'I might make so much money, you could retire and be a kept man!' She eyed him searchingly. 'Why the poker-face, Rufus?'
'I thought you meant something quite different.'
'What, exactly?'
He abandoned his meal and leaned back in his chair, his eyes hard to read in the discreet lighting of the Mitre's dining room. "That you might want to leave Pennington. And me,' he added without emotion.
Jo laid down her knife and fork, aligning them on her half-full plate with finicking precision, keeping her eyes on the task. 'Is that what you want?' she asked very quietly, her words almost drowned by the buzz of general conviviality in the restaurant.
'No, I do not!' He leaned forward. 'Look at me, Jo. Let's bring this out into the open. The last few weeks have been hellish. For me, at least.'
Her eyes flashed. 'I haven't enjoyed them much either.'
'I know that.' He held out his hand, and after a moment she put hers into it. 'Jo, I know you would never have married me if I hadn't forced your hand. But until Christmas we were getting along reasonably well together.' Rufus smiled a little. 'You're very easy to live with.'
'So are you,' she admitted, and gave him a sudden, mischievous grin. 'Much to my astonishment.'
He sobered, his fingers tightening on hers. 'You haven't shown much pleasure in the arrangement lately.'
'Can you blame me?' she asked quietly.
'If you're referring to the episode at Christmas—-'
'Of course I am, but I'd rather not again. Tonight or ever,' she said flatly. She lifted her chin. 'If you want to revert to our pre-Christmas relationship, Rufus, I'm in full agreement. But you're a man, and a very attractive one, and I quite understand how difficult it is for you—'
'I doubt it,' he broke in sardonically, and raised an eyebrow, keeping tight hold of the hand she tried to pull away. 'But I'm not perfectly clear as to your drift. Are you saying you'll turn a blind eye if I satisfy my male urges elsewhere occasionally?'
Jo's eyes gleamed dangerously. 'No way. I'm saying I'll be perfectly happy to divorce you if you do.'
'Will you really? And does this code of behaviour work both ways?' he enquired silkily. 'How about your libidinous urges?'
'In my life they happen once in a blue moon,' she said tartly, and tugged her hand free. 'They're unlikely to pose a problem.'
'So if I agree to quell mine you're willing to stay married to me?'
It wasn't what she wanted at all, but it was a start. Perhaps in time. . . Jo nodded. 'Yes, I suppose so.'
'Any more enthusiasm like that and I'll get above myself!'
She smiled. 'But seriously, Rufus, I meant what I said. If you do want out I wouldn't be difficult about it.'
He looked at her narrowly. 'And if you want the same I assume I'm not required to be "difficult" either.'
'Exactly.' Jo spotted a waitress bearing down on them. 'I don't want anything else, Rufus. Can we go home now?'
From the night of the celebration dinner life reverted to the friendly companionship Jo and Rufus had shared before Christmas, so that Jo was in a far better frame of mind for several reasons when they went down to Willowdene Lodge the following Sunday for lunch with Rose Fielding. Thalia and Charlie were there to share in the celebrations, but Callie had rung Jo previously, warm with praise, excusing herself from the family lunch due to her temporary problem with the smell and taste of any food other than breakfast cereal.
Jo and Rufus drove home in the evening afterwards, discussing Jo's visit to Diadem.
'I'll buy you a train ticket tomorrow,' said Rufus as they drank coffee later at the kitchen table.
'I still can't believe it,' said Jo dreamily. 'It's an extraordinary feeling, to know someone might actually read—and enjoy—what I've written.'
'When do I get to read it?' he asked, smiling at her.
'When I get the first hardback copies. I want you to believe you're reading a proper book, not just your wife's outpourings.'
'You think of yourself as my wife, then?'
Jo flushed a little and drank down the rest of her coffee. 'Well, yes, I do.' She looked up to meet his eyes. 'You find that odd?'
Rufus shook his head. 'No. I'm—gratified.'
'You always choose your words so carefully, Rufus Grierson. Don't you ever say something spontaneous off the top of your head?'
'Never,' he said promptly, and raised an eyebrow. 'By the way, what do you intend to wear on Tuesday?'
'I'd like to be all nonchalant and say I haven't thought about it, but I have,' she said sheepishly. 'Any suggestions?'
