vaughn, who were pressed for time but not rushed, wandered along examining the exquisite boutiques, men's tailors, and flower shops that were nestled together as shoppers pushed, grumbled and stomped, and the owners called good-natured greetings to each other as they opened their stores.
The women's clothing stores had a particular pull for Sydney, whose dress for the charity function was non-existent. She moved toward the window full of delicate fabrics and elegant dresses. Vaughn followed her, playing the part of an attentive husband, and tried to figure out what such a husband would be thinking in a situation like this. He would probably, Vaughn guessed, try to imagine how the garments would look on her. Or off her.
He shook his head slightly- Took that whole 'in character' thing a little too far, there, Mike, he grimaced.
"Would you like to look around?" Vaughn asked her warmly, settling a hand on her arm.
"I would, only- you're sure you won't be bored?" She cocked her head to the side and stared into his eyes until he felt his knees weakening, and groped for a concealing response.
"Of course not! I'll be happy to give you my expert opinion," he suggested at last, his tone mock-haughty. Sydney giggled a bit and allowed him to lead her into the shop.
They browsed for almost twenty minutes, fingering the fabrics and examining the cuts, before Sydney had picked out three dresses from among the many to try on in the tiny dressing room at the back of the store. She piled the two spares into her "husband's" arms and swept away to put the third on, emerging a short time later to model it for him.
Her first choice was a floor length midnight blue cocktail dress. It was just provocative enough to make her feel feminine, but not low cut enough to make her freeze in the late December air, or to make her feel guilty if any guy tried to hit on her. Her shoulders were covered, if barely, and the vent on the right side reached only to her knees. Vaughn smiled his approval as she twirled for him.
"You like it?" she wondered, and he nodded.
"I do- especially the style. Classy, and sophisticated, but still feminine. It's you."
"Yeah, I love the style. I'm just not sure navy blue works for me."
"It works," Vaughn said with feeling. "Believe me, it works."
Sydney wrinkled her nose in an amused, little-girlish smile that said she thought his opinion was both biased and incorrect before snatching the second one out of his arms, and disappearing back inside. When she came back out, Vaughn struggled to retain his control over his bottom jaw- and for good reason.
This was a vibrant red creation that dipped all the way down to the small of her back and showed enough cleavage to have any man drooling oceans. She looked seductive as she stuck her lip out in a pout and took advantage of the mid-thigh length slit by extending one leg, the effect diminished only slightly by the winter boot she was wearing.
It wasn't a gown- it was an incitement to riot.
Sydney didn't even have to ask him what he thought- it was written all over his face.
"I thought myself it was a bit much," she said, "even for an evening event, much less a brunch. But if I were to go by your face- is this it, then?" she wondered, almost teasing now, and Vaughn gulped, then shook his head.
"The only person," he said with feeling, "that should see you in that is your husband. Me," he covered quickly, "I mean, me."
He shoved her back into the dressing room and tossed the last dress in after her, banging the door shut to shield her from the eyes of the elderly gentleman clerk, who seemed to have developed a staring problem in the last thirty seconds.
She emerged a few minutes later in her third and final choice. It was a simple white cocktail dress, the vent on the left side acceptably modest for a day time function. This, along with the borderline reasonable cut of the neckline, balanced out the fact that there was really no back to the dress at all. In fact, if the back were cut any lower, the police could find grounds for arresting her on charges of indecent exposure.
Somehow, though, she saved it from becoming inappropriate. Maybe it was the way her eyes were fastened only on him, as if she couldn't care less if the rest of the men in the room spent the entire day staring at her, so long as he would give her even a minute of his time.
Vaughn nodded, and Sydney's eyes lit up.
"This is it, isn't it?" She smoothed the skirt over her hips. "I mean, I know it's a little low in the back for the morning, but I've got a wrap in my suitcase that should cover that up just fine, and- well- I like it. Do you?"
"I love it. You'll turn a lot of heads," he assured her, moving forward to slide an arm around her waist and kiss her forehead. It was an incredibly foreign gesture, and yet it didn't seem strange. And any lingering uncertainties he may have entertained regarding his action were driven from his head by the smell of her hair and skin, and maybe a hint of strawberries.
After all, he rationalized, they were undercover, right?
***
Once the dress had been paid for, Sydney decided they had to be practical.
"I need a winter coat," she announced. "Two- one casual for the hockey game, and walking, and a dressier one for the parties."
"Well- where should we look?" Vaughn wondered, glancing around. "There's a department store over there, and a few more boutiques along here."
"Let's try the boutiques," Sydney suggested, hoping he wouldn't see it as just another excuse to bury herself in the midst of really nice things she'd probably wear only once, if even that, before they got lost in the back of her bizarre wardrobe.
As it turned out, the first boutique they stopped in had a coat in the display window that Sydney fell in love with. It wasn't so much a coat as a warm wrap with buttons tucked discreetly under the fold of the closure, and boasted the elegance required even at small city formal functions. It was black, and would suit both the evening clothes she planned to wear to the party, and the cocktail dress nestled in a bed of tissue paper in the box that Vaughn held for her. When she tried it on it fit her like a glove, and Vaughn nodded.
