The Bride In Blue Page 5

  By the time she was ready to go downstairs half an hour later, Sophia felt a hundred per cent better. Things could be worse, she supposed. She could be throwing up every morning, as some women did during the early months of their pregnancies.

  To be honest, sometimes she forgot she was pregnant, especially when dressed in something like the loosely fitting maroon tracksuit she'd chosen to wear that day. Maybe when the baby started moving it would be different. But up till now, all she had to show for her pregnancy was a disappearing waistline, slightly swollen breasts and a gently rounded tummy.

  The house seemed very quiet as she made her way down the stairs. There again, Parnell Hall was often quiet, the double brick walls and heavy doors muf­fling any noise from within the individual rooms. The street was quiet too, with little traffic passing down the no-through road.

  When Sophia had first been brought here, she'd been very impressed by the grandeur of the house and its surrounds. Since then she'd come to realise that all the neighbours' homes were similar in style and size, some being even larger and more opulent. Turramurra was apparently one of Sydney's well-to-do but older suburbs on the upper North Shore, with most of the residences having been built before the war.

  When she'd asked Maud about Parnell Hall's history, the housekeeper had revealed that the house had originally been built in the thirties by Jonathon's great-uncle William, with Jonathon's father Henry inheriting it during the war when the old man died, childless. It was two-storeyed and Victorian in style, and Henry had allowed Ivy to renovate and refurbish the house considerably during their marriage, which accounted, Sophia thought, for its air of quiet elegance.

  The house was still Ivy's to do with as she pleased till she died, a fact Ivy had reminded Jonathon of last week when she'd removed some of the original art­works from the walls and replaced them with the paintings of Godfrey's which Sophia had brought with her and given to his mother.

  Sophia had found the incident—and Jonathon's angry objections—quite distressing. The last thing she'd wanted was to cause dissension in the family. At the time she'd thought Jonathon insensitive and lacking in compassion. Now, in light of other inci­dents and comments, she felt some sympathy for him. After all, they weren't even good paintings!

  Sophia ground to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, shocked by this new insight into Godfrey's artistic talent. Or lack of it.

  For a few seconds, she felt terribly disloyal to his memory. How many times had she lavished praise on him for his paintings? How many times had she told him that one day he would be a famous artist, that his work would hang in galleries and on the walls of millionaires' mansions?

  Had she always known she'd been lying?

  No, she accepted with a sigh of relief. She hadn't. It had only been when she'd come here to Parnell Hall and seen the truly magnificent paintings on the walls that she'd recognised Godfrey's work fell far short of genuine talent. His paintings were, at best, very me­diocre, their amateurishness only obvious after she'd been able to compare them with the works of truly fine artists.

  Sophia frowned. Had Godfrey known? When he'd shaken his head at her compliments, smiling that soft sad smile of his, had he been acknowledging the hidden truth? That he wasn't a good painter, that he wasn't really good at anything… except perhaps making her love him and need him.

  Tears pricked at her eyes.

  Oh, Godfrey…

  For a few moments Sophia allowed herself to wall­ow in a type of remorse before growing impatient with herself. Enough of that, she decided staunchly, and began to blink madly.

  Once she was totally under control, she turned and marched along the downstairs hallway, past the various closed doors on either side and down to the door that would bring her into the room which was the hub of the household.

  At the back of the ground floor, and approachable from several angles, the kitchen-cum-family-room was where dinner parties for twenty were prepared, infor­mal meals were eaten, television was watched and company was sought. It was large and sunny and warm, and Sophia loved it.

  Sophia opened the door, relieved to find the room empty except for Maud. For a second there she'd worried Jonathon might have stayed home for some reason. But it seemed their marriage yesterday was not going to change his daily routine in any way, for which she was grateful. Even in the few short weeks she had lived at Parnell Hall, she knew his presence brought a different atmosphere into the home. Tension vibrated in the air. Conversation was stultified. Ivy withdrew into herself even more than usual, and Maud, who was the sweetest of old ladies, became a little short, her delightfully dry sense of humour turning slightly caustic, especially with Jonathon.

