The Second Bride

by Catherine George

  She stared into the flickering flames, looking back over the first weeks of the marriage which, against all odds, was proving remarkably successful. Jo's face shadowed as she mourned for the baby who had never arrived, but after a few moments of reverie she counted her blessings, and went to make coffee, ready for her mother's arrival.

  Later the three of them set off together for the party, Rufus in all the glory of Jo's gift of a Chinese silk waistcoat and Rose Fielding draped with a vast silk scarf of the same provenance.

  'How did you know I yearned for gold hoops, Rufus?' said Jo, admiring her reflection in the hall mirror before they went out to the car.

  'I can read your mind,' he whispered in her ear, looking a lot different from the haggard, distraught man who'd rushed her to hospital only a few weeks before.

  'I must remember to think pure thoughts,' she said, laughing.

  'Spoilsport.'

  Elizabeth Grierson gathered not only her immediate family to her bosom on Christmas Day, but several elderly relatives who had nowhere else to go for the festivities, plus Susannah's parents and young sister, and the young man from next door, who was home alone for Christmas because his parents were visiting his sister in Australia.

  It was an odd mix but a successful one, with a lavish, traditional meal followed by an evening de- voted to uproarious games. Jo joined in with enthusiasm, utterly fascinated to discover a new, roistering side to her husband when it was his turn to act out one of the titles his mother had thought up earlier.

  Rufus studied the folded slip he'd taken from the basket presided over by his great-aunt, then took centre stage and indicated in dumb show that his was a song title. Rufus took off his jacket and tie, lowered his eyelids, cast a sultry look round the room, strummed on an imaginary guitar and revolved his pelvis in a way which brought roars of laughter and catcalls from his audience, including Jo, who was entranced by the sight of her husband playing the fool. Then he held up three fingers to signal three words and started on the first one by kneeling in front of Jo, hands clasped over his heart.

  'Love!' called Susannah promptly, and Rufus nodded, grinning, then pointed to himself for the second word.

  'Me,' said everyone in unison, then Rufus slid his arms round his startled wife, smoothing the shining dark head cradled against his shoulder, and immediately the older element in the room bawled, '"Love Me Tender"!'

  Rufus bowed theatrically but stayed where he was, keeping his arm round Jo, where it was to remain for the rest of the evening. 'Did you like my Elvis impersonation?' he asked as Susannah took centre stage for the next title.

  'Masterly,' she said, giggling. 'I'd no idea you were such a ham!'

  'Hidden talents,' he whispered, his smile touching off a small, hopeful flame which burned steadily inside her for the rest of the night. It was one in the morning before they arrived home.

  'What's the matter?' Rufus asked as he took Jo's coat.

  Cursing her husband's skill in reading her mind, she assured him that she was fine and would be even better after a cup of tea.

  Rufus followed her into the kitchen, leaning against a counter while Jo busied herself with kettle and tea things. 'You were in tearing spirits right up until we left, but now you're not. What was your mother talking about in the back of the car? I didn't ask in case it was something private. Was it bad news of some kind?'

  Jo poured boiling water into the teapot, put the lid on and stood staring at it, willing unwanted tears to stay put. 'No,' she said gruffly. 'Quite the opposite, really. Callie's expecting a baby.'

  'And you mind.' Rufus turned her to face him and drew her close, smoothing a hand over her hair as she buried her face against him.

  Jo made a heroic attempt to control her tears, and at last drew away with a damp, shaky smile. 'That waistcoat was expensive. I don't want to ruin it.'

  Rufus promptly stripped off both jacket and waistcoat and returned her to her former place. 'You need more cosseting.'

  She gave a chuckle too much like a sob for her own liking at the memory of another night when she'd cried into his shirt-front. 'Such a lovely word! Sorry to spoil your evening, Rufus.'

  'You haven't.' He put her away from him slightly. 'You're tired. Go up and get into bed. I'll bring your tea.'

  'Thank you,' she said hoarsely, and tore a sheet of kitchen paper from its roll. She mopped her face vigorously and gave him a smile. 'To think that once upon a time I never cried over anything!'