"It's perfect," he said firmly, and then wondered why, exactly, it was. It wasn't something he would have picked as suitable for Sydney, and yet the whole appearance created by the wrap was exactly right. Maybe it was because the wrap didn't show itself off, the way the dresses had. Rather, it took a backseat, as if its sole purpose was to showcase the beautiful woman who wore it.
Falling in soft folds from her shoulders to her wrists, the deep black of the wool made her skin look almost as white as the snow that sugared the bonnet above the main doors of the Prince George. Her cheeks held only the faintest flush of peach to suggest that she was something other than a perfectly-moulded china doll, and the smile that played over her lips was borne of a woman's confidence in knowing she looks quite fantastic. She looked too perfect to be real, and suddenly Vaughn was afraid to touch her. He ducked his head abruptly, and wondered,
"Going to look for the casual one now?"
"Mm-hm," she twinkled, not at all fooled by the change of subject, "I am. Want to help?"
He did, and they managed to find it- a simple forest green peacoat, and a beige and green striped scarf to match. They paid for both coats and left the shop, business completed.
"Now," Sydney said, "I want to go walking."
"You do?" Vaughn looked down uncertainly at the parcels he held, and Sydney hastened to reassure him.
"Oh, I want to take these back to the hotel first. I'll need to cut the tags off my coat so I can wear it, anyway- I don't want to freeze outside. But when we are walking, where do you want to go? I mean, the public gardens won't exactly be breathtaking this time of year."
"No," Vaughn agreed, pondering carefully as they made their way back to the hotel by means of the glassed-in walkway, traffic speeding by underneath their feet, "they wouldn't. But- hey," he turned to her, interest suddenly
lighting his eyes, "do you like to skate?"
That was how they ended up in the Halifax arena, lacing up rented skates.
"It's been years since I even went rollerblading," Sydney said nervously, getting uncertainly to her feet, "and these are not rollerblades."
"No," Vaughn agreed, reaching out quickly to grab at her waist and steady her, "they aren't. They're much better. Now, do you want to hang on to my shoulder until we get to the ice?"
"I want," Sydney said grimly, "to hang onto your shoulder until we get off the ice. Otherwise I'll fall flat on my face."
"Oh, no you won't," he smiled reassuringly, "I won't let you."
He was as good as his word. He held her hand the whole time they were on the ice, and every time her skates started to wobble, or her feet started to shoot out from under her - as they did embarrassingly frequently - his hands flew to catch her. By the time the whistle blew for everybody to get off the ice, several people had shot amused glances at what were, to all appearances, a devoted husband and wife.
"That," Sydney grumbled as they passed in their skates and laced up their boots, "was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Did I, or did I not, almost fall thirty-two times?"
"Well," Vaughn said consolingly, "I think we can round it down to thirty, can't we? And you really didn't do that badly, considering how long it's been since you skated last."
Sydney did not appear to be overly mollified, but at least she slipped her hand into his as they left the arena together, and headed back to the hotel.
It was all Vaughn could do to remind himself that she was just doing it to make them fit their cover, and all he could do to convince himself that he was looking at her so often, with such devotion, for the same reason.
"How much time do we have?" Sydney wanted to know when they reached the hotel room, and she headed for her purchases.
"Uh- a little over half an hour. Should I call a cab?"
"No, don't bother. The limo driver from last night said he was on call for us the whole time we're here- some sort of holiday bonus courtesy thing, or something. If we're going to pose as influential people, we might as well act the part, right?"
"Right," Vaughn agreed. "Now, did I hang my blazer up, or is it still in my suitcase?"
"You better hope you hung it up," came Sydney's muffled voice from the bedroom. "Otherwise, you'll never get the wrinkles out in time."
Fortunately for Vaughn and the hotel laundry service, the Armani blazer was located in his closet, along with the shirt and tie that he had brought to go with it.
"I hope we'll match," he said suddenly, as he slipped into the shirt. "I mean- you're wearing white. I'd match you if I were wearing a tux, but it's only one o'clock, so if I turned up in a tux, they'd know something was strange about us."
Sydney's answering giggle was one of pure amusement.
"When I was twelve years old, Dad sent me to three months of etiquette lessons so I'd become a proper lady, and he could get rid of me for the summer," she announced. "That's how I know what you said was true, but what's your excuse for knowing what you shouldn't wear to a fundraiser brunch?"
"My mother," Vaughn sighed, "as you know, is French. She devoured every society magazine she could get her hands on since the second she entered this country, so she would be sure not to embarrass my father at social functions. She inflicted upon me the fruits of her study. That is my excuse. Now, come out here so we can see if we match or not."
"Coming."
Sydney emerged wearing the dress and a soft violet pashmina. Her hair was combed sedately over her forehead, then brushed back and twisted up on the crown of her head. Thanks to the violet wrap, she matched Vaughn. His shirt and tie had rich, dark plum hues and lighter blue ones, respectively, to counteract the formality of his dark blazer, and the khaki pants he wore with them dressed him down to an acceptable level.
"We," Sydney decided, after they surveyed their reflection in the dresser mirror, "look like we belong together."
"Yeah," Vaughn said quietly, slipping his hand into the crook of her elbow, "we do. Now, let's just hope we can convince everybody else of the fact as well."