‘Don’t worry about being late … Beth will kill me for saying it, but you’ve haven’t exactly missed anything. It’s good to see you.’ After speaking at last, he grinned, then leaned down to squeeze Charlie’s shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you too, Charlie. Why don’t you both come inside?’
‘Hello, there, I’m Paul Harvey—Beth’s husband. How nice to meet you at last, Ms Markham.’
‘And you, Mr Harvey.’
‘Call me Paul.’
Sophia didn’t invite the other man to call her by her first name in return, Jarrett noticed, silently approving. He had no earthly right to feel so possessive towards her, but for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain he did.
‘Let’s go and meet everyone,’ he suggested, gesturing for her and her son to precede him.
The conversations that littered the air as they walked in abruptly ceased as Jarrett escorted Sophia into the stylishly furnished living room. Even the softly playing jazz emanating from the music centre seemed to grow quieter. His sister Beth immediately peeled herself away from the trio of women she’d been deep in conversation with and presented herself to her new guest with an enthusiastic handshake, followed by the characteristic peck on the cheek with which she greeted all her friends.
‘Hi, Sophia, I’m Beth Harvey—Jarrett’s sister. I had no idea you’d be so pretty! I’m so glad you could come … your son too. Jarrett tells me that his name is Charlie?’
‘That’s right.’
Inside that perfectly decorated room, with its carefully chosen, strategically arranged amalgam of modern and antique furniture, surrounded by a bunch of curious strangers, Sophia looked ill at ease. Her coral lips were pursed together tightly as she listened to his sister gush, and Jarrett intuited that she’d rather be anywhere else but here. He was intrigued to know what had persuaded her to put in an appearance at all. Clearly she’d wrestled with the decision for some time—why else had she been so late in arriving? Something else struck him. He’d always regarded the sister who shared his own dramatic colouring of ebony hair and blue eyes as unquestionably pretty. However, next to Sophia’s finely drawn beautiful features and bewitching emerald eyes Beth seemed merely attractive.
Frowning, because he felt such an opinion somehow betrayed his loyalty to his sibling, he gently touched his palm to her back in the fitted red dress she was wearing, as if to signal filial support.
‘Say hello, Charlie,’ Sophia quietly instructed her son.
Bestowing upon Jarrett a gap-toothed grin, the charming small boy with his mop of luxuriant dark curls focused his gaze on him alone. ‘Hello, Mr Gaskill. Can I see your sister’s dog? Where is he?’
‘You’ve met Dylan before, have you?’ Beth dropped down so that she was level with Charlie.
The boy was initially wary, but when she reached for his hand and gently held it for a moment, smiling at him with her great blue eyes, he seemed to relax. ‘Yes … we were down by the stream so that my mum could take some photographs for her work. That’s when we saw Mr Gaskill and your dog.’
‘Well, if you’d like to see him again he’s out in the garden, sitting outside his kennel.’
‘What’s a kennel?’
‘It’s like a small house for a dog,’ Jarrett told him with a teasing wink.
Charlie spun round to gaze up at his mother. ‘Can I, Mummy? Can I go out to see Dylan?’
Such an innocent and natural request shouldn’t put panic into Sophia’s lovely green eyes, but disturbingly Jarrett registered that it did. She even laid a hand possessively on Charlie’s shoulder as if to prevent him from leaving.
‘Where is the garden?’ she immediately quizzed Beth.
‘Just out there through the patio doors … Don’t worry, it’s nowhere near big enough for him to get lost in.’
Biting down on her lip, Sophia was still undoubtedly hesitant. ‘I’m sure that’s true. There isn’t a gate at the back he can get out of?’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘That’s good. Our own garden is a bit like a forest, and I have to keep a close eye on Charlie when he goes out there to play. I suppose I’ve just got into the habit of making sure he’s secure.’ She coloured, as if regretting calling attention to her own hardly humble abode. ‘It needs a lot of work doing to it, I’m afraid.’ she murmured. ‘The weeds have gone absolutely rampant in all this rain we’ve been having, but I’m getting the house into shape before I see to the garden.’
Rising to her full height once again, Beth reassuringly patted the other woman’s arm. ‘Well, compared to the gardens at High Ridge our garden is fairly modest, I promise you. Charlie can’t get lost out there. And there are no ponds or anything like that to worry about either. Besides, he’ll have Dylan to play with. Do you want to get his ball and throw it for him, Charlie?’
‘Yes, please!’ The lad didn’t need much inducement.
‘His ball is in a box just under the steps,’ Beth told him.
As Sophia reluctantly released the light grip on his shoulder, as if intuiting his mother’s concern, Charlie turned to throw her a disarming grin. ‘I’ll be all right, Mummy—promise!’ he said, and without further ado he flew out through the open patio doors onto the decking area, where two long tables were laden with platters of what remained of the delicious food Beth had prepared.
The repast still looked appetising in the watery spring sunshine, even though the hungry guests had helped themselves to a fair amount of it already.
Pounding down the wooden steps, fetching the dog’s ball and racing out into the neatly mown garden, Charlie called loudly, ‘Dylan! Dylan! Do you remember me? I’m Charlie. Come here, boy!’
‘I’ll introduce you to everyone in a moment—but first let me get you a drink, Sophia.’
Beth cleverly brought the other woman’s attention back from her anxious perusal of her disappearing son. Paul had joined them just as Charlie had run out into the garden, and now Jarrett’s sister turned to him with one of the dazzling persuasive smiles that her husband had always found so hard to resist.
‘Darling? Would you be a love and get Sophia a nice glass of champagne?’
‘No!’
The loud, vehement refusal sent a buzz of shock eddying round the other guests—Jarrett included …
SHE felt like a fool, blurting out her refusal as forcefully as she had. As soon as the impassioned exclamation had left her mouth Sophia had wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. It made her feel like the one jarring note in a symphony that had been harmonious until her arrival. Yet, blunt as her refusal had been, she had good reason to detest alcohol. Living with a violent alcoholic whose behaviour had been coloured by terrifying unpredictable rages was apt to make a woman deeply despise it—fear it as well.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, reddening. ‘I just meant to say that I’m teetotal. Do you have some lemonade or cola, perhaps,