July 1937
‘Fergus, do let’s go out now. There’s something I need to talk to you about.’
It was a bright Saturday morning in July, a fortnight after Alice had met her daughter for the second time, and she had arranged for Nurse to take the children to the zoo. She’d resisted Ned’s pleading that she accompany them, telling him that she and Daddy were going for a walk. Ned didn’t see the point of a walk unless it had a purpose such as playing on the swings or buying an ice cream, but seeing that his mother was immovable, he allowed Nurse to help him into his little jacket and followed Robert out of the door while Fergus manoeuvred the pram.
After the little party had left, Alice and Fergus strolled arm in arm to the park. When they came to the bench where Irene had once sat and watched them go by, Alice was halfsurprised to find it empty. She suggested they sit down. It was an ordinary bench with a back that curved backwards in a scroll shape. Not a bit comfortable, but she felt instinctively that this was the place where she wanted to speak to him. He couldn’t be too cross with her in a public place, could he? Oh dear, she hoped he wouldn’t be cross.
‘What was it you wanted to tell me about, my love?’ Fergus asked. ‘If it’s about having your stepmother to stay, then I suppose so, but does it have to be for a whole week?’
‘It’s not about that, though as it happens I think the same . . . No. Do you remember a few months ago,’ she said carefully, withdrawing her hand from her husband’s arm, ‘that we walked here with the children and you mentioned afterwards seeing a girl you recognized sitting on this very bench?’
Fergus knitted his brows and appeared confused.
‘You told me afterwards that you knew her from the gallery where you bought my lovely Junipers.’
‘Yes, yes, I do remember now. What of it?’
‘Fergus,’ she said softly, ‘there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago.’
He looked at her quizzically, then his expression showed alarm. ‘You’re not ill, are you, darling?’
Alice shook her head, reached out and touched his face sadly.
‘Come,’ she said, ‘let’s walk again.’
It was busier here now, so she led him out of the park to the common and a part that was wild and deserted.
‘You remember I told you about my days in France?’
‘I do indeed,’ he said gravely. ‘How they inspired you to train as a doctor. Heavens, what is this all about, Alice?’
‘Something happened to me there,’ she said. ‘There was somebody special. I told you that.’
She had his full attention now. ‘And he died. Yes.’
‘He did. What I haven’t told you is how well I knew him. We both had leave at the same time and met a great deal in London. He asked me to marry him and . . . I thought we would be married, Fergus, and, back then, you never knew whether if you said goodbye to someone that you would ever see them again. We went to his hotel. It comforted him and it certainly comforted me to know . . .’
‘I think I know what you are trying to say.’ His voice was cool. ‘But why are you telling me this now?’
‘I need you to understand.’
He blinked at her and looked rather hurt.
‘That I wasn’t the first?’
‘Oh, Fergus.’
‘And that’s what you have to tell me? This great secret. Well, I don’t understand. You could have kept it to yourself. I forgive you, if that’s any help.’
‘I would have said nothing if that’s all it was, that I had a lover, but it’s worse than that, much worse. Fergus, I had a child by him.’
‘What?’ He couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had hit him. She watched the blood drain from his face. ‘No.’
‘Fergus, are you all right?’ she said, a little frightened. She gripped his arm, but he twisted it away. ‘I’m sorry I never told you. It was a little girl. I called her Stella. But I gave her away. I had to. Gwen made me, but I knew she was right. It was my only chance.’
Her husband’s lips parted, but he did not speak. Instead he turned on his heel and walked quickly away, then he stopped, his body bowed as though he were in pain. She ran to him and tried to hug him, but again he pushed her away.
‘Fergus,’ she cried, but he was deaf to her. Tears prickled her eyes and she breathed deeply, trying not to panic. ‘I had to tell you now because she’s found me. I didn’t know what had happened to her, I’d put the whole thing behind me, but she discovered who I was and wrote to me at Wentwood and now I’ve met her.’
‘You’ve seen her?’ He looked startled.
‘Yes, and so have you. It’s the girl in the art gallery. The one you saw sitting on that bench. Her name is Irene.’
‘And she’s your daughter? Christ.’
‘Yes. Oh Fergus, I’m sorry. Not sorry that I’ve met her, but about the whole thing. I would have told you, but I was scared and the time never seemed right. I was worried that you’d hate me, that you’d break off our engagement. I never told anyone else, not even Barbara or Jane. Only Gwen knows and Daddy, of course. It can still be a secret. Oh, Fergus, do you hate me?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I think, Alice. I’m in shock. You’re not the person I thought you were. I don’t know anything.’ He took a step back. ‘I’m going home.’
With that he set off at a pace. Alice could think of nothing else to do but to hurry after him, but her limbs felt weak and her breaths were quick and shallow. She knew she’d shattered his world.
She couldn’t take her words back, not now. She must be strong. If they were ever to recover, whatever happened now, she had to be stronger than ever in her life before.
‘You’d better tell me all of it.’
When they reached home Fergus had gone to his study and remained there for the rest of the day. He’d refused to come out for lunch or nursery tea, nor later for dinner. On Alice’s instruction the maid had taken him supper on a tray, but she returned in a state of distress. The master had not seemed himself, the girl said. He’d opened the door and taken the tray, but had not spoken to her.
