Chapter Fourteen

 

 

When he reached his own room Robert closed the door and threw himself on to the bed, there to lie, miserable and lost and on the brink of tears. He couldn't have told them anything. How could he have said a word in his own defence?

Last Friday, Phoebe Hamilton had invited him over and, ever sensitive to change, Robert wondered why invite him especially? He still worked on the farm at weekends and holidays; his pay was three shillings an hour plus lunch and supper, which he took with the family on Saturdays and Sundays. But he saw Phoebe most days and Lucy Hamilton always asked him to eat with them. Robert loved the informality of eating in the kitchen with Lucy and Phoebe.

Nourished by Lucy's motherly interest in him, he thrived on the welcome smiles that always greeted his arrival but it had seemed to him lately that the Hamiltons thought that he and Phoebe were being 'thrown together,' as they called it. They seemed afraid of a romantic attachment developing. Their worries were unnecessary. Once he was at university, he'd be gone from the estate during term-time. Both he and Phoebe were too young to be serious, or hope for marriage. Father would fund his lodgings in Edinburgh but Robert must earn his spending money, and this was all going to plan on Robert's side. Not so Phoebe's.

The Hamiltons wanted their daughter to train to be a teacher, but Phoebe wanted to stay at home with her mother. She wished for nothing but to marry and live an identical life to Lucy's, preferably near at hand. Now Robert asked himself whether Phoebe had alarmed her parents by sharing with her mother the secret of their stolen kisses. When nobody was in the room with them it would not be long before Phoebe, like a kitten testing her claws, would preen and tease to tempt him until he couldn't help but succumb and kiss her.

Last week he'd even found her waiting outside the picture house in North Berwick. When he'd turned up, alone, to see Around the World in Eighty Days. She'd said, 'I didn't know you'd be here,’ but she did. He'd told her so the day before.

'Can we sit together? I've bought my ticket?' she said. He'd laughed and they'd held hands and he'd slipped an arm around her until the lights went up. She had made a point of leaving first, because her father was meeting her and she did not want him to see them together.

So it looked to Robert as if he and Phoebe were going to be lectured after supper tonight about being too young to make any promises.

He arrived at 6.30 to find Lucy Hamilton in the kitchen, stout, comfortable and energetic - the perfect mother figure. Two cleaning ladies came every Monday and Friday morning but the rest, the cooking, shopping and laundry was done by Lucy, even though she could afford all the servants she wanted. This evening, however, she did not give Robert the usual words of greeting, or even smile.

'Where's Phoebe?' he asked.

'In the drawing room. Go and talk to her,' she said.

He went into the warm, cosy and comfortable sitting room where cretonne-covered chairs were set by the fire and plush chaise-longues and tub chairs were placed in the window bays. On the low pedestal tables bowls of flowers and silver-framed photographs fought for space, whilst the walls were all but invisible under the dozens of watercolour landscapes and old family oil portraits. It was June, very light, and Phoebe was sitting in the window that overlooked the rose garden.

‘You all right?' he asked. She did not turn her head, so he went to the window and put his hands on her shoulders, expecting her to smile at him with those starry blue eyes that were so full of fun.

Her dark hair had been cut in what she declared was the gamine look -a soft-fringed, urchin style and when she didn’t respond to his hands on her shoulders, he ran his fingers through the wispy ends at the back of her neck. She turned. 'Stop it!' she said in a closed-in, hurt voice she had never used before.

He squeezed his lanky frame into the small tub chair facing her.’What's wrong?'

She looked as if she were about to cry as she drummed her fingers on the chintz-covered arm of the chair. 'I don't know how to tell you.'

'What?'

'We can't see one another any more.' Her eyes were brimming with tears, and though he wanted to hold and comfort her, he felt protest rising in him just as it did when he saw someone being picked upon for no reason.

‘It's your father, isn't it?' he said. 'Who does he think he is? He can't tell me-'

'Yes he can!' Her blue eyes flashed behind the tears. 'He has every right.'

'How come?'

'Because…because…' She hesitated, then blurted out, 'He's not only my father! He's your father too, Robert Campbell!'

He wanted to laugh but Phoebe looked so serious and upset that what he said was, 'You been drinking or something?'

