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One minute later she was in floods of tears.
She had met a man who was perfect to her. But all he wanted was to be rid of her.
CHPATER SEVEN
SONYA had hoped the crowd would be so large she would have a good chance of slipping into the church unnoticed. As a necessary mark of respect to the Wainwright family she had done her best to look as inconspicuous as possible. Her giveaway white-blonde hair, she had all but concealed, fastening it in coils at the back, then topping it off with a wide-brimmed black hat. She had thought the inexpensive hat would be an excellent disguise. Unfortunately the result wasn’t as low key as she had wished. The hat looked great on her. She already had a black dress and suitable accessories. Nothing ultra smart, but good quality. Part of the problem was, black suited her. It made a showcase of her colouring. Her hair wasn’t on show, but she couldn’t hide her white skin. But for this very sad occasion, black it had to be. She had no real status even if Marcus had given her that magnificent ring.
On and off for nights she had cried. She felt the tears coming now but she had to fight them back. She had to find and maintain her composure. A young woman in tears would only bring unwelcome attention. Mourners were everywhere. In its way it was a spectacular turnout. Among the dignitaries present, the State Premier, and a representative of the PM, who was out of the country. Marcus Wainwright had been a much respected man, a member of one of the richest and most influential families in the nation.
She made it up the stone steps on shaky legs and through the door of the cathedral. She looked to neither left nor right. A strong arm took hold of hers. She looked up quickly, anticipating trouble. What she saw was a heavily built man filling out a black suit. It was his job, she realized, to keep crowd control. He drew her aside. “Ms Erickson, isn’t it?” he asked, very politely.
“Please take your hand off me,” she said, keeping her tone low.
“You’ve done yourself no good coming here, miss.” He was having difficulty not staring at her, she was so beautiful. “The family, I’m afraid, don’t want you.”
“I’m not here for the family, sir,” Sonya said very quietly. “I’m here for Marcus Wainwright, my dear friend. Now, if you don’t want me to raise my voice—I would regret the necessity, but I will—you’ll take your hand away. Marcus would have wanted me here. Who do the other Wainwrights think they are, anyway?” Her green eyes flashed fire.
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