The Bride In Blue

by Miranda Lee

  Sophia was stunned, not only by the suggestion itself, but her own inner response to it, especially to the possibility of having children in the near future. She'd thought, after her miscarriage, that she wouldn't be able to face having another baby for ages, but such wasn't the case at all! The idea of having a baby filled her with nothing but the most amazing feelings, not the least of which was a deep maternal longing. She wanted a baby to love and care for; wanted it with all her heart. But Jonathon's baby?

  As much as Wilma's revelation about Jonathon's first marriage had touched her, she wasn't sure her sympathy extended to offering herself as mother to his children.

  'It's not such a shocking idea once you get used to it,' Wilma said matter-of-factly. 'Don't dismiss it out of hand. Think it over for a while. You're not worried about what Godfrey would think, are you?'

  Godfrey, Sophia knew, would be delighted. As she'd once said to Jonathon, it wasn't in Godfrey's nature to be jealous or possessive, or to begrudge anyone any happiness. If she could find some sort of life with his younger brother, there would be no one more pleased than Godfrey.

  Any problems did not he with her loyalty to Godfrey's memory, more in her ability to think of Jonathon as her lover. For her, making love had always been associated with being in love. The ro­mantic in her automatically cringed away from any­thing else. She could not deny, however, that this was a special case. For some weird and wonderful reason, it also felt right.

  'I don't mean to be cruel,' Wilma continued in her usual pragmatic fashion, 'but Godfrey's gone. You can't make a life out of memories. Neither can you make a baby. You need a flesh and blood man. Frankly, you couldn't get a better arranged flesh and blood man than Jonathon.'

  A shudder rippled through Sophia and Wilma frowned.

  'Surely you can't be repelled by the idea of going to bed with a man like Jonathon.'

  'Not repelled exactly,' she admitted shakily. 'I'm just not sure how I would handle it. I… I only went to bed with Godfrey the once and it wasn't such a big success, despite our being madly in love. There again, I was a virgin.'

  'Goodness! I had no idea. Looking at you, I would have thought you'd have had other lovers before Godfrey.'

  'I was only eighteen when I moved in with Godfrey,' Sophia protested in shocked tones. She'd been brought up very strictly in a moral sense, her mother brain­washing her that a good girl never gave herself till she was very much in love, and preferably engaged. 'I'm only twenty now,' she added.

  'You look older,' Wilma commented, her gaze trav­elling from Sophia's face down to her chest.

  Sophia blushed, the woman's explicit scrutiny em­barrassing her. 'It's my Italian heritage,' she mut­tered. 'Italian girls mature young.'

  Wilma's laugh was dry. 'Don't be shy about it. Lord, I'd give my eye teeth to have half your bust.'

  'I'd give my eye teeth to have only half of it,' Sophia countered just as drily.

  'Don't be silly, most men love breasts. And yours aren't too big. They're nicely rounded and still beautifully high. Don't knock them. And don't take too much notice of your first experience with Godfrey. First sexual experiences are rarely memorable for a female. Besides, I don't think that…' Wilma broke off, mumbling something under her breath which Sophia couldn't catch. When she looked up, her thin lips pulled back into a encouraging smile. 'So what do you think you might do?'

  'I don't know, Wilma. I'll have to think about it, as you said.'

  'There's no hurry. I don't think Jonathon's going anywhere.'

  Sophia began wishing he would go somewhere that very same night. After her conversation with Wilma, she suddenly became awfully conscious of him in a physical sense. Several times over dinner she found herself staring at him. At his hands particu­larly… and his lips. They weren't as thin as she'd thought. They were, in fact, very nicely shaped, the bottom one fuller than the top.

  Once, he looked up while forking cheesecake into his mouth and caught her staring. His brows drew together in a puzzled frown. For a long, awfully tense moment their eyes remained locked, Jonathon's frown increasing. Sophia felt frozen, unable to look away, appalled with herself, yet fascinated with the way her heart was hammering away behind her ribs.

  'Have I grown horns?' Jonathon drawled when the staring had long passed the point of politeness.

  Both Maud and Ivy looked over at Sophia who coloured guiltily. 'No of course not. I was just wondering…'

  'Wondering what?' he persisted.

