Chapter 40

“Here it is,” said Flynn. “This is the one.”

For a moment Lara couldn’t speak. How many times had she studied this house, this street, every last detail on Google Earth? But now she was actually here in Belvedere Grove, seeing it with her own eyes. A large property set back from the road, a nice garden that had presumably been kept that way by a gardener while James Agnew was off on his world cruise. Variegated ivy climbed the walls of the white stucco-fronted villa and the wooden shutters were painted a deeper shade of green. The house was clearly well cared for, its polished windows gleaming in the sunshine.

“Thanks for bringing me.” He’d been right about her being in too much of a state to drive; she’d never been more jumpy in her life. “Do I look OK?”

Flynn smiled. “You’ll do.”

The irony of the situation hadn’t escaped her. Lara said, “This is exactly how Gigi felt before she met you for the first time.”

“I know. And that hasn’t turned out too badly, has it?” He reached over and gave her hand a brief reassuring squeeze. “Off you go. I’ll see you later. Good luck.”

Once he’d driven off, Lara straightened her collar and smoothed her fingers over her hair. Last night she’d spent ages agonizing over what to wear today. In the end she’d gone for nice jeans and her favorite white shirt, because it wasn’t a job interview. She’d kept the makeup simple too, knowing from experience that the more important the event, the more likely she was to keep slathering it on. Plus, she might cry and the clown look was never a good one.

The front door was dark green and glossy with a heavy brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head.

Right, here goes.

As she raised her hand to lift the knocker, the door opened.

And there he was, James Agnew, hopefully her father.

It was like being punched in the stomach, but in a good way.

He was tall, imposing, handsome, with silver-gray hair swept back from a tanned face, and faded blue eyes surrounded by laughter lines. If she’d met him during those first few years of her life, she had no memory of it. Did he look like her? She couldn’t tell. There was no deep-down thud of recognition, but it somehow didn’t matter.

“I watched you getting out of the car. Look at you.” He shook his head, genial and marveling at her. “Baby Lara. I never thought the day would come. This is just… incredible.” He held out his hands, then hesitated. “May I?”

He was actually asking permission to give her a hug. Lara nodded, unable to speak, and allowed him to envelop her in his arms. He smelled of cigars and coffee and expensive cologne.

How soon could she ask him?

Then he was ushering her into the house, across the hall, through a stunning pale yellow living room and out into an airy conservatory overlooking the garden. A tiny woman with a face like a wizened sultana followed them in and placed a laden tray on the gleaming glass-topped table, then noiselessly retreated and left them in peace.

“So. I want to know everything,” James announced. “Did your mother tell you about me?”

“No. Never. I don’t know if you know, she died when I was thirteen.”

He sighed. “I did, I did. I came back to Bath, must have been a year or two after that, and asked one of the neighbors if the Carsons were still living in the house. That’s when the woman told me about Barbara, that she’d died. I was devastated. As you must have been. I’m so sorry.”

Lara nodded. She still couldn’t ask him; the words were trapped inside her chest. But if he had been her father, wouldn’t he have hammered on the door, irrespective of Charles Carson’s outrage, and demanded custody of his child?

Or would that only have happened if custody had been something he’d actually wanted?

“So tell me how you found me,” said James.

He was being wary, she realized, because he wasn’t sure how much she knew. As far as he was concerned, she might not be aware that he could be her father.

“I left home when I was sixteen. Charles Carson kicked me out and I never saw him again. He died a few months ago,” Lara hurried on, “and I came back for the funeral. Well, because the lawyer wanted to see me. That’s when I found out the house had belonged to my mum.”

“Right, yes.” James nodded slowly, taking this in. “So all those years he’d been living in it on his own…”

“I’m living there now.” She would tell him about Janice later. “With my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?” His expression cleared. “Wonderful!”

“Did you buy the house for my mum?”

There was a pause before he nodded again. “Yes. Yes, I did. Well, for both of you really. Look, I don’t know how much you know, or how you found out about me.”

OK, just say it, Lara took a deep breath. “Charles Carson didn’t love me. Basically, he never thought I was his. So I was wondering if you were my father…”

She raised her gaze and saw that James was already shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, no, I wish I was. But I’m not.”

“Oh.” And that was it, just like that the dream was over. “Right.”

The sense of disappointment was crushing.

“That’s why you came here. Oh dear. Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Lara managed a weak smile. “I suppose… I mean, are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely sure. Nothing like that ever happened between your mother and me. She was never unfaithful to Charles. Your father was your father.”

“Right. OK. So you were just… friends.”

“Thanks to your mum, yes. If it had been up to me, it would have been far more.” James’s voice softened. “But it was more than just a friendship. I loved her very much. And she loved me.”

Lara swallowed; her chest felt squashed tight with sadness. “Why did she stay with my father? She should have left him. You could have been together…”

We could have been a happy family.

“Honestly? Barbara didn’t regard me as a safe bet.” James looked at her with genuine regret. “Sorry, but there it is. I was married and that wasn’t working out. I’d also been married and divorced before that. I told Barbara it would be different with us but she was terrified I might change my mind, go off her, let her down.”

Just as Jo had said.

“And was she right?” said Lara. “Would that have happened?”

“You want more honesty? We’ll never know. I obviously had the history, the dodgy track record. I adored your mother, she was the love of my life, and I couldn’t imagine ever feeling any differently about her. But our relationship was never consummated. Maybe that’s what made it different. If we’d lived together, who can say if we’d have lasted? I like to think so, of course I do, but I can’t put my hand on my heart and guarantee it. I’ve been married and divorced four times now.” James’s grimace was apologetic. “Maybe your mother was right about me. Most of my wives probably wish they’d never walked up that aisle with me in the first place.”

So many questions. So many. Lara said, “I don’t understand the thing with the house, though. Why did you give her the money to buy it?”

James smiled fleetingly. “That was for your benefit, believe it or not.”

“But I wasn’t your child.”

“I know, but you were Barbara’s. And she was worried sick about you. That flat you were all living in, the one in Bradford on Avon, was full of damp. You weren’t well at all, you had a weak chest and kept getting infections. Then, when you were two, you were admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. Your mum thought you were going to die. And Charles flatly refused to move out of that bloody flat, where there was mold growing on the walls, because he said the rent was all he could afford. That’s when I did it. Because I could. And I wanted to help your mother.”

“God.” Lara exhaled. “Well, thank you.” Which was hopelessly inadequate, but what else could she say?

“My pleasure.”

“She could have left him in the flat. Why didn’t she do that?”

“She didn’t want to split you up from your father. Keeping the family together was all that mattered as far as Barbara was concerned. For your sake.”

For my sake.

“I really wish she hadn’t.” Lara spoke with feeling.

James said drily, “You and me both. But she did. And I knew I had to get away. That’s when I sold the company, divorced my wife, and moved abroad. It was the only way.” He paused again, then reached forward, and poured the coffee into their cups. “So, was it your father who told you about me?”

“No. Actually, his second wife did, just the other week.”

“He remarried then? So you had a stepmother. What was she like? Nice, I hope.”

“You tell me,” said Lara. “She used to be your secretary.”

For a moment he looked blank. Then the coffee jug tilted sideways in his hand and coffee poured out onto the silver tray.

“Oh my God, do you mean Janice?”