'Yes. Buy yourself a new winter coat tomorrow— and wear it over that dress.' He wagged a long finger at her. 'So far you haven't used the credit card I sorted out for you.'
Which was deliberate on Jo's part. She'd felt so hostile towards Rufus since Christmas that she'd made sure she spent no money of his at all other than to buy food and pay Dolly.
'Right. I'll do that. Thank you,' she said, smiling at him. 'Fine feathers might boost my confidence.'
'Yours needs boosting?'
'About my looks, yes.' Jo pulled a face. 'I've always yearned to be tall and fair like—'
'Claire?' said Rufus quickly. 'It's time you put comparisons behind you.'
She looked at him levelly. 'Actually, I meant my sisters. Dad used to call me his little monkey-face and tease my mother about the milkman.' She yawned, and stood up. 'I'm for bed.'
'I am too,' said Rufus, and followed her out of the kitchen, turning off the lights behind them. 'So you'll go shopping for a coat tomorrow?' he said as they reached the door of her room.
Jo nodded. 'Not that I expect success. Coats tend to be cut with taller women in mind.'
Rufus chuckled. 'I'll take an hour off and come with you, if you like.'
'Goodness, no,' said Jo immediately. 'You'd be bored to tears. I'll enlist Susannah. She's the expert.'
'Yes, of course,' said Rufus without expression, and bent to kiss Jo's cheek, as he'd done every night since the cessation of hostilities between them. 'Goodnight.'
Jo had been in bed for some time before she hit upon something indefinable in Rufus' reaction to her refusal of his company on the shopping expedition.
He'd felt rebuffed, she thought, biting her lip. Had he wanted to come?
'Rufus,' she said without preamble, when he came in to say goodbye the following morning—another habit which marked the new phase in their relationship. 'I honestly thought you'd be bored by shopping for a coat. I didn't mean to offend you.'
'No, I know you didn't.' He stood looking down at her in amusement. 'Part of my reason for offering myself so nobly was as a curb on your well-known leaning towards economy.'
'What was the other part?' she asked curiously.
'I'll leave you to work that out for yourself,' he said, with his faint, maddening smile. He touched a long finger to her cheek. 'Now it's time I got to grips with Monday. See you tonight.'
Jo travelled down to London in confident mood, buoyed up by the knowledge that she looked her best in the black wool dress, worn under a thigh-length jacket in a wonderfully impractical shade of apricot which flattered her skin and looked warm in the cold light of a February day.
Susannah had been a great help, not only in suggesting clothes suited to Jo's colouring and lack of inches, but in following Rufus' instruction to see that his wife didn't economise on her choice. Fat chance, thought Jo with amusement. Susannah had steered her straight to the department which specialised in top designer labels, then bullied her into going the whole hog on new shoes and a bag for encore.
Jo took a taxi to the publishers, and met with a slight set-back to her newly boosted confidence. Miles Hay had gone down with flu, she was told, but one of the other editors would take care of Mrs Grierson if she wouldn't mind waiting a moment or two. Jo was taken up in a lift and shown into an office with a view over London rooftops, and after a short interval the door opened and a man strode into the room, hand outstretched.
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'Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Grierson . . .' He stopped short as Jo got to her feet, his eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. 'Jo? I can't believe it! Are you Jocasta Grierson?'
'Good heavens—Linus Cole!' Jo held out her hand, but Linus swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly on both cheeks.
'I never knew your name was Jocasta,' he declared, smiling all over his clever, confident face.
'It's my dark secret,' she said, beaming. 'Gosh, Linus, so you're with Diadem! I was supposed to see a man called Miles Hay.'
'My boss. Miles is on his bed of pain as we speak— though with the gorgeous Mrs Hay to comfort him flu could have its compensations.' Linus looked sleek, well dressed and very well fed, in vivid contrast to the lean, hungry student she'd known in the past. He installed her in the comfortable chair in front of his desk, then seated himself behind it, exuding pleasure in the encounter. 'Well, well. So little Jo's our budding author—and a married lady, to boot.' He eyed her appreciatively. 'You look wonderful.''
Thanks to Rufus and Susannah, thought Jo in secret amusement. 'So do you, Linus.'
