The Second Bride (18 page)

'How sweet of her,' said Jo, touched. 'But if that's why you're dashing home at regular intervals all the time you needn't. I'm fine on my own.'

'You want me out of the way so you can get back to your computer,' he said accusingly.

'No.' Jo looked away. 'I don't want you out of the way.'

'Good.' He paused as though waiting for her to say more, then went to the door. 'I'll see to dinner.'

'I can
do
that—'

'No,
you can't. Not yet.' Rufus gave her his maddeningly superior smile. 'Besides, I didn't say
I
was
cooking
it; I'm having it sent over from that new Italian restaurant.'

Sharing a house—and her life—with Rufus proved far less stressful than Jo expected. Little by little she discovered she had
more
in common with him in many ways than she'd had with Claire, which made her feel guilty. Though less guilty now there was no baby. Nor was there likely to be. The second Mrs Grierson slept alone in her handsome bed.

In spite of Rufus' deep disapproval Jo began working on the draft of her novel as soon as she felt well enough, helped enormously by the fact that Rufus asked his mother's cleaner to lend a hand at Beaufort Crescent two mornings a week.

'If you must get back to your computer at least let me smooth your path a little,' said Rufus. 'Now Rory's left home Mother doesn't need Dolly every day.'

Help in the house was a new departure for Jo. Such a luxury had never featured in her mother's household, though both Thalia and Callie had a 'little woman'. Dolly, as Mrs Beryl Dalton was known to the
Griersons
, was anything but little. She was a tall, heavily built woman with boundless energy and good
humour
, and got through the housework at such speed that she had time over to do the ironing or peel vegetables, or whatever else she found to occupy her before she went home, including making soup for Jo's lunch.

Life assumed a pleasant, livable routine, and two months into her semi-detached but surprisingly amicable marriage Jo professed herself as satisfied with her novel as she was ever going to be.

'Polishing it up has taken so much longer than I expected,' she told Rufus over dinner that night.

He looked up. 'Hardly surprising in the circumstances.'

'Actually,' said Jo with care, 'having the novel to work on was a big help. With my convalescence, I mean.'

'Once I laid down the law!'

'You were a pig,' she said, eyes kindling. 'Just because I was still at my computer when you came home a couple of evenings—'

'Only because you looked hellishly tired!' Rufus eyed her dispassionately. 'You still do sometimes. Take a break once you've sent your manuscript off.'

'I probably will, for a bit,' she assured him, swallowing resentment at his tone. "Though the next story's already mulling round in my mind. Don't worry,' she added hastily at the look he gave her. 'I've got lots of research to do before I actually start writing again.'

'I'm pleased to hear it,' he said drily. 'When do you go back to James Conway?'

'Tomorrow.' Jo looked down at her plate. 'Hardly necessary, really; I feel perfectly well.'

He stretched out a hand and caught her wrist. 'But you'll go,' he stated.

Jo nodded, resigned. 'Yes, I'll go.'

Jo
parcelled
up her novel and sent it off to Diadem with something of a wrench, as though part of herself had been posted with it. Afterwards she drove off to keep her appointment with James Conway. The
gynaecologist
gave her a thorough examination, pronounced himself satisfied with her recovery and told her to carry on with her life normally, both in the bedroom and out of it. Jo thanked him and hurried home, glad that the consultant had no idea that life in her particular bedroom was a very solitary one. Rufus had rarely crossed the threshold since the day of her mad rush to the hospital.

Without the routine at her computer to shape her days, Jo felt at a loose end for a while. But gradually she evolved a new daily
programme
. Afternoons were kept for research, but in the mornings she walked round to Elizabeth
Grierson's
for coffee or went Christmas shopping with her. Some days she met Susannah for lunch during her sister-in-law's break from her job as fashion buyer at one of the town's large department stores, and Jo also paid regular visits to the flat in
Bruton
Road to make sure all was well. But she had no inclination to return there to work. It seemed sensible to stop paying the rent, but Jo couldn't quite bring herself to burn her boats entirely.

'I had a letter from Diadem today,' she told Rufus one night.

'Already? What did they say?'

'It was just a receipt for the manuscript.' She smiled wryly. 'My heart did a somersault when I saw the Diadem logo—it was a horrible let-down.'

He smiled. 'You probably won't hear for a while yet.'

'It's bound to be rejected,' she said, sighing, then grinned philosophically. 'Not that I'll let that put me off. I'll keep trying until I get lucky.'

Eventually Jo stopped lying in wait for the postman and turned her attention to Christmas arrangements.

The previous Christmas the entire Fielding family, including Jo's father, had celebrated Christmas with Thalia and Charlie in their elegant apartment. This year both Thalia and Callie were committed to Christmas with their respective in-laws, and were making their mother's life a misery with their worry over her
yule
arrangements. Jo shut them up by telling them she'd taken it for granted their mother would come to Beaufort Crescent for the festive season, and was invited to accompany Rufus and herself to the
Griersons
' for Christmas dinner.

Rose Fielding thanked her youngest daughter with rapture. 'Now perhaps the girls will get off my back,' she said in relief.

'Apparently Christmas is a big thing in the Grierson household,' Jo told her mother. 'It should be fun.'

'How very kind of Elizabeth. I'll write a little note. And I'd love to come to you, Jo,' said Rose, 'but on one condition. I sleep in your flat.'

'Oh,
Mother,'
said Jo, exasperated. 'There's plenty of space here—the guest room's never been used.'

'It's nice to be invited, but you know what I'm like.
Humour
me. Now then, how are you—really?'

'I'm fine.
Mr
Conway discharged me last time as perfectly fit.'

'Good. Do you agree with his verdict?'

'Oh, yes—except for deep depression when the postman doesn't deliver a letter from Diadem.'

But there was no news from Diadem before Christmas, which was a feast celebrated with much enthusiasm in the senior Grierson household. Rufus collected Rose Fielding mid-morning from Jo's flat so that the three of them could open their presents together over a light early lunch before joining the
Griersons
for Christmas dinner. While he was gone Jo stoked up the fire Rufus had lit first thing in the sitting room,
savouring
the short interval to herself before the day began in earnest.

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.'