She got to her feet and flounced, as he thought it, to the middle of the room. Then she folded her arms and with tears streaming down her face stared back at him. 'If you don't believe me, ask Mummy. She'll tell you the truth.'

'Ask what?'

'Ask is it true that my father and your mother are lovers. Ask is it true that you, Robert Campbell, are my father's child.'

He was incredulous. 'Are you trying to say I'm not my own father's son? How can you believe such nonsense?'

'I am saying that,' she said, 'so even if you asked me, I couldn't marry my own brother.' She began to weep noisily. 'I'm going away. I can't live here any more. I can't bear it.' With that she fled from the room. He heard her running up the stairs, heard the bedroom door slam.

He had gone cold, for all it was a warm June night and beyond the garden, he could see men, Mike Hamilton among them, stripped to the waist hauling bales of hay into stacks in the meadow so they could be loaded on to the trailer. They would be working until nearly midnight. He would go and ask Lucy if she knew what had got into Phoebe.

Lucy was washing dishes at the big white sink. She looked round when he came into the room. Her face was pale. 'Has she told you?'

'It isn't true. It can't be ...' he said. 'You don't believe it, do you?'

Lucy Hamilton, normally so calm, pulled her hands out of the water, wiped them hastily on a towel and said, 'I'm sorry. It's true.' Then she too burst into tears. 'I'll go to Phoebe. Wait.' She fled from him.

It was half an hour before she came back, and the longer he waited and thought about it, the more the accusations seemed both ridiculous and spiteful. Robert had seen Mother and Hamilton together, many times, almost daily but Mother's attitude was always condescending and Hamilton's the very opposite of loving.

Lately it had become an embarrassment. Robert could feel the hostile tension between them when Mother demanded that Hamilton help with her horse, Mother's wishes always taking precedence over the work on the land and Hamilton muttering that she must surely be going out of her mind.

No, Phoebe had some bee in her bonnet, but even as he thought this way, cold warning waves ran down his spine when he realised that Lucy Hamilton would never have said such a thing unless ... He went to the door that opened on to the hallway and heard Phoebe crying hysterically.

He shuddered and went into the sitting room, leaving the door ajar so Lucy would see him when she came downstairs, as she did five minutes later when Phoebe's cries had settled down to a low, sobbing sound.

Lucy closed the door and came to stand beside him. 'She won't come down. She won't listen to me.'

Robert's eyes were clouded. 'Just tell me.'

'What did she say to you?' She indicated to him to be seated.

Robert clenched his left hand into a fist and said, 'Phoebe told me that her father and mine are one and the same.'

There was a long silence. He looked up. Lucy had a handkerchief to her face. She blew her nose, pressed her lips together, then spoke. 'I wish Phoebe had not told you. It can't do any good. Do you want me to say it isn't true? Are you and Phoebe becoming fond of one another?'

'Tell me everything. Please,' he said.

'All right.' Then, softly, so that Robert knew he must not interrupt her, she began to speak. 'I'm a little older than Mike, but since I was a girl I have been attracted to him. I was thirty. I'd had one or two proposals but had not found anyone else. Sir Gordon Campbell and your mother had just caused a sensation on the estate by marrying and it was not until then that Mike started calling at our farm, night after night. It was as if marriage were catching. War was coming and lots of couples were all at once desperate to get married. I knew that Mike wanted marriage too and I was so happy that at last he had chosen me.'

Robert nodded and said nothing as she continued: 'So you can imagine how shocked I was when he came to me…it would be about this time of the year, haymaking…and told me that he and Ruth had been lovers until she married, when their affair ceased. Then he said, "It had ceased. Until tonight."

Lucy looked at him, to see how he was taking it. Robert's face was stony, but he nodded his head for her to continue.

That very night. The night he proposed to me…only an hour before he asked me to marry him, he had been with her. He wanted to confess. He wanted to get it off his chest and start marriage to me with a clean slate.'

She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchielf, pulled herself together and continued. 'I had my pride. I refused him. He cried and pleaded and said he wished he had not told me for then I'd have said yes. I felt sorry for him. I said I wanted to think it over as I could not marry a man who was in love with somebody else. However, he cried again and said he did not love Ruth. It was a kind of animal instinct that had led him on, but now the affair was over and he would never mention her again. I wavered. He pleaded, begged me to marry him. This was in the July before the war started in September.'

