THE floral borders looked their best at this time of year. Claire’s gaze passed over them, then roamed through the smattering of family and guests in the spacious backyard until it came to rest on her husband, where he stood talking to Tom Cranshaw.
Nicholas held his baby daughter in the crook of his arm. Jemima was wriggling and cooing, enjoying the warm day as her daddy played with her bare toes beneath the Christening gown. The outfit had started out with matching silken booties, but their daughter had worked her way free of them as usual.
Claire’s heart swelled with love as she studied the two most precious people in her life. After the initial sickness, her pregnancy had been uncomplicated. Nicholas had spoiled her, and after Jemima had arrived had spread the net to include spoiling his daughter as well.
It must run in the family. Damon and Colin, Nicholas’s brothers, were both madly in love with Jemima already. Damon was planning her stock portfolio, and Colin never missed a chance to hold her.
They were all here today. Nicholas’s brothers, and his parents—although the latter were at separate ends of the yard, of course. But they had both taken surprisingly well to grandparenthood.
Dianna—she couldn’t live with being called Nana or Gran—had shown Claire a beautiful massage technique to use on Jemima just after she was born. Nicholas’s mother was often self-interested, but she had given that much.
And Granpa Monroe—no such qualms in his case—had built Jemima the most gorgeous hand-crafted nursery set. Cradle, cot and rocking horse.
Family. Claire looked back at her husband, then let her gaze rove to his companion. Tom had a baby in his grasp, too. Eliza Claire Cranshaw was older and more sturdy than Jemima, but seemed to have just as much determination in her genes. At present she was attempting to chew the end off her proud father’s spotted red and black tie.
Tom didn’t even notice. Nor had he seemed to care when Eliza had offered the same service to one or two of the political dignitaries he’d invited along today.
‘I know this party is for our daughters, but I have something for you, too, Claire.’
Sophie had approached without Claire realising. Now she held out a gift bag with a pretty gold tag attached.
The guests had showered the baby cousins with gifts after the Christening service at the chapel where Nicholas and Claire had married. Sophie had pitched in to help organise this party, but that was supposed to be all. She wasn’t supposed to be giving Claire a gift.
Claire eyed the glossy bag warily, and suddenly Sophie laughed.
‘Go on.’ She pushed the bag into Claire’s hands. ‘Look inside.’
Claire did, and then she laughed too, and her eyes filled with tears. She pulled out the figurine and smiled. It was an excellent likeness of a mopoke, and across its delicately coloured middle were the words ‘Wise Old Owl’.
Sophie hugged her quickly, then stepped back. ‘You are, you know. If not for all you’ve done for me I wouldn’t be here with Tom today, with no secrets between us, happy with our daughter and our lives.’
Claire sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced down at the owl. ‘It’s a lovely sentiment—although I’m not so sure about the “old” part.’
Sophie smiled. As she did, Claire saw Tom look over at her and his face soften. Claire’s gaze went to Nicholas again. He sent her a look of such love and promise that she choked up all over again before she turned back to her sister.
‘I hope you saved up for this, Sophie.’ She tried to sound stern. ‘It must have cost you at least ten dollars.’ She pictured Sophie pulling it from a shelf at a chainstore. ‘Maybe even twenty.’
Sophie turned the figurine over in Claire’s hands to show her the discreet imprint on the bottom. ‘Closer to five hundred, actually. But who’s counting?’
Claire gasped.
‘Don’t worry.’ Sophie gave her a grin that was pure mischief. ‘I may never lose my taste for the expensive, but I am reformed. I budgeted for this item, and when I told my husband about it he was so proud of me he gave me a raise in my allowance.’
‘Oh, Sophie.’ Claire gave way to helpless giggles, then she sobered and looked her sister full in the eyes. ‘I love you. I hope you know that.’
‘I do. And I love you, too.’ Sophie sniffed, then took Claire’s arm with a determined air. ‘And now I think it’s time we rescued those husbands of ours. Who knows? Maybe we’ll make it over there before our daughters wind them completely around their baby-soft fingers.’
Claire glanced again at the tableau under the trees. She shook her head and let the happiness swell inside her. ‘I think it’s already too late.’