The Second Bride

by Catherine George

  When she reported for work on Friday evening she asked Phil Dexter if she could take the next week off as he'd mentioned, and he agreed promptly, telling her to take a fortnight. Jo thanked him warmly and turned away to serve a customer, and almost at once the usual pre-dinner rush began, with no sign of Rufus, and very little time to think of him or her predicament. It was almost nine, and all the diners had departed for the restaurant, effecting the usual mid- evening lull, when Jo saw Rufus come in and make straight for the bar.

  'Hello,' he said, settling on a stool.

  'Hi,' said Jo, trying to hide her delight at the sight of him. 'What can I get you?'

  'Just a beer tonight.'

  'Not your usual tipple,' she commented, filling a pint glass.

  'I can make beer last longer than whisky, which makes my presence easier to account for while I wait for you,' he informed her.

  Jo looked at him levelly as he handed her the money for the drink. 'You needn't, Rufus. I know my way home.'

  'Nevertheless, I'll drive you.' He eyed her searchingly as she handed him the change. 'Sleeping badly?'

  'Yes,' she muttered, glad when a new influx of customers made further conversation impossible, and Rufus retired to a corner to read his paper.

  To her surprise half an hour later Phil Dexter handed her a paypacket and told her to go home. 'One of Louise's girls is coming to give us a hand. You look done in, Jo. Enjoy your holiday.'

  'Thanks, Phil.' She smiled at him gratefully. 'I'll collect my bike tomorrow. I've got a lift home.'

  He nodded, grinning. 'I thought so. That's why I'm letting you off early. Regular little fairy godfather, that's me.'

  Jo chuckled. 'Thanks, Phil. Goodnight.' She collected her jacket and glanced across the crowded room at Rufus, who rose to his feet and followed her outside to the car park.

  'You're early tonight,' he commented.

  'Dispensation from the boss.'

  'Good.' He looked down into her face as he helped her into the car. 'You look tired.'

  Jo shrugged. 'Busy night.'

  'Let's go back to my place—'

  'I'd rather go straight home.' She eyed his profile diffidently as he got in beside her. 'Would you care to come in for a while?'

  He shot a look at her. 'Of course I would.'

  Neither of them made any attempt at conversation on the short journey to Bruton Road. Jo unlocked the door and went upstairs ahead of Rufus, and only broke the silence when she asked him to sit down once they were inside the flat.

  'I've got some beer, or there's the remains of the brandy,' she said nervously as he remained on his feet.

  Rufus looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. 'Why don't you sit down and I'll get the drinks?'

  Jo shook her head. 'Actually, I'm rather hungry. Have you had dinner?'

  'No. I had a long, boring lunch with one of my clients today.' Rufus shrugged. 'I was going to put something together for us at my place. Not that it was a success last time. You hardly ate anything.'

  'To be honest—' she began, then stopped as he winced. 'What's the matter?'

  'I tend to duck when you say that.'

  'I was just going to say I'm not used to one-to-one situations with you, Rufus.' Her eyes gleamed pale in her sun-darkened face. 'Last time it acted like an appetite suppressant! But tonight I'm hungry. How about an omelette?'

  'Perfect. What can I do?'

  'Help yourself to a drink while I cook. It won't take long. The beer's in the fridge.'

  He looked round. 'I'll pass on that for the moment. Coffee, maybe, after the omelette?'

  Jo had been modest when she'd described herself as a no-nonsense cook. The sizzling, golden creation she handed Rufus ten minutes later was fragrant with herbs grown in her own window-boxes. He accepted it with mock reverence, and obeyed with alacrity when told to get on with it while the chef cooked her own. Accompanied by crisp rolls from the nearby bakery, followed by an apple for Jo and some deliquescent Brie for Rufus, the meal was eaten with despatch while they discussed items in the news that day.

  Afterwards Jo refused Rufus' half-hearted offer of help and took the dishes into the kitchen, returning afterwards with two mugs of coffee.

  'Instant and decaffeinated,' she said without apology, and gave him a wry smile.

  'What is it?'

  'I was just thinking how wonderfully civilised we are.'

  'Conversing politely, even though you invited me solely to answer the question I'm burning to ask,' he said promptly.

  'You're a clever devil, Rufus,' she allowed. 'In some ways it's surprising you were attracted to Claire. She would have been the first to admit she wasn't academic.'

  'I was drawn to her for the same reason you were her life-long friend—the attraction of opposites.' He leaned back in his chair, watching her closely with dark, half-veiled eyes.

  'I didn't mean anything derogatory,' said Jo hastily.

  'I know you didn't. You and I, Jo Fielding, are very alike in some ways.' He smiled at her scathing look of disbelief. 'Oh, yes, we are. I follow your thought processes with surprising ease on occasion.'

  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. 'R
ufus, 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.

  A waiter came to remove their plates, and they were halfway through the main course before Rufus returned to the subject.r />
  'What I'm trying to say is that after I made love to you I felt as though a great cloud had lifted from my life.' His eyes met hers across the table, which was in a secluded corner, far enough away from the nearest diners to give them privacy. 'Sounds insane, put into words.'

  'Not to me, because in some ways I felt the same. Until I realised there would be a sequel to the story!' Jo smiled at him crookedly. 'You've probably gathered that I intend to take you up on your offer.'

  Rufus laid down his knife and fork, his eyes holding hers. 'You mean that?'

  'Yes,' she said simply.

  'You've obviously given it some thought.'

  'Strangely enough, no. I went straight to sleep last night, and when I woke up this morning my mind had made itself up during the night. Marrying you seemed the logical thing to do—under the circumstances,' she added deliberately. 'Otherwise, Rufus, marrying the still grieving widower of my best friend would not be a tempting prospect. But you want a child, and I'm going to give birth to yours whether I want to or not, so the only sensible thing to do is accept your offer.' Sensible, possibly, but whether it was wise where only one partner loved the other was open to debate, thought Jo with secret misgivings.

  'Would you like something else?' asked Rufus abruptly, and when she shook her head he rose to his feet and came round the table. 'Then we'll go home for coffee and start planning.'

  Twenty minutes later Jo was sitting at the kitchen table in Beaufort Crescent, facing Rufus Grierson across the coffee-tray he'd laid in readiness before going out.

  'You're very organised,' she said as she poured.

  'I'm a lawyer, Jo. I'm required to be organised and logical. Which is why getting married seemed the obvious solution to our particular problem. Though I don't look on it as a problem myself. Do you?'

  Jo sipped her coffee thoughtfully. 'Not so much now.' She looked around her, then smiled at him mockingly. 'Though I think this house made my mind up for me. The prospect of living here tipped the scales.'