  The lady herself spun round at Sophia's entrance, an instant smile further creasing her wrinkled face.

  'Well if it isn't Mrs Rip Van Winkle herself,' she teased.

  Sophia smiled back. 'I did sleep in, didn't I? Ivy up yet?'

  'She's in the morning-room with a pot of tea and the morning papers.'

  'Then I'll leave her to it.' Ivy could spend the whole morning on the papers, reading them from cover to cover, then doing all the crosswords, even the Herald cryptic. Mostly she finished it, but occasionally the answer to one or two clues eluded her. Only rarely could Sophia or Maud ever help her with these, be­cause they were always the most difficult and obscure.

  Sometimes—but not often—Ivy would ask Jonathon's help when he came home in the evening, and he would invariably have the answer for her within seconds. Once, he had filled in the blank squares himself when he saw the unfinished crossword lying on the kitchen table, only to have Ivy complain that he'd spotted the page with his big ugly printing and that he was just like his father, with a heavy hand and no natural neatness.

  Remembering that incident again now sent a frown to Sophia's face. Why did she keep thinking of things that made Jonathon appear the wronged person in this family? Surely Godfrey had been the son who had drawn the short straw? Jonathon had it all. Looks. Drive. Intelligence. He'd shone as a student and an athlete, according to Wilma. He'd had girls running after him by the score. His father had ap­parently lavished praise and approval on him by the bucketful.

  So what if his mother hadn't loved him? So what if his wife had left him? So what if he'd had to marry a girl in name only, just so that his brother's child could achieve legitimacy?

  Something moved within Sophia that felt awfully like pity, yet not quite. It was stronger, more emotional, more… what?

  'How was Jonathon this morning?' she demanded of Maud, so abruptly the housekeeper shot her a startled look.

  'Why do you ask that?'

  Sophia shrugged, the action an echo of her own inner confusion. 'I just wondered,' she said.

  'He was like a bear with a sore head. Frankly, I think he had a hangover.'

  'A hangover?'

  Maud nodded wryly. 'He's been hitting the bottle lately. Has been ever since Godfrey died. He did the same when that bitch of a wife of his left him for that movie producer.'

  'What movie producer?' Sophia pounced, eager to know about the break-up of Jonathon's marriage.

  Maud scowled. 'Some rich American who was out here on a talent-scouting trip. She went back to the States with him. Dear Charmaine always had acting aspirations, though for my money she couldn't act her way out of a paper bag. Had a good figure, though, I'll give her that. Her face was passable as well, I suppose, though her hair was obviously fake blonde. Maybe her boobs as well. Who knows these days?'

  'How long was Jonathon married to her?'

  'Just on two years. Frankly, I think he wasn't thinking straight when he got mixed up with that floozy. His father had just died, Godfrey had done a bunk, and he'd been working twenty-hour days to salvage Parnell Property Developments when she walked into his life. The poor devil never stood a chance.'

  Sophia was startled by Maud's unexpected sym­pathy for Jonathon. She'd always thought Maud didn't like her employer very much. 'Did he love her?' she asked.
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  'He was crazy about her, the deluded fool.'

  'Oh…'

  'She used to spend hours and hours on her appear­ance, bathing in perfumed oil every afternoon then whisking Jonathon off up into the bedroom the second he got home. It was disgusting, the way she kept him bewitched through sex. She made him think he was her life, then up and dumped him, just like that!' Maud snapped her fingers.

  Sophia grimaced.

  'Yes, that's exactly the way his mother and I felt,' Maud agreed. 'But there was nothing we could do or say against her. Love is blind. Or lust is. Jonathon is just like his father in that regard. Henry was a very physical man too. Maybe I shouldn't be saying this but Jonathon's father was not the most faithful of husbands. Ivy pretended she didn't know, but I'm sure she did. She…'

  The telephone ringing interrupted Maud's gossip­ing, Sophia feeling rather relieved about that. She really didn't want to hear the personal and private details of Ivy's marriage, though the bit about Jonathon's first wife had been informative. What a bitch!

