скачать книгу бесплатно
‘I mean the reasons behind what happened last night,’ replied Hannah, pouring the tea. ‘Abby, why haven’t you told Matthew the truth?’
‘How could I?’ Abby cradled her cup in her cold hands. ‘He’d never believe me. Not now.’
‘What do you mean? Not now?’
Abby shook her head. ‘It was easier to pretend his father was dead. I mean—so far as we were concerned, he was.’
‘Oh, Abby!’
‘Well …’ Abby tried to justify herself. ‘Aunt Hannah, Piers had disowned us; he’d disowned Matthew. Could you have told him that?’
‘When did he find out?’
‘About two years ago.’
‘How?’
Abby hesitated. ‘He—must have seen his birth certificate.’
‘And?’
Abby put her cup down. ‘He read one of your letters, while I was out.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘It was my fault. I should have realised he was getting older, more inquisitive.’
‘You mean he put two and two together.’ Hannah sighed. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I should have been more careful.’
‘Why should you?’ Abby was quick to reassure her. ‘I mean, you never used Piers’ surname. But his Christian name is rather—uncommon.’
‘But you told Matthew the truth, then?’
‘I told him that Piers and I were incompatible. That our marriage had been a mistake, and we had agreed to separate.’
‘Is that all!’ Hannah stared at her impatiently. ‘Didn’t you tell him about the rows? About Tristan?’
‘Would that have made it any better?’ Abby expelled her breath wearily. ‘It was too late, don’t you see? Any chance I had had of gaining Matt’s sympathy was gone. He blamed me. He still does, as last night proved.’
‘Oh, my dear!’ Hannah looked concerned. ‘Tell me again what happened. You were upset last night. And I didn’t like to probe too deeply; not then.’
‘Oh——’ Abby flung herself back in her chair. ‘It was awful!’ She shook her head reminiscently. ‘Matt had been so good, so—helpful. I really had begun to believe he’d turned over a new leaf. I had no idea he knew about Piers’ letter and the divorce. If I had, I’d have thought twice about bringing him.’
Hannah nodded. ‘Go on. You said you saw Piers at the barrier.’
‘That’s right. He’d come to meet Miss Langton. Apparently she’d been visiting some friends in London, and she happened to travel back on the same train. In first class, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘Well——’ Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, ‘when I saw Piers, I thought at first——’ She broke off. ‘I’m sure you can guess what I thought.’
‘That I’d asked him to meet you?’
‘Hmm,’ Abby nodded. ‘It was stupid, I realise that now. But at the time, it seemed the only explanation.’
‘And you told Matthew?’
‘Not then, no. But I was stunned, shocked; you can guess how I was feeling.’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘And Matt—being Matt—came to the obvious conclusion.’
‘But why did you let him run after Piers? Surely you must have had some idea of what might happen.’
Abby sniffed. ‘I didn’t let him. I couldn’t stop him. He was gone almost before I realised it.’
‘And he introduced himself to Piers as his son.’
‘Yes.’ Abby felt the whole weight of this realisation bearing down on her.
‘Still,’ Hannah poured herself more tea, ‘at least Piers didn’t disown him in front of Miss Langton.’
‘No.’ Abby was grudging. ‘But he didn’t exactly welcome him either.’
‘You couldn’t expect that.’ Hannah studied her niece’s pale face with compassion. ‘My dear, can you imagine what a shock it must have been for Valerie? No one in the valley even knew you had a son. And the Langtons regard Piers as one of them.’
Abby finished her tea and pushed her cup over for more. ‘I suppose you’re right. But at the time, all I was aware of was Piers looking at me as if he could have killed me!’
‘Well, you’ve certainly put the cat among the pigeons, haven’t you, my dear? I mean—an ex-wife is one thing, a stepson is something else.’
Abby shrugged. ‘Piers doesn’t regard Matt as his son. I expect he told Miss Langton that, the minute we got out of the car.’
‘Well, at least you didn’t have to wait for a bus,’ pointed out Hannah dryly. ‘Piers’ Daimler must have been an improvement on that.’
‘I suppose so.’ Abby shuddered again. ‘But it was the longest journey of my life. No one spoke, not even Matt. Perhaps he was regretting what he had done. Anyway, we all just sat there, like dummies, waiting to get to our destination.’
‘Didn’t Piers ask how you were? Why you were here?’
‘Not in the car. I don’t remember anything he said, just his hostility. It was awful!’
