The Stephanides Pregnancy. Lynne Graham

Indeed she was proud of herself for not rising to the bait.

      Rory shared the same table, both with them and not with them, his discomfiture at the atmosphere between his girlfriend and her older sister pronounced. Every so often he made a clumsy attempt to bring in a new conversational subject but no matter what it was it always seemed to provide Gemma with more grist for her mill. Betsy studied Rory in a quick stolen glance. He looked grim, tense and embarrassed. Like Betsy, he was in the dark as to why Gemma seemed to have a need to verbally attack Betsy in every way she could.

      After all, on the face of things, Betsy rather than Gemma should have been the sister with the axe to grind and the chip on her shoulder. Three years earlier, Betsy and Rory had been on the brink of getting engaged when Gemma had announced that she was pregnant and that Rory was the father of the baby she was carrying. Their parents had urged Betsy to take the news on the chin. She had done so. She had been far too proud to show any sign of wanting to hang onto a man who had gone behind her back to sleep with her very much prettier sister. She had also cared too much for both Rory and Gemma to have made a truly ghastly situation worse than it already had been and tear her whole family apart. And unhappily for her, Betsy reflected ruefully, she had never yet learned how not to love Rory.

      ‘Every other single girl I know is out partying seven nights a week…I can’t believe that you still haven’t found a bloke of your own!’ Gemma commented tartly.

      For a split second angry pain gripped Betsy and she pushed restive fingers through the feathery fringe of dark red hair on her pale brow. She almost blurted out that she had had a bloke of her own until Gemma had stolen him and she only bit back that crack with difficulty. The cost of restraint made hot pink flare over her cheekbones and she let her pride do her talking for her and she lied. ‘There’s a guy at work…I’m seeing him.’

      In open disconcertion, her younger sister stared at her. ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Joe…’ Betsy compressed her lips and looked down at her meal without appetite. The same instant as the untruth had left her lips she’d regretted it, for she realised that that one lie would only lead to further lies. But Joe did exist, she reminded herself, and, while she might not be actually dating him, he had at least asked her out. ‘He’s new…he started at Imperial two weeks ago—’

      ‘What age is he? What does he look like?’ Interested questions flooded from Gemma.

      ‘Late twenties. Tall, broad, fair.’ Betsy shrugged, thinking that if she did go out with Joe even once it would magically transform her lie into the truth.

      Gemma grinned. ‘Well, it’s about time—’

      Rory was frowning. ‘How much do you know about this guy? There are a lot of creeps out there. Be careful,’ he urged Betsy.

      Gemma’s grin fell off her pretty face as though she had been slapped and Betsy could have groaned out loud. Gemma took offence if Rory showed the slightest interest in or concern for her sister. Bowing her head, Betsy got through the awkward silence that followed that comment by scooping up the pyjama-clad toddler who had crept into the room while the adults were talking. Snatched up into a cuddle by her fond aunt, the little girl giggled and turned up an entrancing face. An adorable mix of her parents‘ genes, Sophie had Rory’s dark brown hair matched with Gemma’s big blue eyes. Soon after the diversion supplied by her niece’s entrance, Betsy announced that she ‘really had to fly’ because she had an early start in the morning.

      She had only just got back to her cramped bedsit in Hounslow when her mother phoned her.

      ‘Gemma’s really upset…’ Corinne Mitchell began, and although a sense of absolute frustration engulfed Betsy at those familiar words she still sat down to dutifully listen.

      ‘I shouldn’t have gone over for dinner.’ Betsy sighed. ‘It just causes friction.’

      ‘There wouldn’t be a problem if Rory would just marry your poor sister,’ her mother lamented. ‘There she is, the mother of a two-year-old, and there’s still no sign of a wedding ring! Of course she’s unhappy. They’ve got their nice apartment and Rory is doing well as a lawyer. What’s he waiting for?’

      Betsy drew in a slow, deep sustaining breathe. ‘This isn’t any of my business, Mum—’

      ‘But you know Rory Bartram better than anyone!’ Corinne protested vehemently. ‘He’s breaking Gemma’s heart—’

      ‘Lots of couples live together these days,’ Betsy interposed gently.

      ‘Rory wasn’t planning to make you live in sin, though, was he?’ Corinne snapped out that reminder with audible resentment on her younger daughter’s behalf. ‘Is it any wonder that Gemma feels terribly hurt when she sees the father of her child paying attention to you?’

      ‘He wasn’t paying attention to me,’ Betsy stressed wearily, but she knew that the older woman was barely listening. All worked up by the spur of a doubtless emotional phone tirade from her younger daughter, Corinne Mitchell was set on having her say about the deficiencies of Gemma’s relationship with Rory.

      It was a familiar pattern and it hurt Betsy a lot that her mother should be so indifferent to her feelings. Why did she have to be upbraided with the tale of Gemma’s problems with Rory? Why was she expected to endure her sister’s shrewish comments in forgiving silence? Even less welcome was the wounding bitter note in her mother’s voice that implied that it was somehow Betsy’s fault that Gemma’s world was not as rosy and perfect as she thought it should be.

      More and more Betsy was learning that when Gemma was annoyed with her she would be shunned by the rest of her family as well. It would be quite a few weeks before she heard from her mother again. Gemma was very like her mother in looks and personality and Corinne identified closely with Gemma’s interests. When she was a kid, Betsy had never questioned the reality that her sister two years her junior was the favoured child. As a baby, Gemma had had a heart murmur and everybody had fussed over her. By the time she’d received a clean bill of health, her parents had been so used to giving her the lion’s share of their attention that nothing had changed. Betsy’s parents simply idolised Gemma and Sophie was the jewel in her sister’s crown.

      In comparison, Betsy had always been a bit of a misfit in the Mitchell family circle. Her preferences in clothes and her interests had never been feminine enough to meet with her mother’s approval. In fact her happiest childhood memories revolved round her late grandfather, who had restored classic cars in his spare time. As a teenager, she had been a sporty tomboy, obsessed with cars when other girls her age had been obsessed with the boys who drove them. On that front she had been a shy late developer and intimidated by the success of her kid sister in the same department. Boys had started chasing Gemma when she was only thirteen.

      Betsy had met Rory at a sports club when she was eighteen. He had been a friend first, but she had known how she’d felt about him long before he’d got around to asking her out. At that point, Betsy killed her forbidden thoughts stone dead. That was the past, she reminded herself sharply. Nobody needed to tell her that no man could be ‘stolen’ by another woman against his will. Nor, she reflected, should she even have been surprised when Rory had fallen for Gemma, who was much livelier and sexier. That mental slap administered, Betsy got into bed.

      The next morning when she arrived at work, Joe Tyler was already putting a gleaming polish to the bonnet of the car he drove. He was a hard worker, she acknowledged grudgingly, and she questioned her own almost instinctive recoil from him. So he struck her as being a little arrogant and conceited, but he was young, attractive and single and she had met men smug about a great deal less. It was only two weeks since he had joined the staff at Imperial Limousines and he didn’t join in with the usual grousing about the awkward hours, the low pay and the demanding and unappreciative customers. In fact, rather like herself, Joe was a loner and a man of few words. How long had it been since she had dated someone? Too long, she decided, strolling rather self-consciously closer to the blond man.

      ‘You said you would get tickets for the racing at Silverstone…is the offer still open?’

      Joe