  Jo went upstairs to undress, and wrapped herself afterwards in the flagrantly luxurious dressing gown Rufus had given her that morning, enjoying the feel of the scarlet cashmere. She creamed her face and brushed her hair, then sat on her elegant bed, propped up against the pillows.

  Rufus paused on the threshold, arrested, then brought the mug to the table beside her, his face rigidly blank. 'You look very—festive. I thought it would suit you.'

  'I wasn't sure whether it made me look like Father Christmas or a scarlet woman,' she said, flippant to disguise her nerves.

  'Definitely not the former,' he assured her, then stood very still as she held her arms up to him.

  'Rufus,' she said breathlessly, 'could you possibly cosset me a tiny bit more before you go to bed? It is Christmas.'

  For a split second Jo thought he would refuse her, then with an odd, choked sound Rufus pulled her off the bed and into his arms, crushing his mouth down on hers like a man starved for the touch and taste of her. She locked her hands behind his neck, and gave him back kiss for kiss until they were breathing in ragged, painful gasps, both of them furiously impatient with shirt buttons and the satin girdle that knotted in Rufus' frantic hands before he managed to undo it and thrust the gown from her shoulders. He breathed in sharply when he found her naked beneath it and bent his head, his mouth hot in the hollow between her breasts as his hands caressed her. She gasped and clenched her chattering teeth, and he sank to his knees, his mouth like a brand against the satiny skin of her waist as he thrust the gown aside and let it fall to the floor.

  Suddenly Rufus was still, and she opened her eyes to find him staring at the scar. He leapt to his feet and backed away, and Jo snatched up her dressing gown and wrapped herself in it with trembling fingers, feeling as though he'd punched her in the stomach.

  'Oh, God—I'm sorry,' he said harshly. 'I'd forgotten. Jo, I can't—'

  'No. Of course. I quite understand.' Jo turned her back and leaned both hands on the dressing table. 'Please go.'

  'Jo, listen,' he urged hoarsely, but she shook her head.

  'Get out, Rufus!' she said with violence, suddenly at the end of her tether.

  In the mirror she saw his hands reach for her, then fall, and Rufus turned on his heel and went out, closing the door behind him with enormous care.

  Fortunately Rose Fielding was leaving next day to spend Boxing Day with an old friend before returning to Willowdene Lodge. It would have been more than Jo could bear to keep up a whole day of pretence in front of her mother. For the half-hour the three of them spent together over coffee, discussing the riotous day before, Jo kept up appearances with remarkable ease, including Rufus in the conversation so naturally that all could have been normal.

  They saw Rose off together, arm in arm, told her to drive with care and waved her out of sight, then Jo wrenched her hand away and went back in the house, deliberately ignoring Rufus. Without a word she went straight upstairs to shut herself in her room. Once inside she leaned against the door for a moment or two, eyes closed, then squared her shoulders and sat down at her desk. Summoning concentration by force of will, Jo read through the notes she'd made, then switched on her computer, blanked Rufus from her mind, and began to type the opening paragraph of her new novel.

  At midday Rufus knocked and came into the room with a tray containing a pot of tea and some sandwiches from the ham Jo had roasted on Christmas Eve. She badly wanted to snarl at him, tell him she wasn't hungry and didn't want his rotten sandwiches. But the combination of stress and hard w
ork had made her ravenous, so she thanked Rufus with deep-frozen courtesy, waited in pointed silence until he left the room, then fell on the food while she read through her morning's work. Rufus brought her tea at one stage in the afternoon, reminded her that they were due to dine with Rory and Susannah that evening, but otherwise made no attempt to make her talk to him. Jo assured herself she was glad. And although it was Boxing Day, and not New Year's Eve, she made a resolution never, ever to cry again. Tears turned her into a crazy, pathetic creature who craved comfort. Even so, it had taken enormous effort to reach out to Rufus the night before. And for a few, electrifying minutes his response had been gloriously, passionately gratifying.

