CHAPTER TWO
It had been a hot August day of bright sunlight and clear blue skies: weather more suitable for a wedding than a funeral.
For the first time in their acquaintance, the two people facing each other across the open grave had something in common. They were the only dry-eyed mourners as the clergyman read the service of committal. Jo stood, rigid, enduring, dazed by the utter unreality of the situation. On such a glorious day it was so hard to believe that Claire—beautiful, warm, loving Claire—had gone for ever. The scent of recently scythed grass lay heavy in the air, bringing back memories of long summer holidays when both schoolgirls had savoured every moment before the autumn term put an end to summer idleness.
Contributions to charity had been requested instead of flowers, but a single floral tribute lay on the gleaming oak lid of the coffin. Jo stared numbly at the replica of the wedding bouquet that Claire had carried two years earlier when she'd married the man who stood, still as a statue, on the opposite side of the grave. Jo kept her eyes averted from his grief. She looked down steadfastly on the madonna lilies and yellow rosebuds, and shivered as the first handful of earth hit the coffin.
At last it was over. Jo waited her turn among the mourners, then held out a hand to Rufus Grierson and murmured a conventional word of condolence. He took the hand for a moment in a hard grasp, said something appropriate in clipped, disciplined tones. Jo moved on to exchange embraces with Claire's devastated parents, and, much against her will, promised to go back to the imposing Victorian house where Claire had grown up. Refusing a lift, she set off alone.
Hot in the navy linen dress borrowed from her sister, Jo walked slowly, sure she would cry at last once she was alone. But the relief of tears never came. She had dreaded the ritual of muted voices over canapés and sherry, but knew it would give some small measure of comfort to Claire's parents. For the past week they had been caught up, like Rufus, in the organisation of funeral arrangements. But Jo was sure their loss would finally strike home when all was quiet and the last guest had gone. It would be the same for Rufus, of course, but he could one day find himself another wife. The Beaumonts could never replace their only child. There wasn't even a grandchild to give them solace, despite Claire's desperate desire to get pregnant.
'I'm not even thirty yet, Jo,' she'd said, just a few short weeks earlier. 'There's all sorts of treatment I still haven't tried. I've got loads of time.'
But Claire had run out of time one fine summer morning.
Jo came to with a start as a car glided to a halt just ahead of her. 'I'll give you a lift,' said Rufus, leaning over to open the passenger door for her.
The last thing Jo's battered emotions needed was a ride in a car alone with Rufus. She got in reluctantly, and fastened the seat belt. 'I thought you were with the others,' she said, her heart contracting at the bleak, weary look on his face.
'I needed to be on my own for a while.'
'Yes,' agreed Jo sombrely. 'I was walking for the same reason.' She turned to him hastily. 'Though I appreciate the lift, of course.'
'No need to be polite, Jo,' he snapped, then touched a hand fleetingly to hers in apology. 'Sorry. I'm on edge.'
As well he might be, thought Jo with compassion, glad when the car turned down the narrow lane towards the Beaumonts' house. Rufus parked the car at the end of a long line of others and Jo got out to walk beside him along the familiar driveway to the open front door.
'God, I wish this were over,' said Rufus, with sudden, quiet violence.
'So do I.' Jo's teeth sank into her quivering bottom lip.
He looked down into her face, and breathed out slowly. 'Of course you do.' To her surprise he took her hand and held it tightly for a moment. 'All right?'
She nodded mutely, and his face relaxed a little.
'Come on, then. Let's face the music.'
The Beaumonts were in the hall, in unconscious parody of a receiving line at a wedding. They were more composed, Gloria Beaumont's eyes still red, but dry now under the stylish black hat. Ted Beaumont, large and bluff as a rule, but oddly diminished today, wrung Rufus's hand in silence, and Jo hugged Claire's mother close in wordless sympathy, then offered to help the maid with the food.
'Oh, my dear, would you?' said Gloria in gratitude.
'I'll see to the drinks,' said Rufus.