'Well, there you are,' Robert cut in. 'Perhaps it was just one of those things -a little pre-marital experience.'

She put a finger to her lips to stop him. 'He promised it would never happen again. I forgave him and we married the day before war was declared. We were happy. I think…I have always believed that he truly loved me. Then, in the April, nine months after he and Ruth…'

'I know. I was born.'

'On the day you were born Mike was in a dreadful state. He dashed up to Ingersley to see you when you were hours old. Ruth would not admit that you were his child but Mike was convinced.'

'And you chose to believe Mike?' He could still not believe it.

She took a deep breath to control herself. 'I was seven months gone with Phoebe. How do you think I felt, seeing my husband crying over another woman's child? Don't you think I wanted to believe Ruth? Wanted to believe that you were not Mike's?'

He wanted to tell her to stop but he dared not. It was his life they were talking about as well as hers. He said, 'But Mother was married to Father. So what's to say ...?'

Lucy's teeth sank into her bottom lip. 'The Commander was at sea when you were conceived.'

'Only if I was born on time. I've always been told I arrived early and surprised everyone.'

'Mike was told that, by Ruth, but he said, "You don't breed a black colt from two palominos. Especially with the palomino stallion a thousand miles away.”

'I must be Father's son.' Father would have suspected, Robert thought.

'Sir Gordon was at sea, at war, when you were born. He'd be told that you were premature.' She stood up and patted him on the shoulder. 'I'm sorry you had to find out like this.'

'I still think it may not be true,' Robert said. 'It's all circumstantial evidence. Your husband and my mother had a fling before they were married. It can't have amounted to much. They both married soon after.'

Lucy looked immensely sad. Her face was drained of expression and feeling as she added quietly, 'The affair still continues. Phoebe…'

'What about Phoebe?'

'Three days ago, late in the evening, Mike went down to the stables to move the last row of hay bales, before the new lot was stacked in the loft. Phoebe wanted to ask her dad something. She said it couldn't wait. She would go and find him.'

'And?'

'She came home in tears. She'd gone up to the hayloft.' The hayloft could only be entered from the outside stone stairway.

Robert repeated, 'And?'

‘They were there in the stable. Your mother and Mike. Phoebe couldn't give away her presence. She just had to lie there, listening to their talk. As well as the other ...'

'Meaning ?'

'It frightened Phoebe -seeing them. She wouldn't give me the details. I didn't want to hear them. I was as upset for Phoebe as I was for myself.'

Robert put his hands to his face. 'Oh, no .. .' Lucy continued. 'When they had…had finished, Mike said, “And will my son be helping me tomorrow?" and Ruth replied, "I don't know. He's getting out of hand." Then she said, "I wish there were some way to tell Robert that Gordon is not his father.'"

Robert had a painful lump in his throat. 'I'm sorry.' He was sorry -sorry for Lucy and Phoebe, who believed it to be true. Mother would enjoy having a hold over Hamilton. Mother had absolutely no scruples or sense of fair play.

Lucy was crying. 'I'm more sorry than you are, Robert.'

‘Who are you going to tell?' He was not afraid for himself but for Father, who loved him.

'Nobody.' She blew her nose again and gave him a watery smile. 'There's nothing to be gained.' 'Will you leave?'

'No. I have to stay here.'

‘You won't tell? Why?'

She pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying. 'You don't live with a person for eighteen years and feel nothing for them. I love him.'

Robert hung his head. His world was falling around his ears. He'd have to leave before Father found out any of this. The following day, he had tried to stowaway. Now, sitting in his room, Robert could still not believe that he was Mike Hamilton's son. but then he had always had the feeling that he was not even his mother's son. All at once he wanted Nanny. Nanny would have told him all she knew.

He found himself walking through the estate towards Ivy Lodge. There was a key to Nanny's house hidden underneath a stack of plant pots in the potting shed. He would let himself in and leave his farewells in a note to her. And as he walked through the fading summer twilight he realised that he did not know when Nanny might be home. She had gone out to Canada two weeks ago, to a family wedding. She had sailed and might even still be en route. If he found himself on the same continent, as well he might, he would try to contact her.