  'Parnell Hall,' she heard Maud say in the back­ground. 'Oh, yes, Wilma… He is…? Where…? For how long… ? I see… Yes, it'll be ready… Bye, dear. See you soon.'

  Maud hung up with a sigh. 'Speak of the devil,' she muttered.

  'What was that all about?' Sophia asked.

  'I have to pack an overnight case for the Lord and Master,' Maud said drily. 'Wilma's on her way to pick it up. He's going away for a couple of days.'

  'G-going away?'

  'Yes, flying up to the Gold Coast this afternoon. On business. Or so he says,' she muttered.

  Sophia fell silent, knowing in her heart that what Maud had just implied was probably true. He was not going away on business. He was going away to rid himself of the sexual frustrations that had caused what had happened last night. Logic told her he was doing the right thing, the 'discreet' thing. There was no reason for her to feel upset in any way by his very sensible decision.

  So why was she?

  Sophia finally decided she wasn't. It was Jonathon's going away without having the common decency to say goodbye to her personally that was irritating her. She might only be his wife in name only, but he could still have asked to speak to her. He could have said goodbye to her, not to mention his mother as well. The man was downright rude!

  A slow-burning resentment simmered within Sophia the rest of the day, especially after Wilma dashed in and out like a whirlwind, on instructions from her boss not to stay and chat but to get back to the office, pronto. Sophia revised her opinion about Jonathon's not being an unfeeling machine. He most definitely was. She decided his betraying his sexual needs the previous evening had nothing to do with real feelings. Real feelings came from the head and the heart, whereas what Jonathon was suffering from came from strictly below the waist.

  It particularly annoyed Sophia to think of how exactly he was going to go about satisfying those needs. Did he have a little black book with names and addresses of accommodating ladies in it from all over Australia? Was he taking some secret mistress with him? Or was he contemplating picking up some woman from a bar somewhere?

  Surely, oh, surely he didn't plan on paying for a professional's services! Her eyes blinked wide, the very idea turning her stomach.

  Revulsion plus common sense quickly discarded this last thought. Jonathon would not have to resort to paying for sex. Neither was he the sort of man to take stupid risks with his health. The women he consorted with would all be intelligent, sophisticated females who would be as concerned with their own well-being as their partners'. Safe sex would be the name of the game; mutual satisfaction their only aim.

  She still shuddered at the thought.

  By lunchtime Sophia found herself so nervy and unnerved that she decided some physical work was the only antidote for her agitation.

  'Why don't we start spring cleaning the house this week?' she suggested to Maud over a cheese and tomato sandwich. 'You told me a few days ago that you always gave it a good going over every September. Since it's a nice sunny day today, I could start on the windows.'

  Maud dragged her eyes away from the Midday Show to give her an exasperated look. 'For pity's sake, Sophia. I defended your right to do a few chores around the place but you're hardly in a fit state to start climbing up on ladders, cleaning windows and such. Frankly, I'm too old for such nonsense as well; have been for years. We always get a cleaning service in to do the hard stuff like the blinds and the windows.'

  'Fair enough,' Sophia agreed. 'But I could at least wash and iron the curtains. Or what about the floors? I could polish the floors.'

  'Definitely not! Jonathon would skin me alive if I let you do such heavy work. No, I'll be sending the curtains out to be dry-cleaned as usual. As for the floors—there are far too many for you to do. It would exhaust you. If you must do something, there's a lot of silver to be cleaned. That's a nice safe sitting-down job.'

  'What's a nice safe sitting-down job?' Ivy asked as she wandered in, a folded newspaper in her hands.

  'Sophia's going to clean the silver.'