Keeping herself occupied helped Jo to deal with the situation. And, she suspected, it was the same for Rufus. Elegant as always in sombre bespoke tailoring, he circulated with glasses and decanters, evading long exchanges with any group other than his family. Jo served guests with delicious titbits and stifled a searing dart of pain when she found they came from the bakery who'd once provided cream cakes for two hungry schoolgirls. As she moved through the room Jo's fragile composure was tested to the utmost by condolences from people who knew how close she'd been to Claire.
At last Ted Beaumont closed the door on the final, sombre face with a sigh of relief, and urged Jo to stay to dinner.
'Sorry, I can't,' said Jo, desperate to get away. 'I'm working tonight.'
'Couldn't they give you the night off in the circumstances?' pleaded Gloria Beaumont.
Jo shook her head, feeling guilty. 'Two of the others are on holiday. I can't really let them down. I should have been working at lunchtime today as it was.'
Rufus frowned. 'I thought you worked in the evenings.'
'As I said—it's holiday time. I've been filling in.' Jo smiled apologetically. 'The extra money comes in useful.'
'At least let Rufus drive you home,' said Ted. 'I would myself, but I've had a drop too much to drink.'
Jo shook her head. 'No, really. I need some fresh air before my stint at the Mitre.' And, more than fresh air, she needed time to herself to say her last, private goodbyes to Claire.
Rufus saw her out and accompanied her down to the gates, his eyes bloodshot and his face colourless, despite the heat.
'Are you sure about walking?' he asked. 'Let me run you home.'
'It's very kind of you, but I'd rather walk. I need to walk,' she added unsteadily.
The evening sun outlined Rufus' hair with fire as he looked down at her. 'You look exhausted. And you've lost weight.'
'It's the dress. It's a size too big—and I look terrible in navy. I borrowed it from my sister. None of my things were suitable for the—the occasion.' Abruptly Jo came to the end of her tether. 'Goodbye, Rufus. I really must go.'
'I'll ring you,' he said.
'That's probably not a good idea—'
'As you wish,' he said instantly.
She watched, dismayed, as every vestige of warmth vanished from his face. She had meant it wasn't a good idea for the time being. Not for ever. But something in Rufus' manner made it impossible to explain.
He inclined his head formally. 'I'll say goodbye, Jo.'
She gave him a depressed little nod, hesitated, then turned and walked away, utterly dejected.
It was better this way, she told herself firmly. A clean break with Rufus was best all round. She must forget him. Even with Claire dead Jo knew she had no hope of succeeding her friend in Rufus' affections. Claire had been beautiful both by nature and to look
at, her only aim in life to please the husband who was so much her intellectual superior. Jo knew she could never be like that. She was neither as beautiful as Claire nor as compliant. She would find it impossible to live her life merely as an extension of some man- even a man like Rufus Grierson. Yet, to be fair, Claire had been ideally happy with her marriage, apart from her inability to give Rufus a child.
Weariness put an end to Jo's introspection. The early-evening sunshine was hot as she trudged down the road, and the headache she'd been holding at bay homed in as she let go the iron control she'd exerted all afternoon. But still the tears refused to flow—for Claire, or for Rufus.
It would have done her good to cry that day, she thought now, in the sleepless dark of the present. It might have eased her aching sense of loss.
; At the age of ten Jo Fielding had won a scholarship to the expensive school where she met Claire Beaumont on the first day and began a friendship which ended only with Claire's death. The bond between two such very different children was a mystery to everyone who knew them. Claire had needed special, expensive tuition to help her pass the entrance examination to the highly academic school, while Jo, almost a year younger, had done so well that her scholarship paid the fees for her entire school career. Claire was tall for her age, well behaved, blonde and rounded, her school uniform always immaculate, Jo inches shorter, wiry, brown-skinned, black-haired and mischievous and rarely tidy from the moment she left home.
Eventually Claire went to a finishing school in Switzerland and Jo to university to read English, but their relationship survived surprisingly well. Inevitably they saw less of each other, but when they were both in Pennington they picked up where they'd left off and spent as much time as they could together, swapping boasts about boyfriends and roaring with laughter over anecdotes from their vastly disparate lives.