Nanny had a stack of letters from her sister, going back years, in an attache case under her bed. He would look for the address and telephone number of her sister and surprise Nanny by calling her from San Francisco.

 

At ten o'clock in the morning, in Bancroft, Nanny put John's jacket on a hanger and held it out for Flora's inspection. 'It still smells of mothballs,' she said. 'Where shall I hang it?

'On the deck in the fresh air.' Flora put the creases in Uncle John's suit trousers. She laughed. 'For the rest of the day, I should think. When did it last go to a wedding?'

Tomorrow, Peter was marrying Valerie, the love of his life, whom he had met, courted and proposed to within the space of a week. The family were driving down to Toronto later that afternoon. There was a mountain of work to get through first.

Nanny handed the jacket over and said, 'Probably the last time the suit saw the light of day was at his own wedding. What are you wearing?'

'A yellow silk outfit. It has an A-line dress and a matching hat.' Flora took the suit out on to the veranda to hang it from the roof support. 'Let's sit out here with our coffee, Nanny,' she called over her shoulder. 'It's not too hot. We've finished pressing.'

Nanny came out on to the deck and leaned over the rail. 'Shall I make the coffee?' she asked. It was wonderful being here, seeing Flora looking so well and confident and - Nanny glanced at her again - so beautiful. Flora still had the delicate features, fragile skin and tall, willowy figure that Nanny remembered, but now, underneath the surface, she was all strength and capability.

'I'll do it. Sit down,' said Flora.

'Thank you, dear.' Nanny sat for a moment, content. Everything was coming right for all of them. It was a delight being with Alex, so like Robert in looks and yet supremely confident in himself and his abilities. He ran the sawmill for John, and though Flora did the books, Alex was as capable of doing it all. Unlike Robert he was a decision-maker; he learned fast and was light years ahead of Robert in maturity. Lacking a father, he had modelled himself on John, adopting his mannerisms and authority.

Peter was about to return to Bancroft to take up a position in the local hospital, and his bride was willing to learn the lumbering business. That was, Nanny speculated, between babies. But they were a united family. There would be no squabbles in the Murray clan. It was very different from Ingersley where, since Ruth had come into the Campbell family, they fought to the death for every crumb of individual advantage.

Flora went about her daily round with practised ease, and now Nanny saw her through the open door, making coffee. The telephone rang in the living room and Flora smiled as she went to answer it. Nanny heard her say, 'Yes. It is. Yes -she is-' Her voice died away, making Nanny look up quickly at her white face as she said, 'Who shall I say-? Just a moment ...'

Flora came out on to the veranda, all colour gone from her face. 'It's for you, Nanny,' she said in a small, childishly hurt voice as she dropped into a deckchair. 'It's Robert.'

Nanny could not feel her own limbs. All strength went from them as she went back to where the telephone dangled from its cord. 'Robert?'

'Yes! Nanny, it's me.'

It was good to hear his voice, but terrifying that he was here. This was the last thing she had expected. 'Where are you?'

‘San Francisco. I jumped ship.'

Nanny's legs went from under her. She dropped on to the telephone seat, the hand set clutched between the nerveless fingers of both hands. 'You've done what? Why? What are you doing here?'

‘I did it again. Three weeks ago. Ran away. Father's patience snapped. He got me into the Merchant Navy on a Drambuie boat.'

'You are docked in San Francisco?' she whispered.

'No. I told you. I jumped ship.'

'How did you find me?'

'Sorry, Nanny. I knew where you kept your letters. I stole the one on top. I didn't pry. I took the top one. It had the name and address on it. It was a simple matter to find the phone number. I'll post it back to you when you return.'

On top of the pile she had always kept Flora's first letter, the one with the funny little drawing of a weeping willow tree on the back of the envelope. Nanny did not know how she was going to appear normal, but she must, for Flora knew nothing of Robert's chequered past. She had to keep on talking until she regained her composure. 'It doesn't matter. Keep the letter until you come home.' There was a silence at the other end and she knew he did not intend to return. He could not lie to her. She said, 'You can't come here ...'

