Conveniently His Omnibus

When she got back, the house felt empty. She performed her normal household chores automatically and then went into the study to check through the morning’s post. There was nothing that was particularly urgent but there was a letter with an airmail stamp from Nassau addressed to Jon and marked ‘Private and Confidential’. Was it from his friend? Or was it from the woman who had allowed him to use her apartment and pool? She didn’t like the sensations stirring deep inside her. She had no right to be jealous of any friendships Jon might form outside their marriage and besides, what was there to be jealous of? She had known when she married Jon what their marriage would be and she had been happy with that knowledge. She had also believed that Jon was as immune from sexual desire as she felt herself to be. And so he was, she told herself firmly, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that maybe in Nassau he had discovered a woman who could break through his barrier of indifference. The thought made the unpleasant sensations lodged beneath her breastbone, increase. Tension held her body in a vice-like grip, jealousy tormenting her mind with mental pictures of Jon’s tanned body entwined with that of some unknown but lithely desirable woman whose face she could not see.

Telling herself that it was the heat that was making her so on edge and prickly, Sophy went upstairs, stripping off her clothes and standing beneath the shower, letting the cool water slide off her over-heated skin.

Only when it was starting to raise goosebumps did she emerge from the water, towelling herself dry briskly. It was too hot to work indoors, and she was too restless to concentrate on anything. She might as well spend what was left of the morning sunbathing, she thought wryly, hunting through her drawer for her bikini. As she stood up she caught a glimpse of her nude body in the mirror. The sun had turned her skin a soft, golden colour banded by cool white where her bikini had concealed it from the hot rays. The colour suited her, she recognised, her attention caught and held by her own reflection. It was years since she had looked at her body—really looked at it that was, perhaps not even since that débâcle with Chris. Now she studied what she saw, with careful eyes, noting the slender strength of her shoulders, the fullness of her breasts tipped with deep coral, the flatness of her ribcage and the slight swell of her stomach. She had a woman’s body now, not a girl’s, curved and feminine but those curves and the warm glow of her skin offered a promise the woman inside could not fulfill. She might look entirely female and desirable, but she was not, she reminded herself bitterly, and the desire she felt to reach out and touch Jon and to be touched by him in return must surely spring from some contradictory impulse inside her which knew quite well that it was safe to torment her in this fashion since there was no question of that desire ever being fulfilled. No doubt if Jon did make any attempt to touch her she would recoil from him as she had done from all the others, fearing his discovery of the truth about her; that she was just an empty sham of femininity.

She was supposed to be sunbathing, not standing here letting herself get morose, she reminded herself, hurriedly tugging on her bikini and going downstairs.

The garden was slumbrous with heat, bees droning drunkenly from flower to flower, heavy with pollen. Above her the sky was a hot blue arc, the grass beneath her feet was drying out in patches where the sun had burned it. She really ought to do some weeding, she thought, wryly glancing at the untidy beds, but she was too tired. Since Jon came back she hadn’t been sleeping very well, something she had refused to admit to herself until now.

She lay on her stomach, pillowing her head in a cushion, and then remembering the small white bank of flesh across her back, reached behind herself and unfastened the ties of her bikini. It was completely private in the garden and she was unlikely to be disturbed.

In her sleep she moved, turning on to her side, and curling her body inwards slightly into a position that was automatically defensive.

Someone was touching her, stroking her skin. Jon! A wave of pleasure shivered through her and she stretched beneath his touch like a cat asking to be stroked, opening her eyes and saying his name with sleepy delight.