  Jo shuddered, willing her mind to concentrate on the fictional character she was creating, blocking out thoughts of the look in his eyes as he'd stared at her scar. Any other husband would have seen it long since, of course, and grown used to it gradually as it healed. But one look had repelled her husband so much that he couldn't bear to touch her. Rufus Grierson, she thought bitterly, required perfection. He liked his women flawless in every way. Like Claire.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was February before Jo heard anything more from Diadem. The wait made life even more trying from her own point of view. Of Rufus' viewpoint she knew nothing, since she pointedly didn't ask for it, and after one or two abortive attempts to bridge the sudden gulf between them neither did he.

  After the humiliation of his rejection Jo gave up sharing any meal with Rufus other than the nightly trial of dinner. She took to keeping a tea-tray in her bedroom so she could breakfast on biscuits and tea in solitude, unable to cope early in the day with the armed truce their marriage had become. When her husband knocked on her bedroom door early one morning, therefore, Jo was surprised. Rufus usually departed for his chambers without communication.

  'Come in,' said Jo, eyeing her husband questioningly as he came in dressed ready for the day, his pinstriped suit a dark grey which matched the marks under his eyes. Rufus, it seemed, slept no better than she did these days. He came over to the bed, holding out a letter.

  'It's from Diadem. I thought you'd like it straight away.' He raised an eyebrow, smiling. 'And I want to know what they say.'

  'Thank you,' said Jo, accepting it gingerly as though it might bite her.

  'It's an envelope,' he pointed out, 'not a returned manuscript.'

  'Trae.' Jo managed a smile. 'But I'm still afraid to open it.'

  'Perhaps you'd rather do it in private,' he said instantly, and turned to go.

  'No! ' she said urgently. 'No, of course not, Rufus. I'm being silly.' She slid a fingernail under the flap and took out a letter. She read it through in silence, then read it through again, just in case she'd made a mistake.

  'Well?' demanded Rufus impatiently. 'The suspense is killing me. What does it say?'

  Jo handed him the letter, looking dazed. 'They like it—or at least they will do after it's been revised a bit.'

  Rufus read it through, then gave her the first real smile she'd seen on his face since Christmas. 'This is wonderful news, Jo. Congratulations.'

  He moved towards her involuntarily, but checked himself, and instead of kissing her as she'd hoped he handed Jo her letter.

  'They want me to go down to London to lunch next week,' she said quickly, to hide her disappointment.

  'You'll enjoy that.' He glanced at his watch, and sighed. 'I must go. I'm late.' He looked down at her. 'Jo—let's go out for a celebration dinner tonight. We can't let the occasion go unmarked.'

  Jo looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. I'd like that.'

  'I'll arrange it. Anywhere in particular?'

  She smiled a little. 'Yes. The Mitre. I haven't been back there since—since we got married. I can tell them the glad news.'

  'Right.' He went to the door, then turned. 'Jo, once you've spoken to your mother, ring mine with your news. She'd like to know.'

  'I was going to anyway, Rufus.'

  'Yes, of course.' He paused, as though taking pleasure in the sight of her as she sat propped up against pillows, her hair hanging dark and tousled on her shoulders. 'You look better, Jo.'

  Better than what? she thought, and smiled politely. 'Thank you.'

  'I'll see you tonight,' he said, and closed the door behind him.

  Jo stared at it disconsolately for a moment or two, wishing she could call him back, ask him to stay, share her triumph a little longer. Then she looked at the letter from Diadem again and gave a delighted little wriggle of elation as she picked up the telephone beside her bed.

  'Mother? Guess what!'

  Jo spent a disgracefully long time on the phone. She basked in the congratulations and praise heaped on her by her mother, promised to take Rufus down to lunch the following Sunday, then rang her mother- in-law, who was equally euphoric, and begged to pass the glad news on to Susannah. If only, thought Jo wistfully, she could have told Claire.

  When she was dressed she braced herself to ring Gloria Beaumont, thinking it would be unkind to let Claire's mother find out from someone else. It was not a task she relished. Claire's mother had never quite been able to come to terms with the fact that Rufus had married again at all, let alone chosen Jo Fielding to succeed her adored, matchless Claire.