'I know. I can't expect to run to you whenever I get myself into a mess. But ... Nanny ... ?'

Nanny's strength was reasserting itself. 'You will have to return to the ship, Robert. What will your father say?'

Robert said, 'I had to get away. Phoebe told me something that made it impossible for me to stay any longer.'

'What did Phoebe tell you?' The new-found strength left Nanny. Her arms began to tremble. She pressed them to her sides.

Again there was a pause before he said, 'I can't come back, Nanny. I can't tell you why. I have to think things over. I'll write to you at Ivy Lodge. Tell Father I'm all right. I don't want him to worry about me and I don't want him or anyone to come looking for me.'

Nanny said in a weak, croaking voice, 'What about money?'

'I have enough for six months. After that I'm going to earn my living singing and playing. I'll work my way around America.' He laughed. 'I won't have a permanent address for a bit. Hey! Nanny! Start listening to the radio. Country and Western and blues. I'll call myself Rab Campbell and I'll come for you when I am famous.'

Nanny put the phone back and sat in numbed silence with Flora at her side and one arm about her shoulder.

‘You all right?' Flora asked. She dropped to her knees in front of Nanny and spoke softly. 'I heard you say he's in San Francisco. I feel I should go to him - find him, bring him here to Alexander, come clean ... I can't tell you how I've wanted this moment.'

Tears coursed down Nanny's cheeks. 'No, no! It would be quite the wrong thing. Robert and Gordon would be harmed. They must never know. Oh dear! I'm sorry! Nobody but you and I know that there are two boys. Nobody else knows the whole story.'

1961

Three years had passed since Robert had disappeared. There had been no word from him and Ruth was confident that he was dead. She was sure he would never return. Nanny and Gordon exchanged knowing smiles whenever his name was mentioned, but in the only amicable agreement Ruth and Gordon had come to during the last few years, his will had been changed. Gordon had worded it precisely. As it now stood, in the event of Gordon's death Ruth would have sole charge of the estate until the 'rightful heir' reached the age of twenty-one.

Everything was going right for Ruth. Nanny was living happily in Ivy Lodge, visited daily by both herself and Gordon. Edward was growing up, and Ruth was busy as a Justice of the Peace. She still ran the estate and did it far better than Gordon ever could or would. It was true that they had financial worries, but they had a workable arrangement. Gordon and she led separate lives. Gordon spent all his time sailing and she ... In spite of the headaches and insomnia that now plagued her, she had always had her special way of relaxing.

It was June, her favourite time of the year, when the nights were at their longest and you could read a newspaper, if you had a mind to, at eleven o'clock at night. From nine o'clock on there came a magical twilight when the sky faded from the spectacle of sunset to the misty, silent and pearly evening light.

At this time of the year the water of the Forth estuary would be platinum and silver and the tides mild and freshly crunching across sands of palest gold. The sky became mother-of-pearl and the air itself like champagne, cool, fresh and invigorating. Standing at the water's edge on such a night, it was impossible to feel older than sixteen.

On such a night, with the hay not ready for cutting, there was little for Mike to do. Ruth went to the paddock carrying her saddle and bridle. She tacked up Big Red and led him through the gate which she closed after elbowing Mike's horse out of the way. 'OK,' she said to Major number 2, 'I expect you will be joining us down on the beach later.'

She mounted and they went at a slow walk to the stables, where she found Mike brushing out the hayloft, opening the slatted shutters wide to let the pure, fresh air through. She stopped in the yard and called to him, 'I'm going down to the beach. Want to come along for the ride? We'll only be about half an hour.'

Mike came to stand on the top step, his eyes alight with anticipation, though he merely said casually, in case anyone were about, that he would try to join her later. Ruth waved and walked on, smiling to herself, knowing that Mike would be there. They were getting older, she fifty-two, Mike fifty-seven, and these days she liked to keep him guessing. It had been at least three weeks since the last time but the excitement was in her tonight, the midsummer madness upon her - the adrenalin rush an afternoon in court gave to her.

She smoked a Senior Service cigarette as she trotted Big Red down the beach, aware that the animal did not get enough hard riding. She threw the stub away at the old slipway and rode back listening to the hastening beat of her heart, feeling the silkiness between her legs and the unmistakable tightening inside at the prospect of their coming together. It was a magical night, the sky silvery and the light ethereal.