  Her mind searched desperately for something to say. 'I was wondering how to go about asking you to buy a Christmas tree.'

  'We already have a Christmas tree,' he returned in a droll tone. 'Haven't you seen the silver one Maud put up in the drawing-room?'

  'Yes, but that's not the same as a real one,' she went on, trapped by her white lie. 'Godfrey always said that Christmas wasn't Christmas without a real tree.'

  The mentioning of Godfrey brought a hushed silence for a moment. Till Jonathon spoke. 'Then a real tree we will have by all means. I'll go get one first thing in the morning.'

  Sophia thought she detected a rueful note behind his crisp voice, but even so, his agreeing to the suggestion seemed to spark some life into his mother, who said she would go up to the attic that very night and bring down some more decorations.

  'There's things up there which we haven't used since you and Godfrey were boys, Jonathon,' she said quite excitedly. 'Remember how Godfrey always insisted on putting the angel on the top of the tree?'

  'Yes, Mother,' Jonathon said. 'I remember.'

  'And we had to sing carols while doing it,' she went on, her eyes shining with the memory. 'He was such a dear, sensitive boy,' she finished with a wistful sigh.

  Sophia's heart squeezed tight when she saw the wry twist on Jonathon's mouth. Yes, of course Godfrey must have been a dear sensitive boy, for he had been a dear sensitive man. But he didn't have a monopoly on sensitivity. Couldn't Ivy see Jonathon was hurt by her ongoing insensitive favouring of Godfrey? No doubt this was just a continuance of the way she'd always acted. My God, maybe Jonathon might have liked to put the angel on top of the tree sometimes. Or hadn't that ever occurred to her?

  Sophia vowed silently that this time he would do exactly that. She would make a special point of asking him to, knowing neither Maud not Ivy would climb up on a ladder to do such a precarious task. Truly, Ivy needed telling some day that Jonathon had feelings too!

  When Sophia looked across the table she noted a similar irritation written on Maud's face. She was frowning, first at Ivy, then at Jonathon. Perhaps for the first time, Maud saw the unfairness of her old friend's attitude to her younger son. Hopefully, she might say something to her. Sophia knew she wasn't in a position to; it would look very bad coming from her.

  Jonathon stood up abruptly at that point. 'Bring my coffee into the study, will you, Maud? I have some calls to make.'

  'Certainly, Jonathon,' she said with a ready smile. 'And I'll bring you a slice of my special Christmas cake. I made it early this year. You know the one.' She gave a sheepish laugh. 'It has more rum in it than eggs.'

  Jonathon was taken aback but obviously pleased by the housekeeper's uncharacteristic warmth. His surprised smile moved Sophia unbearably. The man was starved of love, she realised. Positively starved.

  Wilma's suggestion slipped back into her mind. Jonathon would never love her as he had loved Charmaine. She would never love him as she'd loved Godfrey. But they could learn to love each other in a fashion, especially if they had a child together.

  The doctor had assured Sophia that there was nothing physically wrong with her, that her miscar­riage was a one-off thing. He'd investigated her mother's problem, getting her medical records from the Lithgow doctor who had treated her, dismissing Sophia's worry as groundless. Her mother's weakness had not been congenital, but the result of damage caused by a difficult childbirth.

  There was no medical reason why Sophia shouldn't conceive easily again and carry the baby full-term. D
r Henderson had been most reassuring, thinking no doubt that the baby she lost had been Jonathon's, and that they would want to try again soon for another child.

  Sophia swallowed when she thought of going to bed with Jonathon. She'd told Wilma the truth when she'd expressed extreme nervousness over such a prospect. Right from the start she'd found Jonathon an intimi­dating man in a physical sense, both with his size and his overpowering aura of authority and decisiveness.

  That had not changed, despite her having got over her excessive fear. She was also terribly nervous over the idea of actually approaching him and suggesting that they make their marriage a real one, that they try to have a child together.

  For she wasn't sure what his reaction would be. Wilma might feel confident that he found her desir­able enough to agree. But she wasn't so sure. Other than the one awkward moment on the stairs when he'd hugged her and been unexpectedly aroused, Jonathon had never shown, by look, word or deed, that he fancied her any more than any other young attractive woman he might meet.