  Ivy smiled her approval. 'What a good girl you are. Here, have a look at this last clue for me, Sophia? I can't get it and Jonathon isn't here to ask…'

  By bedtime that night, Sophia hoped never to see another piece of silver—or a cryptic crossword— again. Her poor brain had gone round and round for hours, only to have Ivy walk back in and do the damned thing herself in a sudden inspiration. Trying to untangle cryptic clues, Sophia decided, was almost as tiring and tedious as cleaning endless pieces of cutlery. Frankly, she'd rather milk cows, and she'd never particularly liked that job, either.

  The only reward for her day's labour was that she was blessedly tired and fell asleep without any of the restlessness that had plagued her the night before. The following morning, the cleaning service Maud had called arrived first thing, the blinds and curtains and rugs being carted away for cleaning elsewhere while a team of overalled workers stayed behind. Two men set to washing the many windows inside and out, a very fit-looking girl waxing and polishing the wooden floors downstairs while a third male person steam-cleaned the carpets upstairs.

  By the middle of the Wednesday afternoon, all the blinds and curtains were back in place and the place looked and smelt fresh and clean. Sophia was wan­dering through the house admiring everything when she spied a job that had been overlooked. The ceiling fans needed dusting.

  Without saying a word to the others—Maud was fortunately busy preparing dinner and Ivy was resting upstairs—Sophia quietly collected a small set of steps and a feather duster from the cupboard under the stairs and set about doing the fan in the study first, making sure she was extra careful when climbing the ladder and reaching up to stroke the duster along the first blade.

  When a shower of dust landed on top of her head, Sophia stopped, sighed, then climbed back down again and went to get a scarf to tie over her hair. She had remembered seeing an old tartan one on a peg under the stairs a few minutes before.

  Back up the steps again with the scarf securely in place, she resumed carefully dusting each of the four blades and was on to the last one when two large male arms suddenly wrapped around her waist and lifted her off the ladder into mid-air.

  Sophia dropped the duster, her gasp of shock forming into a scream just as Jonathon's angry voice filled her ears.

  'And what the hell do you think you're doing, you silly little fool?'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time Jonathon lowered her to the floor, turning her in his arms to face him, Sophia's shock had long turned to outrage. What in hell did he think he was doing was more like it, scaring the life out of her like that? And what was he doing home anyway? He wasn't expected for another couple of hours.

  But she said nothing, glaring up into angry blue eyes with angry eyes herself, her lips pressed firmly together in mutinous silence for fear that this time her temper might make her run off at the mouth with decidedly unwise words.

  Jonath
on wasn't similarly reticent. 'I thought having Godfrey's baby meant the world to you,' he flung at her. 'Whatever possessed you to get up on that ladder? You might have fallen.'

  Hurt that he would imply she would recklessly risk Godfrey's child drove her to protest. 'I was perfectly safe,' she flung back, 'till you grabbed me and dragged me off into thin air. That nearly gave me a heart attack!'

  Which was no exaggeration, Sophia realised. Why, her heart was going so fast that a heart attack was still on the cards!

  Suddenly aware that his hands were still around her waist, she brushed them off in a type of panic and hurriedly spun away from him, almost tripping over the steps in the process, knocking her shin against one of the legs. The sharp pain, plus her uncharacteristic clumsiness, made her mad as a hatter and she rounded on him.

  'Now look what you've done?' she snapped.

  His sigh had a martyred sound to it. 'I haven't done anything, Sophia, except try to look after you. Godfrey put your welfare in my hands. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I let him down where you were concerned.'

  Sophia's dismay was instant. She was the one letting Godfrey down. Here she was again, acting like a shrew and generally being a right pain. Underneath, she knew she'd been a bit silly getting up on that ladder. Maud had warned her not to do anything of the kind but she'd thought she knew better. Remorse mingled with guilt and an undermining awareness of her own stupidity.

  'I'm sorry,' she said in a voice raw with emotion, her eyes dropping to the floor. 'I won't do it again.'

  'I hope not,' he grumped. 'But I'm still going to give my mother and Maud firm instructions the next time I go away. You obviously can't be trusted to use common sense when it comes to this passion you have for cleaning.'