She slowed to a walk through the remaining area of soft sand and into the secluded bay below the buckthorn. 'Whoa!' She tightened the bit, drawing Big Red to a halt, seeing, less than half an hour after she had spoken to him, Mike Hamilton on Major coming down through the buckthorn to her. He halted before her and said, 'I thought we'd swim first…’

She laughed. It was she who demanded; she who must be humoured. 'It won't be dark for…' she looked at her watch, 'an hour.'

'There's nobody about,' he said. Ruth fell into line beside him as they trotted side by side down the silent beach.

'Where's Phoebe?' Ruth said.

'Still with my dad,' he said. 'Dad's place is more convenient for her work.' Phoebe was a counter clerk at the Royal Bank of Scotland. 'She's never home these days. Where's Edward?'

Ruth's present to Edward on his seventeenth birthday had been a red MG. Both she and Gordon had tried to dissuade him, for he drove as recklessly as he rode, as if he needed something to fight against. She smiled to think that there was no denying Edward's heart's desire.

'He'll not be back until the early hours. It's a different girl every night since 1 bought him the car.'

'That won't suit you,' Mike Hamilton laughed. 'Chip off the old block, eh? Where's Gordon?'

'Went out on the tide. He makes a night of it in good weather.'

'So we have the place to ourselves and all night to enjoy it.' They turned at the slipway and cantered back along the water's foaming edge. There was no breath in them now for talking. Not until they halted did Ruth say, 'Want to have me out here in the open?'

'You need ask?'

'I have a feeling that tonight ...' she began, but he was off his horse, helping her down, fastening the horses on a long lead to the buckthorn behind the rocks. The rocks below the tide line were rounded, flat-topped and smooth; those above it, where the horses were tethered, jagged.

The tide was going out. They tore off their clothes and ran, hand in hand, plunging through the cool shock of the waves into deeper, calmer water. The breeze was light in this sheltered bay and it blew across Ruth's shoulders, raising goosebumps, making her nipples stand out hard and firm. After a few minutes of his noisy puffing and blowing, Mike came wading towards her. He put his arm about her shoulder, then stooped and bent to suck on her breasts and tease with his fingers under the water where she stood with her feet planted wide apart for balance. She was being lifted from the sea bed by the swell of the water, supported by its strength until her feet rose in front of her and she was wildly aware of the hard fingers that were inside her, straight and firm, moving in and out with a motion that drove her lustful body crazy.

'You devil,' Mike whispered. 'You're daring us to be seen. Gordon could come round those rocks any minute.' The arm of the bay hid from view any sailing craft, but they could appear suddenly.

'Gordon will be in Fife - tied up in Crail harbour by now.' She could barely speak for the heat that was blinding her while she thrilled to his probing fingers. 'Quick, Mike,' she gasped. 'Not in the water. Let's get out. Take me fast and hard ... oh, please ...' Her voice had become husky with need of him. 'I want you ...'

He needed no second telling or encouragement. He had the body and desires of a young man with twice a young man's stamina. In fun he dragged her from the water and made her run towards the flat, dry sand between two smooth, sea-washed rocks. 'Over the rock,' he said, easing her down to lie on her back. He spread her arms wide while he grasped her ankles and pulled her legs apart, lifting them to rest upon his shoulders until she locked her sandy feet behind his neck. With few preliminaries, for he knew that she liked him to use force, he pressed forward into her, forcing her knees apart until his face was inches from her hot centre and she was gasping and pleading with him to take her. 'Now ... Mike ... now!'

He held her fast at the hips with his large, horny hands. She could not move, though he was going slow and deep into her. She liked the feel of rough, hard stone on her skin as she lay on the rock, head back, wet hair chilling, groaning and thrashing in her ecstasy and having to stifle the urge to cry out lest she attract the attention of anyone on the water.

She put a salty hand to her mouth and bit hard on it. She would make no sound while Mike tightened his hold on her with hard, callused hands and thrust harder and faster and made his own grunting noises as she came, over the top, in a great tightening wave of pleasure and pain. It was always fast with them the first time. He was an expert. Later he would take his time, teasing her until she felt she might die of passion. But for now it was over. He sat beside her on the smooth black stone, saying, 'Into the water then we'll dry off.' He laughed and said, 'We are worse than we were twenty years ago.'

