he would hate that, that he hated any sort of upset in his usually smooth-running existence. In fact, Cassandra had teased him that it had been for that very reason he had balked against marrying her at all for months after they had realised they were in love. He had protested that it wasn’t that at all, that he felt perhaps the age-difference was too much, that it would eventually break them up. Cassandra’s answer to that had been but think of what a marvellous time they would have had together, for however long it lasted. Charles’s love for her hadn’t been strong enough to fight such an argument, thank God, and Cassandra knew, despite that slightly reckless air of his that could make him so frustratingly irresponsible, that they had shared five good years together.
But those first few months of being Charles’s wife, because it seemed Jean Humphries would never accept her, had been traumatic ones for Cassandra. And then Cassandra had done something that had forever changed her relationship with Jean—she had produced Bethany… Jean doted on the little girl from the day Cassandra came home from the hospital with her, Bethany being the closest thing the older woman would ever have to a grandchild of her own. For the title of Mrs was only a professional one for Jean, Cassandra knew, the other woman never having been married.
During the months since Charles’s death, and the problems that had followed, Jean had come to be so much more than just a friend to Cassandra too; she had been the comforting mother she had needed so badly and which her own mother hadn’t been able to be.
Cassandra gave Jean a wan smile now, knowing just how impossible it would have been to stop Jonas from coming up here. ‘Jonas decided he would like to come up and see Bethany take her bath,’ she accepted dismissively. ‘If you would like to warm Bethany’s milk for her, and perhaps a pot of coffee for us…?’ She looked enquiringly at Jonas as she made the last request; the last thing she actually wanted was to share a cosy pot of coffee with him, but she couldn’t escape the fact that Bethany would probably be so disappointed that it would be hell on earth trying to get her to bed after Jonas had left!
Her hope that Jonas might refuse the invitation was dashed when he gave a mocking inclination of his head.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he murmured derisively once Jean had gone to get the drinks and Bethany had returned to the bathroom to dry herself and dress in her pyjamas and dressing-gown ready for bed, his mouth twisting wryly. ‘But I came here straight from the office, and after the day I’ve had I could do with the caffeine,’ he added grimly, running a hand over the tension of his brow.
Cassandra gave him a searching look. He did look strained, his black-rimmed glasses, glasses he rarely wore, she recalled, partly concealing those hard black eyes. ‘Things not running smoothly at the office?’ she returned lightly, although inwardly she had tensed once again; what had happened to cause those extra lines of strain beside his nose and mouth tonight?
His expression sharpened with harsh derision. ‘Do you really care?’
Her eyes flashed deeply gold at his scorn. ‘Of course I—— Must I remind you that Hunter and Kyle is as much my concern as it is yours?’ she challenged in a reasoning tone.
Jonas returned her gaze speculatively. ‘Is it?’
‘You know it——’ She abruptly broke off her sharp retort as Bethany came trotting in unconcernedly from the bathroom, dressed in her nightclothes now, and stood expectantly in front of Cassandra as she waited for the nightly ritual of having her hair brushed.
‘Uncle Jonas…’ she began tentatively as Cassandra made the steady strokes through her hair with the brush. ‘Uncle Jonas, do you believe in Father Christmas?’ She frowned across the room at him as he sat in the bedroom chair now watching them.
Cassandra stopped the brushing to look down at her daughter in some surprise; this was the first indication she had ever had that Bethany was even beginning to doubt the myth! Of course, once a child started school, it was difficult to stop older children from telling her the truth, but even so they had gone through all the usual rituals together this year—the letter to Santa with a list of what Bethany would like for Christmas this year dutifully sent off to the North Pole, the trip to see a Father Christmas, in a well-known shop, that Bethany had known wasn’t the real one, but who she believed could pass a message on to him, just in case her letter should go astray. Bethany had helped Jean in the kitchen while she made mince pies, one of which was to be placed on a plate on Christmas Eve, along with eight carrots—one for each of the reindeer—and she had also checked the sherry supply, so that they could leave a glassful out with the mince pie, to warm the poor man on his busy round. In actual fact, either Cassandra or Jean would end up drinking the latter, depending on which of them felt more in need of it after the last-minute rush of getting everything arranged under the tree for the next morning when Bethany woke them at some ungodly hour so that they could go downstairs and see if Father Christmas had been yet!
All of which made Bethany’s apparent doubt now more than a little puzzling…
Jonas looked taken aback by the question too. ‘Why do you ask, poppet?’ he avoided warily.
Bethany still looked thoughtful. ‘Well, Father Christmas only brings you presents if you believe in him—and I would so like you to get lots and lots of presents, Uncle Jonas!’ She grinned at him endearingly, at the same time dispelling any doubts Cassandra might have had about her own belief in Father Christmas! ‘Mummy always does,’ she confided excitedly.
Because Charles, despite her protests, had always swamped her with gifts, and not just at Christmas. Even though she had protested at the expense, assuring him she didn’t need any of the things, he had begun showering her with jewellery, clothes, cars, anything he thought would give her pleasure, to the extent where Cassandra had begun to think he got more pleasure from giving her the things than she did receiving them…
But there would be no gifts from Charles for her to protest at this year. In fact, for Cassandra, the whole festive season was filled with unhappiness. A year ago on New Year’s Eve, drunken revellers had crashed into her father’s car and killed him instantly, and within weeks, it seemed—eight exactly, Cassandra knew—Charles had been dead too, from a massive heart attack that had given them no warning of its imminence.
No, there would be no outrageously extravagant gifts under the tree for her from Charles this year. Not that she would miss them; she would gladly have given away everything Charles had ever given her if she could have sorted out the financial mess her life had become during the last year. But none of those things would have been enough to solve that!
Jonas saw the shadows in her eyes, guessing, she was sure, only half the reason for her unhappiness. Jonas believed she had only married his brother for his money anyway, so there was no point in even trying to explain the truth of things to him!
‘I bet if you stayed here with us Christmas night Father Christmas would leave you lots of presents too!’ Bethany burst out expectantly. ‘Ouch, that hurt, Mummy!’ she protested indignantly as Cassandra dug the brush into her scalp.
‘Sorry, darling,’ Cassandra told her distractedly as she carefully untangled the brush from the glossy black locks, all the time fighting back her inward panic that Bethany should have said such a thing. She was sure Jonas had no more wish to stay here with them at Christmas than she did to have him here—she also knew he was bloody-minded enough to accept the suggestion just because he knew how much it would upset her if he did!
‘Do you really think so, Bethany?’ he thoughtfully answered the child, but his gaze was fixed on Cassandra’s flushed face, tauntingly so.
‘Oh, yes,’ Bethany nodded with certainty, her expression so gravely intent that it was endearingly appealing—even