‘And how did he introduce you to Valerie?’
‘Oh—as his ex-wife, I think. It was humiliating. I think she thought Matt was some kind of punk!’
Hannah half smiled. ‘Well, you have to admit, it’s not every day a youth rushes up to your fiancé and claims that he’s his father!’
‘No.’ Abby had to giggle at this. ‘I suppose it was quite amusing really. I just wish it hadn’t happened.’
‘Never mind.’ Hannah put the cups aside and regarded her warmly. ‘You’ve no idea how good it is to have you here, Abby. The cottage has been so empty all these years.’
Abby allowed her to take both her hands, and they looked affectionately at one another. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Aunt Hannah,’ she said gently. ‘And what’s all this about you misbehaving yourself?’
‘Oh——’ Hannah drew her hands away. ‘You mean that conversation you had with Dr Willis. I told you in my letter, I have no intention of leaving the cottage. If I die, I intend to die here, and not in some home, with none of my own things around me.’
‘I’m sure you’re allowed to take your own things with you, Aunt Hannah,’ Abby exclaimed. ‘Your personal things, at least.’
‘And my furniture? That dresser, for instance. Do you think I could take that? And my china cabinet, in the front parlour?’
‘Aunt Hannah——’
‘Don’t bother. I know what you’re going to say. I can’t expect a residential establishment such as Rosemount to provide space for all the odds and ends its inmates have collected over the years.’
‘You make it sound like a prison, Aunt Hannah!’
‘It would be, to me. Abby, can’t you see? Can’t you understand? I’ve lived in this cottage almost all my life. I don’t want to leave it now.’
‘Then you’ll have to have a nurse—or a housekeeper. Someone who could take care of you——’
‘I don’t want some strange woman in my kitchen,’ the old lady interrupted her crisply. ‘I don’t want any female telling me what to do in my own home!’
‘But, Aunt Hannah——’
‘It’s no good, Abby. My mind’s made up. And if you’ve come up here to try and change it, you’re wasting your time.’
Abby shook her head. ‘Dr Willis says you shouldn’t be alone.’
‘Then you come home,’ said Hannah flatly. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, not now you and Piers are getting a divorce. Come back to Rothside. I’d employ you. And it would give Matthew the chance to get to know his real background.’
‘I couldn’t!’ Abby was appalled.
‘Why couldn’t you? Oh, I know—because of your job in London. Well, I daresay I’d see you didn’t lose by it.’
‘It’s not that.’ Abby shook her head.
‘No?’ Hannah frowned. ‘You’re tired of working in London?’
‘No.’ Abby hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, Bourne Electronics is going out of business.’
‘It is?’ Hannah looked delighted. ‘There you are, then. Your problems are solved.’
‘No, Aunt Hannah.’
‘Why not?’
Abby bent her head. ‘The Roths wouldn’t like it, you know they wouldn’t.’
Hannah snorted. ‘So what? Since when do I care what the Roths think?’
‘Oh, Aunt Hannah!’ Abby gazed at the old lady helplessly. ‘I couldn’t do that to Piers.’
‘Do what?’ Hannah looked impatient. ‘Living in the south has made you soft, girl! Have you forgotten what Piers did to you? Is Matthew Piers’ son or isn’t he?’
‘You know he is.’
‘There you are, then.’ Hannah’s gnarled fingers clenched. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time he faced the truth? He’s got away with it long enough.’
‘I want nothing from him, Aunt Hannah,’ said Abby quickly.
‘All right.’ Hannah shrugged. ‘I’d be the last person to try and persuade you. But you’re letting him have it all his own way, can’t you see that? Where’s your fighting spirit, girl? What have you got to lose?’
‘I couldn’t do it.’ Abby got up from the table and moved to the window, looking out on the patch of garden at the back of the house. It was sadly neglected now. Where once she remembered a vegetable and flower garden, now there was only grass and weeds, choking the struggling rose bushes, that had survived in spite of everything. Obviously, Aunt Hannah was too old to bend her back to the soil, and Abby, who had badly missed having a garden when she first moved into the flat, wished she had more time.
Hannah, too, got up from the table now, and evidently abandoning her efforts to persuade her, said: ‘What will that young man upstairs want for breakfast? I’ve got eggs, and some home-cured bacon, and there’s plenty of bread and butter.’
