hers and forcing her to remain exactly where she was.
‘Feeling better now?’ he enquired in his usual cool manner. The mark on his cheek had faded, she was glad to see.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ came her somewhat stiff reply, but without a stammer in sight, thank God. A sigh of relief puffed from her lungs. Maybe she would survive the next few minutes after all.
‘Good. Come and I’ll get you a drink, then,’ he said, and taking her hand in his, began to draw her across the room.
His grip was oddly gentle, such a contrast from the last time he’d held her hand upstairs, a few minutes ago. But it had no less of an effect on her, bringing a disturbing rise in her pulse-rate which she determinedly put down to nerves. Sophia refused to admit it could still be fear. Why should she fear Jonathon? The idea was ridiculous. Fear should be reserved for one’s enemies, and Jonathon was not her enemy. Nor did she really hate him. That had been the silly child within her thinking that a while ago.
She didn’t want anyone else thinking she hated him, either. Sophia came to a sudden decision, grinding to a halt and extracting her hand from Jonathon’s as she turned to face everyone else in the room.
‘I…I have something to say,’ she began, clasping her hands nervously together in front of her. ‘I…I’m very sorry for causing a scene earlier. And I’m very, very sorry for having hit Jonathon. No, please, Jonathon,’ she insisted when he went to interrupt, a grimace on his face. ‘I have to say this.’
She scooped in another steadying breath before continuing in a reasonably composed fashion. ‘It was very wrong of me to do what I did when you’ve been so kind. I can see the way Godfrey acted might have looked a little irresponsible to your eyes and I can understand why you feel angry with him. I can’t think of many brothers who would do what you have done here today.’ Tears pricked at her eyes but she held them back. ‘I’m sure Godfrey would have wanted me to co-operate with you, not…not make your life difficult. I…I feel as if I’ve let him down somehow.’
By this time, she was also finding it extremely hard not to cry. Wilma, probably seeing her distress, leapt to her feet.
‘What rubbish! You have done Godfrey proud today,’ she insisted firmly, coming forward to take both Sophia’s hands in hers. ‘Hasn’t she, everyone?’
There were murmurs of assent all round. But not, Sophia realised unhappily, from Jonathon. He stood beside her in stoical silence.
‘And I’m sure Jonathon holds no grudge against you for giving him a little slap,’ Wilma raved on. ‘I would imagine it’s not the first time a lady has given his cheek the taste of her hand,’ she added mockingly.
‘I can think of one woman who might benefit from the back of some man’s hand,’ he muttered under his breath so only Sophia and Wilma could hear.
The interchange quite startled Sophia out of her threatening misery. Her eyes darted to Wilma, who seemed delighted to have evoked such a reaction in her boss. When a drily amused smile pulled at Jonathon’s mouth, Sophia’s confusion was complete. Truly, she did not understand their relationship at all. Were they friend or foe?
‘Let’s sample some of this mouthwatering food Maud’s been bringing in,’ Wilma continued. ‘I’m starving.’
The evening went reasonably well for a while after that. Maud had prepared mainly finger-food which was easy to eat either standing up or by sitting with a small plate in one’s lap. Conversation revolved mostly around Maud’s delicious food and the recent spate of rainy weather, which were both very safe topics.
Not that Sophia was really enjoying herself. The strain of the day was taking its toll, the beginnings of a tension headache pressing in over her eyes. When Harvey poured her a glass of red wine she took it readily, settling down on the couch Ivy and Wilma had recently vacated. A small smile came to her lips as she sipped the drink and recalled the many evenings she had sat with Godfrey either before the fire or out on the back porch, drinking cheap claret and discussing the latest book she was reading.
She was completely off in another world, not noticing when Harvey sat down beside her, so that when he said, ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she jumped in surprise. But her reply consisted of nothing but a sad little smile, knowing that a man like Harvey would never understand what she and Godfrey had shared; what she had felt for him. In his eyes—as in Jonathon’s—Godfrey had been a loser, a plain, balding thirty-seven-year-old loser who had no right to the love of a pretty young girl.
She’d seen everyone’s shocked looks when she’d been brought here to Parnell Hall and introduced as Godfrey’s de facto wife. Even his own mother had been surprised, despite Godfrey’s having been her favourite son. The news that Sophia was expecting his baby had initially been met with a stunned silence. Sophia was hurt for Godfrey, once she realised they hadn’t even believed he was man enough to father a child.
Well, they were wrong, weren’t they? she thought defiantly as she sat there, her fingers linking over her gently swelling stomach. He had fathered a baby, and next week, after she’d had her ultrasound, she would know if it was a boy or a girl. She hoped it was a boy. And she hoped he was just like Godfrey!
‘I can see you’re not in the mood for chit-chat,’ Harvey said quietly from her side. ‘I just wanted to say I think you’re great and I hope everything turns out well for you. But if it doesn’t and you ever need a shoulder to cry on, give me a call.’
Sophia was touched by the offer and turned a grateful smile his way. ‘That’s very kind of you, Harvey. I’ll remember that. Thank you.’
Harvey patted her wrist and stood up, almost brushing shoulders with Jonathon as he did so.
‘Leaving, are you, Harvey?’ Jonathon said in clipped tones.
Harvey seemed taken aback for a second before glancing at his watch. ‘Not yet,’ he returned. ‘I was just going to get myself another glass of wine.’
‘No more for Sophia,’ Jonathon ordered brusquely, glaring down at her near empty glass.
‘That’s up to her, isn’t it?’
Sophia was thinking the very same thing.
‘Jonathon,’ his mother interrupted, materialising by his side and thereby saving the awkward moment. ‘Why don’t you put some music on? Something nice and relaxing. Mozart, I think. You like Mozart, don’t you Sophia? You were playing him the other day.’
‘I adore Mozart,’ she agreed. ‘He was Godfrey’s favourite composer.’
Ivy’s sigh was wistful. ‘Of course…You know, I played him Mozart from the day he was born. It always put him to sleep.’
‘Mozart would put anyone to sleep,’ Jonathon muttered, his irritation obvious as he stalked over to the stereo and started flipping through the CDs.
‘Don’t take any notice of Jonathon,’ Ivy whispered as she sat down next to Sophia. ‘For some reason he’s always been a little jealous of Godfrey. Lord knows why. Poor Godfrey wasn’t born with any of his brother’s natural advantages. He was a sickly child, whereas Jonathon never even got colds. I couldn’t count the number of nights I had to spend sitting up with Godfrey, especially when he had asthma.’
Sophia began thinking that maybe Jonathon was