  Mrs Beaumont congratulated Jo perfunctorily, plainly not very interested in news of the novel. Almost immediately she began to talk of Claire and how much she still missed her beloved child. 'Rufus does too,' she added. 'He told me so only the other day. He loved her so very desperately, you know.'

  'Yes, I do know,' said Jo quietly. 'I miss her too.'

  'Of course you do. I must be grateful poor dear Rufus has you to turn to for comfort.'

  When Jo finally managed to put an end to the conversation she slumped on the side of her bed, all her pleasure in the day spoiled. Then the phone rang and she brightened when she heard Susannah's jubilant voice demanding Jo meet her in town for lunch to celebrate.

  Jo had taken to Susannah from the moment they'd first met. Rory's wife was an outgoing creature who loved her husband, and her job, and got on well with most people. And she had never met Claire. In this instance, at least, there were no comparisons for Jo to live up to, and she'd quickly grown very fond of Susannah.

  'Jo!' Susannah came hurrying out from the perfumed interior of the store and gave Jo a hug. 'Who's a clever girl, then? Let's go and eat something sinful and fattening to celebrate.'

  After Mrs Beaumont's reaction Susannah's jubilation was balm to Jo, and she said so quite frankly. 'I need to let off steam with someone.'

  'You look better for it too,' said Susannah, and bit her lip. 'I've been a bit worried, Jo. Rory, too.'

  Jo met the anxious brown eyes squarely. 'Because you think things are strained between Rufus and me?'

  Susannah let out a sigh of relief. 'Well, yes. But I'm glad you said it, not me.'

  'It's been hard to adjust,' said Jo with difficulty.

  'Since losing the baby?'

  'Yes. And I'm Rufus' second wife, remember.' Jo smiled brightly. 'It's not the same kind of thing as you and Rory.'

  'It looked like it at Christmas!' The other girl heaved a sigh. 'But since then it's obvious neither of you is very happy these days. We—we worry.'

  Jo smiled ruefully. 'And I thought we were putting on such a brave face to the world.'

  'You are. It's what goes on behind the masks that worries us!' Susannah put out a hand, and Jo clasped it. 'Rory's taking me to the theatre tonight, otherwise I'd suggest we went out to dinner to celebrate.'

  'Rufus is taking me to the Mitre, so I can boast to all my old pals.'

  'Oh, brilliant. Have a really lovely time.' Susannah smiled cajolingly. 'And please make it up with Rufus, Jo.'

  Easier said than done, thought Jo later, as she got ready for the evening. By the time Rufus came home she was ready in the black cashmere dress her sisters had clubbed together to give her for Christmas. Thalia and Callie never stopped trying to improve he
r appearance, thought Jo affectionately as she viewed the finished result in the hall mirror, but their taste, as always, was impeccable. The dress clung flatteringly in all the right places. She fastened the gold hoops in her ears, and surveyed the result critically just as Rufus came through the front door carrying an enormous bunch of tawny roses.

  They both spoke at once, then stopped, smiling at each other.

  'I'll go first because I must tell you at once how beautiful you look,' said Rufus, and handed her the roses. 'For my talented wife.'

  'Why, thank you, Rufus,' she said, touched.

  'I brought them home at lunchtime,' he said, surprising her. 'When I found you were out I took them back again.'

  'You could have left them with a note.'

  'I preferred to present them in person.'

  Having started on such a harmonious note, the evening was more of a success than Jo had expected, after the weeks of frosted, barely civil coexistence. Her choice of the Mitre for dinner was inspired. Because Rufus had told Phil Dexter the good news Jo was given red-carpet treatment from the moment she arrived. She was hugged, kissed and bombarded with congratulations, then served with champagne before and during dinner, which was excellent, as always at the Mitre.

  'Perhaps I can get a toast in now,' said Rufus drily, when they were left to eat their main course in relative peace. He raised his glass, his eyes warm as they smiled into hers. 'To Jocasta Fielding, and the success she richly deserves.'

  Jo acknowledged the toast with gratitude. 'Thank you, Rufus.' Her eyes danced suddenly. 'If I sell well enough, and Diadem want a follow-up, things could change a lot in the future.'

  His face drained of animation. 'In what way?'