Ruth said, 'Into the water, then.' She stood up and put on her French knickers and the wispy net brassiere.

'What on earth ... ?' Mike said, watching her.

'Put your underwear on,' she laughed, 'if you are afraid we'll be seen from the water. Nobody can see us from the land without binoculars.'

They swam and made love again in the way she liked it, with Mike behind and on top of her while she clung to the rock like a cat on a wall.

After they were done and dressed, she sent him on, following twenty minutes later to find him waiting at the stable to take Big Red from her.

He said, 'Gordon's back.'

'Gordon? Did you see him?'

'No. I saw his car in front of the house.'

'I wonder why he turned back?'

She had no premonition of disaster as she returned to Ingersley. She was merely surprised not to find him in the drawing room, watching the news on the big television set. She went to the study and tapped.

'Darling? Are you there?'

He came out, his face thunderous. 'Into the dining room, please.'

'Whatever is it?' She went ahead of him.

He closed the door carefully, then spoke to her as she had never heard him address even an inferior. 'Don't sit down!' he ordered ominously. 'What I have to say won't take long.' His head was held slightly back as he looked down at her. 'You may have a strong drink if you need it.'

'You know I never touch it. What's going on?' Her voice was high and querulous. She was not accustomed to being spoken to like this.

'Very well.' He poured a large whisky for himself before turning to face her, then, looking at her as if she were the lowest creature he had ever dealt with, dropped the bombshell. 'I was at the old boathouse tonight. 1 saw it all. You have a choice. Leave the estate quietly or Ishall divorce you and cite Hamilton.'

Her knees went weak. A taste of copper was in her mouth but she stood her ground. 'What the devil were you doing at the boathouse?'

'Never mind what I was doing. Don't even think of concocting a story. I saw everything. So did my companion, the harbourmaster. Luckily he did not recognise either the horses or riders.'

What could she do? He had seen them. There was no point in denying it . She could only limit the damage. She said, 'I'll tell you …’

'You won't,' he said brusquely. 'I am not in the mood for lies.'

'I wouldn't …’

'I have been taken for a fool by Hamilton.' He put up his hand to indicate that he would not let her finish. 'But as for you! You disgust me. If you are not gone one week from today, I will consult my lawyers.'

At the speed of lightning her mood changed. She decided that attack was the best option. Her voice was as shrill as nails being wrenched from wood. 'You can't do that. You can't force me to leave my own home.'

He looked contemptuous. 'I don't suppose I am the first man to dispose of an adulterous wife who is an encumbrance.'

'I'm the mother of your children.'

He laughed drily. 'You have driven one son away and the other is driving himself fast into trouble.'

'So! Not content with attacking your wife, you are turning against Edward for what is nothing more than an adolescent prank.'

'Dangerous driving is not a prank:. Edward is not an adolescent. He will soon be in very hot water. I do not intend to let that happen.'

'How dare you lay down the law down like this?' she blazed. 'How could you stop him?'

'By removing you. Edward will make a reliable, steady man if he does not have to show off to earn your approval. He will pass his entrance examination to Dartmouth. His honour and future depend upon it. I will set my son on the right path.' Gordon drained the last of his whisky.

'Your son?' she said in mock enquiry.

'You are implying that I am not Edward's father?'

'Of course not. I meant, No only yours.'

'After what I saw tonight, my dear, the only thing I can be certain of is that you are his mother,' he said, disdain in every inflection of his voice. 'It doesn't matter. I have two sons. I love them both.'

'Do you know something I don't?' she demanded. 'Is Robert alive?'

'Do you care?' He gave her a withering look and lowered his voice. 'I would die rather than let my sons witness what I saw tonight. Their own mother...!'

'I will not be turned out. I am not going!' she said finally.

‘You are. And so is Hamilton. His lease will not be renewed. I am going to sell up. One week is all you have.'

She ranted and raved, threatened and pleaded, but Gordon would not budge. It was him or her. She would find a way. She would never, never admit defeat. How dare he threaten her?