The Second Bride (9 page)

Since Jo couldn't deny this she took refuge in sarcasm. 'I certainly can't follow yours. Except in this instance. You want to know if I'm pregnant, and I'm forced to own up that I am. The doctor confirmed it this morning.'

Rufus received the news without noticeable reaction, other than a moment or two of silence while he digested it. 'Strange, isn't it?' he said at last. 'I tried for two years to father a child for Claire and failed—'

'But just one encounter with me and bingo!' said Jo bitterly. 'At least you now know you weren't to blame before.'

'I knew that early on,' he informed her. "Infests were done on both of us.'

'Oh.' Jo felt her
colour
rise, and Rufus leaned forward to take her hands.

'So let's discuss what happens next.'

She frowned. 'What do you mean? Nothing happens next. Not until May of next year.'

His grasp tightened. 'You obviously haven't thought this through—'

'You have to be joking!' she ripped at him, and yanked her hands away. 'I've done nothing else but think since the moment you brought the subject of pregnancy up. Odd, really. Usually something you dread so much turns out better than you expected or doesn't happen at all. But not this time.' Jo's eyes flashed at him like an angry cat's. 'Claire was the one who wanted a child, remember.'

'I'm hardly likely to forget!' He breathed in deeply. 'Look, Jo, apologies are useless now the damage is done. All I can do is try to put things right—'

'Don't dare offer me money,' she interrupted fiercely.

Rufus glared at her. 'I wasn't about to!'

Jo jumped to her feet. 'In that case, now you've had your question answered it's time you went. I'm tired.'

'Sit down,' said Rufus, without emphasis.

She looked at him for a moment, then resumed her chair.

'I'm offering something quite different,' he went on. 'As I said before, I would very much like a child. And I would prefer that child to have a father married to his mother. Are you with me so far, Jo?'

'I certainly am not,' she lied, secretly ravished by the idea. 'Are you mad?'

'No. My thought processes are functioning normally,' he returned, unmoved. 'Try setting your own in motion. We marry quietly, as soon after my brother's wedding as possible, and you move in with me—purely to keep up appearances, if you prefer it that way.'

'I don't,' wailed Jo, horrified at the prospect of Rufus forced into marriage with her. 'I've no intention of moving from here—'

'You don't have to. Keep this as a bolt-hole of your own, a place for writing your novel.'

Jo shook her head emphatically. 'Look, Rufus, you don't have to marry me just because you made me pregnant by accident. It's very—very civil of you, and I appreciate the offer, but these days it isn't in the least necessary.'

His mouth tightened. 'It is for me.'

She thrust a hand through her hair. 'Rufus, what exactly are we discussing here? Are you suggesting I marry you, give birth to my baby in due course then hand her over to you and take myself off out of her life?'

He smiled faintly. 'You said "my baby", so I know there's no possibility of that. You merely share a house with me and carry on with your writing. I could run to a nanny—'

'Stop!' Jo held up her hand. 'You're going too fast. We're overlooking a couple of details, Rufus.'

'Go on.'

Her eyes fell. 'There's Claire, for a start.'

A shadow darkened Rufus' face. 'Do you imagine I haven't
been
thinking of her? But she wouldn't want either of us to go on mourning for ever, Jo.'

'No. But she wouldn't expect us to get married either. At least, not to each other.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Because you and I disliked each other, for a start.'

Rufus leaned over and took her hand again. 'You used the past tense, Jo.'

She looked up, startled. 'Did I?'

'What other objection would Claire have?' said Rufus.

'The baby.' Jo sighed heavily. 'If the situations were reversed and I was the wife who'd died, I'd be so jealous, I'd come back and haunt you.'

'Claire would never do that,' he said with certainty.

'I know, I know! Which is why you can't want to marry me, Rufus. I'm just not up to Claire's standard. I'm not serene and good-tempered and loving like she was—'

'No. You're not. The contrast couldn't be more marked,' he agreed, to her annoyance. 'That's why the arrangement will work.' He got up, pulling her to her feet with him. 'I'll say no more tonight. Sleep on it, and we'll talk again tomorrow. I'll call round at about half-seven and take you out to dinner.'

Jo opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it again. Why not? She had nothing else to do. 'All right. But not to the Mitre, please.'

'Give me credit for more tact than that,' he said drily, and raised her face to his with the tip of one finger. 'Jo, it was never my intention to turn your life upside down. But, having done so, I intend to put it right as far as I can. Have you told your mother yet?'

'No,' said Jo miserably.

'Good. Because when you do don't ring her. We'll drive down and tell her together.'

'But you can't do that! I haven't agreed to marry you yet.'

'Whether you do or not, I shall give her an edited version of what happened. The least I can do is to make matters clear to her,' he said emphatically.

'Mother will find it hard to believe!'