  Still, a lot of men were not too fussy when it came to sex, it seemed. They could go to bed with any number of women without being in love, without any great depth of feeling at all. Clearly Jonathon had been sleeping with a variety of females, his trips over the past few months rarely being to the same place. Sophia doubted he'd been taking the same woman with him every time. Wilma would know if he had since she made all the bookings for him, and it was clear from their conversation that day that Jonathon was not in the clutches of some secret mistress.

  No…Sophia had to admit that Wilma was probably quite right. Jonathon would have no trouble actually taking her to bed if he wanted to. But would he want her to have his baby?

  There was only one way to find out, she supposed. She would have to ask him, if and when she could find the courage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sophia should have guessed that Jonathon would avoid the decorating of the tree like poison. Yet when he brought home such a magnificent specimen, taking time to cement it firmly in a large bucket of sand in one corner of the main living-room, she'd hoped he was going to help with the rest of the proceedings. But he left the house as soon as the first coloured ball was drawn from the various boxes Ivy had brought down, saying he had an appointment.

  Sophia's disappointment was sharp. What appoint­ment could he possibly have before lunch on a Sunday? In the end, she put the darned angel on top of the tree herself, climbing back down the step-ladder with a heavy heart. But when Ivy turned on the coloured lights that they'd threaded through the branches, it was hard to remain down. There was something about a real live Christmas tree all lit up that was impossible to resist. Godfrey had been right. Christmas wasn't Christmas without it.

  Immediately Sophia started to think about the presents she'd bought everyone. She hoped they'd like them.

  The rest of the week dragged, but at last Christmas morning dawned, Jonathon surprising everyone by accompanying them to church. He looked very handsome, Sophia thought, in a dark blue suit and tie. And much more cheerful than usual. He even opened some champagne after breakfast, so that by the time the four of them assembled around the tree to give out the presents around eleven, the general mood was quite bright. Even Ivy was chirpy.

  Maud suggested she receive her presents first, saying she had to get back to the kitchen and the turkey dinner. She seemed very pleased with the Italian cookbook Sophia gave her, having often expressed curiosity and interest in the Italian dishes Sophia had been cooking the family lately. Ivy's present to Maud of a summer nightie and matching robe was also much appreciated, but when Jonathon gave her an envelope with a cash bonus in it Maud's eyes almost popped out of her head.

  'But that's way too much, Jonathon,' she protested.

  He waved a dismissive hand. 'Send some of it to that son of yours, if you like. He needs a helping hand from what you've told me.' Maud's only child, Jerry, who was a logger in Tasmania, had been retrenched a few months back. With his five children, he had to be finding life pretty tough.

  Tears pricked at the old lady's eyes. 'I'll do that. Thank you, Jonathon. What a good man you are.'

  Amen to that, Sophia thought, and slid an ad­miring glance his way. It caught his eye and he looked back at her, his own gaze travelling down over her body. Sophia tried not to blush, well aware that she looked pretty that day, the softly flowered sundress flattering her voluptuous figure by skimming rather than hugging her curves, the flaring skirt reaching down to just above her ankles, giving her the illusion of more height. Her long dark hair was caught back behind her ears, small but expensive gold hoops de­corated her lobes and a deeper red lipstick than she usually wore outlined her mouth.

  His eyes lifted to rest on that mouth and she swallowed. Today would be a good day, whispered a little voice. I look nice and Jonathon seems very re­laxed. Maybe I will ask to speak to him after dinner…

  Sophia's pulse-rate immediately went haywire. Dear God, how would she ever find the nerve?

  Maud blessedly interrupted her panicky train of thought by handing out her presents. It seemed she always gave stationery, Ivy expressing the opinion that she'd outdone herself this year with some simply beautiful sets. Which they were, Sophia's delicate and flowery; Ivy's gold-embossed and classical, Jonathon's very business-like, with an accompanying pen-set.

  'Just what I always wanted,' he drawled, but smiling. He even gave Maud a kiss on the cheek, which flustered her for a moment, she was so surprised and pleased. Ivy looked startled as well, as though seeing a different Jonathon from the one she'd always known.