Claire learned cordon bleu cooking, the art of entertaining, and how to make the most of her already dazzling looks. Her flawless skin and blue eyes were framed by corn-coloured hair cut by a master hand, and she wore simple, understated clothes with world- famous labels.
Jo shared a chaotic household with several students of both sexes and ate junk food, all her spare cash spent on books. Her wiry, boyish figure soon became skinny, and her dark hair, worn long to save expense, lost its gloss. She studied hard, enjoyed tutorials, and sat for hours with her peers in the students' union over half a pint of lager, arguing hotly about putting the world to rights. To her mother's despair she dressed in leggings teamed with sweaters from charity shops and cadged cast-offs from her sisters for her bar job at the Mitre during vacations.
The twins, who by this time both had high-powered jobs in banking, despaired of turning their ugly duckling of a sister into a swan, then one day realised they didn't have to. Jo achieved a very good degree, followed it with a course in computers, then got a job with the Pennington Gazette. From then on she paid more attention to clothes, rounded out on her mother's cooking, and, though never as opulently curved as Claire, at least looked like the female she was, rather than her sisters' skinny little brother.
And all the time her friendship with Claire never wavered, not even when Rufus Grierson came on the scene. Jo, who had already been a bridesmaid at her sisters' double wedding, hadn't the heart to refuse Claire the same service, and followed the radiant bride down the aisle, wearing an amber chiffon dress which cost more than all her other clothes put together. Then she'd come face to face with Rufus for the first time during all the kissing and uproar in the vestry, and felt as if she'd been struck by lightning. Having never fallen in love before—not really, she realised—she wasn't prepared for the shock of it, and afterwards remembered very little of Claire's wedding day, other than her certainty that Claire's marriage marked the end of their friendship.
Jo was proved wrong. Rufus soon learned that the time she spent with Jo was important to his wife, and if he had any objections, which Jo was sure he had, kept them to himself. And to make sure Claire never knew how she felt about Rufus Jo took care never to be around when he was at home, and accepted invitations to the Griersons' social functions only when there was a crowd of other guests. The arrangement worked surprisingly well, and, most important of all, Claire never suffered any hurt.
Jo sighed and punched her pillow for the umpteenth time. Claire's tragically early death had left such a gaping hole. Now Jo sometimes went to London to meet an old college friend, but in Pennington her social life had rather ground to a halt since she'd embarked on her novel. She gritted her teeth in the darkness. It was time she joined something. A gym or a badminton club, or maybe a writers' circle. She might even accept some of the invitations she received over the bar at the Mitre. The respectable ones, anyway. And if Rufus Grierson ever turned up on her doorstep again—which was highly unlikely- next time, however much she wanted to, she wouldn't invite him in. Not, of course, that there was the slightest danger of a reran of tonight's episode.
A shiver ran through her at the thought. Stop that, she told herself savagely. The sensible thing was to look on what happened as a learning experience. Tonight she'd discovered that her two former experiences had been no preparation at all for what happened with Rufus. And it had surprisingly little to do with expertise. Linus had prided himself on his skill, and Edward had been warm and loving, but with Rufus she'd caught fire at the first touch of his mouth, and, unless she was mistaken, it had been just the same for him. She shivered again. For someone she'd always thought of as totally self-contained, Rufus Grierson had lost his cool with a vengeance. Human after all. Yet Claire had put him on a pedestal right from the start, and spent the rest of her all too short life in trying to live up to him.
Jo got up next morning, eyeing her reflection and Rufus Grierson's raincoat with equal dislike. The day was bright and sunny, and a lot fresher than the sultry heat of the past few days, but Jo's mood was dark. She pulled on denim shorts and a halter top, went downstairs to collect her daily paper, and had just settled down with a cup of tea to read it when her phone rang.
'Jo?'
Her heart gave a sickening thump in her chest, and it took one or two deep, calming breaths before she could answer. 'Hello, Rufus. You left your raincoat here.'