From then on it was easy, as though the twelve-year gap in their friendship had never existed, though Jo laughed Linus to scorn when he swore he'd never forgotten her.
'Pull the other one! I've grown up a bit from the naïve little maiden you knew,' she said, smiling. 'I actually believed you'd sweep me off to Cambridge with you and live happily ever after.'
'Is that what you expected?' he said in astonishment. 'It never occurred to me.'
'No, I know very well it didn't, you rotter.' She smiled at him, pulling a face. 'But I'd better watch my Ps and Qs or you'll refuse to publish my novel.'
'No chance of that,' he assured her. 'Miles has already accepted it. My job is merely to help you cut and polish it. Don't worry—I'm good,' he assured her.
Jo had no doubt of it. Linus had been intellectually the most impressive man she'd ever met. Until Rufus Grierson.
It was a busy, productive day, with a delicious lunch at a fashionable restaurant, where the chef was a well- known television personality and came out of the kitchen to chat with Linus and his guest. Jo returned to Pennington that evening in a euphoric daze, clutching a manuscript annotated with suggestions on how to upgrade her original novel into the best-seller Miles Hay—and Linus—thought it was certain to be once she'd worked a little on it.
'How did it go?' said Rufus, when he met her at the station.
Jo grinned at him, eyes sparkling. 'I don't know whether I'm standing on my head or my heels. I've got a fair bit of revision to do on the manuscript, but nothing really fundamental. I'll give you all the details over dinner—not that I'm very hungry. I had rather a sumptuous lunch.'
Rufus bent to kiss her cheek. 'Let me order something in.'
'No need. I made a casserole yesterday. It just needs heating up. I promise I'll give you a blow-by-blow description of my day as we eat it, but at the moment all I can think of is a hot bath!'
They were sitting at the table in the kitchen Jo loved so much before she told Rufus the most amazing part of the day. While she'd enjoyed her bath Rufus had showered and changed into well-worn cords and a heavy sweater, and minus the dark circles under his eyes, with hair gleaming like newly polished silver under the central kitchen light, he looked formidably attractive.
Jo, her designer finery exchanged for a scarlet sweater and black jeans, stole a look at her husband as she served him with a generous portion of beef casseroled in a spiced wine sauce. How had she ever thought Linus Cole so irresistible? she thought in wonder. Linus' fair good looks were rather florid these days, and suffered badly in comparison with the lean planes of Rufus' face and the flat, skier's muscles of his tall body.
'I'm waiting,' said Rufus impatiently. 'Come out of your daydream and tell me what happened.'
Jo pulled herself together and launched into an account of her day, rueful about the amount of revision needed on the novel, but excited over the compliments about her writing. She gave Rufus a blow-by- blow description, but kept the pièce de résistance to the last.
'Miles Hay was ill with flu,' she said in conclusion, and grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. 'I was handed over to one of the other editors, and to my amazement it was Linus Cole—a man I used to know in college!'
Rufus' face took on the deadpan expression that Jo had learned to dread. 'Linus Cole,' he said slowly, eyes narrowed. 'The name rings a bell. If my memory serves me correctly you knew him very well. Wasn't he the object of your teenage passion?'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jo stared at him in astonishment. 'Good heavens, Rufus, how on earth did you remember that?'
He shrugged, his eyes inscrutable. 'Claire was voluble on the subject.'
'How very boring for you,' said Jo, and jumped up. 'Would you like some cheese?'
'No, it wasn't boring, and no, I don't want any cheese.' Rufus caught her wrist, forcing her to look at him. 'Just for the record, Claire never bored me when she talked about you. She told me you were crazy about this Linus Cole of yours—'
'He's not mine,' she retorted, trying to pull away, but Rufus held her fast.
'But you wanted him to be!'
Jo looked down at his fingers on her wrist, and he released it, but kept hold of her hand, smoothing his thumb over the red marks he'd left on her skin. 'I was only eighteen, Rufus,' she said quietly. 'He was a postgraduate and a fair bit older than me. The males in my life up to that point had been my father and the boys at his school. Where men were concerned I was straight out of the egg. I was flattered when he fancied me. I was the envy of all my friends. Of course I was crazy about him.'
'Is he the reason why you sent the book to Diadem?' he demanded, deadpan no longer.