'That you're expecting a baby, or that I'm the father?' he said, with a crooked smile.

Unwillingly Jo smiled back. 'Oh, the last bit, definitely. On the first bit she'll be euphoric. Thalia and Callie are dragging their heels a bit about babies.'

To her infinite surprise Rufus took her in his arms and held her in a loose, comforting embrace. 'Go to bed, Jo. Don't think about this any more tonight. Just sleep. I'll see you tomorrow night.' He released her and stood back. 'Thanks for the
omelette
—the best I've ever tasted.'

Jo managed a smile as she saw him to the door. 'You should taste my chicken
cacciatora!'

'Any time you say ! ' he said promptly. 'Good night, Jo. Sleep well.'

*
   
*
   
*

Fully expecting to lie awake all night, Jo slept from the moment she went to bed until after nine the next morning. When she woke she lay still for a long time, coming to terms with the fact that her mind had made itself up while she was sleeping. She would be a fool to turn down Rufus as a husband, whatever the circumstances. She would never love anyone else. And in time he might come to care for her in return. Not as he'd done for Claire, of course, but enough for a good marriage just the same.

Hard on the heels of this discovery came another— her muse was back with her in full force, words crowding into her mind with such insistence that Jo jumped out of bed and washed and dressed at top speed. Pausing only to swallow some cereal, she patted her stomach apologetically then took her cup of tea to her desk and sat down with anticipation at her computer.

Jo worked all day, stopping only for an occasional cup of coffee, plus a sandwich at lunchtime. Words flowed from her brain to the screen with such fluency that it was as if someone else were dictating the story. Only superhuman self-control made her switch off the computer in time to take a bath and get ready for Rufus.

When he arrived, exactly at seven-thirty, Jo's hair was gleaming and her face made up with care, but she was still in her dressing gown.

'Hi,' she said, as she let him in, taking in his lightweight suit. 'I'm ready except for the choice of clothes. I forgot to ask where you were taking me.'

'I booked a table at the Chesterton,' he said, eyeing her closely. 'You look a lot better today, Jo. Did you sleep?'

'Like
a log,'
she assured him. 'Have a drink, or read the paper—I shan't be long.'

Autumn was in the air, but the evening was sunny, and after a moment's hesitation Jo took down the dress her mother had given her for her birthday. At first Jo had baulked at the price of it, but in the end, entranced by the brief, sixties-style shift in leaf-green wool
crêpe,
she gave in. And tonight was a good night to wear it. Another month or so and she'd have a fight to get into it. She slid her feet into low-heeled leather sling-backs, renewed her lipstick and went into the other room to join Rufus. He threw down the book he was reading and jumped to his feet.

'Jo!' His eyes moved over her with appreciation. 'You look wonderful. Where did you find a dress to match your eyes so exactly?'

'My eyes are very accommodating. They change from grey to green and back again, according to what I wear—and how I feel,' she added deliberately.

Rufus moved nearer. 'Do I take it you feel well tonight, then?'

'Better, certainly.' She smiled at him, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. 'I wrote five thousand words or so today, Rufus. The muse came back.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Had it deserted you?'

She nodded. 'I was worried. I thought it had gone for good. I had the ending for my book all ready in my head, but I just couldn't get it
out
of my head and into the computer. Then this morning I woke up and the muse was there, prodding me out of bed to get started.'

The evening got off to a good start and improved as the hours passed. There was a moment when Jo wanted to hang back as they reached the Chesterton, reluctant to walk into a restaurant full of people who knew Rufus as Claire's husband. But to her relief there were no familiar faces in the room when the
maître d'hôtel
called them in from the bar to their first course.

She confessed her diffidence to Rufus over crab ravioli.

'Would it matter to you so much, then?' he asked, pouring local spring water into her glass.

'Yes, I think so.' She looked him in the eye. 'I still feel guilty, Rufus.'

'If anyone should feel guilty it's me, not you, Jo,' he said firmly. 'And, as it happens, I rarely came here with Claire. She liked to drive into the country to eat.'

'I remember. The Blue Boar was one of her
favourites
.'

'Jo, let's not talk about Claire.'

She laid down her fork and looked at him searchingly. 'Does it still hurt so much, then?'

His eyes shuttered. 'Lately, to be honest, it doesn't. Since the night I came to your flat, to be specific.' Rufus smiled. 'You're blushing, Jo.'

'As well I might,' she muttered, swallowing some water hastily.

'It wasn't the first time I'd felt like contacting you. I've wanted to get in touch often during the past year.'

'Why didn't you, then?'

'Gloria Beaumont insisted you were about to get married. It seemed callous to spoil things for you by reopening old wounds. And,' Rufus added bluntly, 'I knew damn well you didn't like me.'

She bit her lip. 'You didn't like me either.'

'It seems hard to remember that at this particular moment in time,' he said drily.