Maja

Maja

“Oh, great, thought Maja as she picked up her duffle bag and trotted after the man who was striding out, anger in every fibre of his bearing.

‘Please wait,’ she panted and he stopped abruptly, turning to look at her, his green eyes hard and cold, all the humour and the warmth had vanished. He looked dangerous and she halted at once.

“Look,’ she murmured softly, stopping in her tracks as she looked into his hard, handsome face,

“I did not…’ and then, looking him in the eyes, she said in a small voice,

”I am sorry.’ Tilting her chin, she gazed at him, stubbornly. He sighed and nodded.

’Car’s here.’ he said shortly and they saw that a large deep blue sedan had driven up to the door. The children eagerly piled into the back seat as one of the men standing at the entrance came over to help them to load their luggage, just a couple of sad-looking, worn-out suitcases.

Maja bit her lip. They looked like refugees; she thought bitterly, which they were in some sense of the word!

The door s