Alice retired to bed early, but could not sleep. It came as a relief when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. She sat up, switched on her lamp and watched him undress and pull on his pyjamas. His movements were ponderous, deliberate. He did not speak or look at her. Finally he got into bed beside her. It was then he spoke and she hated the cold tone of his voice.
‘You’d better tell me all of it. Everything, Alice. No more lies.’
‘I have never lied to you.’
At this he turned his head and gave her a chilly glance. ‘You’ll know about sins of omission. It’s the same as lying.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said, stubborn.
‘Let’s not argue the point.’
Though it was he who had introduced it, she thought bitterly, but no matter. Only one thing mattered, that they find their way through this.
‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘Jack was . . . well. I first met him in . . . it must have been the autumn of 1916.’ She paused, licked her dry lips and continued. She told him the whole story as clearly as she could, though she stumbled over the hardest bits, but she was determined to be truthful, to keep nothing back, for both their sakes. If she could make him understand why she’d acted as she did, and why she hadn’t told him before, maybe, just maybe he would forgive her.
When she finished there was silence. She peeped at Fergus. He was staring sightlessly into the distance with an anguished expression.
‘And that’s all there is,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Fergus, I so badly wanted to keep her.’ She thought again of Baby Stella and smiled to herself at the knowledge of Irene, the lovely young woman that Stella had become – Irene, with her wide-spaced, long-lashed eyes, still dark blue, her intense expression and determined chin.
Fergus, in a sudden movement, pushed back the covers and swung his legs onto the floor. ‘I can’t take any more of this,’ he muttered. He pulled on his dressing gown and slippers. ‘I’ll be in the spare room if I’m needed,’ he said, picking up his spectacles.
‘Fergus, no . . . the bed’s not made up,’ she cried.
‘I’ll manage. No,’ he said, as she pleaded with him to stay. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Fergus . . .’ But it was no good, he’d gone.
Alice slept very little that night. Her thoughts chased each other round and round as she tossed and turned. She should never have told him. Gwen had been right all along. Men thought differently to women. Everyone said that. She’d offended him deeply by her revelation. Suppose she had killed his love for her? As the night wore on her distress grew.
It’s always darkest before dawn. She knew the truth of that. Many times she had sat with patients who had reached a crisis in their illness that made the watchers fear the worst, only for the fever to peak, for the sufferer to breathe more easily and for them to fall into natural and restorative sleep. This time as pale dawn brightened the room, she was thankful for a new day and finally fell asleep.
When the maid woke her with morning tea, though, it was with the information that the master had risen early and left for work. Alice had been too deeply asleep to hear him fetch his clothes from the room. It was with a heavy heart that she rose and dressed. Even sitting with the children at nursery breakfast failed to restore her spirits.
Fergus did not return home that night, instead sending word that he was required to stay at the hospital. The following evening he came home and made much fuss of the boys, but asked Alice to have the bed properly made up in the spare room and clothes laid out for the morning. She did this herself so as to avoid the curious eyes of the maid, while Fergus retired to his study. When the house was quiet she went down and knocked on the study door.
‘Come in,’ was his gruff reply.
When she entered it was to see him sitting in a chair by the dying fire, apparently doing nothing.
‘Fergus,’ she whispered, hovering, uncertain.
‘Yes, what is it?’ he said.
‘We can’t go on like this. It’s hateful.’
‘Like what, exactly? You can hardly expect me to be cheerful, Alice. I’m having to revisit our whole marriage. You’ve told me you loved someone else and that you had his illegitimate child. You are not the woman I thought that I knew.’
‘I am, Fergus. I’m exactly the same.’
‘You’re not. I didn’t know you were someone to keep secrets, to dupe me.’
Alice crossed the room, sat down in the chair opposite him and looked at him levelly. ‘I didn’t mean to. What should I have done? Be honest, Fergus, how would you have reacted if I’d told you when you asked me to marry you?’
‘I . . . don’t know.’
‘I have never done anything in our marriage that meant being untrue to you. I have loved you and borne your children and supported you in your work as you have me in mine.’
He gripped the arms of his chair and pressed his head back. ‘It’s torture,’ he said, with a sigh.
‘I know. It must be. Poor darling Fergus. We have no need to tell anyone, though. There will be no shame.’
‘What about the girl? She must want something out of this?’
‘She doesn’t. She only wants for me to acknowledge her, to know that she’s loved. You should meet her properly, then you’ll see.’
‘I can’t. You mustn’t ask it of me.’
‘What about the boys – should they know that they have a sister?’
‘Certainly not,’ he snapped. ‘I forbid you to tell them. Ever.’
‘Ever? That’s a long time, a very long time. Fergus, do come and sleep in our room tonight. I miss you so.’
‘I’m not ready to. I don’t know when I will be. I’m sorry, Alice, but I don’t see you in the same way as I did. I’m not sure what to do.’
A cold chill ran through her. His eyes, always so warm and friendly, were cold with despair. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her. ‘Fergus,’ she said, desperately, ‘I must beg you to forgive me. You are the only man I’ve loved since Jack. I am the same woman that you married, I swear it. It is because Stella, I mean Irene, has come back into my life that I’ve told you my secret. I thought I could trust you to understand, to forgive, but I see that I’ve been wrong about you just as you think that you’ve been wrong about me.’
‘Then we are both in a difficult place, are we not?’ Fergus said. ‘Go away, Alice. I want to be on my own to think.’
She left, shutting the door behind her with an angry click.