Her knock on Jonathon’s study door had been timid. Not so the barked, ‘Come,’ from within. Taking several hopefully steadying breaths, she’d gone inside, shutting the door carefully behind her. Her sidewards glances had been nervous, however, as she’d hesitantly approached the desk, the room being as intimidating as its owner. Wood-panelled walls, masses of bookshelves filled with heavy-looking tomes, dark curtains at the windows blocking most of the natural light from entering. Not a welcoming room at all.
‘You…you wanted to see me?’ she asked, feeling like a recalcitrant student who’d been hauled in front of the headmaster for misconduct.
When Jonathon looked up from his paperwork, he leant back in his chair, removing himself from the circle of light from his desk lamp. His face fell into shadow, making him appear more menacing than usual.
‘Pull up a chair, Sophia,’ he ordered. ‘We have things to discuss.’
‘D-d-discuss?’
He sighed. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you just sat down and listened.’
Sophia agreed wholeheartedly, despising herself for stammering all the time. She couldn’t understand why he had such an effect on her. She’d never stammered before in her life. There again, she’d never had anything to do with anyone quite like Jonathon Parnell before.
She settled into a large brown leather chair, happy to fall silent.
‘I’m sorry to intrude on your grief,’ he started, without much apology in his brusque voice. He wasn’t even looking at her, some papers on his desk holding his attention. ‘But there are legal matters I must make you aware of. Godfrey’s will—made a few years back unfortunately—leaves everything to his wife. The one who didn’t even bother to come to his funeral yesterday,’ he muttered before glancing up and giving Sophia a long, hard look. ‘Though perhaps it was as well she chose not to show up…’
He sighed a weary sounding sigh. ‘Whatever, Godfrey left her his entire estate, which includes the home at Roseville he once lived in with Alicia, and which she has been occupying since he disappeared, plus its contents, as well as a third share in Parnell Properties, all up valued at approximately fifteen million dollars.’
Sophia simply gaped. Godfrey had been a millionaire? And yet he’d lived so poorly during the years she’d known him, never buying any new clothes, growing his own vegetables, cutting firewood from dead trees. It had been a hand-to-mouth existence, his only extravagance being his art supplies. She’d often teased him about what he could do with the money when he became a famous painter. Now she understood why he’d brushed aside her fantasies, telling her instead that money didn’t bring happiness and never to believe it could.
‘My solicitor informs me, Sophia,’ Jonathon went on, ‘that you could contest the will on the grounds that you lived with Godfrey as his common-law wife for at least six months preceding his death, and are expecting his child.’
Sophia opened her mouth to protest that first assumption, then closed it again. She had lived with Godfrey, she supposed. What difference did it make that they hadn’t consummated their relationship till that last night? Still…contesting Godfrey’s will didn’t feel right. He’d had enough time and opportunity to change his will, if that was what he’d wanted to do.
Godfrey’s words came back to her about money not bringing happiness and she knew then that she didn’t want any of the money he’d left behind, the money that had obviously made him miserable. But before she could open her mouth again, Jonathon preempted her.
‘Knowing you,’ he drawled, ‘I’m sure you don’t want to do that any more than I want you to. Besides, Alicia is not the sort of woman to go quietly in matters of money. Any contesting of Godfrey’s will could get very nasty and very expensive. There’s no guarantee of your winning, either. So I would not advise that course of action. Godfrey entrusted you to me, knowing I would never see you destitute, so I have set up a trust fund for yourself and the child, in exchange for which you will sign a legal waiving of your rights to Godfrey’s estate and any more Parnell money. How does that sound to you?’
She hesitated. How could she refuse financial security for her child and herself? That would be crazy. And it wasn’t the same as fighting for that obscene amount of money. Jonathon obviously wasn’t talking about millions, just enough for her to live on.
The only problem was that it was Jonathon’s money. Sophia hated feeling obliged to him for more than he’d already given her. Dear heavens, he’d spent a fortune on her already, having Wilma select her a new wardrobe and a host of other things. Still, she supposed he must be very rich too and wouldn’t really miss it, so she swallowed and nodded her assent.
‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘For a second there, I thought you were going to be stubborn and foolish. Again.’
Sophia blushed, knowing he was referring to her distress over the price-tags on some of the clothes Wilma insisted she buy. Sophia had telephoned Jonathon at his office in a panic, only to have her protest swept aside with total exasperation. Instead of his admiring her for not wanting to spend his money, he’d seemed angry at her worrying.
She’d since learnt not to complain when he ordered her to buy something he thought she needed. Her dressing-table was covered in jars of cosmetics and bottles of perfume she’d never opened, her drawers full of expensive and very delicate lingerie she felt it a sin to wear on an everyday basis. As if she’d been interested in material things, anyway, when her Godfrey was dying.
Jonathon came forward on his chair and cleared his throat. ‘Now along to the matter of our getting married…’
Sophia sat up straight. She’d been wondering when he’d get round to that. Of course, he wouldn’t want to go through with it. No one could condemn him for that. People said anything to make a person’s last days happy.
‘If you’ll just sign where indicated,’ he said, picking up a sheet of paper, turning it round and facing it towards her, ‘we should be able to get married next month.’
‘You mean you…you still want to m-marry me?’
His coming forward in the chair to pass over the document had brought him into full light, so that she saw the hard glitter in his blue eyes. ‘The word “want” does not come into it, Sophia. I have no other option. I could not live with myself if I did not fulfil my promise to my brother, for it was the first and only thing he has ever asked me to do for him. I realise I am not the sort of man you would choose for a husband, but we only have to go through the motions. It will not be a real marriage. Later on, we can secure a discreet divorce.’
Sophia gulped when he directed a pen her way.
Her hand had trembled as she took it, her signature wobbly. Now, five weeks later, she was signing her marriage certificate on the same desk, and her hand was shaking just as much.
When she’d signed for the last wobbly time, Sophia heaved a sigh of relief and gave the pen to Wilma who stepped forward with her usual brisk confidence. Dressed in a severely tailored brown woollen suit with black patent accessories, her straight brown hair cropped mannishly short, she still exuded a strength of personality that was oddly attractive. In seconds, she’d whisked her distinctive signature in the allotted spaces, followed by an equally dashing Harvey.
Sophia watched them both with a degree of envy. One day, she would be like that, she vowed. Undaunted by any situation, and totally in command of herself.
Her sigh carried a certain amount of disappointment in herself that all Godfrey had achieved with her had turned out to be an illusion. She’d mistakenly believed he’d turned her from a shy, ignorant girl into a culturally informed young woman who would not have been at a loss in