As quietly as he could, Mason tiptoed back to the door, unlocked and locked it again, making sure this time there was noise.

Julia came out to greet him with Matt in her arms. “How’s Hailey?”

“Badly hurt,” Mason said. “Hope she’ll be all right. I left her with Ted.”

“Look who’s come!” Julia said to Matt, probably to cheer Mason up a bit. “It’s daddy! Say hi!”

The baby smiled and reached out.

A Madonna with a child, Mason thought again.


When Julia got home she phoned Mason to tell him she was all right. Their usual routine, lately.

Matt soon fell asleep, Mrs. Whitcomb came, and Mason was left to his own devices. He sat down staring at the briefs. He needed time to regroup.

Love; in love with him.

Falling in love – as to him, he used to avoid it like the plague. He thought it w a s the plague. He had never felt it before Mary, and, most probably, never again would feel it. He had lost so much, he really thought a big part of him had died, and that was the one that could love.

But – but still – he was alive!

It was this sensation that strangely prevailed now, over every other thought and feeling. Julia, his son, the problems that all this might entail – he couldn’t really give it any thought now. He felt alive, the sensation running in his veins, washing every fiber of his being. He wanted to shout it aloud.

He was alive. No doubt about it now.


*

Mason turned the matter over and over in his mind. Following Julia’s example he even tried to discuss it with Matthew, but he found he could not read the baby’s signals as easily as she could.

Julia Wainwright. A woman he admired and respected; a woman who vexed him and maddened him sometimes. She was desirable. He loved her sense of humor. She was a complex personality, and it gave him pleasure to watch her mind working. Mason felt safe and at ease with her. She loved children, she loved Matt, and she loved him.

And he – well, he wanted his life back. He wanted a chance to be happy. So – he mused and mused on it, and, after all, the idea did not seem so weird.

Mason became more attentive to Julia, and he had to agree he must have been stone-blind not to have seen what was going on between them. Julia blushed if he as much as touched her hand. He had her speechless if he leant closer. It tickled his nerves.

Even if one was to limit oneself to judging by their intellectual duels, solely, one had to admit Julia was a passionate woman. And yes, she was a desirable one. Mason felt excited, and very aware of her presence now. He did feel alive.


*
Now, how do you tackle such matters? Mason seemed to have forgotten everything. He couldn’t bring Julia a bunch of flowers all of a sudden, could he? She might have liked it, though. Or should he just let nature take its course?

The next time Julia visited his place, Mason felt an urge to act.

He sat next to Julia onto the settee, as she was watching Matt busying himself in his cradle. Carefully, Mason placed his arm on the back of the settee, just above Julia’s shoulders. It felt okay. He lowered his arm and rested it around her shoulders. It had her glued to her place for a second, and then she used Matt as an excuse to get up and flee.

Mason looked up, slightly amused – and incited. Julia’s feeling ill at ease was suddenly quite evident.

“How’s your plan?” he asked casually.

“What?”

She bent over the cradle helping Matt with his toys. That was the probable reason for her cheeks to burn, right?

“Your baby?” Mason prompted.

“Ah, that,” she faltered.

Pearl was still away, and Julia felt she couldn’t as easily share her plan with anyone else. Least of all Mason.

She was not sure she wanted to go on with it, in the first place.

“Why do you think it was about the baby? I might have needed the surgery for my own health’s sake,” she mumbled.

“Might have; but you did not, Julia,” Mason said softly.

She shook her head: no, she did not. She was not sure how to talk of it with Mason, and whether she should. He was a real expert in poisoning the very best things with a single word, with as much as an eyebrow raised. She couldn’t stand it if he chose to sneer at her. Up to now, he had shown no signs of wanting to, though.

“It’s getting late, Julia,” Mason remarked in a cavalier fashion.

Showing her a graceful way out, thought Julia with appreciation. But no; she must have forgotten it was Mason Capwell she was dealing with.

“You must be tired of riding to and fro, aren’t you?” he said. “Why don’t you stay here?”

/Olga Lissenkova/

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