August 1937
‘I am Mrs Copeman,’ Alice’s stepmother announced as she presented herself at the hospital reception a week later. ‘My son-in-law, Mr O’Hagan, is expecting me.’
‘Of course, Mrs Copeman, I’ll advise him that you’re here. Do take a seat.’ The young woman behind the desk was cheery rather than deferential. So many girls were like this these days, she thought, as she turned and regarded with distaste the line of careworn chairs in the hallway. An ashen-faced young man reading a newspaper and a girl, very showily dressed, were still waiting to be seen. Gwen sighed and found a chair well away from them, set her handbag on her lap and extracted her engagement book. Yes, five o’clock, Fergus had agreed, and it was exactly that now. She clicked the bag shut and occupied the waiting time by going over what she needed to say. She hoped not for the first time that she was doing the right thing.
The cheerful receptionist called, ‘Miss Baker,’ and the cheap-looking girl was shown through a door beside the desk. Ten minutes later it was the ashen-faced lad’s turn. He emerged seeming even whiter, then the door remained closed for some time. Finally, it opened again and Fergus himself emerged, smoothing his hair, a frown on his face.
Gwen rose and greeted him with a severe ‘Fergus.’
‘My apologies for keeping you waiting,’ he said stiffly, shaking her hand.
‘I understand that you’re a busy man,’ she murmured more graciously.
‘Do you mind if we speak in my room? It’s a nuisance that I have so little spare time.’
‘Not at all,’ Gwen said crisply. ‘The young lady here explained that when I telephoned.’
He showed her in to a large square consulting room, rather airless. One wall was bookshelves, a heavy mahogany desk set in front of it. Fergus sat behind the desk and Gwen took the chair across from him. She glanced about, uneasy at the posters on the walls showing the parts of a person one would rather keep concealed, and an actual skeleton hanging from a hook in the ceiling.
‘Don’t mind William,’ Fergus said, seeing her shiver. ‘He no longer has any ears to overhear us.’
‘I was thinking he might terrify your patients.’
‘Quite the reverse. William is an excellent teacher. He helps me explain what’s wrong with them and how I will fix it.’
‘I’m sure you know best.’ Was her son-in-law teasing her?
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure? I’m sure you didn’t come simply to meet William.’
‘I did not.’ Gwen hesitated, then decided to simply plunge in. ‘I’ve come about Alice. She’s told me about the state of affairs. She’s very unhappy, Fergus.’
A shadow fell across Fergus’s face. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not sure that I wish to discuss the matter with you.’
‘But I wish to discuss it with you. Alice is my stepdaughter, and with her parents both dead she has no one else to turn to for advice.’
‘She’s a grown woman, Gwen. And she was a grown woman when the thing she’s just taken into her head to tell me about happened. And she was a grown woman for all those years that she kept it from me. And now she expects me simply to accept the whole thing and smile and carry on as always. And, for all I know, to welcome this unfortunate girl into my household and introduce her to my sons and everyone we know as our long-lost daughter.’
‘I don’t think she expects all that for one moment, Fergus. She merely wishes for your acknowledgement of what happened, your forgiveness for her not telling you before now and for the resumption of your, until now, happy marriage. It is my fault, I must have you know.’
‘That my wife had another man’s child, a bastard?’
‘No, don’t be ridiculous. That she did not confess this to you before. I counselled her otherwise.’
Fergus sat forward in his chair, his eyes widening in anger.
‘No, don’t say anything. You don’t know how it was with her. She was foolish, yes, extremely so. The young man concerned was unwise. He did not think what might happen to Alice if he died. Presumably he could not foresee his own death, but he knew of its strong possibility. He should have waited and married her, but I gather that his circumstances were not, shall I say, propitious. He had not even spoken to his father about Alice’s existence. Not that poor Alice knew this until after Jack was killed and she wrote to his father. Jack’s father wanted nothing to do with Alice and she was too proud to tell him about the child.’
‘All very regrettable,’ Fergus said with a sigh.
‘Yes, well, you can imagine the distress she was in when she came home, grieving for Jack and filled with horror at her condition. She was still terribly young, Fergus, though I did not see that then. I merely thought she was the difficult, rebellious girl I’d been trying to manage since I married her dear father. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I see how much she was grieving for her mother as well as for her lover. She had adored Mary and resented me. In the crisis I knew I could not hope for Alice’s affection, but since her father like many men was at a loss as to what to do, I took charge. The baby had to be adopted and the whole matter kept secret. Not even her brother, poor dear Teddy, knew. The family would have been ruined. Would you have married her, Fergus, if you had known about it beforehand?’
There was a silence. Fergus wriggled in his chair as helpless as a live insect pinned to a corkboard. Gwen tried not to look triumphant at the point scored. Finally he shrugged and said, ‘I’d like to think so. I loved her so much. I was the happiest man alive when she agreed to marry me. But I don’t know, Gwen. It would have shaken me to have known. We’d had something of a difficulty in my own family with my sister Rose and the strain on my parents – it badly affected my mother’s health, you know.’
‘And then there was Barbara . . .’
‘Barbara, yes. I was angry at Barbara, very angry.’
‘Alice wasn’t. Not in the same way. She was sad, Fergus, because she understood what Barbara had been going through. I didn’t approve of what Barbara did, but I’m proud of Alice for defending her and for the work she does with these women at that birth clinic. Everything that’s happened, Fergus, it has made her more compassionate towards others. She has used the bad things to make good.’
For the first time, a flicker of hope came into Fergus’s eyes. At last, Gwen sighed, I’m getting through to him, but then his face closed again. He pushed back his chair, glanced at his watch and began to pace the room.
‘Your wife is a splendid woman, Fergus. What has not defeated her has made her strong. She takes care of you and the boys with every effort of her being, and has enough love left over for other people, too. Think of all those she has helped. She is not only the same woman you married, but she has grown more so, flourished and matured. You must not let this come between you. If you do persist it will destroy your marriage, your own and your children’s happiness.’
‘Thank you, Gwen, but I don’t need you to tell me this.’
‘I think you do. It is to me a straight choice between loving forgiveness and what your Church calls the deadly sin of pride. Yes, pride, Fergus. I know men attach importance to their sense of themselves. They do not like to appear ridiculous in the eyes of the world. In this case there is no reason why you should do. You will look in your mirror and see the same man you ever were. All this’ – her wave took in the room – ‘your work, your lovely and successful wife, your children. Remember what you promised before God when you married, Fergus: for better, for worse? Well, this is one of the worse times and I put it to you that your true worth is being tested.’
‘Again, I thank you, Gwen. Now, if you don’t mind I’m afraid I must get on with ministering to the sick. The porter outside will summon you a cab, I am sure.’
Gwen rose, suddenly exhausted, and her eyes met the empty sockets of William the skeleton. She had the uncanny feeling that the wretched thing was laughing at her. Fergus hadn’t listened, not really, and now she’d lost this small window of opportunity. She collected up her gloves and her bag.
Fergus reached for the door handle then hesitated. He said gruffly, ‘I’ve been rude, Gwen, I apologize. It’s good of you to have come.’ Then he opened the door.
‘Goodbye, Fergus,’ she said, hearing to her own astonishment, a wobble in her voice. For a moment they stood, hands clasped, regarding one another, and she noticed the hollows under his eyes, a nervous tic of exhaustion above his lips. Then she gave a gracious nod and went on her way, feeling suddenly very old and lonely and powerless.