'Did I?'
'Isn't that why you're ringing?'
'No, it's not.'
'Oh.'
'How are you this morning?'
Jo thrust a shaky hand through her hair. 'Tired. I didn't sleep much.'
'It may sound insensitive, but I slept like a log.' He paused. 'I want to see you. We should talk.'
'No! I mean—I'd rather not, Rufus. I'll take your raincoat to the Mitre tonight. You can pick it up there—preferably during the day when I'm not around.'
The ensuing silence was so long that Jo was about to hang up when Rufus spoke again.
'I don't blame you for your attitude,' he said, sounding so detached and impersonal that Jo scowled. 'My behaviour was inexcusable.'
'Not really,' she responded slowly, trying to be fair. 'We were both off balance, emotionally. And I was equally to blame. I should have put up more resistance.'
'It wouldn't have made any difference,' he assured her. 'For the first time in my life I lost control, and there was nothing a pint-sized adversary like you could have done, believe me.'
'Nevertheless I'd feel a lot happier this morning if I'd done something,' said Jo bitterly.
'Would you be angry if I said you did something very important from my point of view?'
'It depends on what it was.'
'You gave me the best night's sleep I've had in months. You needed comfort, I provided it—then we both succumbed to the most potent form of it the male and female of the species can give each other.'
'How clinical!'
He laughed, sounding very unlike the Rufus Grierson she thought she knew. 'Clinical's the last word to describe what happened between us last night, Jo.'
'Please—I don't want to discuss it any more,' she said, flustered. 'Thank you for ringing. I'll make sure you get your raincoat. Goodbye.' And before Rufus could say another word she put the receiver back and leaned against the wall, shaken and breathless.
Deciding her blood sugars were low, Jo made herself some coffee and toast, piled the latter with her mother's marmalade and read the Gazette diligently while she ate. For once, she decided afterwards, she would take a day off from her word processor. There was an end-of-term feeling about the weather. She would go up to the flat roof over her kitchen and soak up what might very well be the last really hot sunshine of the summer.
Jo's glowing tan had been acquired over several weeks of unusually consistent hot weather on her private bit of roof, which covered the kitchen and bathroom extension built onto the attic flat. She collected sunglasses, straw hat, book, a
couple of cu- shions, a bottle of sun oil, and climbed out over her window-boxes to her private little eyrie. She rubbed herself with oil, let herself down on the cushions, tilted the hat over her eyes and decided she wouldn't read until later.
It was the last thought she had for some time. Jo woke with a start to find that the sun had moved a long way from its original position and she'd been asleep for the best part of three hours. Thirsty and hot, Jo passed her belongings through the window, wriggled through after them, drank down two glasses of water, then went off to read the neglected book in the bath.
The Mitre was an eighteenth-century coaching inn between Gloucester and Pennington, and had been enlarged and renovated with taste to house three bars and a separate restaurant. For the time being, while two of the staff were on holiday Jo, Phil Dexter the manager, and Tim, the young man working his way through his hotel management course, manned the bars between them in the evenings, while Phil's wife, Louise, ran the restaurant with an efficient pair of waitresses.
When Jo reported for work that evening Phil Dexter eyed her with appreciation.
'What a tan! Up on the roof again?'
'Too long this time,' she said ruefully. 'I fell asleep.'
'You look stunning,' he assured her. 'Good for trade.'
Jo usually wore something a little more festive on Saturday evenings. Her jade-green shirt looked good with the glow of her tan, and instead of weaving her newly washed hair into a French plait she'd tied it back with a green ribbon at the nape of her neck. With eyes emphasised more than usual and her favourite silver hoops in her ears, Jo felt she'd done her best.
Louise Dexter smiled as she passed on her way through the restaurant. 'You look good, Jo. Something nice happened today?' 'Not really. It must be the tan.' 'If you say so. I thought a new man, maybe.' 'No fear. Married to my computer, that's me!' They laughed together, then Jo turned her smile on her first customer. 'Good evening. What can I get you?'
The Second Bride Page 3