‘Oh,’ Abby turned, ‘I’m sure some toast and marmalade would be fine.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’d better go and get dressed.’
Hannah nodded. ‘Very well. And what about you? Don’t tell me you don’t eat breakfast.’
‘Well, I don’t, usually,’ Abby admitted, and then, seeing Aunt Hannah’s impatient expression, she added: ‘But I will have some toast, too. If that’s all right.’
‘Toast!’ snorted the old lady, fetching a loaf of crusty bread from the larder. ‘A plate of ham and eggs would put a bit of flesh on you. You’re nothing but skin and bone, do you know that?’
Abby shook her head goodnaturedly and started up the stairs. The winding cottage stairs opened off the kitchen, with a door set squarely at the bottom to keep out draughts. The cottage had once boasted three bedrooms, but when Abby first came to live with Aunt Hannah, she had had one of the larger bedrooms converted into a tiny bathroom and a boxroom, and it was the boxroom that Matthew was occupying now.
Matthew was still asleep when she peeped into his room, his head buried half under the covers. Obviously the trauma of meeting his father the night before did not weigh as heavily on his mind as it did on his mother’s, and Abby closed the door again and left him.
The water was still cold in the tank, and she had to be satisfied with a chilly wash, before dressing in a cream shirt, made of a synthetic fibre that felt like silk, and a pair of jeans. She brushed her shoulder-length straight hair until it shone, and curved into her nape, and then went downstairs again, without troubling to put on any make-up.
Aunt Hannah had lit the fire in the kitchen grate now. ‘To heat the water,’ she explained, as Abby flicked a glance at the promising blue sky beyond the windows. ‘Now are you sure I can’t persuade you to have a nice boiled egg?’
Abby smiled. ‘You’ve twisted my arm,’ she said. ‘All right, I’ll have a boiled egg. Providing you’ll join me.’
‘Good.’
But as Hannah turned to take a pan from its hook beside the stove, a sudden knocking arrested her. Someone was at the back door, and Abby raised her brows enquiringly as Hannah wiped her hands on her apron.
‘Probably the boy from the farm, wanting to know if I need any more eggs,’ Hannah declared, crossing the room, and then fell back in surprise at the sight of her visitor. ‘Piers!’ she exclaimed, causing every inch of Abby’s skin to prickle alarmingly. ‘Why, come in, come in! You’re an early riser.’
‘When I have to be,’ Piers remarked, stepping into the small kitchen and immediately dwarfing its size. ‘Good morning, Abby. I see you’re an early riser, too.’
Abby remained where she was, sitting by the table. She didn’t altogether trust her legs if she was to try and rise, but that didn’t prevent her from looking at Piers, and renewing the memories awakened the night before.
He seemed to have changed little, except, as she had thought, his shoulders were a little broader. Yet, for all that, his lean athletic frame seemed to show no trace of superfluous flesh, his clothes fitting him as well as they had ever done, and with a closeness that accentuated the powerful muscles beneath the cloth. His hair was shorter than it used to be, though it still brushed his collar at the back, flat and smooth, and as dark as a raven’s wing. His face was harder, his eyes deeper set but just as unusual, their tawny brilliance guarding his expression. His nose was strong and prominent, his cheekbones high and narrow, his mouth at present straight and uncompromising, revealing nothing of the sensuality, he had once shown her. At thirty-seven, Piers Roth was, if anything, more attractive than he had been at twenty-three when Abby had first gone to work for him, and it crossed her mind how unfair it was that he should have evaded his responsibilities for so long.
When Abby did not answer him, Piers turned to Hannah, who was closing the door, and gave her one of his polite smiles.
‘As you’ve probably guessed, Miss Caldwell, I’ve come to see Abby. Would you mind if I had a few words with her—alone?’
‘Not at all.’ Hannah looked to Abby for confirmation. ‘You can use the parlour. You’ll be private enough in there.’
Abby was tempted to refuse to speak to him, after his silence the night before, but meeting Aunt Hannah’s eyes, she knew she could not cause a scene without upsetting the old lady.
Getting up from her chair, she glanced at Piers, indicating that he should follow her, and opening the door into the tiny hall, led the way into the front parlour.
It was a chilly room, despite the strengthening warmth outside. The parlour faced north, and seldom got any sun, and in consequence it had an air of dampness and neglect. Like the garden, thought Abby inconsequently, trying not to let the prospect of the coming interview unnerve her.