  After Maud departed to attend to the dinner, mother and son exchanged gifts, Ivy delighted with her crystal ornament in the shape of a castle, Jonathon making all the right noises over his pewter desk set.

  When Ivy coyly presented Sophia with two gifts, not one, Sophia was taken aback, as they had earlier agreed only to buy each other the one gift. The larger of the two turned out to be a small portable CD player, the other a selection of Mozart CDs.

  'The player's small enough to put on your bedside table,' Ivy explained. 'You could play it when you go to bed at night, especially when you find it hard to go to sleep.'

  Sophia darted a quick look Jonathon's way, but his face had taken on that rather remote unreadable ex­pression he wore sometimes.

  'You shouldn't have spent so much money on me,' she told Ivy.

  'Don't be silly. We wanted to. Besides, it was Jonathon's idea. This is from him as well.'

  'It's a lovely present,' Sophia said, amazed at Jonathon's selecting that particular gift. She knew exactly what he thought of Mozart. It showed he was a lot more mature than his mother. 'Thank you both. I hope you'll like what I bought you.'

  Ivy seemed genuinely thrilled with her early edition leather-bound copy of A Tale of Two Cities, which Sophia had found in a nearby second-hand book shop. No doubt Jonathon thought he was getting a book too, for when he ripped the paper off his present and saw the latest zoom compact camera lying in his lap, surprised blue eyes snapped up to Sophia. Maud chose that moment to come back into the room, carrying a serving dish full of cherries, nuts and lollies.

  'I see you've opened Sophia's present,' she said. 'I hope you appreciate it. She worked darned hard to earn the money to buy you that camera.'

  Everything inside Sophia tightened as she stared at Maud. She hadn't said anything specific to the woman but she'd been sure Maud understood Jonathon wasn't to know about her having taken in that ironing. Ivy had certainly understood, for she too was staring wide-eyed at Maud.

  Jonathon wasn't staring. He was frowning.

  'What are you talking about, Maud? What work?'

  'About a hundred hours' ironing,' Maud revealed airily, not looking at Sophia as she sailed from the room again.

  Jonathon's straight black brows met. 'You took in ironing to buy me this?'

  Sophia held her breath and bit her lip. 'Yes,' she choked out.

  'For God's sake, why? You hav
e plenty of money. I gave it to you.'

  Sophia scooped in a deep steadying breath and lifted her chin. 'I wasn't about to buy you a present with your own money,' she told him with remarkable com­posure, though aware her stomach was tight with tension.

  'And how did you come by this ironing?'

  'Maud paid me to do what she usually sent out, and I… I did some of the neighbours'.'

  'The neighbours',' he repeated, shaking his head. 'Good God.'

  An awkward silence fell, during which Ivy cleared her throat and Sophia got steadily angrier. If Jonathon spoiled everyone's day, she was going to let him have a piece of her mind.

  When he looked up again, however, his attitude was quite calm. 'Mother, could I perhaps have a few moments alone with Sophia?'

  Worry was written all over Ivy's face. 'You…you're not going to have an argument, are you? Not on Christmas Day.'

  'Not at all,' was his smooth reply. 'I just wish to speak briefly to Sophia in private. Perhaps Maud could do with some help in the kitchen?'

  Ivy's departure was clearly reluctant, her parting glance quite anxious.

  'Now,' Jonathon began with a weary sigh. 'Would you like to tell me how the neighbours found out that a guest in my home wanted to take in ironing?'

  Sophia's simmering irritation with Jonathon made her fiercely unrepentant, and extremely defiant. 'I put pamphlets in their letterboxes,' she admitted boldly.

  'You put…' He rose to his feet, eyes and nostrils flaring. 'Good God, whatever possessed you? Haven't you any pride? Or any concern for mine? You're my wife, dammit!'

  'No I'm not,' she countered, her surface coolness in stark contrast to his out-of-control fury. 'Not really. No one in this street even knows we went through that sham of a ceremony and I certainly haven't told them. They probably think I'm some poor relative or other.'

  'Which is just as bad,' he ranted. 'What do you think they're saying amongst themselves? That bastard Parnell is so mean his poor cousin, or niece or whatever they think you are, has to take in ironing to make ends meet.'