The Accidental Bride by Portia Da Costa

your casual things, John. I didn’t realise it was slightly more long-lived.’ She still sounded silky, but he could hear the edge, the sound of vexation.
    ‘She isn’t a thing. Her name is Lizzie, and I care a great deal for her, Clara. If you must know, we’re living together, here at Dalethwaite. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s going to be very long-lived, if she’ll put up with me.’
    Another pause. ‘Well, that’s wonderful for you, darling. I’m so glad for you. I’m sure she’s utterly charming. Is she someone I know? Who are her people?’
    John ground his teeth. He could almost imagine Clara knew all about Lizzie, and was deliberately being dismissive.
    ‘She’s perfect, Clara … and she doesn’t have “people”. She has a family, like a normal person does.’ Anger surged like molten metal. The urge to fight and defend. ‘She’s a beautiful, intelligent, funny, accomplished young woman. And she has a job.’ He paused himself now. Two could play at those tactics. He smiled, preparing the killer blow, knowing it would be cruel … but unable to stop himself. ‘She’s twenty-four … and I love her.’
    The resulting pause wasn’t calculated. He knew he’d hurt the woman at the end of the line, and there was nopleasure in the fact that it was only a small fraction of the pain she’d inflicted on him. It just felt mean.
    ‘She sounds lovely, Jonathan. I’m so happy you’ve found someone again. You always did have the best taste in women.’ She laughed softly. It sounded sincere. Had he misjudged her? ‘Have you introduced her to Mother?’ Ah, perhaps not. The delicate jibe was there, albeit understated. Clara would never forgive him for marrying her own mother, and never forgive her mother for marrying him. He suspected that was why she’d taken such relish in dumping him the second time, and why perhaps, now, Clara might take some perverse kind of comfort from the notion that him having a much younger girlfriend might be painful to Caroline.
    ‘No, but I hope to soon. Caroline is in London again, something to do with her art foundation. Perhaps I’ll invite her and Ralph to dinner.’
    For a moment, he thought about the prospect of introducing Lizzie to his ex-wife. Whatever Clara believed, he knew Caroline would adore Lizzie, although the meeting might still be a bit of an ordeal for his beloved. But Lizzie would rise to it, as she always did. Be charming and inimitable, even if she was shaking inside.
    ‘Oh … I miss London so much! Perhaps I’ll fly over soon. Maybe for that dinner party? I’d love to meet your Lizzie.’ John snapped back to the moment, frowning. What was she up to? ‘I envy women who make careers for themselves, and have skills. I … I always wish I’d done more with my education. Made different choices …’
    What was she hinting now? The Clara he’d known had always been delightfully archaic, making no bones of the fact that she was anticipating having a husband to providefor her, the richer and more exalted the better. Even when they’d first been together, she’d teased him over that. Playfully threatening to discard him because he was only the second son of a family whose finances were far from rich-list, despite their blue blood. Twenty-twenty hindsight was a wonderful thing, he thought bitterly. She hadn’t been teasing. She’d meant it.
    And now, he didn’t know what to say to her. He tried to imagine the love he’d once felt for her, and it was thin and pale, like mist. On the screen of his laptop was the image of what love could be, what love should be: a vibrant, sassy, warm-hearted sexy princess of a girl. A woman who had a life, not ‘people’, and who thrived by her own devices and made the best of things in all situations.
    Lost in Lizzie’s smile, he didn’t hate Clara any more. He felt sorry for her, and just hoped that somehow she could find what he had. In New York, the hints had been as loud as the billboards of Times