'No, he's not!' Jo wrenched her hand away and picked up their dinner plates. 'I merely did my homework. I sent my book to the publisher most likely to accept the kind of story I've written. I had no idea Linus worked for Diadem until today.'
Rufus eyed her in such blatant disbelief that Jo cleared away at top speed, deflated like a pricked balloon. When Rufus took the coffee-tray into the sitting room afterwards Jo was tempted to leave him alone with it. But the thought of returning to polite hostilities was so unbearable that she settled in her usual corner of the sofa to pour out.
'I would be unnatural,' said Rufus conversationally as he accepted his cup, 'if I had no misgivings at all on the subject, Jo.'
'What do you mean—misgivings?' asked Jo, frowning.
'Unusual though our marriage may be, Jocasta, I dislike the idea of my wife working in close conjunction with a man who was once her lover.'
Her eyes glittered with astonishment. 'Are you saying you're jealous, Rufus?'
He smiled sardonically. 'Is that so impossible to believe?'
'Yes,' she said baldly. 'It is. You and I don't have that kind of relationship.'
Rufus shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Whatever kind of relationship it is, Jo, it doesn't rule out jealousy on my part. I admit it's a new emotion for me. One you're never likely to experience where I'm concerned, of course.'
Jo drank down her coffee, got to her feet and locked glittering eyes with his. 'Mainly because it's pointless. The only woman I need to be jealous of is dead, Rufus. Goodnight.'
It was deeply satisfying to sweep out of a room with a good exit line, but it was no help in getting to sleep. Jo spent most of the night tossing and turning, drinking tea at one stage, trying to read, but sleep was a long time in coming. And, having lain awake until the late grey dawn, Jo overslept. She got up to find the house empty and a note waiting for her on the kitchen table.
'You were asleep when I looked in. Don't work too hard. See you tonight. R.'
Not a note to tie up in pink ribbon, thought Jo morosely, and, after phone calls to her mother, Elizabeth and Susannah to report on her trip, made a start on the revisions Linus had mapped out with ' her. When Rufus came home he behaved as though their argument of the nig
ht before had never happened, and Jo co-operated, relieved. But after dinner, while they were watching a documentary on television, Rufus got up to answer the telephone, spoke briefly, handed the receiver over to her and strode from the room, his back more eloquent with disapproval than his face.
'Linus here, Jo. Sorry to interrupt your evening. How are the revisions going? Miles was on my case today, asking how soon you're likely to finish it.'
Jo reported on her progress, winning extravagant praise. 'Another week or so and I might well have cracked it. But I haven't come to the tricky bit yet—'
'Good, because I've thought of a new angle on the love affair. I'll play about with it a bit more tonight, then I'll ring you tomorrow.'
When Rufus returned, a glass of Scotch in his hand, one look at his face decided Jo against telling him the reason for Linus' call. This was unfair, she thought resentfully, staring at the television screen. Rufus had no right to behave like a possessive husband where she was concerned. Not when he was still grieving for Claire.
They watched the documentary to the end in silence. When it was over Rufus switched off the set and turned to her. 'Well? What did he want?'
Jo's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'If you mean Linus, he wanted to check my progress on the revisions. Miles Hay is breathing down his neck about it.'
'I trust Cole doesn't intend breathing down yours,' said Rufus, with a precision which drew Jo's attention to his glass.
'How many of those have you had?' she demanded.
Rufus gave her a hostile look. 'Unless I'm driving you in the car, my alcohol intake is nothing to do with you, little wife.'
Only Rufus could make the word 'wife' sound like an insult, thought Jo bitterly. 'How very true,' she said disdainfully, and got up. 'I'm going to bed. Goodnight.'
'Not so fast.' Rufus leapt to his feet, barring her way, his eyes gleaming with something Jo didn't care for at all. 'You haven't kissed me goodnight. Even a marriage like ours allows a chaste peck before bedtime.'
'You're in a foul mood tonight,' she said crossly. She reached up to kiss him on the cheek, but Rufus caught her in his arms and kissed her mouth, frustrating her attempts to push him away. His lips were cold from the ice in his glass, but his tongue was hot and conquering and Jo felt a streak of heat flash through her veins before Rufus released her so suddenly that she staggered.
The Second Bride Page 13
