Authors: Catherine George
'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 work 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.
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.'